Next-Door Nemesis(86)

“I’m proud of you.” I am. She’s been needing a break for years, but selfishly, I’m also really disappointed. I miss my friend. I thought I was coming back to my life, but more and more, I’m starting to feel like I left it. “What did Monique say?”

“She said it’s good as long as I continue to make changes and don’t expect moving to magically change my life.” I can almost hear her eyes rolling. “I think she was probably wondering why I picked Ohio, but she didn’t ask.”

“I hope she at least told you to never say C-bus again.” No matter how much I’m missing home, I’ll never get behind C-bus. Ever.

“Hater,” she says. “But enough about me, let’s talk about you. How’s the show going? What’s it like working with Peter?”

I knew this question was coming from the moment I saw her name on my phone.

“It’s amazing! I can’t believe I’m finally a supervising producer. It’s a dream come true.”

As soon as the last sentence leaves my mouth, I know I’ve taken it a step too far.

“That bad, huh?”

Worse.

“It’s not great.” I put the car in reverse and start my traffic-filled trek to the studio. “I don’t know what I thought it’d be, but it’s not this.”

I miss my parents’ minivan as silence fills the small sedan with surprisingly terrible gas mileage. I wait for Ruby to say something—anything!—but she stays quiet. It’s one of her favorite techniques to get me to spill my guts. I hate how effective it is.

“I don’t think this will surprise you, but I’m the only Black person in the room and there are only two other women. I’m the supervising producer, but it’s clear that the older white men in the room don’t value or trust my position. And they’ve destroyed my show.”

It’s the last part that’s been the hardest to come to terms with.

My gorgeous script with so much humor and nuance is now totally flat, overrun with easy jokes and missing the spark that made it so special to begin with. If I was working with assholes, but they were constantly coming up with fantastic ideas that made the show stronger, that’d be one thing. But it’s clear that Peter staffed people going off how well he knew them instead of how well they worked.

Pretty ironic considering his reasoning for not hiring me in the first place was to avoid rumors of nepotism.

“What are you going to do about it?” She asks the million-dollar question.

I’ve been up at night, asking myself the same question over and over again. I’ve been rereading my original script, trying to figure out how to get back to the heart of what I was trying to say. The only problem with that is I’m not the same person I was when I wrote it. I still love the script and the characters, but I can’t connect to it like I once did. And I’m not sure if it’s because of everything Peter put me through or because I can’t stop thinking about HOA**holes.

“I’m not totally sure,” I say. “But I’m on my way to a meeting with Reggie Fulton and I guess I’ll just have to see what he has to say.”

Reggie was the first showrunner I worked for and he always touches base with me if he needs a new writer. He was one of the few people who didn’t completely blow me off when the Peter fiasco first went down. He never loved Peter and I have a feeling he knew something about what happened was amiss. He told me to keep in touch and reach out if I was ever in town.

I emailed him after my first day in the writers’ room. He told me to send him anything I’ve written lately, so I sent over HOA**holes and I’ve been praying every day since that he didn’t hate it.

“I hope he says something you want to hear,” she says. “Now you focus on driving and call me after. I’m going to Ashleigh’s house to help her set up for some makeup party this evening and she won’t stop texting me.”

I laugh picturing Ruby as Ashleigh’s wingwoman. Those party guests don’t know what they’re in for. I hope their credit cards have a high spending limit.

“Sounds good. Tell everyone I said hi.”

I don’t have to say his name for her to know I’m talking about Nate.

“If I see Nate, I’ll be sure to tell him.”

See.

She knows me so well.

“Thank you.” I blink away the tears because LA traffic is not the place to have a breakdown. “Laters.”

“Laters, babe.”

Then the line goes dead and I’m left alone with my thoughts.

Again.



* * *



? ? ?

I thought Reggie and I were only going to have a quick meeting in his office, but he surprised me and took us to Sotta instead. It’s a little Mediterranean restaurant in Burbank, and it’s—chef’s kiss—so delicious. And because Reggie is an A-plus human, he makes sure we order extra hummus, stuffed grape leaves, and sweet potato fries.

It’s the first meal I haven’t wanted to weep through.

“So.” He leans back in his seat once he’s polished off his chicken kebab. “Tell me about everything. How’s it going working with Peter?”

The question of the day, apparently.

“It could be better, could be worse.” I try to keep my answer vague and casual. I like Reggie, but as I’ve seen before, LA is small and people talk. I need to be careful with my words. “I’m grateful to have a job and be back.”