Dating You / Hating You
Page 54
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It all makes me want to sledgehammer Brad for thinking mid-January was a good time for the department retreat, and my nerves climb higher in my throat with each day that passes without my speaking a word to Carter. I feel Brad’s New York Decision looming like a dark thundercloud.
It’s only about a two-hour drive from LA to Big Bear, but because we’d all planned to drive ourselves, and everyone works until the last second, we end up leaving at the worst possible time—four in the afternoon on a Friday. And yet, when I come outside, everyone is happily piling into a handful of limos parked out front.
A swank ride up to the retreat: a surprise from Brad.
“Limos!” Rose cries, and eight-year-old me can totally relate to the excitement of this, though thirty-three-year-old me remains cynical.
“Gotta treat my people well, don’t I?” Brad says magnanimously, and claps me on the back. “I have high hopes that this retreat is the best one yet. Don’t let me down, kiddo!”
“And Carter!” Carter adds with a nervous laugh, but Brad doesn’t hear him.
Carter and I exchange brief looks, and despite the unspoken everything between us, I know we’re both thinking the same thing: Brad wouldn’t increase the budget for the lunch we planned, so we had to do a lame sandwich bar, yet he can be the big guy and bring everyone to the retreat in limos?
Jess grabs me as we’re about to head out, dropping a small stack of files in my arms. “The invoices for this little adventure,” she says, slightly out of breath. “Sorry that took so long, but the mailroom said they were labeled to go to Brad and I basically had to wrestle them away.” She opens the one on top. “There are a bunch of vendors here I didn’t book, so have a look to make sure it’s all there, and we can talk when you’re back.”
“Thanks, Jess,” I say, and take a deep, cleansing breath. I can do this, I remind myself. “I wish you were coming with us.”
“Ha. Not to hurt your feelings, but hell no. Good luck and”—she looks meaningfully over my shoulder to where Carter is climbing into one of the cars—“have fun.”
Right. Fun.
Amelia and Daryl stand near the sidewalk, waving and smiling their Good luck, you’ll need it smiles. I give them my best I wish you were suffering along with me, assholes smile in return before climbing into the limo.
As nice as it would be to talk and smooth out some last-minute details during the drive up, Carter and I end up sitting on opposite ends of our car. Andrew and Carter exchange glances as their eyes wander over the minibar, calculating how long we need to sit here before they can pop into the champagne. According to Andrew, that duration is approximately the time it takes us to pull away from the front of the building.
I for one am giving that decision hallelujah hands and a hell yes, because we need this entire crew to have as good a time as possible, and that means getting everyone day drunk, immediately.
With a glass of bubbly headed my way and my inability to do any work in the car for fear of getting carsick, I can only join in the shenanigans.
Timothy shit-talks Ed Ruiz from Alterman for a little while—apparently he did some shady things to pull a potential client out from under Timothy—and I silently enjoy the hell out of the story he’s telling, because Ed is a complete fuckwit.
“Didn’t you work with him?” Andrew asks me.
“Yeah, but not much directly.”
And that’s all I’m going to give. I won’t share the time that he vomited on my shoes in a cab on our way back from a work dinner, or that he slept with Ken Alterman’s assistant and got so obsessed with her that he kept her underwear in a drawer in his desk, or that he once reassured an actor on his list that it was totally fine that he “accidentally” had sex with a seventeen-year-old and that Ed would be happy to hide any evidence.
Gossip is fun—don’t get me wrong, I live for it—but I’m rarely the one letting on that I have anything exciting to share. So when Andrew starts telling us about how he saw a very huge A-list actress at a full-nudity sex club with a very important—and very old—male director, I tuck this story away in a little jewel box in my memory.
No one bothers to ask why the hell Andrew was there, mind you.
After everyone’s spent their gossip currency, we still have over an hour left to drive, and we shift into the kind of silence that will result in at least three of us falling asleep with the champagne drowsies. I can see Kylie working up the nerve to move over toward Carter, and it is exactly like watching some elaborate bird mating ritual. She crouch-walks from her spot next to me at the back of the limo and sits next to Carter on the side bench, slowly scooting closer, leaning in like she wants to read over his shoulder. But . . . I mean . . . he’s reading a contract, I can tell by the legal paper and prong fastener at the top. This isn’t canoodling reading. This is legalese pouring off the page like a violent mudslide.
