Page 44 of Cuts like a Knife
Since I arrive as a single, a PA in a headset who can’t be more than seventeen seats me at a two-top with a grizzled man old enough to be my grandfather who pointedly ignores me. I take out my laptop to work and the PA is all over me in an instant.
“Nope. No! Put it away, please, or I’ll have to confiscate it,” she says.
“This is literally why I’m here,” I protest. “To write about the show and what’s happening. That’s what this is for. To work.”
She shakes her head. “You can use your phone if you have to. No laptops. No notebooks. It looks bad on camera. You’re supposed to be, like, restaurant patrons, not reporters.”
“Well, I didn’t agree to that. Anyway, there are plenty of people in here, no one will notice.”
“No, because you might be in a shot,” she says.
“Well, can’t you just tell us if we’re going to be in a shot then? And if we are, I’ll put it away. How about that?”
“No. Please put it away now. Those are the rules.”
I roll my eyes, but the PA won’t be moved. “Don’t make me take it from you, lady,” she says. “Seriously. I’m not even getting paid for this.”
At that, my ears perk up.
“You’re not being paid? That sounds pretty exploitative. Why aren’t you getting paid? How old are you?”
Suddenly, from across the table, my dining companion, Methuselah, speaks.
“I don’t know how long you plan to keep us here, but I need a drink. Triple bourbon. Rocks. And the same for her.” He nods his ancient chin in my direction. “She clearly needs it.”
“Thanks,” I say, with as little sarcasm in my voice as I can manage, “but I’m fine, and you realize she just said she’s not even being paid? Wait. Let me get my notebook. I want to talk to you more about this…” I start scrabbling in my bag for a pen, but the PA just rolls her eyes.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Karen. I’m an intern. I’m getting a full credit for this in my broadcast journalism program, so it’s all good. Didn’t you have to intern when you were in school?”
“She didn’t go to J-school,” pipes the grizzled stranger.
“Excuse me?” I say to him.
“Heard you being bitched out at the pool. Sorry. Was that a secret?”
I shake my head, my cheeks flaming.
“Someone will bring your drinks in a minute,” says the PA. “No laptops,” she adds, before hurrying away. I sigh.
“Did she just call me Karen?” I say, mostly to myself.
“If the haircut fits,” Methuselah says, and shrugs159.
I can’t believe the 2000-year-old man over here is trying to roast me. Between him, the baby PA, and Callum outside, I’m apparently surrounded by generational enemies.
“I do not have Karen hair, Grandpa,” I say.
“Only kidding,” he says, mildly. “Look, it was a nice try.”
“No thanks to you,” I retort.
He simply shrugs again.
Across the room, I catch sight of Drew at a table full of suits. He looks in his element. Relaxed. Smiling. All charm. H catches sight of me, smiles and gives me a little wave, but doesn’t come over.
“Cheer up,” says the old man, watching. “Looks like you’ve got one friend here at least.”
“He’s just an acquaintance.”
