Mel disappears. I spend the worst heat wave New York City has seen in a decade—blacktop oozing apart, old people collapsing on the subway—lying in the midst of her cigarette butts and half-gnawed Charleston Chews, purposefully avoiding our workstation. I throw my back out lugging the air conditioner into my bedroom, throw it out some more carrying the TV in there, and set up shop eating popsicles, sweating, and attempting to overcome the situation with lethargy.
It’s been over a week of this when Donnie calls. “Would you like to talk about it?” she says.
“No, I’m good.”
“I’d like to talk about it, frankly.”
It’s ten in the morning. I know without seeing that Donnie’s at her desk, a can of Diet Coke sweating by her elbow. NPR had its edited way with the aired Glynnis segment, but an unedited version, illicitly nabbed from someone’s hard drive, made its way to Donnie almost immediately after. “I just—I’m not even sure how to begin to ask the questions I need to ask right now, Sharon.”
“She wasn’t that bad before the interview. I swear.”
“Sharon, if Mel wants to strip down and dance the rumba at a panel discussion, that’s bad enough. But it doesn’t get much worse than doing a nosedive on Glynnis. This is—this is another distinction altogether. But why am I explaining any of this to you? You know how bad it was. I could practically hear the sound of you cringing over Mel ripping the sound equipment apart.”
“I don’t think this is entirely fair,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be talking to Mel?”
“You’re not wrong. It’s not fair for me to ask you to babysit. But that’s how we’re rolling these days, apparently. Even more so now with the grant. People are watching, Sharon. Taking notes. This is your job.”
I sit up. “Wait. What do you mean by that?” This is where it comes out, I think with a pang. This is when Donnie confirms what Glynnis made me even more afraid of. That my job is Driving Miss Mel.
“I mean that both of you have a responsibility to carry out your share of public relations,” she says.
I relax. “Oh.”
“Don’t oh me. Market this to the best of your ability. Don’t embarrass yourselves. That’s all you have to do.”
Jesus. “Right.”
“Agreeing with me doesn’t mean cock unless you carry it out. Keep her in hand, Sharon. It’s this or stuff her into rehab. If she would even go. Which she would not.”
“Okay.”
“Have you two had a serious talk about her behavior?”
“Attempts have been made.”
“She’ll listen to you before she listens to anyone else. Let me suggest trying again.”
And with this, I hope she’s done chewing me out, but she’s just drawing breath. “Whatever you all do with the Hollingsworth, it better be good. Otherwise, I’ll be in a choke hold to do something, you know. Disciplinary.”
“Well, we’re not talking to each other at the present, so we’re cleaned out on the ideas front.”
“Sharon. Are you kidding me?”
“No.” I flop back on the couch. I’m so tired, I can’t find it in myself to give a shit. “She probably shouldn’t hear any of this from me.”
“I’m drafting an email to her as we speak. This need not be sugarcoated. I do not want to hear about Mel publicly stripping, destroying sound equipment, or wantonly making out with defenseless production assistants in Florida.”
I groan openly. I forgot about the Florida conference—a small liberal arts college holding a festival of Florida-centric work. Weird Florida history, Florida fiction, Florida noir (which is, apparently, a thing). They’re screening Nashville Combat, hosting a Q and A. They were really gunning for us. Called Donnie and laid down all kinds of sexy talk and more money than what we’re used to seeing for this kind of thing, frankly, so she fell all over herself to book us.
“Your flight’s on the sixteenth,” she says. “You signed a contract.”
“How much is it, again?”
“Four thousand each. Not including travel.”
I curl into a fetal position. “That’s a lot.”
“And all you have to do is muzzle Mel and be your lovely self. Talk about this beautiful thing you’ve made. You don’t have to talk to each other, aside from the Q and A. You’re professionals. You can at least do that much. Keep it civil for fifteen minutes and then we have a discussion about where we all go from there. Okay?”