Animate Me (25 page)

Women can be such a mystery.

• • •

I call the lawyer, Walter, right after lunch and go over the proposal. I’d already prepped him with my insistence of holding onto my character rights. I agree however to give them exclusive publishing rights for three years and their production company first look for any television or film deals. All of that sounds ridiculous to discuss at this point, but Walter insists that it must be determined up front or we’ll regret it later. By the time we get off the phone I can’t imagine this deal getting settled, but it’s certainly worth a try.

At three-thirty I get a text from Brooke.

No coffee for me today handsome, I’m still in bed.

Handsome? I grin ear to ear and text her back.
No special delivery?

That’s very tempting, but I’m sure you should be at work.

Well, Joel is waiting to see this scene :- (

Yes, you be good. There will be other times to be bad :-)

Okay, rain check then?

Yes, and I’ll call you tonight. xoB

My heart soars as I sign off, so happy that she not only remembered to contact me but she flirted with me as well. My bliss lasts for a solid hour until it is shattered with a phone call from the ice princess, Alana, Arnold’s assistant.

“Arnauld wants to see you right now.”

“Now?” I question. “I’m supposed to meet with Joel to go over my scene.”

“Do I really need to repeat myself? Arnauld wants to see you
now
.”

“Okay, I’ll be right up.”

“Hurry,” she snaps before hanging up.

So many emotions surge through me as I ride up the elevator that I’m sure I’m flushed by the time I reach Alana’s desk.

“He’s waiting,” she hisses. “Go right in.”

This is bullshit.
I’m not going to let him intimidate me.

I half step into the royal chambers. “You wanted to see me?”

He gives me the Arnold glare. Who does he think he is, Lex Luthor?
Hey, he sort of looks like him, now that I think of it.

He flicks his wrist and points to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit,” he commands.

So now I’m a dog.
Careful Arnold, I may bite.

I fold my arms over my chest as I sit down. “What’s up?”

He shifts in his seat and the door magically closes behind me, just like it did my last visit here.

“How’d you do that? I ask pointing to the door.

He ignores my question. So I lean over to peer under his desk and notice a foot pedal not far from his fancy shoes. Ah…so he is the Wizard in his own little Oz, pretending he has magic powers but in reality it’s smoke and mirrors.

“What’d you do to her?” He growls and I sit up quickly.

What the hell?
“What do you mean, what’d I do to her? Is something wrong with Brooke?”

He studies me carefully, and I’m getting the makeover stare. He narrows his eyes. It’s ironic that he doesn’t seem to like the change with my haircut and new glasses since he’s the one that prompted it.

He finally speaks up. “She’s not coming in today, and she never misses work.”

“I didn’t do anything to her,” I state firmly. “She just seemed really tired when I left. That was a big, stressful night for her. She was nervous.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Well you sound like quite the expert on Brooke’s feelings. You better not be fucking with me, Evans.”

He knows my last name.

“Have you talked to her?” I boldly ask.

“Of course I’ve talked to her. We’re having dinner tonight. I’ll find out then what you aren’t telling me.”

I sit quietly and wonder if Brooke will tell him everything. How does an open relationship work exactly?

“You didn’t try anything with her, did you?”

Screw you, hairy back.
I’m not giving him anything. I want to protect Brooke.

“Would it matter if I did? As you pointed out before, I’m a total dweeb. She’d never want to be with me. So what are you worried about? Who am I compared to you…the president of this company?”

He eyes me suspiciously and flips his computer screen toward me. “Explain this.”

I study a picture that was taken of Brooke and I right before we went inside for the show. She’s so beautiful and I’m frankly stunned to realize how good we look together. I want a copy of this: first so I always have proof that it happened, and secondly so I can frame it for my bedside table.

Yet on the other hand, I can’t get past the fact that it’s creepy that Arnold tracked the picture down and has been studying it. I guess the way Brooke and I are gazing at each other with adoration doesn’t help the situation.

Wow.
We really look like a couple in love. Worried, I try to play it off cool. “What about it? That’s right before we went into the auditorium for the show.”