Kylie does this weird catlike stretch and then slides her arm behind her a little so she’s pressing her boob to his shoulder.
Carter startles, shifting away on instinct, and suddenly I am living.
“Hey,” she says, looking at him like she’s admiring herself in a hand mirror.
“Hey,” he says, smiling briefly at her before returning to the papers on his lap.
“Excited for the trip?”
He nods. “Yeah. Should be good.”
“Have you ever stayed at the Big Bear Lodge and Suites before?”
“Nope.”
“It’s really nice,” she tells him. “Big bar, big cozy lobby . . . big rooms.”
And now I’m uncomfortable for them both, because Lord is she laying it on thick. He looks up and catches me eavesdropping, so I look away but it’s a horribly executed startle-blink and I have to pretend that I have something in my eye—which I don’t, which we both know.
When I look back at Carter, he’s still several inches away from Kylie, and he’s still watching me, clearly wondering just how jealous I am right now. Carter’s smile this time isn’t cocky or teasing, it’s happy. Just pure, quiet happy. Maybe cutting the shit in person won’t be impossible after all.
• • •
For once, the reality lives up to the hype: the resort really is beautiful. Set near the top of one of the summits, the main building is an immense log-cabin-style lodge with several deluxe small cabins surrounding it. Towering ponderosa pines cluster around the grounds, and the air is so crisp it feels a little like I’ve never been outside before. The LA basin is notoriously smoggy, being trapped between the mountains and the marine layer, and although it’s much better than it was when I was a kid, it still makes it easy to forget the sensation of truly fresh air.
I feel pretty optimistic as we emerge from the limos, squinting into the brilliant sun. The snowpack is light this year, but at least it’s there. Even if everything else about this weekend sucks, it’s beautiful and promises a lot of alcohol.
Brad stops us all outside the grand entrance, decorated with gold tassels and an impeccable red carpet leading from the curved driveway to the wide lobby. “Welcome to the P&D Features Seventh Annual Retreat.”
We clap politely: the most awkward round of applause ever witnessed.
“Thank you for taking the time to join me this weekend,” he continues. “I want to thank each of you for your commitment to the agency and your continued dedication. Needless to say, it’s been an interesting year.”
It’s only about a two-hour drive from LA to Big Bear, but because we’d all planned to drive ourselves, and everyone works until the last second, we end up leaving at the worst possible time—four in the afternoon on a Friday. And yet, when I come outside, everyone is happily piling into a handful of limos parked out front.
A swank ride up to the retreat: a surprise from Brad.
“Limos!” Rose cries, and eight-year-old me can totally relate to the excitement of this, though thirty-three-year-old me remains cynical.
“Gotta treat my people well, don’t I?” Brad says magnanimously, and claps me on the back. “I have high hopes that this retreat is the best one yet. Don’t let me down, kiddo!”
“And Carter!” Carter adds with a nervous laugh, but Brad doesn’t hear him.
Carter and I exchange brief looks, and despite the unspoken everything between us, I know we’re both thinking the same thing: Brad wouldn’t increase the budget for the lunch we planned, so we had to do a lame sandwich bar, yet he can be the big guy and bring everyone to the retreat in limos?
Jess grabs me as we’re about to head out, dropping a small stack of files in my arms. “The invoices for this little adventure,” she says, slightly out of breath. “Sorry that took so long, but the mailroom said they were labeled to go to Brad and I basically had to wrestle them away.” She opens the one on top. “There are a bunch of vendors here I didn’t book, so have a look to make sure it’s all there, and we can talk when you’re back.”
“Thanks, Jess,” I say, and take a deep, cleansing breath. I can do this, I remind myself. “I wish you were coming with us.”
“Ha. Not to hurt your feelings, but hell no. Good luck and”—she looks meaningfully over my shoulder to where Carter is climbing into one of the cars—“have fun.”
Right. Fun.
Amelia and Daryl stand near the sidewalk, waving and smiling their Good luck, you’ll need it smiles. I give them my best I wish you were suffering along with me, assholes smile in return before climbing into the limo.
