“Yeah, it’s great.”
“Thanks. I’m going to ask Eric if I can shoot some stuff when I finish his closet.”
Jane rolled a grape in her fingers. “You should.”
“So... how long do you have to work for them before you get a raise?” Esmé wondered. “Have they ever thought about apartnership arrangement? We all work hard and this is a woman-owned company and we are all women.”
“It was about a year before I got a raise,” Jane told her. “It’s true, they charge the clients a lot more for our services than what they pay us, but businesses are like that.” She shrugged. “I’d love a partnership agreement, but it’s never going to happen. The cost of overhead is always a good excuse for them.”
Esmé was listening attentively. “You’re totally right. You know, I really admire you, Jane.”
Jane tried not to look shocked. “You do?”
“Yes, you’re always so focused, and you’re so good at this. I’m a little intimidated when we’re paired up.”
There it was again, that warm inner glow.
“Well, that is so sweet, Esmé. I always wish I could do more and do it better.”
“Hi, perfectionist!”
Jane laughed.
“Yes, guilty as charged. It’s not necessarily the road to happiness, is it?”
“Oh, I know it’s not; I’m right there with you!”
Jane realized she was beginning to like Esmé.
Jane was organizing stacks of scripts when the dogs all came to life, barking and baying. Eric strode past the open door of the office trailed by another man. A few minutes later, he was back.
“Sorry, Jane, could you join us in the closet? This is sort of an all-hands-on-deck situation.”
“Of course.”
And that was where Jane encountered Mitchell, hovering over Esmé, emanating exasperation.
“I just don’t see how it is at all possible that you can’t find it.” Esmé was flustered but doing her best to cover.
“Mitchell, this is Jane. She’s going to help find it.”
Mitchell had a meticulously curated ersatz surfer look. He gave Jane a wan smile, then pointed at Eric.
“You all have your work cut out for you, because he lives for his mess!”
Eric shot back, “My affinity for messiness is why I put up with you for so long!” It seemed like friendly repartee, but not without an unmistakable tinge of acid.
Clearly, Mitchell was the ex-boyfriend Mia had been going on about the day before. He seemed like the type who came to LA thinking his looks and sparkle would precipitate a downpour of money and fame, but instead ended up with copious amounts of debt and a demoralizing service job on the fringes of the entertainment industry.
Eric turned to Jane. “Mitchell is convinced his favorite shirt is in here somewhere.”
“I’ve looked all over and can’t find it.” Esmé’s ponytail was limp, inert.
“It’s my favorite T-shirt. It’s James Perse, in this shade of blue that’s hard to find and the fit is perfect and, Eric, you told me you had set it aside for me!” Mitchell whined.
Esmé indicated a shelf of meticulously folded and stacked T-shirts that went from midnight blue to sky blue. “It’s not in the blues over there, and that’s where all the T-shirts are.”
Jane realized she had the answer. “Oh wait! There’s a plastic grocery bag with a blue shirt in it in your office.”