“What the fuck is she doing in that dress? That isn’t the one I picked out for her.”

“You’re really asking
me
why she’s wearing that dress? Shouldn’t you ask her that?”

“Oh, you can bet I will,” he glowers.

I lean in towards his screen. I know I shouldn’t but I open my mouth anyway. I just can’t resist.

“What the problem anyway? I think she looks really great.”

I get the death glare again.
He’s really good at that.

“You know Evans, a good friend of mine was at the Emmys and he didn’t like the way you were looking at Brooke.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“He said you looked like you wanted her,” he states, an ugly edge to his voice.

I don’t like any of this. I can’t let him intimidate me. “Really, like I want her? All that in a look that he observed a big packed event?”

“I just want you to know that I’m watching you. Every move you make. I know you’ve been Brooke’s cute little project, and she loves your computer help, and how you bring her coffee every afternoon. But bottom line—you’re distracting her. I don’t like it, and if I decide to, I will stop all of it.”

My stomach drops. “Stop it?”

“I don’t want Brooke distracted. I need her focused. So just be aware that you’ve been warned. Time to make other plans for your Starbucks playtime.”

“But…” I start.

“That’s it.” He says abruptly, cutting me off. “Get back to work.”

I rise with hesitancy. I want the last word, but I know I can’t have it. He has control right now over the two greatest passions in my life, Brooke and my work. He can easily crush me. So as I stagger out of his lush office and back down to my crappy cubicle I vow that somehow, someway I will change things so Arnold no longer holds in his grubby hands all that I consider most precious. I have to figure out how to protect the two parts of my life I know without a doubt that I can’t live without.

Thirty minutes later I’m still flip-flopping my cell phone back and forth across my desk as I draw. I still have five drawings to do before I leave and my focus is completely shot. Maybe I need to call Brooke and tell her what Arnold said. Maybe I shouldn’t. I would rather do it in person, but she’s seeing Arnold tonight…there is no time. Maybe, maybe…I agonize until I can’t take another moment, and I pick up the phone and tap on her name.

“Ha, you caught me! I’m watching more animation!” She laughs.

I smile, despite my inner agony.
God, I love that girl.

“What are you watching?” I ask.

“
Despicable Me
. Have you seen it? It’s really good.”

“No, but I’ve been meaning to. You’ll have to loan it to me. What’s it about?”

“It’s about a really bad guy, who becomes good and does the right thing.”

I think of Arnold. If only life were more like cartoons: we could drop anvils on people’s heads, wear roller skates with rockets, and really bad guys, like Arnold, could magically become good.

“If only…” I moan.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

My fingers grip around the phone. “Arnold called me into his office.”

“Why? What did he want?”

My mind races…how do I explain how testosterone fires up a Neanderthal when another caveman wants his woman?

I decide to underplay it so she doesn’t worry, but at least knows he talked to me. I don’t want her surprised in case he brings it up at their fucking dinner.

“I think he just wanted to know how things went at the Emmys.”

“Really?” she asks, sounding suspicious.

“I don’t think he cares for me much. He didn’t seem to like my haircut either.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” she scoffs. “He doesn’t tend to like guys that are better looking than him.”

How does she do this to me? I’m unsettled, and she still makes my spirits soar. She thinks I’m better looking than Arnold, who I know is considered very handsome.

She falls quiet again.

“What Brooke?”

“It’s just weird, why didn’t he wait to ask me? We’re having dinner tonight. I’m curious if he’ll mention talking to you.”

“Are you going to tell him about last night?”
Please say no, please say no.
I know if she does it’s all over.

“Well, we normally tell each other everything…no details, just the general idea. But I need to see what he’s up to first. I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

This time I get quiet.

“Nathan?”

I don’t answer, the fear choking me, taking my breath and words away.

“Nathan,” she says softly. “I know this looks bad to you, but I’m not going to let Arnauld tell me what to do. If he doesn’t like it, that’s his problem.”

“But you warned me. You told me it’s complicated.”

“Yes, I did. But if it were so easy, how worthwhile would that be? I thought about you a lot today. Do you believe in me?”

