The Show Must Go On

Chapter Two: Love + War in Your Twenties

Chapter Two Soundtrack: Love + War in Your Twenties by Jordy Searcy

Ping.

An email arrives.

It's from Nas's second production. Nas's second production is over budget already.

The subject line is double banking—URGENT. It's also flagged as urgent with a little red flag.

Nas groans. I know this because our desks face each other in the anteroom of Barry's office. Barry's door is still menacingly open between us, so this morning we are not speaking out loud.

Instead, Nas, who has still not looked at me, types something very quickly.

One.

Two.

Three.

No email appears in my inbox. I can feel Nas looking at me between his screens. His devil eyes burn. My turn to type:

(re: double banking—URGENT)

Nasir,

I hope all is well with you. I noticed I haven't been copied into a response to the email below. Perhaps you accidentally removed me from the chain?

If you have any doubts or queries on how to handle your budget problem, I'm happy to advise. I'm only an email away.

Regards,

Ellie

One.

Two.

Three.

He's forwarded me the missing email. Point to Ellie.

A creak comes from Barry's office. Nas and I stop typing and sit in perfect silence. Creeeeeak again... then silence. We resume, cautiously. If Barry realises we're working, who knows how he will react. Innovation Generation can only be avoided for so long.

Nas yawns. I cough. Nas sneezes. I roll my eyes. He sneezes again, louder.

I sometimes think his sneeze will be the last thing I hear on this earth. I found a grey hair this morning. Time is running out.

Another email arrives about his double banking problem. I wish I could ignore it, but this waiting room before death doesn't allow it. It is impossible to ignore anything he does.

Instead, I am silently copied into all of Nas's work for his four productions; he is silently copied into everything on my three. It's like being trailed by a waifish Victorian ghost, if the ghost regularly corrected my spelling. Budgets, crewing, diversity quotas, scheduling, script reviews, final mixes: Nas is there for it all.

I don't blame him for hating me, not really. It was his department, once, before Barry poached the senior role and hired me, taking away half of Nas's job. It was meant to make things easier for him: someone who knew everything he was doing, so he could take a week off, for once. He never does. Instead, it's just trapped us in this purgatory of checking and re-checking each other, jostling for precedence, with both of us knowing that Nas is just a little bit better at everything.

I know he resents this. He reminds me every day.

He's on the phone now. I can't tune out his voice. It's gravelly, but not in a sexy way. In an annoying way.

'Eleanor will do that,' he's saying. 'She's the main contact for all your production queries.'

I click my pen twice, meaning Fuck you.

You too, he clicks back. 

The 'ignoring each other' phase is over. I mindlessly twirl my engagement ring. Nas fidgets with his glasses. On off, on off. It's hypnotic.