Christine was pouring water for Meghan. The new junior producer and Lolly were comparing shoes. Ordinarily, Mae would be regretting sitting down first, when clearly the protocol was more preening and socializing, but under the circumstances, she grabbed the chance to reply.
Hell no it would not be great, what are you thinking? Cameras in mom house fucking disaster. No way. Will deal with $$ later.
Not that her mom would let her send money. Not that she had much to spare, either. She could see the little dots indicating that Amanda was already replying, but Mae stuffed the phone, now totally silenced, back in its pocket. Food Wars on her home turf was not something she could think about right now, let alone whatever was going on with her mom.
In that tiny interval, the other women had all seated themselves, and Christine was now looking pointedly at Mae, who quickly put her empty hands on the table. The other woman gave a tiny shrug and looked away, and Mae felt dismissed, an inexperienced girl who did not know better than to text during an important meeting. She squared her shoulders, and Christine, no longer looking at Mae, addressed them all generally.
“Sparkling, as you know, is doing well. Very well, in terms of audience. And we did get some nice audience feedback on the five Mae episodes. Lolly, every woman on Instagram wants to be you, or at least have you come spark up their space, and, Mae, lots of them want you to come clean out their fridge.”
Mae felt her smile tighten. She’d cleaned one refrigerator in one episode and then kicked herself for it for days. That wasn’t who she was. She brought serenity and calm to the homes they redesigned, not just bleach wipes. But apparently once had been more than enough.
Christine went on. “We’ve been talking with our sponsors,” she said, “and we’re hearing mostly good things. Lolly, the message to you is mostly ‘carry on,’ and we’ve had a lot of interest in you doing actual advertising spots for products, in particular from Flowergram and Storage Store.”
Lolly beamed and wiggled her shoulders. “I love Flowergram,” she said. “I wish we could give every client, like, a biweekly delivery from them. Maybe they’d do, like, a branded Sparkling bouquet, one that really lasts.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea,” said Meghan’s assistant. “You could choose the flowers. A Lollygram!”
Lolly squealed. “I love it!”
Christine looked pleased, and Meghan nodded, and the assistant began tapping notes frantically into her phone. Mae boggled at the way that had flowed—a Lollygram was not an advertisement for Sparkling, as Christine had first suggested; it was an advertisement for Lolly—but that was the way things fell for Lolly. The assistant, Mae could tell, adored her. Everyone adored her. Flowergram would have a new spokesperson before it knew what had hit it. Why couldn’t Mae do it like that?
“Mae,” Christine said, “Flowergram has expressed some concerns to me about your Instagram.”
Mae realized that she’d tilted her chair up on its front two legs—a nervous habit. The chair slammed down with emphasis, and Christine’s eyebrows went up slightly again as she continued. “Apparently, you posted an image of a cabinet full of flower vases and a caption urging people to get rid of crap and clutter. Flowergram felt that you were denigrating its product.”
Mae laughed. No one else did. “But wait,” she said. “Old flower vases are, like, the definition of clutter. No one needs those. You need one. Maybe two. And not the ones that come with flowers.” She turned to Lolly for support. “You need nice ones. You’d say that too, Lolly.”
Christine answered. “But Lolly wouldn’t put that on her Instagram. And she also wouldn’t say, as you have said more than once while taping, that getting organized isn’t about cute containers. The Storage Store is about cute containers. That didn’t make them happy.”
Lolly kicked Mae under the table and grinned. “I love cute containers,” she said. “Mae loves cute containers too, don’t you, Mae?”
Was this what Lolly had been talking about? She could handle this. “I love the Storage Store,” she said. Of course she did. She would live in the Storage Store if she could. She just didn’t think buying a bunch of containers was the first thing people should do. “Just edit it out if I say something that sounds like I don’t,” she suggested. Did they think she would mind? “Useful cute containers are great. Flatware dividers. I love those.”
“Shelf separators,” Lolly offered.
“Yes. And things that attach cords to the edges of desks.”
“Tupperware that really stacks.”
“Absolutely.”
“Toothbrush holders.”
“Ew, no. Those get gross. And if your toothbrush is on the counter it’s collecting germs.”
Christine waved a hand in between them. “It’s not funny to the Storage Store,” she said. “And if it’s not funny to the Storage Store, it’s not funny to me. Mae, your attitude toward the products of our sponsors is a real problem. It’s not just containers. If you open a pantry, you’re down on Nabisco. In a closet, it’s H&M and disposable fashion. There’s only so much we can do in postproduction. You never stop.”
As Christine spoke, Mae felt a chill spread from the back of her neck forward. Without meaning to, she lifted her thumb to her mouth and bit the hangnail that was always there. When she caught it, she brought her hand down, quickly, ready to defend herself. Clutter was clutter. Nabisco was junk food. Disposable fashion wasn’t good for anyone, not the people who made it or, in the long run, the overwhelmed people who bought it. But Christine wasn’t done.
“I don’t think you’ve fully understood who we are and what we do, Mae. We’re not making little videos for our neighbors in Kansas. We’re a national television program, funded by advertising and sponsorship, that needs to appeal to the customers of those businesses.”
With the mention of Kansas, Mae’s crossed leg went to the ground, the soles of both boots firmly on the floor. “I can understand that,” she said, making purposeful eye contact. Had Christine mentioned Kansas deliberately? Was it a random insult, or one directed at Mae personally? “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I can help people who have”—she chose her words carefully—“too much of certain things without bringing up the sponsors. I really can. It’s not a problem—well, it is a problem—”
Meghan joined in. “It really is a problem.”
There—someone got it! And not just someone—the boss. Perfect. Glad to have an ally, Mae rushed on. “It’s a terrible problem. We really have way too much stuff, and when clothes and things are so cheap, it’s hard for people to resist . . .”