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With that, she walks past me toward her apartment. A part of me wants to find the nearest manhole to hide out in for the rest of eternity. The other half wants to run after her, but what would I even say…
Instead of doing either of those things, I continue on my way, feeling worse than I did before.
After a refreshing shower and two cups of coffee, I feel a little better, but still not necessarily happy with myself. Hoping to distract my mind from the morning’s eventsand how to fix them,I settle down to check my emails. At the top of my inbox, is one from my manager sent this morning.
From: Mark Hill
Subject: P&P
Henry,
I spoke with Viewmont Productions—Can you stop by my office this week?
-Mark
To: Mark Hill
Subject: Re: P&P
How soon can you meet?
From: Mark Hill
Subject: Re: P&P
I’m available now. I’ll be in the office for a couple hours trying to catch up from my vacation last week.
If you’re not free, call Mary, she’s in too. She will get you scheduled.
To: Mark Hill
Subject: Re: P&P
I’ll be there within the hour.
The Hill Agency offices have been almost unrecognizable since Mark took over for his father. What previously looked like a professional office building now resembles a shopping mall. The walls have been replaced with glass, and the waiting room is now standing room only, with all of the plants removed and a tablet next to the receptionist, Mary. She has worked in the office since Mark Sr. opened the company. In whathas become our tradition, we share an eye roll as I arrive.
“He has you working on a Sunday?” I ask.
“Having two weeks paid vacation was worth coming in on a Sunday,” she shares.
We talk about how she spent her holiday while I check in on the tablet, which I feel is pointless because Mark Jr. can see me from his desk in his glass wall office and waves me in.
As I sit in front of the ostentatious glass desk, he begins to stand, an indication this might not be great news. “They are going in a different direction.”
The words I was worried I’d hear. “What other direction… It’s Jane Austen. How many directions can you take?”
“Any direction away from you. They don’t want to associate this great love story with you.”
“Excuse me?”
He leans over to grab a folder and then hands it to me. “I had Mary print some of your most famous articles out to show you. The studio feels your rogue reputation will discourage fans from becoming interested in the movie. The public now knows you as a man who has one-night stands with random models and no intention of having romantic relationships. You said yourself, ‘It’s Jane Austen. It’s one of the greatest love stories of all time,’ and they want to broadcast all things involved as romantic.”
“My private personal life has no connection to my professional abilities and experience,” I argue. How dare they ignore the years of professional partnership we have shared, all for some paparazzi photos.
“Your personal life is not private.” He points to the folder in my hands. I throw it back onto his desk.
“So that’s it. After everything I’ve worked for, all of my awards, I’m just removed from the conversation because of mypersonaldating history?.”
