The Show Must Go On

Chapter Nine: Vitamin C

Chapter Nine Soundtrack: Vitamin C by CAN

I don't know why I dislike Natalie so much. She's actually very good at her job and has never been anything but nice to me. She has a perfect little button nose but that's not, like, a problem.

I am a nice person. I am not like Nas, who eviscerates any irritations with a sideways look. I will be a better person than Nas.

Yes. That's right. Niceness, niceness, niceness.

'How's the new iPad working out?' she asks. Ugh. Nas would scold her for work talk at drinks. But I am not Nas, so I thank her for ordering it and gush over how responsive it is. Point for Ellie.

If only Nas were around to see how nice I am.

'Ellie,' she says, leaning closer. She smells like summer. Ughhhh. 'I think you're great. And tell me if this is weird, but girls have to support each other, right?'

I can't think of how to say no to this. I suck on my straw and nod.

'Have I messed up with Nas?' she asks.

'Oh,' I gasp. Relief floods me. 'You mean by dating him? You can do so much better.'

Frankly, I can't imagine why anyone would want him at all, but I don't tell her that. I don't want to make her feel really stupid.

'No,' she laughs, 'I mean have I messed things up. Between Nas and me. I thought our dates went really well, but he's blowing me off.'

'Well, he has the emotional complexity of a five-year-old, so a shiny car might have distracted him?'

I'm not joking, but she laughs again.

As she tucks her hair behind her ear, a diamond tennis bracelet flashes on her wrist. Caught between the stones are strands of green and brown thread. They match, precisely, a snag on Nas's collar.

When he said he wouldn't share inappropriate things with colleagues, he obviously didn't mean Natalie.

So I tell her, 'I don't think you have anything to worry about. You're gorgeous, you're smart, and he obviously likes you. I don't know why he's acting strange, but that's his problem, not yours.'

'He hasn't told you anything? I just assumed you talked about all this stuff.'

I guffaw. 'Nasir? And me?'

'You're always talking.'

'We work together. It's literally our job.'

'No, but like talking.' She grasps for an explanation. 'Like even tonight. When you're talking talking, you only talk to each other. It's like you orbit or something.'

This is deeply concerning. Do all my colleagues blame me for his rudeness?

Also... orbit? Like what, he's my gravity or something? Disgusting.

She reads this on my face and quickly apologises.

'I'm sorry,' I tell her, 'but I honestly don't know. I'd help you if I could.'

She smiles awkwardly and leaves.

I text Kat from across the pub. Kinda weird chat w Natalie. She says Nas and I orbit each other? 🤮

She sends back: Like in twilight?

Yes! I knew it sounded familiar. Was Natalie joking? I always appreciate a good Twilight reference.

I reply: oh god am I Edward then

You are obviously Jacob. You're as eager to please as a puppy.

Hmm. This has calmed me down a little. It wasn't a dig after all, then.

While I'm on my phone, I scroll through my emails again, just in case anything's happened.

Something has happened. I have 84 unread emails. Something is happening, right now. I can't get my eyes to focus properly.

My show in post-production is meant to premiere at a film festival in two weeks and launch properly in a few months. It's supposed to be done and waiting, but there's a pile of emails: contracts unsigned, no, contracts missing—the studio has violated our offline rules of editing—and there's no contract—they're refusing to work further on it—the crowd sounds aren't done.

Shit, shit!

My fingers freeze over the screen. What can I do? I'm working on it, I reply.

Nas. Nas will know what to do.

He's sitting across the pub. As I dart towards him, he rises to meet me.

'Eleanor,' he greets me, but I cut him off.

'The show, Nasir, they haven't done the show. I don't know what's happening.'

'It's okay. Slow down.' His hands rest lightly on my shoulders. He shoots me a crooked grin. 'Try not to be so dramatic.'

'My job is literally Drama Producer.'

He laughs, surprised. It causes a strange feeling in my chest. Great. Now he's giving me heart palpitations too.

He asks, 'Did you tell them to sort it out? Or did you promise to fix it for them?'

Of course I promised to fix it. Of course I didn't stand up for myself.

'Nas. Please.' My tongue is heavy with alcohol. He bites his lip, something stormy in his eyes. I called him Nas. I'm too tipsy to decode his reaction.

'Let's fix it then,' he says. 'Come on.'

'Will the office still be open?' I grab my bag and scurry after him.

'We'll go to my flat. It's around the corner.'

'We're in Soho.'

'I know.'

'You can't live in Soho.' We emerge into lashing London rain. Wordlessly, he holds open his coat and holds it above us, shielding us both. A drop of rain slides down his arm. I shiver.

'And yet, I do.'

We dart across the road. Around us, London hums with life: crowds of tourists streaming out of neon theatres, painted overhangs of antique shops, throbbing music pouring from basement bars. The roads curve, split, double around, forcing cars to crawl. The past and present live atop each other. No one lives here, surely, in the beating heart of the city. Yet Nas has grabbed my wrist and wraps the coat around me as he fishes for keys—keys that unlock a green door and reveal a flight of looming stairs. He pulls the door closed behind us and suddenly we are alone in the silence.

'Come on,' he says, starting up the stairs. What is waiting for me? A medieval torture chamber? A vampire's lair for harvesting virgin blood? A trophy room piled with gleaming plates to admire his reflection in?

'Scared?' he calls back.

I am not scared. And I am not a virgin, so I have nothing he'd want to sink his teeth into anyways. This cheers me up. I scurry after him.

It's not a lair. It's just a loft.

*

she is so dramatic! just like me hehe