Juliette swallows then, her eyes shifting up and landing on mine with a wounded streak that I seldom see on her. It stuns me into a sort of stupor that only breaks when Ellie takes several determined steps forward, moving to stand beside Juliette.
“Hello, I’m sorry,” she says, looking down at the reporter like the cretin that he is. “Just wanted to clarify something here. You are aware that you are now interviewing one of the greatest playwrights of our time, correct?”
Michael crosses one of his legs over the other, and I have the distinct urge to smack him in the back of the head. “I’m aware,” he answers.
Ellie continues to stare uncharacteristic daggers at him. “That’s what I figured. And that’s why it’s baffling to me that you’re sitting here asking her asinine and, honestly, offensive questions, when there are several other topics you could currently be broaching. Perhaps you could discuss how she brilliantly bested the male-dominated ’80s theater world before she was even thirty. Maybe you could ask her about all the charitable work she does to encourage women’s involvement in the arts. Or, alternatively, maybe you just continue with the path you’ve set for yourself and ask her to specify her bra size. Was that going to be your follow-up question?”
Still far enough away, I step forward to see his profile, and Michael’s cheeks suddenly flush red. “I apologize if my tone came off as irregular, but I assure you...”
“Oh, it absolutely did come off as irregular,” Ellie says, “though not at all surprising, given your reputation. Now, I suggest you take on a far more respectful approach moving forward, and that’s only if Ms. Brassard is gracious enough to carry on with the interview at all, because I can tell you right now, if I was in her shoes, I certainly would not.”
She flashes Michael an over-the-top smile and walks away. I’m tempted to do the same, but also adding in a snarl and some very specific hand gestures.
Michael, for his part, twists in his seat and clears his throat, no doubt trying to find his mental equilibrium after surviving Ellie’s very eloquent verbal ass-whipping.
“So now, Ms. Brassard, how do you find working with your current director? Many of those in the theater community consider Eloise MacClare as a young star on the rise.”
Juliette plasters on a smile then, shaking some of the hair off her brow and taking a breath. “I would agree with that entirely. Working with Ellie has been a delight and a breath of fresh air, and I’m very grateful for the time we’ve spent collaborating on this project. It’s been transformative, to say the least.”
“And would you also say...”
Michael doesn’t get the chance to ask another question as Juliette promptly stands up, grabbing her bag from off the floor and slinging it over her shoulder.
“I’m afraid that’s all the time I have for today,” she tells him. “Thanks so much for taking the time to come out. I hope you got everything you came for.”
Michael’s mouth hangs open, looking down at his nearly empty notepad and then back to Juliette. “I was rather hoping...”
But Juliette has already started walking away, leaving me to trail after her, rushing to keep up and to catch what she’s saying over her shoulder.
“I have a headache. Feel free to take the rest of the day off, and tell Roshni the same.”
“Are you sure?” I ask her, still following her path as she nears one of the side exits. “I can go with you. Just give me a second and I’ll grab my stuff.”
“No, no,” she answers automatically. “It’s morphing into a migraine. I’ll do better alone.”
And with that she’s gone. The metal door slams shut in front of me, just as strong as the emotional walls Juliette is fortifying around herself at this very moment.
Five hours later, I’m at the penthouse, walking into the living room carefully and quietly. It’s dark inside save for the light from the TV, which casts a white glow in the center of the room and reveals Juliette sitting on the couch as she watches a British baking competition that I’ve never seen before.
“Hi,” I say, easing down into the world’s comfiest armchair.
She’s so engrossed that she doesn’t even turn to look at me. “Hey,” she eventually answers. “How’d the rest of rehearsal go?”
“It was wonderful. We finished the run-through and tightened up a few scenes. It’s really so good, Juliette.”
“I’m sure it is,” Juliette agrees, still not turning away from the TV, where ten contestants are all baking cakes that apparently represent a beloved childhood memory.
“By the way, did Roshni call you?” I ask. “She left a couple of hours early to take a field trip to Knightsbridge with the costume director, and I haven’t heard from her yet. I was going to treat her to dinner tonight as a thank-you for walking Ollie this afternoon since our dog sitter is away for the weekend.”
“She called a few minutes ago and said she’d be home soon. They just stopped for a bite to eat.” Happy to hear that Roshni is having fun, I shimmy down deeper into the chair as Juliette goes on, “She also said she was in a rush this afternoon and wasn’t able to walk Ollie after all, so Phillip offered to do it and kept him after. She then told me to tell you that Phillip mentioned something about you bringing a pair of slippers when you pick Ollie up? Does that make sense to you?”
“Yeah,” I groan, “he’s talking about his Robin slippers.”
Juliette looks over at me for the briefest of seconds. “Kinky.”
“It’s not like that,” I assure her.
“Hey, to each his own. What you do in your personal time is totally up to you.”
