I giggled nervously as she tapped the end of her cigarette with one of her long fingernails, which were coated in white polish. As the ash fell, she looked up, her stare magnetic. I could see why the press adored her. And she was probably even more impressive on camera.
“You should start the trend,” I joked. “If you wore a sweatsuit here, I bet everyone would start copying you.”
“Too much responsibility, having the masses look up to me like that,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind, though. This dress is squeezing my boobs terribly. And it looks like shit on me.”
“I’d hardly say that.”
“You’re too sweet. But whatever. I hate it.”
I tried and failed to imagine a single outfit that wouldn’t look stunning on her, but it was impossible. She could have thrown on a potato sack and been a runner-up for Miss America.
“Are you sticking around?” she asked me. “I have a whole trunk of dresses with me, I’m sure there’s something in there that would fit you.”
It was a kind offer, and it surprised me. She was the second girl I’d met from Jack’s life who wasn’t a roommate, and I certainly liked her more than Lana. Granted, Lana and I got along now, more or less, but I could tell she still hated me deep down, and I was pretty sure I felt the same about her. Vivian was different, genuine. Or so I thought in that moment. I’d learn right away that it was all a facade.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I’ve really got to be getting home. If I don’t hurry up, I won’t catch the ceremony on TV.”
“Yeah, you should do that,” she said. “Hopefully you’ll enjoy it.”
“I’m sure it will be great. Just seeing Jack get some recognition for all his hard work means a lot.”
Perplexed for a few seconds, Vivian then inquired, “You call him Jack? You do know he hates that, right?”
“Yeah, maybe. I mean, I’ve done it so many times, I’m pretty sure he’s used to it.”
“You must be a friend of his. Naya, I’m guessing?”
“No, Naya’s already inside. I’m Jennifer, nice to meet you.”
I offered her my hand, but she didn’t take it. As soon as she heard my name, her attitude changed. All the niceness was gone. Now her face was pure contempt.
“Jennifer,” she repeated coldly. “I see…”
So she did know who I was. And she evidently didn’t like me. “Ross told me about you,” she added.
The old Jenny would have felt insecure, but the new one just lifted her chin and looked Vivian in the eye. If she wanted to turn a nice conversation into a face-off, well, two could play that game. “I guess he didn’t have very nice things to say.”
“What could he say about a girl who left him to go back to her abusive ex-boyfriend? That’s hardly a way to treat someone, is it?”
I smirked at her defensively. A part of me wanted to throw caution to the wind, shove her, and dare her to keep mouthing off to me, but she was right. From her perspective—from Jack’s, too, I guess—that was exactly what I’d done. And even if my motive had been different from what I’d pretended, even if my intentions had been good, the result was the same. I had broken Jack’s heart.
“Yeah, I could have treated him better,” I said, sticking my hands in my pockets. “But I’m back, and I’m trying to fix it.”
“I doubt you can fix this. You ruined his life.”
That put me on the defensive: “Listen here. Jack’s a grown man. He doesn’t need me or anyone else. I know I hurt him, but he’s getting over it, and he’s doing great things. You should know that, since you’re the star of his film. Now whether or not he wants to forgive me is another question, but that’s between him and me, and it doesn’t concern you. It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Vivian, but I’ve got to be on my way.”
She dropped her cigarette, crunched it out with the toe of her shoe, and went inside as I walked away.
When I got home, there were still fifteen minutes left before the broadcast, so I took a shower and put on my pajamas. I wasn’t in the mood to cook, so I filled a big bowl with cereal and milk and got under a blanket on the couch. On the screen I saw the same red carpet, black curtain, and security guards that I’d seen in person just an hour before.
The poster for the film flashed on the screen. You could hardly focus on anything except for Vivian’s eyes. In front of her was a guy, and she was resting her head on his shoulder. His hair was dark, his face visible in profile, and from what little I could see, I could tell he was a looker. Behind them was a setting sun. Simple but effective.
Good going, Jack. He knew how to pick a designer.
I remembered him telling me one time never to overcomplicate things, and he was right: the poster focused on what mattered, the main characters and the title, which appeared below them in curved letters:Three Months.
The camera cut to Vivian, who responded nicely to the interviewer’s questions, the same way she had spoken to me before I revealed my name. She made a good impression on the screen: direct but polite, a straight shooter. If she thought something, she said it. And I had to admire that, especially because it was something I sometimes struggled with.
