Because Fat Girl

Chapter Nineteen

Janelle opened the door to her apartment wearing an emerald crushed velvet suit with no top underneath. Her hair was disheveled, and she had a flush to her face that told me she wasn’t alone.

“Shit, am I interrupting?” I whispered, looking into her apartment.

“Who is it?” someone asked from the other room.

“A friend.” Janelle pushed us both into the hallway and closed the door behind her. “I’ve got someone over.”

“I see that.” I wiggled my eyebrows at her.

Janelle’s door opened, and a curvy woman with long dark locks wearing a stunning copper cinched satin dress stood there. “Did you double-book yourself?”

“I’m so sorry for interrupting.” I hurried back toward the elevator, feeling like a total asshole for showing up on my best friend’s doorstep without warning. This was Janelle, after all. That woman always had a date.

“Diana, wait.” Janelle ran after me. “What’s up?”

“She looks mad.” I nodded over at where the woman was gathering her purse and keys.

Janelle ran back to her apartment and took the woman’s hands in hers. “Crystal, this is my best friend, Diana. I swear, I didn’t know she was coming over.”

“I’m really sorry!” I yelled back at the doorway as I stepped into the elevator. “I love your dress!”

The doors started closing, but Janelle’s hand shot out between them, stopping me from leaving.

“Go back to your date. I’m fine,” I insisted.

Janelle stood firm, staring at me. “What happened?”

“What, I can’t just come surprise my best friend?”

“You are horrible at surprises,” Janelle said, still blocking the elevator door.

“Am not!” I protested. Janelle raised her eyebrow at me. “Fine, I am.”

“So what’s up?” Janelle pulled me out of the elevator.

I looked over at her door, which had shut with Crystal inside. At least her date wouldn’t be around to hear this. I took a deep breath, grabbed her hand in mine, and said the words I’d been dreading to tell her for weeks. “They want to hire someone else to be director of photography.”

“Motherfuckers.” Janelle dropped my hand and started pacing the hallway. “I’m sorry, I know you’re all buddy-buddy with them now, but motherfuckers.”

“They’re not my buddies!” Chris barely gave me the time of day, and Drew was in a gray area between colleague and…something else. “They’re my producers. You’re my best friend.”

“And what did you tell your producers when they said your best friend was off this film?” Janelle glared at me.

“I fought for you.”

“How hard? Did you flex your right as director? Did you demand they put me on the film? Did you offer to give up something else in return? Did you keep fighting until they had to give in? Or did you give up as soon as they said no?”

I couldn’t answer her, because she was right. I hadn’t done all I could. I’d spent the whole day with Drew and hadn’t even brought her up with him. Sure, I complained to Jaqueline, but I hadn’t advocated for Janelle, not really, not like my best friend deserved.

“Right,” Janelle said, interpreting my silence. “So it’s like that, then.”

“I don’t want it to be like that!” I cried. “Hollywood makes it like that. This business breeds betrayal and backstabbing.”

“Every job does that!” Janelle threw her hands in the air. “This whole town is the same. This whole world is the same. Humans are selfish. Capitalists are greedy. The only thing that ever keeps us from being like the assholes we hate is the choices we make in our lives. And you chose them over me.”

“I fought for you,” I repeated meekly.

“Fought. Past tense.” Janelle leaned against the wall. “So it’s over, then.”

“I’m going to keep fighting for you.” I reached for her hands. “I’m going to get you on this film. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Janelle pulled away from me and pointed to her place. “I should get back in there.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, letting my hand drop from where it had been reaching out for my best friend. “I’m sorry again.”

Janelle nodded and opened her front door, pausing halfway. “You know, this film was my dream, too. I sat at the Oscars with you, staring at that red carpet, envisioning the day we’d walk it together. All those late nights in film school and early mornings at Roussard’s. I started this journey with you. It sucks that we don’t get to finish it together.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, again, my voice cracking as she closed the door behind her without saying goodbye.

Fuck! I screamed internally, shaking my whole body out as I walked back to the elevator. That had gone all wrong, and there was no way to take it back. She was right; this movie wasn’t just my dream. It was ours. What was the point of making it come true without her by my side?

Back in my car, I pulled out my phone to play some distracting music and noticed dozens of texts and missed calls from Cecily.

Shit! I thought as I read the ever-increasing agitation, then eventual disappointment in her texts. I’d missed the kids’ school performance, something I’d promised them I would attend.

“They’re already asleep,” Cecily answered when I called her from the freeway.

“I’m so sorry!” It was a phrase I seemed to be using a lot lately. “I got caught up at work.”

“Roussard’s closed hours ago,” she pointed out.

“Movie stuff,” I replied, which was technically true. I didn’t think Cecily would appreciate what I’d really spent my day doing.

“This performance has been on your calendar for months,” she lectured in her mom voice, talking to me like a teenager who had broken curfew.

“Work stuff came up, and I had to deal with it.” I tried to remind her with my tone that I was a grown adult who was allowed to stay out late if I wanted to.

“Work is always going to come up,” Cecily said, “but you have to be there for your children when you say you’re going to.”

“Except they’re not my kids. They’re yours,” I pointed out. “I chose making movies over having kids years ago. I’m going to keep making that choice.”

“Fine, they’re not your kids,” Cecily accepted, “but they’re still your niblings, and you made a promise to them. I know you’ve got your fancy movie deal now and you’re too good for an elementary school play, but this was a big deal to them. You not showing up hurt. So while you were out with whatever latest movie star friend you’ve made, I was holding Ellis as they cried themself to sleep, wondering why Aunt Didi didn’t show up when she’d promised she’d be there.”

I could hear the tears in Cecily’s voice and felt my own coming on. Little Ellis had been practicing their two lines over and over again, so excited to deliver them to the crowd. Just that morning, they’d recited them before school, beaming up at me and making me promise I’d get there early for a front-row seat.

With everything that had happened that day—quitting Roussard’s, kissing Drew, fighting with Janelle—I’d completely forgotten that promise. Ellis was crushed, and Cecily had every right to be mad at me.

“I’ll make it up to them,” I promised.

“Stop making promises you can’t keep.” Cecily hung up the phone.

Her words joined Janelle’s in my head, a loud, insistent echo, pointing out all the ways I’d disappointed the people I loved today. How much I’d disappointed myself. I’d quit my job without any guarantee of a paycheck from this movie. I’d kissed my straight, cis male producer, both complicating and compromising this film being made. I’d severely let down my best friend, broken a promise to my niblings, and fought with my sister. All in less than twenty-four hours.

Needing to scream and cry all at once, I opened my phone and turned on Brandi Carlisle. Tomorrow, I’d start fixing all of this. Until then, I’d let myself escape into the deep soulful music of the queer queen of Americana, who always made me feel better.