“So much, Brooke…so much.”

“Good… then I want a Buzz Lightyear drawing on my cup tomorrow. Okay?”

I smile while my heart thunders, and I imagine she can hear that too. “Okay.”

But when we say our goodbyes and I hang up, I curl over my desk as my fear flares, a burning torch on a dark desolate street. Only hours ago I finally held all my dreams in my arms…I just can’t lose her now.

“
Aw, the poor puddy tat! He fall down and go… BOOM!” ~Tweety Bird
^xv

T
he thing is…she said she would call me tonight. Not tomorrow, not the night after, not sometime…but tonight. So when she doesn’t, I start to freak. I just have a bad feeling because of how my meeting went with Arnold. I knew after the amazing and intimate night Brooke and I had, that she wouldn’t just disregard me like this.

I pace through my house for over two hours, before finally forcing myself into bed at midnight with my phone on my nightstand. The ringer is turned on high so it’ll wake me up if she calls while I’m asleep. But as it turns out, the high volume isn’t necessary; I can’t sleep, and she doesn’t call.

I try to play it cool at work. Too paranoid to call upstairs looking for her, I just force myself to draw until it’s time to defiantly leave for Starbucks.
To hell with Arnold, telling me I can’t bring Brooke coffee.

I know Brooke didn’t forget to call me, something happened: like every one of her phones died and she was pulled into an endless all-day meeting as soon as she arrived. I’m so worked up that my Buzz Lightyear sketch on her Starbucks’ cup is half-hearted. She deserves better, and I know it.

As I head up the elevator I wonder what I will say if Arnold sees that I have completely disregarded his “orders” to quit my coffee time with Brooke. But as it turns out, I didn’t need to consider the potential fallout. For when I approach her office my worst fears are confirmed. Her office is dark and Brooke-less. I turn to Morgan and she nods silently. She seems to know something is up in that creepy secretary way.

I hand Morgan the coffee. “Where is she?”

“Arnauld took her on a surprise trip to Bacara, that resort just outside Santa Barbara.”

“On a Tuesday?” I ask, bewildered.

“Monday night actually. Freaky huh? I knew they were having dinner, but I knew nothing about this trip. Alana didn’t either,” she confides.

“So how did you find out?” I ask, gripping the edge of her desk so I don’t fall over.

“I got a weird email from her blackberry at nine p.m. last night. She said he was taking her to celebrate the Emmy win. She then gave me a list of meetings to cancel. They won’t be back in the office until Thursday.”

I look at her stunned.

“The other weird thing is that Arnauld gave Alana instructions to throw a big party this Saturday for the whole company to celebrate the win. You know, our first Emmy in two years.”

“Poor Alana, she’s going nuts…I mean a party for four hundred people by Saturday. I’m trying to help her. I’ve got all of these lists going.” She fans her hands over several printouts that are striped in different colors of highlighter.

She suddenly picks one up and moans. “Damn, I’m sorry Nathan. I was supposed to call you.” She points to one of the items on the list.

“What does it say?”

“Pleas
e contact Nathan right away and tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t call, but we’ll talk when I get back.
Shit…she said to contact you right away. I had it in my head to tell you when you came up for Starbucks time. Sorry, I screwed up.”

I want to strangle her, but I stay as calm as possible. “Yeah, I was worried when I didn’t hear from her,” I admit. Of course, I can’t tell her that I’m far more worried now.

I should’ve never underestimated Arnold. The crafty bastard didn’t crawl to the top of his profession by being slow-witted. He obviously is not one to be outdone.

“Have you heard from her since that email?”

“No,” she says without hesitation. “But it’s a romantic getaway—I’m not expecting to.”

Damn, just kill me now and put me out of this misery
. My Brooke is at a fancy resort with hairy back, being wined and dined, massaged and pampered. What does she get from me? Fumbling foot massages, paper cup drawings and In-N-Out. I don’t stand a chance and I’m starting to wonder why I ever thought I did. Before the despair fully kicks in I decide to make a quick exit. “Okay, thanks Morgan. If you hear anything else, will you let me know?”