The Honey - Don't List

Silence falls, slowly covering the lingering echo of Melissa’s tirade.

“That seems to cover it,” Ted says groggily over the line. Before he hangs up, he asks, “When does the book tour begin?”

Robyn lets out an incongruously chipper “The day after tomorrow!”

“Robyn,” Ted says, “I assume you’re traveling with them?”

“Yes,” she answers, just as Melissa counters with an emphatic “No.”

“No?” Robyn eyes her. “Melly, the plan has always been that I’d—”

“Carey will come with us,” Melissa interrupts.

My stomach drops because I have become clairvoyant. I know what’s coming next. Melissa’s eyes swing to me, and the two words stretch out in slow motion. “And James.”

Robyn gives her a tight smile. “I’m your publicist. You’ll need me out there.”

“No, I need you here with a reliable signal where you can monitor what’s happening and put out fires as they arise. I need Carey with me, and Rusty needs James to help keep his dick in his pants.”

“Uh.” I’m afraid to correct her, but I’m less willing to let this ship go down without a fight. “I don’t think—we shouldn’t plan, uh, that I go anywhere near Rusty’s—He doesn’t need me for this.”

“Yeah, I do.” It’s the first thing Rusty has said since Melissa’s tirade. He looks at me, oddly determined, like he’s scoring a win against his wife by strongly agreeing with her. “I’m not going without James.”

Carey and I glance at each other, and I’m sure her pulse skyrockets, too.

I am immediately scrambling. “It was my understanding that, in addition to Robyn, the tour company has a handler in place to coordinate everything, so you’ll have a staffer on hand.”

Ted sighs, reminding us that he’s still there being deeply inconvenienced. “I’m going to ask that you two join the tour. We need you to help manage the public-facing aspect of this, and Robyn can handle things backstage. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that all our best interests lie in keeping this ship sailing true. Get some rest, and I’ll see everyone in the morning.”

When the silence feels infinite, I know Ted has already hung up.

Robyn turns her face from her phone screen up to the room. I can see the moment she realizes this is the only way and, to salvage her dignity, she needs to appear Completely On Board with this plan. “Yes,” she says, gaining steam. “Yes. Absolutely. Ted is right.”

I’m already shaking my head. I negotiated this week off when I was hired; it was meant to be my first true vacation in four years. The workload at my previous job in New York at Rooney, Lipton, and Squire was so overwhelming I didn’t take a single day off while I was there. And then I was so desperate to find another job after the FBI raided the firm’s offices that I applied for fifteen positions the next morning—including director of engineering for Comb+Honey—and was offered the job at the interview a few weeks later. They were the only ones who called me for an interview at all.

Although I’ve yet to do any actual engineering, I do work nearly fourteen hours a day managing Rusty’s schedule, meetings, paperwork, contracts, blueprints, and general poky-puppy bullshit. I haven’t had a second to breathe.

“Actually,” I say into a room that is so tense the air feels wavy, “I’m headed to Florida to see my sister and her kids.” I pause. “We negotiated this when you hired me. I can’t go.”

Carey meets my eyes, and I think it’s fair to say she would bare-hand strangle me if I were closer.

“And I had plans, too,” she says, her voice thin.

“I write both your checks,” Melissa reminds us, “and if you want to be around to cash the next one, you’ll start packing.” Striding angrily to the door, she opens it, walks out, and slams it shut.

“Sorry, Jimbo. If I’m stuck, so are you.” With an infuriating little Oops, my bad shrug, Rusty stands, too, and leaves.

“Robyn,” Carey starts with similar desperation in her voice, “we don’t need to go. I know them. They’ll get it together in the morning. They always do.”

“We can’t risk it, Carey.” Robyn shakes her head, resolute and unsympathetic. “Everything is riding on this, including your jobs. Change your plans and pack up for a weeklong trip. Your only job for the next ten days is to keep the Tripps from falling apart.” She attempts a smile, but it is a sad, sad approximation as she glances at her watch. “See you for Netflix in seven and a half hours.”

She leaves, and when the door closes, Carey grabs a pillow, bends, and releases a scream into it that is surprisingly primal.

I, too, want to let out an unholy string of curse words. I want to scream to the room, Why can’t I find a job that is somehow both legal and relevant to my graduate degree? Is that too much to ask? Am I being transitioned into Rusty’s full-time errand boy?