#niftybottle

Claudia chimed in. “Yeah, it won’t be the same with you, Mykes. I mean, I’d normally enjoy a good ‘white Christmas’ as much as the next girl, but with you snowed in at the Warehouse, and us stuck in Buffalo…” She trailed off into a shrug.

“You’ll just have to hit Pete with double the amount of snowballs, for me,” Myka replied, smirking at Pete’s exaggerated expression of offense.

“Ganging up on me right in front of me?” he protested. “Have you no shame?”

Claudia laughed, and Myka’s smile wasn’t nearly as forced as before.

There was a sound, then, of a door opening, and Steve’s voice sounded over the Farnsworth.

“Boy, what a day. Oh. Hi, Myka!”

Just a corner of Steve’s face—one eye, half his nose—was briefly shoved into the frame, before he moved away again.

Myka reflexively smiled in greeting, and even once he was out of sight, she could still hear him, as he explained, “No luck, I’m sorry. We’re definitely stuck here overnight, and probably longer than that. Because of the lake effect off Lake Erie, things are even worse than I thought they’d be.”

Claudia groaned and threw herself backwards onto the hotel room bed.

But Myka just kept her smile plastered to her face. It was fine. She was going to be alone on Christmas, but she would keep smiling, and everything was going to be fine.

None of this would have happened, if she hadn’t gotten sick.

It was right before she and Pete had been about to leave for Pittsburgh for an artifact retrieval, with Claudia and Steve heading to Buffalo for a separate artifact.

But that morning Myka had woken up at 5am with a high fever, chills, and an achiness all over. Artie promptly declared her unfit for duty, and she’d been ordered to stay at the B&B and rest, while Pete, Claudia, and Steve all teamed up together—heading first to Pittsburgh, for the more urgent situation, and then on to Buffalo as soon as they could.

Covering the two artifacts sequentially, instead of at the same time in separate teams, meant that the whole thing had taken longer than it otherwise would have, though. And by the time they’d managed to snag the second artifact, two big things happened: it was Christmas Eve, and the huge snowstorm that had been blowing across the country caught up with them before they were able to get a flight out.

So it would have to be Christmas in Buffalo for the three of them.

As for Myka, she’d remained holed up in bed for nearly a week, before she started feeling better. She hadn’t felt up for traveling, so planned to see her family in Colorado sometime in early January, instead. And there were plans already for a small holiday celebration at the B&B. Since everyone else was supposed to be out of town, Abigail had arranged for her family to come stay with her. Her parents, younger sister, brother-in-law, and two nephews had all arrived a few days earlier, and Abigail assured Myka that they’d all be happy to have her join them for Christmas.

Once she felt strong enough, though, Myka’s guilt for making things harder on her fellow-agents led her to go over to the Warehouse to help catch up on paperwork and inventory.

And then, well, Myka had known that a storm was heading their way—Abigail had been sure to remind her not to stay out too long—but it was easy to lose track of time in the Warehouse, and Myka liked to take the time needed to do things right, when she could, and there were so many truly fascinating artifacts and people to read about as she did her work, and…

By the time Myka had realized how long she’d been working, it was too late. The blizzard had arrived, she had four missed calls from Abigail, and the roads were completely impassable.

So. Christmas in the Warehouse. Alone.

Myka was sitting in Artie’s office, drinking coffee and reading a book, when she heard the noise.

There was something in the Umbilicus.

For a moment, Myka was ready to write it off as just echoing wind from outside, but… No, those were definitely footsteps.

There was someone in the Umbilicus. There wasn’t anyone who should be there.

Myka was on her feet in an instant, Tesla in hand, and she moved quickly over to the office door. Not wanting to give herself away, she refrained from looking through the small window in the door, and instead stood off to the side, ready and waiting.

The intruder began opening the door, and as soon as it was open wide enough, Myka reached blindly through the gap, grabbed hold of the person’s coat—there was a small yelp of surprise—yanked them through the doorway, and shoved them back into the wall, with Myka’s Tesla held threateningly against their throat.

It was only then that Myka got a good look at the intruder.

“Helena?”

In spite of her position thrust back against the wall, Helena’s smile was wide and happy.

“Hello, Myka,” she greeted calmly. “Just like old times, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” was the best that Myka could manage.

Was she still sick, after all? Was this some kind of fever dream?

