IceBerg - 31. Chapter 31

Walking along the carpet floor, I make it to the writing desk. I nod at the other people as I walk past, the familiar scent of the office is kicking in.

Taking my laptop out of my bag, I put it on the table and sit down. There are chatters of people going past in groups.

Doesn’t feel like a Tuesday.

‘Hi, Mr. Greystone?’

I look up to the voice. A young man looks down at me. He must be about twenty-one, his skin is bright and tanned, his teeth are a set white perfection and he is quite lean. He sits down beside me, his smile still beaming. He lifts his black hair off his forehead.

‘Yes?’ I reply, my voice a little squeaky. I clear my throat and smile at him.

‘Hi,’ he smiles again. He looks so young and fresh. He looks like he belongs somewhere like a LA beach in America, modelling out on a surfboard. Weird, that he is talking to me. ‘My name is Jamie. I just started this week. I’m the guy people come to if they want drinks.’

‘Oh, well, welcome to the building,’ I smile at him. ‘I am good for a drink but I might ask later.’

‘Of course, Mr. Greystone,’ he replies, his voice a little husky. He reaches over and pats my hand; his fingers linger on.

I almost gasp out a loud. My eyebrows go up instead.

‘What’s this scene?’

‘Huh?’

Oh. My laptop.

I scan the desk I am on, there is a cluster of staplers, paper spread about. In an instant, I stretch my hands out to sweep the papers into order, and slide the staplers to the side.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I stutter. ‘It’s um.’ I click quick onto the laptop, my face going red. ‘It’s just, um, a scene with, um, the lady doing this thing.’

I clear my throat, and glance at him, but he grins back, a big wide grin.

‘So, it’s a developing scene,’ I continue. ‘Where Lady is having some memory of her childhood. Thought some flashback scenes would be good, bit of the past back in the episodes, maybe some clues will be in there too.’

‘That sounds so good,’ his hand is still over mine. His other hand is free and points at the screen, ‘So is this all in a special document? Not word?’

‘Well, I used to use word but this is a website designed for script writing’ I smile, tapping off the mouse. ‘So much easier to use.’ I pause. ‘Are you interested in writing?’

Maybe that’s why he is hinting on me. It’s known I am gay and obviously he wants to go up the ladder.

‘Oh, no, I’m couldn’t creative toast,’ he laughs, taking his hand away.

Create toast? I laugh at that too.

‘Oh, my mistake,’ I smile.

‘Writing isn’t the thing I am interested in,’ he says, he leans close to me, his shoulder resting against mine.

Oh? Oh.

What do I say?

My face is still burning, both from flattery and utter embarrassment at being hit on by someone younger than myself. I don’t know how to handle this.

‘You sure you don’t need a drink?’ he says, his voice hushed.

‘I’m good. Ahem. I’m good for now. Thanks.’

‘How about later on? In a bar?’

‘Um,’ I capture a glance behind Jamie. Charlie is walking over with Grant. They are both carrying cans of energy drink, papers, files and talking.

I look down, take a breath and turn to him, ‘I am flattered, Jamie.’

‘But?’ his smile doesn’t faulter, he sits back though.

‘I, um,’ I blink. ‘You are a great guy, Jamie. But I am not free later.’

I thought my glance at Charlie was quick, but Jamie glances behind his shoulder,

‘Oh,’ he turns around and winks at me, ‘He is very cute, isn’t he?’

I shake my head, laughing a little, ‘You’ll make his head even bigger than it is.’

He grins and winks again, standing up, patting my hand again, ‘If you ever want a drink, Mr. Greystone, you just have to ask. Have a good day.’

His hand slides off mine and I watch him walk away.

Turning around back to the laptop, I hit the mouse pad hard.

‘What’s up, douchebag?’ I feel Charlie leaning behind me, his apple scent is strong. ‘Ow!’

I hid the back of my head hard against his chin. He backs off, and I can hear Grant laughing.

Grant clasps my shoulder, laughing, peering over at the scene, ‘The new scene you were on about in the email?’

‘Of course,’ I bring up the document clearer on the screen so they can both read over it. ‘I’ve written one page, but I’ve also got another document with some extra notes,’ I click on another document to come up.

‘You know, you should get an apple laptop,’ Charlie pulls a seat out and slides next to me and taps at my keyboard.

‘Pft,’ I roll my eyes. ‘Too complicated.’

‘It’s too complicated,’ he mimics.

‘Guys, come on,’ Grant also pulling up a seat. ‘Okay, let’s see these notes.’

‘Sure,’ I smile, passing him the laptop.

As he scans it, I ask, ‘How’s Piper doing?’

‘Good at the moment,’ he replies, his eyes not leaving the screen. His smile is a sad one though. ‘She is in the hospital, but she is doing well, just a glitch at the moment, but she will back out soon.’

‘That’s great to hear,’ I really meaning every word. ‘We miss her around here. I feel like it’s been centuries since I have seen the real Lady.’

