Up & Out - Ariella Papa [13]
“Yeah, take care.” And we hang up. No definite plans made. No nothing. That’s the way it is now. It has been a month since we last slept together and now we are just getting off the phone like two acquaintances. I don’t know when this is going to get easier.
Today turned out to be another wash. I barely got started on the segment I was working on and the people who were composing our score had gone slapstick instead of zany. Now we had to wait another week at least for music. Nobody listened. Instead of meetings, I spent the day on the phone.
It’s now five o’clock, and it looks like it’s going to be another late night if I hope to accomplish anything. Friday of all nights. I’m to meet the girls for dinner and drinks. My computer dings and I open an e-mail about a meeting in our large theater at five-thirty. Does it ever stop? The meeting is to be global, which means that the entire company, including the L.A. office, is going to attend. My phone rings again—Janice.
“Is it true? Have we been bought?”
“I don’t know. This e-mail is so cryptic.”
“I bet Jen knows.”
“You think?”
“Well, I know she’s not going to tell me.” That is my cue. I go out to their workstations. Janice and John are already standing up and peeking out over their cubes at Jen, who is whispering on the phone.
“I got to go,” she says when she sees me. I am relieved to see that she makes personal calls at work, although maybe this signifies how serious this meeting is going to be. “What’s up, Rebecca?”
“You tell us,” John says. It must sort of suck for Jen to be related to a big shot like Hackett. Everyone kind of resents you, no matter how well you do your job.
“Do you know anything about what we’re meeting about?” I ask. Jen looks a little nervous. That’s the other sucky thing. No one really wants to give you any dirt, but they expect it from you.
“The meeting’s in fifteen minutes,” she says, gesturing toward her computer.
“So, that means you know,” Janice says.
“Okay, if you can’t tell us you can’t tell us.” I look at Janice. I want to know, too. Bad. But I have to be the good cop. “We’ll find out soon.”
We all head to the meeting together. Most of our floor seems empty. Jen doesn’t say a word throughout our odyssey to the elevator banks. When we get to the theater (which is like a small stadium), it is packed. They hand us chocolate chip cookies as we go in. Janice, John and I look at one another. Only John says what we are all thinking.
“This means it’s bad,” he says, holding up the cookie. “I’m getting another one.”
Hackett is up on stage with the rest of the honchos, including Kristina Amos. She is the VP of the whole shebang and the head of the New York office. She’s one of those women who always looks put together. She is at least fifty. But we love the sight of her. We love to dish about her.
“Hello, everyone,” Amos says after a little microphone feedback. “We’re going to keep this short because we know it’s the end of the day.”
“Not for us,” Janice says.
“We hope everyone’s enjoying their cookies.” Now they expect us to be grateful that they are leading us to slaughter. She starts talking the typical shit they talk at these meetings and I can tell it isn’t going to be quick. If it is good news, they wouldn’t have waited until the end of the day. Of course, they are trying to act like it is. Amos blabs about how hard everyone has been working, how ad sales are doing as well as they can in this economy, blah, blah, blah…
“Of course we know that often the best way to get revenue up is to partner with someone who already has capital and whose brand initiatives are parallel to your own.”
“Do you think she really means parallel?” Janice whispers to me. “Don’t you think that would be bad?”
I shake my head. Amos is still working up the benefits of having what she is calling an industry giant.
“I hope the industry giant is Prescott Nelson Inc.,” John whispers. “They’re getting into TV, and have you ever been to the Nook, their cafeteria? It’s great.”
“So, we’ve decided—and I think