Out of the corner of her eye, Helena glanced down at the Tesla in Myka’s hand.

“Still meeting at gunpoint,” Helena explained. “It seems to be our thing!” She sounded quite pleased with this fact.

“Oh, right.”

Myka lowered the Tesla, but, still feeling out of sorts at Helena’s sudden and inexplicable appearance, she didn’t think to release her tight hold on the front of Helena’s coat. They remained standing together, just a foot apart, and Helena seemed to have no complaints at being pressed up against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Myka asked.

She hadn’t seen Helena in a little over a month. She was working for the Regents, now; not a Regent herself, nor a regular agent, but something in between. Myka didn’t fully know what Helena did, really, but it meant that she made semi-regular appearances at the Warehouse, and for that, Myka was grateful.

Helena smiled. “A little birdie named Pete got in touch with me and explained your predicament. No one should be alone at Christmas, Myka,” she said.

“You’re here to rescue me?”

“Well you’re hardly one to need rescuing,” Helena replied with a light laugh. Her expression was kind, and warm, and so very beautiful.

Their current position, so close together, finally seemed to register with Myka. She felt a blush start to creep up her cheeks, but still, she didn’t let go. If anything, her arm flexed as she pulled Helena just the tiniest bit closer.

They weren’t dating. Not really.

Myka didn’t think they were, at least. They hadn’t really talked about it. For two people who both loved words so much, they hadn’t been all that good at actually using them to discuss what was going on between them.

But, well, there had been kissing, a few times. And it had been really nice. Myka knew that much, certainly.

Her gaze was drawn down Helena’s lips as Helena continued, “I simply thought you might—”

Whatever Helena meant to say, she didn’t get to finish. Without allowing herself to think about it, Myka closed the last bit of distance between them, angling her face downwards to press her lips tightly to Helena’s, kissing the other woman with an urgency that she didn’t quite know where it came from.

Helena made a small sound of surprise, and after just a short moment, Myka pulled away, flustered. She finally released her hold on Helena, and took a step backwards.

“Sorry, I— I shouldn’t have done that, I don’t—”

“No!” Helena exclaimed, interrupting. She laughed. “Just give a girl some warning, next time.”

With that, Helena’s hands reached for Myka, grabbing hold of her by the upper arms and pulling them back together. With the space between them erased, one of Helena’s arms wrapped around Myka’s back, as the other reached upwards—her hand tracing along Myka’s neck, her jaw, and then up into her hair, fingers grasping hold of the curls at the back of Myka’s head. She tugged only lightly, but Myka groaned and practically melted into her, bringing their lips together again. One of her own hands fell to Helena’s waist, as the other reached out to steady herself against the wall.

It was some time before they pulled apart again. Myka could only grin happily at Helena before a thought occurred to her.

“Wait, how did you get here?” she asked, remembering all of the snow.

Helena smirked but did look somewhat sheepish as she explained. “I… may have threatened one of the members of the Regents’ security detail into driving me here in a snow plow.”

Myka laughed. “You what?”

Helena merely shrugged. She looked straight into Myka’s eyes, unrepentant.

Myka’s expression softened, and she couldn’t keep the wonder out of her voice as she said, “I can’t believe you’re here.” She reached up and lightly drew her fingers down the side of Helena’s face before returning it to rest lightly against Helena’s hip. “How long can you stay this time?”

Helena’s gaze shifted away, then, and she actually looked somewhat apprehensive. Myka felt her heart drop—not long, apparently.

But then Helena spoke, saying, “I wanted to talk to you about that, as it happens. I’ve spoken with my direct supervisor among the Regents about, well, about the possibility of my being based in Univille on a more permanent basis, even as I continue my work with them.”

It took Myka a moment to parse out the meaning of Helena’s words.

She blinked, her heart suddenly beating much faster. She asked, hesitant, “Does that… Do you mean that you’re staying?”

Helena looked back up, bringing her eyes again to Myka’s. There was a real weight to her next words, as though she hoped Myka would understand all of what she was asking when she said, “If you think that would be a good idea, that is?”

Myka didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she replied. “I do think that would be a very good idea.”

Helena grinned. “Then it’s settled,” she said with a nod. “I suppose I can speak to Abigail about it when we return to the B&B.”