‘Ha!’ he grins, passing me the laptop back. I place it on the table. ‘It is the life we have; she is unwell, this is just something that will occur. We enjoy each day as it is.’

‘Well let us know what we can do to help out,’ smiles Charlie. ‘Tell Piper we love her too.’

Someone’s phone chimes out, a sweet low ringtone.

‘Oh, that’s me,’ Grant gets up and answers the call, walking away from us.

‘Think we should write an episode dedicated just to piper,’ I tell Charlie.

‘Actually, that’s a brilliant idea. We can fit the episode around her humour. The café is still free we could go there like we use to,’ suggests Charlie.

Clearing my throat, I click on my emails, ‘So, I emailed you guys this scene, didn’t I?’

‘Haven’t had chance to check emails yet,’ he yawns a little, stretching out his arms.

‘Oh,’ I grin, still staring hard at the screen. ‘Busy having fun last night?’

‘I have fun every night.’

‘New guy or girl every night,’ I tease, still staring at the same page of the document.

He just shakes his head. ‘You misspelled that word,’ he taps the screen.

I frown and whack his hand away, ‘Don’t do that, you’ll leave smudges.’

‘You leave smudges, idiot,’ he murmurs.

I snort a little, ‘Sure, Charlie, I leave smudges.’

Leaning back, Charlie looking over his shoulder, ‘He’s still not back yet and it’s nearly lunch time.’

‘It’s eleven am,’ I frown.

‘Nearly lunch time,’ he raises a finger.

He ignores it and exclaims, ‘Oh, wait, I got to show you something.’

He takes his phone out and shows me two photos of me. One photo is when I was ill, poorly skinny, hair shaved, eyes bugged eyed, rat like face. The next photo is of me standing, leaning, drink in hand, wearing a shirt which actually is flattering, I have my beard back and my hair is short but thick, and I am laughing. It’s a recent picture and I wasn’t aware it was taken.

‘When did you take that?’ I try to grab the phone off him.

‘It doesn’t matter, look.’

He has put the two photos together online and put a caption underneath it, ‘Immensely proud of my best friend, to see him fight a hard battle and come out stronger than ever before shows us all that mental health doesn’t have to define you or control you, and this guy is living proof. The best guy I know.’

My heart softens and all the annoyance I have at Charlie’s weird behaviour is suddenly gone.

I give a little laugh and a light punch into his arm.

                                                                        ***

Throughout the day I zone out, I feel so drained, I knew I would be tired but I didn’t realise how much.

‘Nathanial!’

Crap.

I wake up, lifting my head from the table, rubbing my face, ‘Sorry, guys.’

Everyone around the table is looking at me. The clocks ticks above us. Nearly eight pm. This is a long work meeting.

Claire reaches over and touches my arm, giving me little smile and gentle squeeze. She’s been helping me out a lot recently.

‘It’s okay,’ Grant says. ‘You want to leave a little early today? We can continue via email this evening.’

I nodded at him.

***

I was called into the team who deal with social media. Apparently, fans had been online.

About me.

My heart sank when I heard.

I take a nervous breath before I come in, preparing myself for all the angry fans.

Thom, the head of socials, smiles at me as I sit down.

‘We, um, we actually wanted to show you this,’ he clicks on the projector and it’s tweets, posts, blogs.

All different things.

People opening up their experiences. A small video of a young woman crying, saying she had been hearing strange noises too, she was alone, and terrified to tell anyone. A father tweeting that he was able to have that difficult conversation with his poorly son. That fear everyone had, in all these tweets, that they would be viewed as monsters. Because everyone with Schizophora is a blood thirty axe murderer and we should all be thrown into padded cells forever, that’s what the world tells us so we can’t tell people if we are suffering.

‘I, um,’ I faulter. ‘I never meant to do this, I just wanted to focus on the show.’

‘It’s actually increased the ratings,’ one of the girls said, smiling a little. ‘But this isn’t just a well done we actually wanted to see how we can work this, would you be interested in public speaking?’

‘It’s the only thing I can’t do,’ I gave a little nervous laugh and stared at my hands. ‘I can try, maybe? I can write back to fans maybe, would that help?’

Thom pulled a letter out, ‘We’ve had people writing in too. It’s mixed.’

I held my breath.

‘Some people still don’t understand, make jokes, but it’s most positive than negative,’

‘I just really wanted to focus on the show.’

Thom passes two letters across the table to me; I open them up.

A letter from a mother, exhausted, with twins. She had heard voices tell her to hurt them and she was so scared, so upset, she had stopped eating, also shaved her head, she said she also went to hospital and got better. She now has a new husband and a large following on TikTok. She told me it does get better, we are in all this together and wished me all the strength to continue on my journey.

The other letter is from another mother, writing in her concerns that a show ran by a ‘madman’ was not really suitable for children. Were the staff not worried for their safety around me? Statistics showed how dangerous it was for me to continue on this show and she would boycott it until corrections were put in.

I blink and folded the letter back.

‘Guess we got a long way to go,’ I gave a short smile to the team. ‘It’s a good start.’

