She nodded. “I will make thispainless.”
I sighed, figuring I could play along now and get out of it later. I reluctantly unlocked my iPhone and handed it across the table. I leaned back and finished the mimosa as she took over my phone with comical intensity.
“Okay, I downloaded the app and made a skeleton profile, but you’re going to have to zhuzh it up later.”
“Sure.”
Caroline squealed. “There’s more to life than work. You’ll see.”
“If you say so.”
“The most fun thing you have lined up is a charity gala with a bunch of stiffs.”
“And Charlie!”
She smiled. “We’ll get you out there.”
Her phone dinged with a calendar alert. “Oh shit. I forgot I signed up for hot yoga.”
“You do hot yoga after mimosas?”
She shrugged. “You either do or you don’t. I’ve rolled the hot yoga dice so many times I’ve lost count.”
“I don’t think I know what that means, but brunch is on me. I never even got you a thank you gift for finding me an apartment.”
“I don’t need you to pay for brunch. Go on a Tinder Social date with me instead.”
I groaned. “No promises.”
Caroline was distractedly looking at her phone. “I’m obsessed with this yoga studio, by the way. It’s on Greenwich Street, like five minutes from our building.” She leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know what it is, but I always getsoturned on when I go to hot yoga. It’s so sensual. Maybe it’s just me.”
She signaled for the check. “This is going to sound like a weird segue, but you should totally come with me.”
We both burst out laughing. “I guess I can roll the hot yoga dice with you.”
Chapter Eight
Thursday night, Charlie and I took our seats at a table reserved for Lincoln Center’s most prominent benefactors because someone had clearly expected Eddie and his guest to fill the seats. Instead, we were getting our first real Big Law perk: a charity gala where the guests could have paid off our student loans at the snap of a finger.
“Listen to this,” I overheard someone say across the table. “My wife and I wrote one check about twenty-five years ago, and then someone—presumably our accountant, because it sure as hell wasn’t me—just kept writing that check every year, and now our nineteen-year-old goes to school with her last name etched on the college gymnasium.”
I had never been in a room with so many influential people. Half the conversation was fluff, but the air buzzed with possibility. Everyone looked like their life was more fascinating than the next. I secretly wished that someday I’d have a real reason to be there.
If anyone could appreciate the people watching more than me, it was Charlie.
“Kind of makes you want to just become an observer of human behavior,” he said as he bit off a huge chunk of a breadstick. “It’s why I majored in anthropology.”
We didn’t know anyone else at the table, but it was clear they weren’t there to fill seats. The woman on the other side of me was Pamela Klaflin, a journalist turned film producer whose documentary was premiering in a few weeks at the New York Film Festival. Charlie wasseated next to a veteran film composer who had worked with Jerome Robbins and Leonard Bernstein. We explained that we were associates who worked at Eddie Kaufman’s law firm.
“I see,” Pamela said. “Have you met Alan Fox? He recruited Eddie to the board.”
I shook my head. “I just joined the firm. We’re here representing A&K,” I explained. “What’s it like to have a film premiering at the festival?”
“It never gets old seeing people watch your work. I’ve had films at festivals all over the world, but screening at my home festival is still a thrill.”
I nodded. “It’s really a dream just to be here. I love so many movies that came out of the festival.”
“What’s one of your favorites?” she asked.