They still had more to talk about, Myka knew. But for now, it was enough. Helena was in her arms, she was staying, and they were together for Christmas. It was more than enough.

She couldn’t stop her own happy smile from crossing her face. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said. “Merry Christmas, Helena.”

“Happy Christmas, Myka.”

“You sound as if you’re trying out for a part in one of the films. And after six years of this, it’s more like I’d prefer to have Christmas stricken from the calendar.”

“The true meaning of Christmas is that it makes this network a ton of money.”

“True.”

“Which also means that you make a slightly smaller ton of money.”

“Also true.”

“Which also, down a few steps, means that I make enough for rent and my car payment. Plus the occasional sugary baked good.”

“According to the formula, you should meet someone tall, dark, and handsome while purchasing said good. Or perhaps while dropping it clumsily.”

“Yeah, well, life doesn’t go according to the formula.” Claudia pauses, then suggests, “Dog-walking.”

“Speaking of formula. We have done dog-walking. Over and over again, we have done dog-walking, with the only variation being the breed of dog being walked.”

“Not true, but okay. Cat-walking.”

“The vast number of directions in which that one phrase might be taken is truly terrifying.”

“Good point. Hey, have we done models?”

“Insufficiently relatable.”

“The supermodel’s the bad guy in this. The heroine’s the assistant at the agency.”

“And who serves as the tall, dark, and handsome figure in this scenario?”

“The photographer. Duh. Who’s shooting the Christmas spread for whatever magazine or catalog shoot or whatever. Duh.”

“I like that. Assign it to someone, see what they come up with. That leaves how many more slots?” Helena squints at the calendar. Models could fit somewhere in early December... hm... catalog shoot... opportunities for product placement...

“Slot, slot, slot,” Claudia mumbles. “Slot machines. Vegas!”

“No. The demographic is on the whole opposed to gambling.”

“But they like it when people gamble on loooove. Hey, how about love slot machines!”

“That sounds like a dystopian nightmare. Or possibly pornography.”

“Potayto, potahto.”

“No gambling, Claudia.”

“Potatoes!”

“Unromantic.”

“It’s like you’ve never shared your fries with someone.”

“It is very like that. Now shoo. I have a conference call shortly.”

“You wouldn’t take the time to share fries with anybody, anyway,” Claudia mutters, just a bit sourly, as she leaves. Helena would protest, but it’s true. Not that she has anyone with whom she wants to take the time to share much of anything. And not that she has much leisure time from which she might carve that shared time, either.

****

Claudia runs into Helena’s office. She stands and pants. Helena waits a moment, but when no words are forthcoming, she says, “I am not psychic. You have to speak.”

“You,” Claudia pants, “will. not. believe. this.”

“Is this something I’m going to want to believe? Or is this a ‘both leads in the production that starts shooting next Tuesday have broken their legs’ situation?”

“Come on, I know you’d believe that, because it happened. But this one, you’re gonna want to believe in it like Santa Claus. Do you know what Christmas song we might be able to get?”

“The John Lennon one,” Helena guesses.

“What? No.”

“The Paul McCartney one,” she tries next.

“No.”

“The Ringo Starr one.”

“Ringo has a Christmas song?”

“How can you not know that, having worked for me for... nearly two years now? With that, however, I have run out of Beatles, because alas, George Harrison has only a New Year’s song.”

“It’s not a Beatle!” She stops. “Although it’s closer than you think, maybe, in terms of mania. You know U.N.I.3.Y.?”

Helena laughs. “The boy band? Of course I do.”

“Well, they’re putting out a Christmas song this year, and it’s going to be huge. And their label said that their manager needs to meet with you to talk about us using it... and... wait for it...” Claudia starts leaping in place. Literally leaping.

“And what? What am I waiting for?”

“And the boys themselves! The label said they want to put them in one of our movies, just, like, a cameo because they want to try out the acting thing! Can you believe it? We’re gonna break that ratings ceiling we’ve been pushing up against, I totally know it! Bonuses for everybody!”

“Wait. You said their manager needs a meeting.” Claudia nods. “But if the boys want to do this, why wouldn’t Nev just call me?”

“Now you wait. Nev? Nev from the band?”

“Well of course Nev from the band.”

“Why would Nev call you?”

“Possibly because he is a member of my family.”

