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Inside, the building is an endless stretch of white marble and glass, like a giant icehouse, and equally as cold. Everyone is dressed well, in expensive suits. Beautiful women and gorgeous men move through what looks like a magazine shoot.
The girl at the front desk doesn’t recognize me. Not even when I say my name.
“Oh,” she says, her gaze disinterested. “Is Mr. Davison expecting you?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to maintain a smile.
“Take a seat, please. ”
Honestly, I feel like putting this girl in her place, but I know I need to be careful in the hallowed halls of CAA, so I bite my tongue and take a seat in the modernly decorated waiting room.
Where I wait.
And wait.
At least twenty minutes after my scheduled appointment time, a young man in an Italian suit comes for me. Wordlessly, like a drone, he leads me up to the third floor and into a corner office.
My agent, George Davison, is seated behind a huge desk. He stands at my entrance. We hug, a little awkwardly, and I step back.
“Well. Well,” he says, indicating a chair for me.
I sit down. “You look good,” I say.
He glances at me. I see the way he notices my weight gain, and my ponytail doesn’t fool him. He sees the gray in my hair. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“Your call surprised me,” he says.
“It hasn’t been that long. ”
“Six months. I left at least a dozen messages for you. None of which were returned. ”
“You know what happened, George. I found out that my best friend had cancer. I wanted to be with her. ”
“And now?”
“She died. ” It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.
“I’m sorry. ”
I wipe my eyes. “Yes. Well. I’m ready to go back to work now. I’d like to start taping on Monday. ”
“Tell me you’re joking. ”
“You think Monday is too soon?” I don’t like the way George is looking at me.
“Come on, Tully. You’re smarter than this. ”
“I don’t know what you mean, George. ”
He shifts in his chair. The expensive leather makes a whispering sound. “Your show, The Girlfriend Hour, was number one in its time slot last year. Advertisers were clamoring to buy time. Manufacturers loved to give away products to your audience, many of whom drove hundreds of miles and stood in line for hours to see you. ”
“I am aware of all of this, George. That’s why I’m here. ”
“You walked off set, Tully. Took off your mic, said goodbye to your audience, and left. ”
I lean forward. “My friend—”
“Who gives a shit?”
