The complexity in humans astounds me. The Morgan who left for her meeting with the director—excited, hopeful—was as different as could be from the Morgan who returned. She came into the apartment with hunched shoulders, the weight of despondency returned to her, but greater than before.
Brooke came out of her bedroom, having heard Morgan unlocking the bolts. “Uh oh,” she says, seeing the look on Morgan’s face. “Didn’t go well?”
Morgan dropped her coat on the floor and stepped forward, peeling her high-heeled shoes from her feet as she went. She draped her arms over Brooke’s shoulders and sagged against her, so that the smaller woman staggered, laughing a little.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”
“Why are people all terrible, Brooke?” Morgan moaned, the side of her face pressed against Brooke’s. “They’re awful, all eight and a half million of them. Why did I ever decide to live here anyway?”
“Because if you want to get on Broadway, you need to be somewhere in the vicinity.” Brooke pats Morgan’s back and pushes her upright again. “And all eight million? Are you sure?”
Morgan waves one hand. “You happen to be some mutant New Yorker who’s not awful. Must be a defect.”
“Must be.”
I am uncertain as to why humans will insult one another in friendship. Neither of them meant the harsh words; rather it seemed to make both of them feel better.
Brooke turns toward the kitchen. “Come on, we need ice cream. What happened?”
Morgan didn’t answer Brooke’s question until they had settled onto the sofa with a package of chocolate brownie ice cream and two spoons. “He came on to me,” she said, staring into the carton.
Brooke’s spoon stopped moving. She looked up at Morgan in alarm and concern. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yeah, it wasn’t like that,” Morgan said, hastily taking her spoon out of her mouth. She swallows and shrugs. “He didn’t try to touch me or anything. But he was definitely flirting[1] with me. Said I had pretty hair, that I looked like I took good care of myself, asked if I had a boyfriend—all very subtle, in between the professional stuff. And some of what he was saying was helpful.” She pulls her hair down from its elaborate style and ruffles it around her head, radiating frustration. “But then at the end of the meeting he asked for my number and told me we should meet again for another ‘work session’.” She stabs her spoon into the ice cream. “Men are pigs.”
“Are they?” Brooke asks quietly.
From the ensuing conversation, which I do not have time to relate in full, I gather that the reason for Morgan’s objection is not, as I’d hoped, a sense of loyalty to Brooke. Instead, she resents the power that this man—who is the one who can give her an opportunity in her career, or else take it away—holds over her. If she refuses his advances, he might not give her the job that she needs so much.
This made it suddenly clear to me why I am here now. This is a turning point in Morgan’s life. She loves what she does, loves it with a rare passion, and would give almost anything to continue doing it. But in the past few weeks she has begun to feel that she cannot succeed without sacrifices. This, however, is a sacrifice she cannot make. To sell herself to a man she does not love for the sake of prosperity, to live in lies and diminish her own self-worth—this would open her soul to the Enemy faster than anything I have ever seen.
My challenge, then, is to open her eyes to the second path here before her. I must show her the value of loyalty and steadfast love, love that has been with her for years already. If she gives Brooke a place of honor in her life, then Brooke will have the influence and support to help Morgan through the difficult moments, to keep her on the narrow way and allow her to remain untouched by shame.
It will not be easy; Morgan is all but blind to Brooke’s feelings, having never considered it a possibility. How then to do it?
Danit advised me to begin with Morgan herself, but I think that is the wrong approach. Why hammer my way through a stone wall when I can simply open a door in it? I have to give Brooke the courage to confess her feelings, to leave Morgan with no room for doubt. Then I will be able to show her both paths before her, and help guide her down the right one.
As Morgan was preparing for bed, Brooke came to Morgan’s door and leaned against the doorframe, watching Morgan pull back the blankets on her bed. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
Morgan sat down on the bed, looking back at Brooke. “I’m not sure yet,” she said. She managed a crooked smile. “Why can’t you just tell me what I should do?” She was joking, and yet she really did want Brooke’s guidance.
Brooke shook her head, also smiling, but hers was wistful. “I know you pretty well by now, Mo, but I still can’t tell you what’s best for you.” She hesitated, watching Morgan lower her head. Just behind her, I radiated courage, and she took a breath and went on, “But whatever you do, I’ll be around.”
Morgan looked up with a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Brooke. You’re a great friend.”
How strange, and how sad, that a lovely word like friend should cause so much pain to someone. I have a great deal of work ahead of me.
[1] To ‘flirt’ is to use words to indicate one’s interest in a romantic relationship. Charlotte is an expert at this form of communication.