With rehearsals coming in a few days, Jon had been going over his lines for the next production at the Shanachie, which was a little different from usual. It had been a few years since he'd tackled a musical, but somehow he'd let Mataya talk him into taking a part in the next one. It wasn't a difficult part anyway, but it did require him working on getting his rusty singing voice back in shape. With Vicki away at work for the day, it allowed him to do just that without risking being barked at. Of course, that's what ear plugs were for. Cosmo, however, insisted singing along, and the higher the notes, the louder the barks.
And he had plenty of time to practice in. What Vicki had been certain would be a short standard meeting to discuss just when post-production would pick up on Getting Over Alyson had been a short standard meeting to regretfully inform all the heads of department that as of 8:00 that morning, 21twelve was no longer extant. The last several hours of Vicki's day had been spent informing her own department of staff of the news, and tracking down all the PR details for the launch of the film that would now never be released to put a halt to them. She was not in the best of moods as she opened the door to the condo, and being greeted with loud singing and barking did not do her temper any good. Rather than greet either Jon or Cosmo, she just dropped her jacket over the back of the couch and stalked silently into the kitchen.
Jon was so engrossed in his singing that he never noticed Vicki come in. Cosmo was another matter, however. The dog barked loudly, as if to get his master's attention, but Jon kept right on singing.
Dear Firmin, just a quick reminder: my salary has not been paid. Send it care of the ghost, by return of post — P.T.O.: No one likes a debtor, so it's better if my orders are obeyed!
Jon's voice cracked on the last line and he frowned, muttering a choice expletive that started with the letter F, scowling at Cosmo who was still barking his fool head off. "Oh, stop! I know I'm rusty. You don't have to rub it in," he scolded the dog. He cleared his throat again, getting ready to give it another try when the dog turned and padded off toward the kitchen to greet his mistress, tail wagging a mile a minute. "I'm not that bad!" Jon called after the dog, frowning again. "Probably sound like a cat in heat," he muttered to himself.
There was a loud slam from the kitchen in that moment of quiet as Vicki vented a little of her frustration in closing the cupboard doors with a little too much vigor. Her sneakers squeaked against the lino when Cosmo padded in, one hand lowering to gently push the dog away. "Not now, Cosmo. Go and play with Jon."
Jon furrowed his brows. That was odd. He thought he heard someone slam a cupboard door, followed by a woman's voice, but Vicki was supposed to be at work. He turned his head toward the kitchen, spying her jacket on the back of the couch, forehead wrinkling in confusion. It wasn't lunch time. What was she doing home in the middle of the day' Maybe she wanted a little afternoon delight, but then why was she slamming the cupboard" There was only one way to find out. "Vicki?" he called, starting toward the kitchen.
It took a moment for her to respond, fighting to keep the bitter tone from her voice as she answered. "Hi, Jon." Not exactly the effusively loving greeting he was used to, but then, he'd never seen her standing stock still against the kitchen counter, her head down and shoulders up, gripping so tightly to the edge of the counter that her fingers were white.
Hi, Jon' That was it' It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that something was wrong. Jon froze in the doorway a moment to consider this, before closing the distance between them. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to cause her to be angry at him, but he couldn't help but notice the cold greeting and the tension in her, even from behind her back. "What's the matter?" he asked without further thought, knowing by instinct that something was wrong, but not knowing what. He came up beside her, turning so that his back was to the counter to face her.
There was another pause before she spoke, her jaw unclenching as she released a long, slow breath, forcing her shoulders to lower from their high, tense arch. Lifting her head, she glanced at Jon. "My curse has struck again, that's the matter," she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her tone despite her trying. "Yet another studio that dared to employ me has gone under." There was a thump as she let her head fall forward again, hitting her forehead firmly off the cabinet.
He had that puzzled expression on his face again, furrows furrowing deeply, her words not quite making sense just yet, wheels turning in his head. "What studio?" he asked, and then it struck him. "21twelve?" No, that couldn't be right. As far as he knew, the studio was doing fine. The premiere for Allyson was in another week or so; everything was going according to plan, wasn't it' He frowned worriedly. "What happened?"