“How is Nev a member of your family? Isn’t he Egyptian or whatever?”

“He is not Egyptian. His mother is from Somalia, and his father is my brother.”

“Nev—from U.N.I.3.Y., the biggest boy band in the world—is your nephew.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“I wasn’t aware you cared. About boy bands, that is. Now, if my nephew were in... ah...”

“You have no idea what kind of music I like, do you.”

“None whatsoever,” Helena has no choice but to admit. “But I’m thrilled that Nev—Nev Wells, incidentally, which might have given you a clue—and his two little friends meet with your approval.”

Claudia raises her eyebrows. “Nev and his ‘little’ friends? Aren’t they in their twenties?”

“Nev and Kenny went to school together. That froze them for me at around fourteen. I don’t know Tak at all—he could be anywhere from fifteen to fifty.”

“Tak isn’t fifty. Little girls throwing themselves at him would be really, really creepy then.”

“It’s a bit creepy that you seem willing to throw yourself at them.”

“Have you ever actually seen your nephew?” She raises her arms at Helena, spreading them wide, as if only such a gesture could begin to express the extent of Nev’s beauty.

Helena knows that Nev is a lovely boy. He does look, now that Claudia has mentioned it, as if his face might have been copied from an ancient Egyptian temple relief, with his sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes (of a hazel extracted from somewhere deep in both his mother’s and his father’s DNA), pointed chin. Since he left school, his once extremely black locks have changed color as quickly as his mood. His mother, Jamilah, thinks he looks dashing regardless of his hair. His father—Helena’s brother Charles—had early on taken to muttering about how black hair served both sides of this family quite well for generations, young man. Now that that hair has taken on a life of its own among Nev’s fans (very nearly literally; it has its own Instagram), Charles has backed off a bit.

“I’ll let his parents know how well their genetic experiment paid off,” she tells Claudia.

****

Nev surprises Helena with a visit a few days later—he shows up, unannounced, at her office. “It’s me!” he declares to Helena after he hugs her. “Your newest movie star!” His hair is turquoise. It somehow manages to make his eyes look orange.

“What are you doing in Los Angeles? Even if this film situation works out—and I don’t know if it will—I’d have thought you’d need to work around your touring.”

“Nah... Kenny busted his ankle up. Can’t dance for three hours every night.”

“Is that why you want to be in one of my films?”

“Well... see, we got this new manager. Well, not so new anymore. But she’s way better than Larry was.”

“And this new manager wants you to be in a film,” Helena guesses.

A negative shake of turquoise. “Nah. Myka’s her name. Based here in L.A., so we’re gonna record here for a while. Anyway, she’s lovely.”

“Are you being intentionally cryptic?” She hears a thunk from outside her office. She calls, “Claudia, come in, would you? You can gaze upon him. He won’t mind.”

Nev whispers to Helena, “I like her—talked to her yesterday, let her know I was coming. She’s a smart one.”

“Claudia, why didn’t you tell me Nev was going to be here?”

“He wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Why?” Helena asks them both.

“Can’t a boy surprise his auntie?”

“Apparently a boy can. Whether a boy should...”

“Anyway, you got a meeting with Myka tomorrow, right?”

“Have I?”

“Tomorrow,” Claudia says, “yes you do.”

Nev says, “So I’ll take you out to dinner tomorrow night, auntie, and you can tell me how it went.”

“Can I.”

“I’m at the Chateau. You can pick me up eightish.”

“Can I. What if I’m busy?” But she’s smiling, because he’s smiling, and it’s very difficult not to smile when Nev is smiling.

“Claudia, she busy tomorrow eightish?”

Claudia is smiling too. “Nope. I’ll make her leave here in time to get you. And good for you for getting her out of here that early.”

“Taking a strong liking to you, Claudia,” Nev says. He winks at the both of them, and then he departs in what seems to be a heavenly cloud of light-blue candy floss.

Claudia sighs. “He is pretty nice to gaze upon.”

****

When Myka Bering, the supposedly lovely manager who is new but not so new anymore, walks into Helena’s office, Helena’s first thought is: she is lovely.

Then Myka says, “I’m not quite sure why I’m here.”

Helena considers saying “So that I may gaze upon you.” What she actually musters is, “Interesting you should say that. Neither am I, given the—”

“Someone at your network had this idea. I don’t know why. I don’t like the kind of movies you make, and I can’t imagine the boys do either.”

