“For Vogue?”
“Yes.”
“Magazine?”
“Yes.”
“I… what?”
She laughed and leaned forward, popping a piece of edamame in her mouth and then offering the plate to me, but I shook my head, still trying to work out what was happening.
“They’re featuring a new designer,” she said. “And apparently the clothing has a fairytale-like quality to it. They thought it would be a cool idea to do a literary themed shoot and, instead of using one of their usual models, they’d bring in an actual author. Specifically you.”
“Why me?”
She cleared her throat and gave me a look.
“I’m sorry Graham, but have you seen you? You’re not exactly hard to look at.”
I felt my face warm and shrugged. I had never been comfortable with compliments unless it was about my work.
“You’re adorable,” she said, grinning even wider than before now. “They also want you to write a piece for the magazine. Subject matter to be discussed.” Her phone buzzed with a text message and she shot me an apologetic smile as she picked it up, her eyes scanning quickly, and then began texting back.
I took in a breath, held it, and let it out slowly, still trying to wrap my head around the whole thing. My beer was delivered and I took a long sip, my eyes raising to the window behind Fran. It was dark outside, making the window more of a mirror, which was why I was able to perfectly see the hostess leading a couple past us to another table.
I recognized the man as the guitar player for one of the hottest bands in the world right now.
His date was Lior.
“Graham?” Fran said, putting her phone back down on the table. I blinked and set my glass down a little too hard, the liquid sloshing over the side.
“Shit,” I said, mopping it up with my napkin. “Sorry. Um…” I glanced in the window again and could see Lior and her date had been seated several tables away from us. “Uh…” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to remember what we were talking about. “How did this come about?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter? It’s Vogue. Think of the exposure!”
I was, and it wasn’t exactly that thrilling to be honest. Being married to Nadia had subjected me to the media in ways I’d never fathomed and hadn’t enjoyed. Our divorce had lessened all that exponentially – after the initial circus – and I’d been happy to return to the normal-sized and oh-so-temporary attention I got when a new novel came out.
But this was Vogue. And exposure could mean a few things.
“I’m not going to actually be exposed, am I?” I asked, trying not to show any panic.
Fran laughed at the idea and I didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved.
“Look, I’m sure they won’t have you show anything you’re not comfortable with. Or will at least place a book in front of…it.”
I glared at her.
“Definitely trade sized, not mass market. Hard cover, if needed.”
“Fran!?”
“I’m kidding,” she said, laughing. “Maybe. Truly though. It’s an amazing opportunity.”
“It is but… I don’t know. I don’t want to be standing there posing all by myself. That seems weird and uncomfortable. I’m not a model.”
“Oh, you won’t be alone. The designer they’re featuring makes women’s clothing, so you’ll be paired with a female model. You’ll be the antagonist to her protagonist. And vice versa.”
“Huh,” I said, picking up my glass again, the wheels in my brain starting to spin. “Well that’s not so bad I guess. I like the idea of it, at least. Any idea who the female model is?”