She sighed again, turning to rest back against the counter with her arms wrapped tight about her own waist, glaring at the wall opposite. "You know post-production took a pause a couple of weeks ago," she said quietly. "I don't know all the details, but it sounds as though the rumors of the studio haemorrhaging capital were all true. Lelah confirmed it at the meeting today; she's liquidating and selling all assets, and hoping like hell she's got enough cash to pay off the actors and staff. Why the hell didn't she tell us when we could have helped?"
"Hemorraging?" Jon repeated, eyes widening. He was an investor in 21Twelve and had heard nothing about any of this. "How can that be possible? Crowes made a crapload of money." Or so he'd thought. "She was up for an Oscar!" Jon's face flushed in anger and confusion. "How the hell can the studio be losing money' I don't understand."
"Don't you get mad at me, I don't know what?s been going on!" Vicki snapped back at him, pushing away from the counter with impatient frustration. "I only work there - worked there." Blue eyes flashed angrily toward him, daring her fiance to compound her bad mood with his own. "You know the worst part' I feel guilty. I feel guilty because obviously it was something we did, as a studio, that made everything go under; I'm at least partially to blame, and ..." Her expression crumpled as she shook her head. "Oh God, Jon, Humphrey's money."
He wasn't angry with her; quite the contrary, in fact. It wasn't even the money so much. He could make that up easily enough if he really wanted to. He was angry because he had believed in the studio and he just couldn't understand how it could possibly have gone belly-up. Jon opened his mouth to speak, to contradict her and point out that he wasn't angry with her, but then she was blaming herself and all the anger went out of him. He sagged back against the counter, his face turning pale at the implications and consequences of all this. He said nothing for a long moment, pressing his lips tightly together and wondering how it could have all gone so wrong.
Guilt and anger combined in Vicki to bad effect - she'd been losing sleep over the PR campaign and the details of the Summer Party Launch for weeks, and all of a sudden, it wasn't going to happen. As Jon subsided into silence, she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, sliding down the wall opposite him into a curled slump. "I'm sorry," she whispered, dropping her face into the protective curl of her arms over the jut of her knees. "It's not your fault, I know it isn't."
And he had plenty of time to practice in. What Vicki had been certain would be a short standard meeting to discuss just when post-production would pick up on Getting Over Alyson had been a short standard meeting to regretfully inform all the heads of department that as of 8:00 that morning, 21twelve was no longer extant. The last several hours of Vicki's day had been spent informing her own department of staff of the news, and tracking down all the PR details for the launch of the film that would now never be released to put a halt to them. She was not in the best of moods as she opened the door to the condo, and being greeted with loud singing and barking did not do her temper any good. Rather than greet either Jon or Cosmo, she just dropped her jacket over the back of the couch and stalked silently into the kitchen.
Jon was so engrossed in his singing that he never noticed Vicki come in. Cosmo was another matter, however. The dog barked loudly, as if to get his master's attention, but Jon kept right on singing.
Dear Firmin, just a quick reminder: my salary has not been paid. Send it care of the ghost, by return of post — P.T.O.: No one likes a debtor, so it's better if my orders are obeyed!
Jon's voice cracked on the last line and he frowned, muttering a choice expletive that started with the letter F, scowling at Cosmo who was still barking his fool head off. "Oh, stop! I know I'm rusty. You don't have to rub it in," he scolded the dog. He cleared his throat again, getting ready to give it another try when the dog turned and padded off toward the kitchen to greet his mistress, tail wagging a mile a minute. "I'm not that bad!" Jon called after the dog, frowning again. "Probably sound like a cat in heat," he muttered to himself.
There was a loud slam from the kitchen in that moment of quiet as Vicki vented a little of her frustration in closing the cupboard doors with a little too much vigor. Her sneakers squeaked against the lino when Cosmo padded in, one hand lowering to gently push the dog away. "Not now, Cosmo. Go and play with Jon."