***

It still smells stale. Not a horrid stale, just a lingering scent that never leaves.

Noisier than last time, more people in and out. Guess where I was last time was probably more private, closed off. No wonder it cost a lot more money.

I glance down the hallway, people lying in beds, a woman sat down on her phone, nurses reading charts, doctors walking in fast pace in groups, chatter among people in dressing downs with crutches.

The walls are pale blue.

I remember my hospital walls being white, or perhaps they were always pale blue.

It’s hard to tell when you are lying in bed, with drugs.

I get to her door and knock on it, letting myself into the room.

To my surprise Piper is sat up in bed, laptop in her lamp, typing away with thin glasses perched on her nose and her hair still tied back. There are drips in her arms though.

Don’t know why I should be surprised; I had no expectations.

She sees me and is startled but smiles, ‘Mr. Greystone! It is nice to see you.’

‘Grant told me you weren’t doing too great, so thought I’d pop by,’ I close the door behind and unzip my jacket to reveal a container of Oli’s cooked risotto. ‘Save you from the terrible wasteland food here.’

She chuckles and closes her laptop lid, ‘Most decent thing anyone has brought me in days.’

I pass her container alongside a fork and pull up a chair and sit next to her.

‘How are you doing, Nathanial?’ she asks.

‘Question is how are you doing Piper? You looking forward to get back to the madness?’

‘I never left the madness, I am still in it,’ she replies lifting her laptop lid up again. ‘I never leave it.’

‘Can’t they believe they make you work while you are here.’

‘Oh, it’s my choice, it’s either work or going mad cooped up in here,’ she laughs, and adds. ‘I love that technique you did there by the way.’

‘Technique?’

‘Switch the conversation when you’re asked how you are doing,’ she sees my face and smiles, ‘I am fond of doing it myself, it just gets tiring telling people about your health, doesn’t it?’

‘Well, sometimes it’s good you know, awareness, and I do appreciate concerns,’ I shrug. I bow my head and add, ‘But yeah, I just, I don’t know, I guess it’s easier to talk about non personal stuff, less stressful conversation. That doesn’t sound right.’

‘What you mean is that you don’t need pity twenty-four seven,’ she says, typing into her laptop.

I look at her and say, ‘I have no idea how you are able to work at the moment. When I was in here, I could barely have mental energy to change the T.V. channel.’

She waves her hand away, ‘Been here too many times, I am used to it now. Doesn’t bother me.’

‘How long, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Too long. Can’t remember a time I was healthy,’ she laughs. ‘Honestly, doesn’t make much difference to me, I can still do a million other things.’

‘A million?’ I tease, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, it’s definitely admirable you can run a show from here. It’s pretty cool.’

‘I think it’s inspiring that you are doing the exact same as me,’ she shrugs.

‘Yeah, but you’ve been ill a long time.’

‘As have you, and yet here you are, working just as hard as me. Grant told me the late meetings you’ve all had to do.’

‘Yeah, it’s okay, I mean sometimes I can’t make it through the whole meeting,’ I admit. ‘I do try and that’s the worst thing. I try and I just can’t do it like everyone else can.’

‘Disadvantages of disabilities, right,’ she gives a sad smile.

I lift my head and continue, ‘People say they understand but I can see their frustration at me and I just, I don’t know, I wish they could realise that I am trying and it’s exhausting.’ I sigh and add, ‘I supposed you’ve had to deal with this crap longer than I have.’

‘That is true,’ she says. ‘Being in and out of hospitals doesn’t bother me, you get used to the smells, the people, the hard mattresses, you get used to having a good month and then two bad months after. What never stops bothering me is being treated fragile by others.’

‘So, it never goes away?’

She sighs and says, ‘People mean well, they are just stupid. That’s all. Just stupid. It’s also frustrating to prove you’re still capable especially when you experience the bad times.’

‘You know you don’t have to prove anything to me, Piper.’

She laughs out loud to that, ‘Good to know, Mr. Greystone.’

‘That wasn’t meant to come out arrogant,’ I laugh too. I lean forward and ask her, ‘You know when you talk to people and they’re about to say something and they look at you, with this weird look and stop, like what they’re going to say is going to offend? Or they’ll say stuff like ‘this is crazy’ and look at me as if to apologise for saying it? As if I am super sensitive to everything?’

‘I hear things about how I am lucky I don’t have to be on my feet all day then they stammer when they see the chair.’

‘Wow. That definitely beats mine.’

‘I am telling you. People are stupid. Not much else to say.’

‘No pearls of wisdom,’ I grin.

‘If there was, I would be selling it like gold.’

I laugh at that.

‘I have to admit,’ she says. ‘I am not familiar with your condition.’

‘I am not really familiar with yours either,’ I admit, too embarrassed to ask her what her conditions were exactly.

‘I am familiar with making shows though. I truly love my job and wouldn’t trade it to do anything else in the world. Makes me happy and that’s all I want,’ she then lifts the lid open from the container. ‘I do love a good risotto. Thank you, Nathanial.’