Monsters by Liz Kay Page B

far.” He looks back at Tommy. “I mean, I think we’re already pushing it, but you know, people go to poetry to expand their minds and shit. They go to movies to be entertained.”
    Tommy nods, and if he was close enough, I’d kick him for it.
    â€œI think you know,” Jason goes on, still talking to Tommy, “I’m willing to go to some pretty dark places, but the ending to this thing isn’t even dark, it’s fucking bleak. It makes me want to blow my brains out, you know.”
    â€œGee, thanks,” I say.
    He turns back to me. “Look, it’s different on the page. You have some distance, some space to digest it. In the theater, across this giant screen, with the music and the lighting and the whole experience of it, I just don’t think we have to go as far.” He sighs.
    Joe cuts in. “Seriously, we’re just looking to cut the one scene. One scene, Stacey. One fucking scene.”
    â€œI can actually read and count, Joe, but thanks for clarifying.”
    â€œStace,” Tommy says, and he gives me this look like,
Be cool.
“Come on, we’re all on the same team here.” Which is bullshit, we absolutely are not, but he had damn well better be on mine.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    We go back and forth half the morning. I can tell Jason is wearing down, but Joe keeps digging his heels in. Such an ass. He’s got no dog in this fight. Just before lunch, Tommy and Jason have a call, so they duck into the study and leave me alone with Joe.
    They’ve barely closed the door when Joe says, “Seems you had plenty of time to work Tommy over before we even got here. Didn’t you get in last night?”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œNothing at all, Stacey. Nothing at all. Although if I could go to a meeting with my tits hanging out, I probably wouldn’t have to work so hard either.”
    â€œAre you that scared of me, Joe? Is the possibility that maybe I could be right so terrifying that you have to turn this all into some sexist bullshit?”
    â€œYou trying to tell me that you’re not willing to fuck whoever you need to to get your way? ’Cause we can all see the type of woman you are.”
    â€œThe type of woman I am, Joe, is not stupid enough to think that Tommy DeMarco gets laid so infrequently that a blow job or a nice pair of tits is going to change his position on a multimillion-dollar decision. If you think that’s why Tommy listens to me, you’re high or delusional.”
    It’s true. I don’t think that’s why Tommy listens to me, but I feel like we’re dancing way too close to something, so I just throw my hands up and say, “I can’t be in a room with you. Misogynistic piece of shit.”
    I stand up and walk straight down the hallway to the front door and out into the sunlight. It’s chilly, but not like Nebraska. I won’t need a jacket. There’s a stacked stone wall that flanks the sidewalk leading down to the driveway. I sit on it, lean my elbows on my knees, drop my head into my hands. I feel sick. My stomach is in knots from all the stress and the coffee. I probably should have eaten something. I should have had some fruit. I hear the door creak open, but I don’t look up.
    â€œYou okay?” It’s Daniel.
    I raise my head and smile at him. “I just hate Joe. I’m okay though.”
    He sits down next to me, pats my hand. “And how are you handling this shit with Tommy?”
    â€œIs this in your job description? Girls crying on your shoulder?”
    â€œUsually, yeah.”
    I lean my head against him and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. He feels warm and the shirt he’s wearing is soft. I don’t know why this makes me feel like maybe I am going to cry.
    â€œI would quit that job,” I say.
    Daniel laughs. “No. Tommy’s pretty great to me. I don’t get a lot of