xoxoxo
G
Adelaide informs me that they need descriptions for thirty new products. Copywriting wasn’t part of my job previously, but having been one of her first employees, I know Gemma’s sensibilities better than anyone, and I’m confident I can pull it off. When Adelaide says they can pay me a flat fee of $500 for the rush job, I immediately accept. It’s nearly enough to cover one of our payments to Dominic’s vet.
When we hang up, I pour myself a large whisky and contemplate the irony of my financial situation. Somehow, I’ve landed two gigs in the past week, and yet I’m deeper in debt than ever.
A few days later, a hefty box arrives from Actualize, filled with samples to help inform my writing. Gemma wants me to “live the products” so that I can fully articulate their value to the customer. I lay everythingout on the dining table. Among the samples are the ash bucket and accompanying accessories I had spied on Gemma’s desk back in April. It’s a full-circle moment that leaves me feeling conflicted about being back in Gemma’s web, but at the same time, I need the money.
My father and I spend the rest of the day trying out serums, oils, creams, botanical tinctures, crystals, and infrared devices. I know I can trust him to be both candid and creative in his assessments.
“What the devil is this?” he says, holding up a comma-shaped object that’s dripping with liquid.
“It’s an eye mask. To depuff this area,” I explain, placing it under his eye, along the curve of his cheekbone. I hold up a mirror to show him his reflection.
“Looks like a leech!”
Though his commentary isn’t necessarily fodder for marketing copy, it does keep me amused as we move through the products. He doesn’t like the algae-infused mud mask (“like being licked by a slug”) but he loves the wildflower emulsion I rub onto his temples (“makes me feel like a fawn in a field”).
Finally, it’s time for me to start writing. As I wait for the words to come, I pick up the ash bucket one more time and sniff it. I will admit, it has a nice earthiness. I run the boar-bristle body brush along my arm and squeeze the sea sponge in my hand. Channeling Gemma, I open my laptop and swallow my pride.
Why should bathing be a chore when it can be a sacred ritual? Our “Manifest Destiny” collection takes inspiration from the pioneer women of yore, who traversed an untouched landscape, soaking up the elements along the way. Think cold mountain streams, sage-scented crosswinds, and soul-soothing sunsets. Perfect for trailblazers and trad wives alike, this collection will transport you to a purer place and a simpler time. Go West, young woman! Go West and glow up with the country.
A few days after I send the assignment in, Gemma writes back to tell me I nailed it:Were you this good when you worked here? LOL.
I was, though I never got the chance to write copy or do anythingremotely creative in my former role. I was merely Gemma’s henchman, a job I don’t miss.
She’s wondering if I’m willing to do another round. It’s a slippery slope. I have a vision of myself on my deathbed, decades from now, wondering how I ended up working for Gemma Dwyer for the entirety of my life. Then again, if I do four more of these copy projects, I will have made enough to pay off Dominic’s dental bill. I say yes, but promise myself I will focus on finding more meaningful work once I’m out of debt.
Chapter 18
August 2015
There was no shortage of places in Locust for Seth and me to steal off to. Though we both had obligations (our jobs, the occasional evening with our respective families), we shared the same overriding goal: to see each other as often as possible. We met on docks, in boats, at the tennis courts. We met in the morning before work, during lunch breaks, and at night under the star-pierced sky.
Seth came by our house often, and my father took an immediate liking to him. My mother was less enthusiastic when she met him during her annual visit to the camp, but I sensed it had less to do with Seth than it did with her own dissatisfaction that week. Nothing seemed to impress or amuse her anymore. She was exasperated by every mosquito, every raindrop, every spiderweb. She was aggravated by the clunking dishwasher, the splintery dock, the sagging roof. Her patience with the woods had run out, and she spent her days in Locust running unnecessary errands at the closest strip mall, which was almost an hour away from our house. When it came to me, she was dismayed that my father didn’t seem to be enforcing my curfew, and during the week that she was in residence, she noted the hour of my return every night. Once she left, my father’s more laissez-faire parenting style resumed, and as usual, my curfew began to feel more like a suggestion than a mandate. One night, I stole Nina’s car and went to a movie with Seth. We took our time coming home, and when I arrived at 12:30A.M., my father was still up reading in his chair. I sawa flicker of relief cross his face when he saw me come in, but all he said was, “Nice night for a drive.”
Though I didn’t miss my mother’s watchfulness, I was occasionally overwhelmed by the autonomy my father afforded me. With no boundary to push against, I began to feel a rising anxiety. Seth and I had not talked about having sex, but the subtext was always there. Our relationship felt like it was barreling toward something, and I figured it had to be that, but I was terrified—not just of the actual act, but of how it might change our dynamic. Or maybe how it might change me. What would happen when I crossed that threshold? I feared I would lose the little control I felt I had, so I preferred to stay on this side of the experience, where everything felt charged with a sense of anticipation. Within this emotional landscape, everything Seth and I did was thrilling. Simply browsing the shelves of Deb’s Depot took on an air of exhilaration. Tennis became a way for us to dispel some of the tension that was building. My hormones had never been wilder; my forehand had never been better.
“Why don’t you just do it already?” Chloe asked me one afternoon while we were stretched out on her dock.
“Do what?”
She looked at me like it was obvious, which it was. She and Greg had been having sex since last summer, and she seemed determined for me to join the club.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
“Why? It’s no big deal. Just get it out of the way.”
“Is that how it worked for you and Greg?” I asked.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“And then what? After you… got it out of the way.”
Chloe shrugged. “You just keep having sex.”
It wasn’t the most enticing pitch. “So it’s not really out of the way. It’s more like it… becomes the focus.”