Well. That was blunt. “I don’t make them.”

“What?”

“The movies. I don’t make them.”

“You decide what should be made,” Myka says.

“I do that,” Helena concedes.

“Then I guess what I’m saying is, don’t like the kind of movies you tell other people to make.”

Helena hardens her... heart? Why is her heart involved in this? “Elitist, are we? Opposed to the simple pleasures?

“I’m fine with the simple pleasures. It’s the stereotypical, clichéd pleasures that get to me.”

“‘Christmas’ and ‘true love’ are not clichés,” Helena says, and even as she is speaking, she is asking herself what in the world has possessed her. Claudia would goggle at hearing such words come out of her mouth.

“In your hands they are,” Myka is saying.

And now Helena can at least say, truthfully, “In my hands, they make money. Besides, do your young clients make music that is in some way unstereotypical? Why would I, or anyone, want to use a Christmas song of theirs if it were not appropriately clichéd?”

Myka says, “At least the boys singing that song don’t look like the people in your movies. And if you want them just to give you some multicultural cover while you keep all your leads lily-white, forget it.”

“What? Why do I need multicultural cover? I think perhaps you’ve been misinformed about our demographic.” But Helena has to admit that Myka is not wrong to object. She herself has said, in more than one interview, an absurdly spineless “we are looking at that” about the networks’ continuing insistence on white faces—continuing insistence on white faces’ importance to the demographic, to be precise—and even that namby-pamby non-response brought a reprimand from those above her in company.

“And I think perhaps you’ve been misinformed about the boys’ demographic. Look, if you can come up with a real reason for them to do this, then I’ll listen. But I don’t see how this helps them. I see how it helps you, but I don’t see how it helps them.”

“I’m extremely confused. But I have a... meeting tonight that may provide some clarity. Could I get back to you on this?” She figures that will mean, if nothing else, that she will be able to gaze upon Myka Bering again. Because regardless of how little Myka thinks of Helena’s network and what appears on it, she is eminently gaze-worthy... and she is looking out for Nev and his bandmates. She is “way better” than their previous manager.

****

“So where we going for food?” Nev asks when she picks him up.

“To my house, to order in. I refuse to spend the evening being interrupted by people requesting that you turn down the volume on your hair.” It is actually because of the fans, who manage to find him—shining like a beacon as he does—anywhere he goes in public.

“Now, listen,” she says, once they are in her kitchen, diving carnivorously into several cartons of Persian takeaway. “What is going on? Why did your Myka Bering meet me with an idea that my network had asked for you?”

“Why wouldn’t your network ask for me?”

“Claudia told me that your label had requested this.”

“Who knows who asks for anything in this business?” He waves a kebab at her.

“I don’t understand what the desired outcome is. Myka doesn’t want you to be in a movie for me.”

“Don’t you want me to?”

“That would be fine. But why don’t you just tell her you’re doing it, regardless of what she says?”

“You’ve met her. Would that work so good?”

“You’re afraid of your new manager?” Though Helena can certainly see how that might be so...

“Not afraid so much as, she’s good at this. I want her to keep on doing this, and I want her to be happy while she does.”

“A lovely sentiment. I still don’t understand.”

“I want you to be happy, too.”

“Also lovely. And still.”

He pulls on the slight nap of his turquoise mop. “Okay, try this: so wouldn’t good ratings make you happy?”

“They certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

“Then figure out a way to get her to say yes.”

“But what does she want? What will make her say yes?”

Nev shrugs. “Ask her.”

****

So Helena does ask, at their second meeting: “What is your path to yes?”

Myka squints. “Are you being serious?”

“Yes. I see that it would be beneficial for me to have the boys in a movie. So I am asking you, what will make you say yes?”

Myka squints again, as if by narrowing her lids she can compel Helena to admit to... something. Helena looks back as blankly as she can, and Myka eventually says, “You know what? Okay. If you want the boys, then cast a lead of color.”

“I... I’m not sure I can do that.”

“Okay. Then we’re done.”