Jon furrowed his brows. That was odd. He thought he heard someone slam a cupboard door, followed by a woman's voice, but Vicki was supposed to be at work. He turned his head toward the kitchen, spying her jacket on the back of the couch, forehead wrinkling in confusion. It wasn't lunch time. What was she doing home in the middle of the day' Maybe she wanted a little afternoon delight, but then why was she slamming the cupboard" There was only one way to find out. "Vicki?" he called, starting toward the kitchen.
It took a moment for her to respond, fighting to keep the bitter tone from her voice as she answered. "Hi, Jon." Not exactly the effusively loving greeting he was used to, but then, he'd never seen her standing stock still against the kitchen counter, her head down and shoulders up, gripping so tightly to the edge of the counter that her fingers were white.
Hi, Jon' That was it' It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that something was wrong. Jon froze in the doorway a moment to consider this, before closing the distance between them. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to cause her to be angry at him, but he couldn't help but notice the cold greeting and the tension in her, even from behind her back. "What's the matter?" he asked without further thought, knowing by instinct that something was wrong, but not knowing what. He came up beside her, turning so that his back was to the counter to face her.
There was another pause before she spoke, her jaw unclenching as she released a long, slow breath, forcing her shoulders to lower from their high, tense arch. Lifting her head, she glanced at Jon. "My curse has struck again, that's the matter," she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her tone despite her trying. "Yet another studio that dared to employ me has gone under." There was a thump as she let her head fall forward again, hitting her forehead firmly off the cabinet.
He had that puzzled expression on his face again, furrows furrowing deeply, her words not quite making sense just yet, wheels turning in his head. "What studio?" he asked, and then it struck him. "21twelve?" No, that couldn't be right. As far as he knew, the studio was doing fine. The premiere for Allyson was in another week or so; everything was going according to plan, wasn't it' He frowned worriedly. "What happened?"
She sighed again, turning to rest back against the counter with her arms wrapped tight about her own waist, glaring at the wall opposite. "You know post-production took a pause a couple of weeks ago," she said quietly. "I don't know all the details, but it sounds as though the rumors of the studio haemorrhaging capital were all true. Lelah confirmed it at the meeting today; she's liquidating and selling all assets, and hoping like hell she's got enough cash to pay off the actors and staff. Why the hell didn't she tell us when we could have helped?"
"Hemorraging?" Jon repeated, eyes widening. He was an investor in 21Twelve and had heard nothing about any of this. "How can that be possible? Crowes made a crapload of money." Or so he'd thought. "She was up for an Oscar!" Jon's face flushed in anger and confusion. "How the hell can the studio be losing money' I don't understand."
"Don't you get mad at me, I don't know what?s been going on!" Vicki snapped back at him, pushing away from the counter with impatient frustration. "I only work there - worked there." Blue eyes flashed angrily toward him, daring her fiance to compound her bad mood with his own. "You know the worst part' I feel guilty. I feel guilty because obviously it was something we did, as a studio, that made everything go under; I'm at least partially to blame, and ..." Her expression crumpled as she shook her head. "Oh God, Jon, Humphrey's money."
He wasn't angry with her; quite the contrary, in fact. It wasn't even the money so much. He could make that up easily enough if he really wanted to. He was angry because he had believed in the studio and he just couldn't understand how it could possibly have gone belly-up. Jon opened his mouth to speak, to contradict her and point out that he wasn't angry with her, but then she was blaming herself and all the anger went out of him. He sagged back against the counter, his face turning pale at the implications and consequences of all this. He said nothing for a long moment, pressing his lips tightly together and wondering how it could have all gone so wrong.
Guilt and anger combined in Vicki to bad effect - she'd been losing sleep over the PR campaign and the details of the Summer Party Launch for weeks, and all of a sudden, it wasn't going to happen. As Jon subsided into silence, she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, sliding down the wall opposite him into a curled slump. "I'm sorry," she whispered, dropping her face into the protective curl of her arms over the jut of her knees. "It's not your fault, I know it isn't."