I tried to determine exactly how much of a raise I’d need to get my life in order. At the new job, the one I hadn’t even interviewed for, that is. I had several credit cards in need of paying down. For a year, I’d been juggling my expenses -- charging groceries, gas, everyday expenses -- so that I had enough to pay the mortgage. If I got a twenty percent raise, I’d be able to get some of that under control. The position at Monumental Studios was a promotion, so a twenty percent raise wasn’t out of the question.
I really needed to believe there was a light at the end of the tunnel for my financial problems, which were in turn my problems with Jeremy. I had to find a way to finish things with him once and for all. I considered making him a counter offer. If I got a new job, I might be able to accept part of what he took. Say forty thousand dollars. Of course, I was pretty sure Jeremy didn’t have forty thousand dollars. We could set up a payment plan, but once I let him out of the domestic partnership agreement and he got hitched to Skye, why would he continue to pay me? Or more accurately, why would Skye continue to pay me?
I needed a lawyer. I knew that. I’d been avoiding the idea for months. A lawyer would want a retainer, and obviously, I didn’t have that. It was logical to think a lawyer would save me money on the whole thing. But the question was, would a lawyer save me enough to justify their fee. If all I saved was the money to pay the lawyer, was it worth it?
I’d met Skye just once. Jeremy had a fantasy that the three of us would some day be friends. He insisted I have dinner with the two of them. I went along, in hopes that if I was social and polite, we’d somehow find a way to work through our financial issues.
When we met at an impossibly trendy West Hollywood restaurant, Jeremy said, “Skye is really excited to meet you.”
Of course, I’d seen his show, Shear Luck, which had one season on cable. It was about Skye opening his own hair salon in the valley. He barely had enough money to open the shop and constantly threw diva hissy fits at the hunky contractor. I think Jeremy and I were among the few people in the world who actually watched the show. At the time, I thought we were watching it because it was fun to hate Skye. On the show, he’d seemed like a complete narcissistic asshole. I knew editing might have had a lot to do with that, but when I sat down to dinner with him that night, he seemed in character.
And he was not in any way, shape or form excited to meet me.
While Jeremy struggled to keep the conversation moving, mostly by discussing every item on the menu, I studied Skye. He was probably close to forty, though I doubted he was the type to admit it. He wore his hair in a way that suggested he’d just rolled out of bed after thrashing all night. In an earlier decade, your friends would have told you, “Man, your hair’s a mess. Go fix it.” Now they say, “Whoa, dude, cool do.”
Eventually, Skye began to talk. His only topic of conversation was his career. He was opening another shop in Burbank. He was in talks with various filmmakers about making a theatrical documentary about the whole process. He was through with cable television. He found it too limiting - which I suppose happens when they cancel your show. Jeremy was writing a screenplay about Skye’s life. He mentioned a very popular teen idol he hoped to attach to the project. Skye had cut his hair once two or three years ago, so they had an in.
After we ordered dessert, Skye seemed to remember that conversation required a give and take, looked at me and said, “So...you’re an accountant. Sounds painfully boring.”
I wanted to say, “not as painfully boring as this conversation”, but decided to take the high road. I said a few things about how much I enjoyed my job and its value to the overall studio. Not that I thought Skye would appreciate that.
Then Skye asked, “You don’t happen to know anyone in development, do you?”
Ah, I thought. Here’s the reason for the dinner. I was tempted to tell him I had some very good connections in development just to watch him grovel. Instead, I told the truth. “No, sorry, I don’t.”
When the check came, I stubbornly waited nearly five minutes before Skye grumpily picked it up and paid it. They’d invited me, and given my financial problems with Jeremy, I wasn’t giving them a dime for dinner unless asked -- and maybe not even then.
In my book, Skye was a total loser -- no matter how many films he did or didn’t have in the works. Even though they’d met after Jeremy and I had broken up, on some level Jeremy was choosing Skye over me. And if Skye was a pathetic loser, what was I? Jeremy, seeming oblivious to the entire dinner, wanted to go have a night cap somewhere. Skye and I stepped all over each other declining. Instead, I went home and drank an entire bottle of Chardonnay while listening to a radio station that played a lot of Celine Dion. I don’t like her enough to buy a CD, but there are times when she comes in handy.
I finished with the elliptical and went down to the second floor and walked the track to cool down. As I did, I checked out the guys in the free weights area. I’d been coming to this particular gym for several years, so there were