As nice as it would be to talk and smooth out some last-minute details during the drive up, Carter and I end up sitting on opposite ends of our car. Andrew and Carter exchange glances as their eyes wander over the minibar, calculating how long we need to sit here before they can pop into the champagne. According to Andrew, that duration is approximately the time it takes us to pull away from the front of the building.
I for one am giving that decision hallelujah hands and a hell yes, because we need this entire crew to have as good a time as possible, and that means getting everyone day drunk, immediately.
With a glass of bubbly headed my way and my inability to do any work in the car for fear of getting carsick, I can only join in the shenanigans.
Timothy shit-talks Ed Ruiz from Alterman for a little while—apparently he did some shady things to pull a potential client out from under Timothy—and I silently enjoy the hell out of the story he’s telling, because Ed is a complete fuckwit.
“Didn’t you work with him?” Andrew asks me.
“Yeah, but not much directly.”
And that’s all I’m going to give. I won’t share the time that he vomited on my shoes in a cab on our way back from a work dinner, or that he slept with Ken Alterman’s assistant and got so obsessed with her that he kept her underwear in a drawer in his desk, or that he once reassured an actor on his list that it was totally fine that he “accidentally” had sex with a seventeen-year-old and that Ed would be happy to hide any evidence.
Gossip is fun—don’t get me wrong, I live for it—but I’m rarely the one letting on that I have anything exciting to share. So when Andrew starts telling us about how he saw a very huge A-list actress at a full-nudity sex club with a very important—and very old—male director, I tuck this story away in a little jewel box in my memory.
No one bothers to ask why the hell Andrew was there, mind you.
After everyone’s spent their gossip currency, we still have over an hour left to drive, and we shift into the kind of silence that will result in at least three of us falling asleep with the champagne drowsies. I can see Kylie working up the nerve to move over toward Carter, and it is exactly like watching some elaborate bird mating ritual. She crouch-walks from her spot next to me at the back of the limo and sits next to Carter on the side bench, slowly scooting closer, leaning in like she wants to read over his shoulder. But . . . I mean . . . he’s reading a contract, I can tell by the legal paper and prong fastener at the top. This isn’t canoodling reading. This is legalese pouring off the page like a violent mudslide.
Kylie does this weird catlike stretch and then slides her arm behind her a little so she’s pressing her boob to his shoulder.
Carter startles, shifting away on instinct, and suddenly I am living.
“Hey,” she says, looking at him like she’s admiring herself in a hand mirror.
“Hey,” he says, smiling briefly at her before returning to the papers on his lap.
“Excited for the trip?”
He nods. “Yeah. Should be good.”
“Have you ever stayed at the Big Bear Lodge and Suites before?”
“Nope.”
“It’s really nice,” she tells him. “Big bar, big cozy lobby . . . big rooms.”
And now I’m uncomfortable for them both, because Lord is she laying it on thick. He looks up and catches me eavesdropping, so I look away but it’s a horribly executed startle-blink and I have to pretend that I have something in my eye—which I don’t, which we both know.
When I look back at Carter, he’s still several inches away from Kylie, and he’s still watching me, clearly wondering just how jealous I am right now. Carter’s smile this time isn’t cocky or teasing, it’s happy. Just pure, quiet happy. Maybe cutting the shit in person won’t be impossible after all.
• • •
For once, the reality lives up to the hype: the resort really is beautiful. Set near the top of one of the summits, the main building is an immense log-cabin-style lodge with several deluxe small cabins surrounding it. Towering ponderosa pines cluster around the grounds, and the air is so crisp it feels a little like I’ve never been outside before. The LA basin is notoriously smoggy, being trapped between the mountains and the marine layer, and although it’s much better than it was when I was a kid, it still makes it easy to forget the sensation of truly fresh air.
I feel pretty optimistic as we emerge from the limos, squinting into the brilliant sun. The snowpack is light this year, but at least it’s there. Even if everything else about this weekend sucks, it’s beautiful and promises a lot of alcohol.
Brad stops us all outside the grand entrance, decorated with gold tassels and an impeccable red carpet leading from the curved driveway to the wide lobby. “Welcome to the P&D Features Seventh Annual Retreat.”
We clap politely: the most awkward round of applause ever witnessed.
“Thank you for taking the time to join me this weekend,” he continues. “I want to thank each of you for your commitment to the agency and your continued dedication. Needless to say, it’s been an interesting year.”
