Henri
Yes, I completely understand. I’ll process the refund of your initial deposit as soon as we’re done with this call,” I say, massaging my temples as I try my best not to lose my shit.
It’s been a week since Liam came over and two days since the article went live. It was an instant hit, and had been reposted everywhere within twenty-four hours. When I went to get coffee, the girls in line in front of me had it pulled up on their phone. Mom sent me an essay in the form of five separate texts about how well he captured what I do. I’ve been tempted to read the piece myself, but after the other night, it’s for the best if I avoid anything that will draw me closer to Liam.
Everyone else though? They’ve read the piece spawning a tidal wave of online commentary. Millions of hits. Great for him.
For me? Well, the article’s widespread success is the reason I’m currently lying on the slightly warped hardwood floor of our living room, legs pressed up against the wall in a pose that promises to be relaxing and restorative, dealing with my third cancellation of the day.
“Thank you for understanding. My sister, she’s the type to dig—swears she could be in the FBI—and I don’t want to risk her finding out we’re not actually together,” Terrence explains, sounding genuinely apologetic.
This is a concern I’ve had to deal with in the past, but have managed to work through it by making sure my clients have a few pictures with me as well as a text history. My personal social media is private, has my real name, and the profile picture is a stupid hand-drawn cat on a wine bar napkin, courtesy of Iris.
“Of course. No problem,” I reassure him even as I cringe, mentally deducting money from my bank account.
Terrence was going to be my big holiday client. Four days over Christmas with his family at their lake house in Michigan. For the last three years, I’ve been saving so I can cover all the costs for grad school, and though I was guaranteed to freeze my ass off during this job, the money from it was exactly what I needed to reach my goal. I was so close and now I’m three steps behind.
Refusing to let myself waste the day wallowing, I finish my call with Terrence and check my waitlist and incoming emails. In my personal email, there’s yet another notice that my admission status has been updated, which I promptly ignore the same way I do every day when the automated message pops up.
Even if I am accepted for my master’s program, at this rate I might as well defer another semester to make sure I have enough saved.
Work wise, I find yet another cancellation. A majority of the dates on the waitlist requests have passed, but I send out a few follow-ups for late December and New Years.
Once cleared, the top email is from Liam. Or more precisely, L. Hughes atSpitfire.
Dear Juliet,
Thank you for spending the evening with me. I feel like I didn’t end the night properly. My words tend to come out best in black and white. I’m better edited. I wanted to let you know, if I could always have nights like that, I’d leave my apartment more often.
I’ve attached the version of the article going to print tomorrow. Read it, or don’t, since I know you’re avoiding pieces with my name in the byline.
L. Hughes (your not-so-celebrity crush)
I open it again, my cursor hovering over the delete icon. I’m going to do it—delete the evidence. Maybe I’ll see him again with Jasmine, but I don’t need to keep this like some text thread to pine over and misinterpret.
Here I go.
My computer pings as a new message pops up on the top of my screen, indicating I have a hit on my intake form. I close Liam’s email—a problem for another day.
The new request is for a holiday work party tomorrow night. Usually, I’d outright reject it. But Jasper, the potential client, has given plenty of information that boils down to wanting to impress his boss and show he’s committed to staying in NYC. He explains the reason for this is because in the past he’s sought out new work positions every two years, but now he’s hoping for a promotion.
At the bottom, he’s filled out the optional portion saying he has a referral from someone I’ve previously worked with. I don’t get many, because giving one requires essentially admitting you’ve hired a fake girlfriend. Still, I’m not sure how comfortable I am with this. Iris and I have a system in place for whenever Ifeel unsafe and nearly every date or event I go to is with plenty of people and never anywhere secluded. But I need the money.
I decide to get out of the apartment and think about it while I walk. I bundle up in a sweater and coat, popping in a headphone as I head downstairs. It’s been steadily snowing all morning, but the sidewalks outside have already reached that slushy state that makes the world look forlorn and gray.
In my hand, my phone rings with an incoming call. With gloves on, I have to tap the screen multiple times to pick up.
“Hey, Mom, where are you guys today?” I ask. She and Daniel have been honeymooning for two months now. My new stepdad is an actuary who’s never taken a vacation in his life. So after they got married, he decided to use all his accrued vacation time and now they’re globe trotting.
“Verona. There’s this Christmas market here that’s to die for. They have these Italian holiday cakes—God, so good. But Daniel and I ended up walking with this other couple, cute as hell. The wife was wearing this sweater I got the link to. I’m sending it to you now.” She pauses, and my phone chimes with the incoming message.
“That’s great. Did you just want to tell me about the sweater?” I ask.
“The sweater is just a fun little treat. While we were at this stall with all these mittens, I overheard them talking about your article. Isn’t that crazy? People in Italy know about you!” she gushes. “I mean they’re American, but they’ve been here for a few weeks so I think it counts.”
I huff a laugh, sending a cloud from my lips. “It sounds like you’re having the time of your life. What’s next on the itinerary?”
She launches into explaining their route through Italy before heading to Vienna where they’ll be spending Christmas. I’ve heard it before, but I can’t get enough of her sounding so excited.
