What century have I astro-travelled to?
He leans back on his chair with a creak and places his hands across the wide expanse of his generous belly. ‘We’re taking a more streamlined approach now that I’m at the helm. Romantic comedies, yeah they’ve had their time, but that time has been and gone. We’re going to focus on superhero films – that’s where the money is. As of now, your position is redundant, Eva.’
My mouth falls open. This can’t be happening! ‘Redundant? Sir, it’s just that we’ve seen the profitability of romantic comedies and bringing those …’
‘This isn’t up for debate.’
I float inside myself wondering how I can convince him that I love this job, and I work hard at it. I muster all my courage to fight for those stories that I believe in. ‘Mr Johnson, I understand that you’re making this decision based on numbers alone, but if you’ll allow me to present you a proposal I’ve been …’
‘No need. It’s been decided.’
I eye the stapler on his desk and have a brief fantasy about fastening his lips together so I can finish at least one bloody sentence, but common sense prevails. ‘These storiesmatter! Sure, superhero films will be blockbusters at the box office, but romance isn’t dead, sir. Far from it! Every single romcom Hollywood Films has developed has been profitable.’
‘Clear your desk and leave your security pass.’ Spittle flies from his mouth.
Just like that? ‘Ah, before I go … the redundancy, does it come with some kind of fiscal remuneration?’ At least that might keep the wolf from the door for a bit while I internally combust over the loss of my dream job.
‘You’reredundant. It’s not a redundancy. Words matter. You of all people should know that.’
‘But that’s not—’
With that, Penelope reappears, face pinched. ‘It’s OK,’ she whispers as she pulls me, in my now semi-catatonic state, out of the office and deposits me back in my teeny cubicle.
Eyes glazed I say, ‘I’m fired?’
‘Redundant.’
That bloody word! It’s so hurtful, as if my skills are so basic that my job just went ahead and dried itself up,poof, gone!
‘Is he firing everyone?’
With a slight shake of the head, she says, ‘So far just you.’
‘Right.’
‘But it’s only mid-morning. I’m sure lots of us will be sent packing soon enough.’
‘It’s a small comfort, Pen.’ I will myself tothink. Is there any way I can salvage this job, even if horrible Hank is running the place? I feel protective towards the manuscripts that sit patiently on my desk and in my inbox. I’m their voice. What happens to them now?
Penelope gives me a hopeful smile. ‘You’re better off, seriously. Can you imagine working for this brute? There’s not enough cabernet sauvignon in all of Napa to handle this kind of stress.’ The industry, as it’s known, really is not for the faint of heart.
I expel a breath. ‘This was going to be the making of me. Gene said so! He promised me that if I picked up and moved from my safe little literary bubble in New York to the bright lights of Hollywood, my career would grow exponentially.’ Gene and I met when I edited his memoir. It went on to be a worldwide bestseller with readers who were keen to peek behind the curtain of Hollywood. He claimed I had an eye for a compelling tale and soon after offered me the book scout position.
‘Gene sold the place, Evie. We can’t sit here lamenting his choice.’
‘Can’t we?’ I’m very good at lamenting. In fact, I can sit on this for days, weeks and not get over it. I can obsess over it until it steals into my dreams, wondering where it all went so wrong.
Penelope gives me a maternal smile. ‘I’ll be sad to see you go, Evie. You’re the best book scout we’ve ever had. Two films are already in development because of you!’ She gives me an encouraging smile. ‘You’ll find a better job than this! You just need to get out there and network a bit.’ Networking, such a buzz word in this biz. ‘Flash that dazzling smile of yours. Light up a room.’
I can’t quite imagine myself lighting up a room, I’m alotmore low-wattage than that. In fact, at work functions I field requests for drinks as if they assume I’m the waitstaff. Penelope says it’s because I slink rather than saunter. I hover awkwardly whereas my colleagues make entrances worthy of the red carpet. Is this why I’m the scapegoat today? They have to cut expenditure, so they’re clearing the decks with the quiet ones they assume won’t make a fuss?
‘I’ll stick with fictional people thanks. Isn’t my job about finding books to develop into film? Why do “people” have to come into the equation at all?’ Therein lies the root of all my problems. Peopling.
She sighs and pats my shoulder. ‘It’s the way of the world, dear. What will you do now?’
‘That’s the million-dollar question.’ Penelope gives me a warm hug, which I allow since I’m now redundant and at an all-time low.
After I pack my belongings, I consider how to frame this in a text to my mom. My all-star sister never finds herself entrenched in disasters like this. Posy is an ambitious singer/actress and well-known Broadway celeb. Will Mom secretly compare me to her and find me lacking? Gah. I can’t catch a break no matter what I do. In the end I go for a succinct message because crying at work would catch attention I’d rather not have.
