“It needs something more to set it apart from all the other reality dating shows,” she repeats, like a biblical tenet. “Besides, a majority of our readers are women, and however much they like you, Owen, it’s going to grate eventually, hearing you dismiss and deconstruct all these different types of women. At best they’ll get bored and stop watching, at worst they’ll start thinking you’re a misogynist pig who’s just not interested in actually finding anybody. This way, however,” Melissa opens her palm and swings it slowly in front of her to indicate the two of us, “there’s more balance. An alternate POV. There are more contrasts, more discussion to be had, a little he-said, she-said and you can comment on each other’s dates to keep a 50/50 gender perspective. It’s fun, and comes across less cynical.”
“May I say something?” Margo says, putting a finger in the air. “I think this idea is a good one, genuinely, but I don’t think I should be involved. I mean, I’m a writer. I’m here to work on more challenging sorts of projects. That’s where my skills are, and I think my output really shows that. I wouldn’t know what the hell to do on camera, or talk about, or even what people would want from me. I’d be bad at this, and I can think of about six other women in the office who would just nail this project, and love doing it. So whatever you guys decide to do, I don’t think I should be considered.”
Margo starts to stand, but Melissa tilts her head and smiles serenely, or possibly threateningly, and I watch Margo sink back onto the couch next to me, almost as if Melissa has hypnotized her into obedience.
“Are you serious, Margo?” Melissa says. “You’re not being ‘considered’—this project is going to work because of you. You single-handedly created one of the most popular videos we’ve ever had, and most of our audience is desperate to see more of you.”
“That was just pure dumb luck,” Margo says quickly, squirming a little, and I steal the moment to check out her legs again. “It wasn’t really me, anyway—it was a good idea for a video, and I’m not that funny when I’m sober—”
“Nonsense,” Melissa assures her, “you’re charismatic, endearing, edgy, funny. I know you’re a wonderful writer, and that you really care about your journalistic integrity, but you shouldn’t devote yourself to it to the point where you ignore your other talents. It’s not as if you have to give up your other projects. Besides, you two have wonderful chemistry together—sort of a ‘will they, won’t they’ thing going on. People will love that. And if the show goes well enough, maybe we can reevaluate your salary come year-end.”
Margo and I swap a quick, awkward glance. Melissa lets the silence weigh heavy—she’s a negotiating pro. When she talks again, she picks her tone carefully, so there can be no doubt she means business.
“It’s either this, or we table the idea for another time. And I can’t guarantee when—or even if—we’ll find the right circumstances to make it work. Margo’s so popular right now that anything we put her in is guaranteed instant success, or at the very least a strong, built-in initial viewership. I say we strike while the iron is hot.” Melissa pauses a bit, then plays another tactic: divide and conquer. “Owen? You feel confident moving forward?”
“Uh…” I say, pushing a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I do. But I mean, only if Margo wants to do it. Otherwise I guess I can wait...”
Melissa looks at Margo keenly. Margo looks at me, as if reminding herself of how much I want it.
That’s what it comes down to. How much Margo is willing to do for me. How much she understands what this means for me. How much she cares.
“Forget it,” I say suddenly. “I don’t want to do it if it’s gonna make her uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be fair. And it’s a lot of pressure to put on someone when it’s not their passion project. And a lot of time and energy required to make the videos, so—”
“No,” Margo cuts me off. “I’ll do it. I don’t mind.” She looks Melissa in the eyes to show she means it. “I’ll do it.”
“Margo…” I say.
“It’s cool,” Margo interrupts, turning to me and smiling. “It’ll be a great web series, I’m sure.”
“Fantastic!” Melissa says, standing up and walking over to her desk. “I’m glad we could get this sorted out so quickly, because we’ve already got some dates lined up for you two tomorrow.”
Margo and I get up from the couch as Melissa sits behind her desk, already thinking of the next task.
“You’ve arranged dates already?” Margo asks, looking flustered.
“Mm-hmm. Of course, in the future you can choose your own dates, but I wanted to get this started as soon as possible. Get your face out there again fast, while people still love you.”
“Who are the dates? Where are we going?” I say, standing in the middle of the office with Margo as Melissa starts typing on her keyboard.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Melissa says, as she types. “Agnes arranged it. I told her to match you two with ‘visually interesting’ people. I’ll have her send you the details.” Melissa breaks her gaze from the computer screen only to say, “That’s it. Go make great content, you two. Good luck.”
We leave the office, walking single-file back to our desk like scolded children heading up to bed. We sit in front of our laptops, glance furtively at each other, then spin and wheel our chairs close, leaning forward to let it all out, talking over each other in harsh whispers.
“I swear I had no idea she was going to—”
“This is possibly the weirdest—”
“—and if I’d have known, I would have called in sick—”
“—it’s like I’m living in a bad sketch from SNL—”
We stop.
“Sorry,” I say, “go on.”
“No. You go,” Margo replies.
I take a deep breath before speaking. “I really didn’t know Melissa was thinking of doing that. I would have been fine if you said no. I know this isn’t your thing—”
“Don’t worry about it, Owen. It’s not your fault,” Margo says, then squints mischievously. “Although, it kind of is, considering you’re the one who got me drunk on tequila and turned me into the internet’s flavor of the month. Do you even know how many gifs there are of me out there now?”
“I do. Spent half an hour looking at them last night.”
Margo groans.
“Someone even put up clips of your cat talk layered over a dance beat—it’s actually pretty catchy.”
“Oh god,” Margo groans, hanging her head. “I’ve spent so much of the past week blushing I don’t think I’ll need makeup ever again.”
I laugh and she smiles at me, but our eyes locking seems to open up something we were doing a good job of keeping closed. The silence between us as we just stare at each other creating a vacuum of unresolved thoughts.
“Listen, about the…incident,” I say, deciding to take the initiative.
“Yeah…?”
I nod my head, my choice suddenly clear. “I think it’s best if we just forget about it. It was a thing…it happened…we can both come up with a million reasons why it did—”
“And why it shouldn’t have,” Margo cuts in, nodding her agreement.
“Right.”
“Cool.” Margo starts to turn away, then looks back at me. “And so the texts—”
“Yeah, those too. I was just fooling around. You know.”
She looks relieved. “I get it. I know. It was nothing.”
“So consider those part of the ‘incident’ as well.”
“Right!” she agrees, her voice coming out high-pitched and perky. “The whole weekend. Just delete it like a bad photo. Haha.”
“Exactly. Already deleted.”
We look at each other again, only it’s a bit easier between us now, as if we actually might be able to do this. We actually might be able to move on and let it all go.