Ask her, Nev had said, and now Helena has her answer. If network does want the boys, this is how to get them. Claudia isn’t wrong about how they will goose the numbers... but this would be such a profound shift... but if it works... Nev wants this to happen, for whatever reason he does. Helena doesn’t not want this to happen. Myka is a good manager who is protecting the boys, and Nev also wants her to be happy. Helena doesn’t not want that, no matter what the boys’ lovely manager thinks of her network. “All right,” Helena says. “I’ll make it happen.”

The squint returns to Myka’s eyes, but after a moment, her expression clears. She offers a slightly adversarial “Okay.”

“Okay,” Helena responds. She suspects she may not sound quite so adversarial.

****

Claudia reports to Helena, “So the initial concept for the band’s movie is kind of ‘The Gift of the Magi.’”

“It is always ‘The Gift of the Magi.’ In one form or another. Every year.”

“But this time with actual magi!”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Close, anyhow. The boys!”

“The boys are close to the actual magi. Really. That will come as news to their parents. Well, Kenny’s and Nev’s. As I said, I don’t know Tak.”

“How many times do we have to have this conversation? They’re awesome.”

“They are not, however, wise men.”

“They don’t have to be. Look, it’s set in a children’s hospital. One of the patients makes a wish—one of those foundationy things, but it turns out it’s really a wish! The wrtiers haven’t worked out who grants it yet, probably some angel. Anyway, the wish is for the boys, and they show up bearing gifts. They agree to hang around and play the wise men in the hospital Christmas pageant for some reason, and at the end they sing their song.”

“Speaking of their song,” Helena begins.

“Uh oh. You didn’t listen to it, did you?”

“I did.”

“Uh oh.”

“Couldn’t we replace it with something traditional? I really do hesitate to greenlight a film that closes with a song that is a thinly disguised paean to smoking marijuana at Christmastime.”

“Heh. Greenlight.”

“Honestly, Claudia.”

“It’s a metaphor!”

“A metaphor for what? Other controlled substances?”

“Christmas spirit? Look. The movie’s gonna be great, and any part of the demo that would care about the pot thing won’t get it. Plus the song’s gonna be a huge hit, and I can’t believe you won’t want to use it in every single commercial.”

“I am annoyed by how accurate you are. Fine, then. What is the romance?”

“The parent of the little wish-maker, a single dad, paired off with...” Claudia consults her notes. “A nurse.”

“Oh lord, not a nurse. Make her a doctor, or I’ll have Myka Bering back in my office with harsh words about gender stereotypes as well. “

“No problemo,” Claudia assures her. “You should see the script in two weeks, tops.”

Myka Bering is back in Helena’s office two weeks later, waving the script at her, saying harsh words about gender stereotypes. Because the nurse has not been made into a doctor.

“I’ll see that it’s fixed,” Helena says, and once Myka, somewhat mollified, is gone, she shouts, “Claudia!”

“There was a... miscommunication.”

“And why didn’t I see the script before Ms. Bering did? Another miscommunication?”

“You must be psychic.”

****

One week later, Myka is berating Helena on the telephone for breaking their deal; she has been told that casting agencies are seeking “Caucasian leads for untitled Hallmark medical Christmas drama.”

Helena wants to slam her head down onto her desk. In the most stereotypical fashion possible. Instead, she says, “I suspect that was a miscommunication.” She glares at Claudia, who is standing in front of her, wincing. “I’ll take care of it.”

****

The next fire flares when the record label puts out a release stating that U.N.I.3.Y. will be “starring in” a production for the Hallmark Channel. Now Helena calls Myka and says, “That release is deliberately misleading, and you know it.”

“What release is misleading? And what do I know about it?”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that a press release about those boys goes out without touching your desk?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m going to find out.”

She hangs up on Helena, who says to dead air, “A pleasure speaking with you too.”

****

They meet once more in Helena’s office—Myka is complaining that no one will tell her where, or with whom, the erroneous release originated. “I don’t know what’s going on,” Myka says, “but I’m starting to think this whole thing is cursed. Honestly, I don’t understand why your network came up with this idea at all.”

“I was going to say that I don’t understand why they did, if indeed they did, or why the boys’ record label did, if, as it happens, they are responsible... but I am beginning to suspect that neither of those entities came up with anything. Claudia! In here now!” Claudia slinks in. “And is my nephew lurking around out there somewhere, just to make this picture complete?”

“He’s not here. You can tell because you’re not hearing the high-pitched squeals of teenagers.”

“Um,” Myka says. “Who’s your nephew?”

