They seemed to be taking this harder than Audrey had expected. “Yeah. But. We all knew that, right?”
“Weknowit,” complained Linda. “But we don’t like to say it out loud. I mean, if we took you to see a movie, would you be sitting there going,Oh, it’s all just CGI and pretending?”
“Not in those terms.” Audrey was used to asking herself if she was weird, but she’d really hoped that it would stop when she left London. “But I might want to talk about what was done with physical effects or whether the acting was any good or if the story beats landed.”
Linda, using only her eyes, managed to flawlessly communicate the sentiment,Remind me never to go and see a film with you. “You wouldn’t want to talk about, I don’t know, if you enjoyed it? Or whoyour favourite character was? Or if the ending made you sad?”
And because she didn’t want to be a dick, Audrey said, “Well that, too, obviously.”
“You know”—Joshua got to his feet abruptly—“I think I need a drink.”
* * *
In the end Audrey didn’t quite fancy the bar. She’d killed enough joy for one day, especially given her normal quota of joys killed per day was zero. Of course, reminding reality TV contestants that reality TV could occasionally be the tiniest bit artificial shouldn’t have been a big deal. And probably wouldn’t be. But it made Audrey feel off her game. Which was a pisser because she’d worked really hard over the last couple of years to reestablish what her game actually was. Without London and Natalie to decide for her.
In any case, whatever Audrey’s game might have been, itdefinitelywasn’t half-arsing filo or dropping trite truth bombs on children, neurotics, and hipsters. And itdefinitely, definitelywasn’t telling other queer women they were doing their jobs wrong and then threatening to force them into mutually disastrous legal action to try and make herself feel better.
The only thing to do was to apologise.
Two minutes later, a shaky but determined Audrey was knocking on Jennifer Hallet’s trailer door.
There was no answer. Not even afuck off.
She knocked again. Then she listened very, very carefully. Jennifer was in there. She could tell.
“Jennifer?” she tried.
Still no answer.
“Jennifer, it’s Audrey.”
Nothing.
“Jennifer, it’s Audrey, and I’m sorry.”
The level of nothing, if anything, intensified.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
Yet grander and deeper nothings answered.
“Really.”
In many ways, Jennifer’s silence was worse than her swearing. It felt more hostile somehow.
“Jennifer?”
Still nothing.
Audrey’s sense of contrition didn’t waver. Her patience, however, was beginning to. “You know you’re being kind of stubborn here.”
If the devastating allegation of stubbornness moved Jennifer to repentance, her closed door showed no signs of it.
“Actually, check that. You’re not even being stubborn. You’re being childish.”
The door bore that accusation with similar equanimity.
“I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
