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She looks a little troubled. “I didn’t realize you were coming home,” she says.
“Well, yeah, I mean, I can’t stay in New York.”
She nods but seems oddly displeased with my answer. “So what are you going to do all summer?” she asks.
Yes, she’s definitely a trifle put out.
“I don’t know yet,” I reply. “Ginny invited me to come stay at the beach but I … ”
“Yes!” she cries. She sounds relieved. “That’s perfect.”
I waver. “I really ought to be calling affiliates and looking for work.”
That takes the wind right out of her sails. “I suppose,” she sighs.
Just a year ago she was begging me to stay in DC for school. I thought she’d be ecstatic to have me back.
It would seem that I was wrong about a whole lot of things.
**
Stacy, the producer who fired me, calls the next morning. At this point the shock has begun to recede, replaced by anger. They had no right to shove me out the way they did, and I could probably make this very uncomfortable for them if I wanted to.
“One thing we didn’t discuss,” she begins briskly, “is how you’ll deal with the press. Your response to all media inquiries is to be ‘no comment’.”
I laugh. If she expects to find a meek teenager on the other end of the line she’s in for a rude surprise. I’ve spent too much of my life arguing with my father to be intimidated by her. “You fired me,” I reply. “Therefore you don’t get to tell me how I’ll be doing anything at this point.”
“If you want a career in this field you’d better do exactly as you’re told,” she snaps.
“You weren’t willing to help me in any way,” I reply. “So it’s not like you have anything to take away from me at this point.”
“I have plenty I can take away from you, Elle,” she snarls. “Fuck with me and just try getting a job at the smallest, crappiest affiliate anywhere in this country.”
“Nice. So you fire me without cause and now you’re threatening me?” I ask. “I realize I don’t have my degree yet, Stacy, but it sounds to me like this would make a pretty good story for someone.”
I hang up, only realizing afterward exactly how livid I am. My heart is beating so hard that it makes my hand, still holding the phone, appear to vibrate.
My mother looks at me. “You’re not really going to do that, are you?” she asks, her eyes bleak with concern. “You can’t let your name be dragged through the paper, Elle. You can still recover from this, but if you start giving interviews … ”
“Yes,” I sigh. “I know. But she had no right to call and demand anything after the way they treated me.”
She nods. “I agree. But this isn’t about them. It’s about you. You can be defiant right now or you can be smart, but if a career in broadcast is still what you want, then you’d better choose smart.”
I don’t resent what she’s saying, necessarily, because I know she’s right. But I do wonder why things feel so different with her now. What happened to the parent who always took my side?
And what happened to the parent who seemed to want me around? She says the right things but I get the sense that her mind is elsewhere. And she’s been oddly preoccupied. Continually running out and apologizing for the fact that she already has plans, giving me the distinct impression that I’m not a comfort to her so much as I am an inconvenience.
“You need to talk to Bruce,” she warns. “Before you do anything.”
I stifle a groan. Bruce is my parents’ extraordinarily over-cautious attorney. “Let me save you $500. He’s going to say ‘just lay low Elle, and wait for it to all die down,’” I gripe. “And then he’ll say some shit about how these things usually go away on their own.”
“You have no idea what he’s going to say,” she scolds. “You’re not an attorney.”
Three hours later, my mother and I listen to Bruce over speakerphone.
“I’ve gone over this very carefully,” he says. “And I think the best thing Eleanor can do is lay low.”
I look at my mom with an arched brow and she makes a face at me.