Helena stares. How can she not know? “A certain young man whose hair is at present turquoise.”

“Turq—what? Oh. Wait. Wells. Oh my god, Nev is your nephew?”

“Yes. That charming boy. Who with my charming deputy has for some reason contrived some elaborate... plan.”

“It was his idea to start with!” Claudia jabbers. “I didn’t even know him! But now I’m totally on board, and you should be too. Because it’s to help you out.”

“Mm hm,” Helena says.

“To help you out with higher ratings! What else could I possibly mean?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet. Myka, you do have my most sincere apologies. And in spite of it all, I will work to make this film as successful as possible.” She has already gone to the mat with one of her fellow EVPs regarding the female lead being African American, and she cannot back down without losing face.

Myka seems still stunned by the revelation that Helena and Nev are related, and Helena does wonder, just for a moment, why no one seems able to see any similarity between them. “Thank you? I don’t get it. What’s Nev up to?”

Helena says, “I’m not entirely certain. But I will make every effort to find out.”

“Well. Now I will too.” She stands to leave, but then she gives Helena a quizzical look—a different one than she’s offered before. “So that makes you... Charles’s sister? And so you know Kenny, and his family... but you don’t know Tak’s family. Do you?” She sounds strangely urgent.

“No,” Helena says. She has no idea why this matters to Myka..

Myka says a relieved “okay.”

“Okay,” Helena says back.

When Myka has gone, Helena turns to Claudia. “My dear assistant. Does network know about any of this?” Silence. “Does the band’s label know about any of this?” Silence again. “Am I thus to conclude that this entire fiasco to date is a Claudia Donovan/Neville Wells production?” Yet more silence. “That sounds like a very good name for a company, by the way.”

“Am I fired?”

“No. Well, not yet. When I’m fired, they may throw you out with me.”

“You and Nev and I can start Donovan/Wells Productions then.”

“When exactly did you and Nev decide to become partners in crime?”

“When he told me all about his great idea. When he came to see you.”

“His great idea.”

“Right.”

“His great idea to cause me to lose my job.”

“That wasn’t really part of it.”

“Then what was part of it?”

Claudia fidgets: weight on one foot, weight on the other. “I shouldn’t say. Nev should.” She shifts again. “I don’t think he will, though.”

****

Some days later, a Deadline article lists the channel’s upcoming slate of Christmas movies. Included in the list is something called “White Coat Christmas.”

Five minutes after Helena sees that on Twitter, Claudia says, “I’ve got Myka Bering on the phone for you. And I’m really sorry, but in a shocking twist, she doesn’t sound happy.”

Helena takes the call. She starts, “Before you say one word, be advised that I can’t stand the name either.”

“Well,” Myka says. “Okay then.” She starts to say something, then changes it to “thank you.”

“Wait,” Helena says. To keep her talking. To keep her talking, just a little longer, when she is not angry. “I haven’t asked Nev lately—how’s Kenny’s ankle?”

“Not slowing him down at all,” Myka says. “He’s a handful.”

“He always was. If Nev found himself in trouble, Kenny was usually ultimately at fault.”

“And yet he sings like an angel,” Myka sighs. She gives a small laugh. “That line sounds like it belongs in one of your movies.”

This time, there’s no disdain in the accusation. Helena gives an echoing laugh. She says, “He does. Have you heard his late father’s records? He sang a particular style of Indian classical, in his youth. I’m afraid I can’t remember what it’s called.”

“I can’t remember what it’s called either, but I have heard those records, and they’re beautiful,” Myka says. There’s a pause, then she offers, “Young girls are always putting Kenny in arranged marriages in their fanfiction. Why his parents would arrange for him to marry all races and religions, just because he’s Indian, I really don’t get. But that’s what they do with him.”

“What on earth do they do with Nev?”

“You probably don’t want to know.”

“Mm,” Helena says. “I can report to you that filming on a movie with a better title than ‘White Coat Christmas’ begins soon. I have no great hopes that production will go more smoothly than preproduction, but one can hope.”

“I guess one can. Incidentally, Nev won’t explain what he’s up to.”

“Neither will Claudia. I suppose we’ll find out eventually... perhaps they’ll let us in on the secret once they get whatever it is they want.”

“When the movie’s done?”

“We can but hope.”