The unmistakable sound of a man urinating filled the room. The lady looked up from reapplying her lipstick and I studied the end of my braid intensely. The noise continued.
Of course Monty would get stuck in the one place where needing the toilet wasn’t actually a problem and still choose to go at the worst possible moment.
And he really was going. And going. The woman was basically film royalty, and right now she was having to listen to Monty emptying his bladder with gusto.
The tiniest of trickles from the stall echoed around the room. Finally, finally, the sound trailed off. The lady capped her lipstick before turning to go, tucking her bag under one stylish arm.
She paused with a hand on the door. Oh, God.
“Sometimes,” said the Dame, “you just need a really good piss.”
As the door closed behind her, I relaxed against the sink, a snort of laughter finally escaping me.
“I fail to see how this is funny,” said Monty.
“Sorry, I’m just getting soap to put on the hinges, but—”
“Whatever you’re doing, do it quickly. There’s a good girl.”
“But is soap really our best—”
“Now, Evelyn.”
I plucked the expensive-looking bottle of liquid soap off the shelf and returned to the stall. As I looked for the door’s hinges, I decided to take advantage of the fact that I literally had a captive audience. “Monty,” I said. “Why don’t you want to meet with Sam-and-Max?”
Silence from the stall.
“Is it the pages?” He’d told me NOB was making progress. Not that he’d let me read the draft for myself.
“Actually, you can call someone after all.”
“Sam-and-Max are out there, but if you think that’s the best thing to do—”
“No, no,” he said hastily.
“What do they want to meet about, Monty?” I asked gently, pumping the liquid on the hinges.
A long pause.
I rattled the door, muttering, “It’s just so stuck. I really should go and get help . . .”
There came a heavy sigh from the stall. I heard the toilet creak as Monty took a seat. “They want Ezra to sign an addendum stating he’ll deliver the full script within three months. They won’t accept the partial; I’ve tried. They’ve mentioned lawyers.”
It was a generous offer, as far as ultimatums went, especially considering they’d been getting the runaround for over a year. Monty had assured everyone that NOB was writing, so what was the issue? Perhaps NOB had taken offense at the formality. Every other extension had been a “gentleman’s agreement.”
“Is Ezra being resistant?” There was the tiniest of gaps between the door and the frame where the lock was, and I could just about see the bolt. I pumped some soap in there too.
Another pause. “I didn’t want to risk stifling his creativity by mentioning the new deadline.”
Translation: Monty had wimped out of telling NOB he could no longer take his sweet time. I took a deep breath. “He doesn’t know he only has three months to finish the script?”
“It’s worse than that, Evelyn,” said Monty, irritable now. “If he doesn’t deliver, they want their money back, all of it. If that happens, we’re screwed.”
I frowned. Could it really be that bad? For the last few years, as Monty devoted more and more of his time to maintaining NOB’s benevolent public image, I’d been handling most of the agency’s negotiations. I had a good idea how much we were bringing in, even though Monty kept most of the company financials to himself. “I thought we were doing fine,” I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. If he’d made me an agent, I could have been helping more.
“You really should know more about how the business works by now, Evelyn.” I pushed my indignation down, knowing from experience that there would be nothing gained from pointing out that he purposefully withheld information from me. “We’re being squeezed out by bigger agencies every day. There’s no room for the little man anymore. Ezra’s our one ace, and without him, we’re done. We are both out of a job if he doesn’t deliver.”
“We’re what?” I squeezed the bottle too hard and the pump head came off in my hands. The whole thing slipped from my fingers, bouncing off the dark slate tiles and spraying its contents everywhere.
“No script,” enunciated Monty, “no job.”
For a moment I just stood there, absorbing this, soap dripping from my fingers. After this long, the agency felt like home. I knew that my friends thought I had Stockholm syndrome, given all the stories they’d heard me tell about Monty over the years. Yet to me, my job was more than dealing with Monty’s eccentricities. It was being able to make the perfect pairing between one of our writers and a producer or an incredible production company. It was the hours I’d spent in that cramped office editing scripts, completely lost in helping a writer find their way. The edits that weren’t strictly a part of our service—I just loved doing them. It was a demanding job, but I’d made it my own. I didn’t know what I’d do without it. I didn’t know who I would be without it. Now, that was a sobering thought.
“Ezra needs to sign that addendum,” I said without thinking.
“Does he?” Monty’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Whatever would I do without my sage assist—” He stopped abruptly. “You know,” he said, his tone suddenly airy, “it’s a shame. Before all this unpleasantness, I was going to talk to you about stepping up.”
What was he saying? Had he been considering making me an agent?
Rap rap rap. I jumped.
“Hello? Miss Summers? Are you still in there?” I recognized the voice of the waiter I’d spoken to earlier. He was outside the door. “I have two gentlemen here who are asking to see Monty.” He coughed. “For some reason, they were under the impression he might be in our VIP area, and the maître d’ is rather touchy about uninvited guests.” I winced guiltily. “I’m terribly sorry, but he’s really quite insistent that you help us resolve the . . . misunderstanding, so that they can leave.”
“They can’t see me stuck in here. Get me out, get me out!” Monty hissed.
“Just one minute!” I called to the waiter. “Monty,” I said more quietly, “I’m going to need you to push from your side when I say. Okay? Just trust me.” I steadied my feet.
Rap rap rap.
“Hurry up, will you!”
“Okay,” I told him. “On three. One. Two . . .”