The Show Must Go On

Chapter Fifteen: I Can See You (Taylor's Version)

Chapter Fifteen Soundtrack: I Can See You (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift

The Barbican sprawls above us, all concrete and echoing ceilings. Ben and I had our first proper date here—I couldn't find him in the turning staircases and walkways which dissect the building, and I was so late that we missed our movie and instead we leaned off the balcony and made up stories about everyone who walked beneath us. The grief rises again, suddenly, not like an absence but instead as a choking flood of memories. I see us there, now, leaning down over the crowds of television creators, still teenagers and never knowing sorrow, laughing at how serious everyone looks.

'Eleanor? Everything okay?'

Nas snaps me from my thoughts. For a short, sharp second, I hate him for that.

Then I paste my smile back on.

'I'll take the left,' I tell him. His face shutters, but he nods. I won't cry to Nas today. We're here to work, nothing more.

He strides to the right side of the room, starting the routine we have perfected through the years, of dividing our time, never spending more than fifteen minutes in any conversation. It's like muscle memory at this point, but I am still amazed watching him effortlessly part the crowds, as if this sprawling hall was destined for his footsteps.

I wish I had his surety.

Instead, I have to push into the crowds of black-tied executives, gasping my name and grasping for hands.

'Yes, with Nasir,' I sway over and over as I introduce myself, though it has been years by now, and each time I see the flicker of disappointment that they are stuck with his understudy.

'Do I pitch you now?' someone asks me—Paul, I think? Or Patrick? My mind stutters on his name, but I nod anyway. 'Or should I wait for the big man to arrive?'

Well, I don't like Paul/Patrick. With a laugh, I extract myself from the conversation and prepare to move on, but he follows me, reaching out a hand as though trying to grasp the hem of my dress.

Deep breath, Ellie.

I turn with a smile. 'Go for it.'

He laughs, showing more teeth than I thought could fit in one mouth. He reminds me of a reptile, something shiny and chewy, waiting to cling onto my leg. I repress a shudder.

'So you know Pendleton?'

I wait for him to laugh, to acknowledge that he knows I made Pendleton, but he doesn't. He's serious.

'Sure, I've heard of it,' I tell him.

'Well, you wouldn't believe the numbers that got. I actually know the commissioner, and it's time we think about other series to capitalise on that success. Here's what I'm thinking: Pendleton meets Blade Runner.'

I ignore his obvious lie. He doesn't know me. 'You want to make a dystopian romance?'

'Sure, but with a twist. In this world, it's actually illegal to be white.'

He pauses to let that sink in. It sinks, and sinks, and sinks. All I can say is, 'Huh.'

'And the main character is this seventeen year old girl—the boys will love her—and she'll have to seduce her way through the game while disguising that she's white.'

'Like by wearing blackface?'

He scowls at me. 'Obviously it wouldn't be offensive in this world.'

'So the seventeen-year-old is saving the world through the enormous seductive power of her whiteness? In blackface?'