“No idea,” she said, glancing at her phone again and beginning to type. “But it’s going to be a huge spread, from what I’ve been told, so probably someone famous. Ooh! Maybe it will be Lior Flynn! Can you imagine? Get me an autograph if it is.”
I nearly dropped my entire glass in my lap. Clearly Fran hadn’t noticed Lior was actually in the restaurant right now.
I glanced in the window, looking for her reflection in the glass. I wondered if she’d heard anything about this Vogue idea and, if so, if she knew they were asking me to be involved.
Fran and I ordered food and our conversation moved to other topics. We chatted about my next book ideas, her upcoming vacation to Italy, and my trip to Colorado for my sister’s graduation, all while passing plates of sushi back and forth and me trying to get glimpses of Lior in the window again. She and her date were seated four tables away from us and I managed twice to see her face in the reflection, noting with some sort of strange satisfaction that she didn’t look particularly enthralled by her date.
Satisfied because I didn’t want her to be happy? Or satisfied because I didn’t want her to be having a good time with him? I wasn’t sure, but when she discreetly yawned behind her napkin I nearly laughed with relief.
Fran paid the bill and we sat for a while more, finishing our drinks as she brought the conversation back around to the reason we were here in the first place.
“So what do you think?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It feels… weird? I’m used to sitting in front of a laptop in my underwear writing fictional characters who do way more interesting things than me. This photo shoot… it’s something I’d write about, not something I’d do. Truly, Fran, I’m an author, not a model.”
“So? Why can’t you be both for a day? There are people in the world that do more than one job.”
“You know what I mean. I have no aspirations to be featured in photos in a fancy magazine. That kind of attention feels weird. And after Nadia…”
Fran made a face. She’d never been a fan of my ex-wife and hadn’t disguised it well when we were together.
“I know you’re scarred from all that,” she said. “But Nadia was… something else. She was The National Enquirer. This is Vogue.”
I snorted laughter.
“Also… the opportunity for even more sales would thrill your publisher.”
“Obviously,” I said. “But… what will people say?”
“Out of jealousy, they’ll say you want attention. You’re banking on your looks. Selling out, using…”
I held up a hand. “Thanks. I think I’ve got the picture.”
“Look. Who cares what people say? It’s fucking Vogue, Graham.”
She wasn’t wrong. Vogue was huge. And they wanted me to write an article for them as well, something I’d never had the opportunity to do. It would be another notch in my wood-framed glasses.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?” Fran asked. “As in yes?”
“Fine. Yes.”
She gave a quiet little whoop and then ordered another round of drinks.
A half hour later, after a last look toward Lior’s table, I exited the restaurant with Fran. We said goodbye on the sidewalk and, as her cab drove away, I turned and headed a few blocks up to The Bar Room for another beer before going home.
It was just after nine and the place was relatively quiet. I took a seat at the far end of the dark wood bar and smiled at the bartender pouring a beer.
“Graham,” he said with a nod, setting the drink on a tray. Wiping his hands on a towel, he headed toward me. “How are things? You want your usual?”
“Heya Cole. Yes, please.”
“You got it.” He grabbed a glass from the shelf behind him and headed back to pour my drink. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You deep in another book?”
He strode back, tossed a coaster on the bar in front of me, and set the lager down.
“I am,” I said, taking a sip. “How have things been here?”
