“My dad is going to lose his mind,” she replied with a bounce before whipping out her phone.
Balance restored, Vivian was grateful to have the martini while she waited in the drink line anyway because it was something to do, and the idea of mingling was less appealing than a root canal. At least the root canal came with a little sedation.
Vivian had only just retrieved her phone from her clutch when a familiar voice rang out next to her.
“I guess even the elusive Vivian Taylor climbs down from her tower when she’s up for a Platinum Voice,” Seraphina Wilcox said before barreling toward Vivian with arms spread wide like they were old friends.
As if the last time they’d seen each other in person hadn’t been on the set of a soap where Vivian played the femme fatale with a three-episode arc. Seraphina had thrown a drink in Vivian’s character’s face to take her down a peg. The best thing Vivian could say about her was that she accomplished Vivian’s humiliation in a single take.
“Seraphina.” She made no move to meet her embrace.
“You look amazing,” Seraphina said with her hands on Vivian’s arms. “I knew those rumors about a botched facelift were bullshit. But you know that rumor mill runs 24/7, and it’s garbage-in garbage-out with those things.” She laughed at what she apparently believed was a joke. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
“I didn’t realize you’d moved to audio,” Vivian said, only realizing the cutting nature of her comment after she’d said it.
“Yeah, well. I couldn’t handle another bout of poisoning by Marc’s evil twin that we all kept having amnesia about,” she said like it was a common collection of words. “And I only have a couple of titles under my belt.” Her grin was as natural as her veneers. “You’ve got quite the cottage industry in those sapphic romances, huh? Do you ever go on your sub-Reddit?”
“My what?”
“Oh, come on,” Seraphina scoffed. When Vivian’s only reply was a sip of her martini, Seraphina rolled her eyes. “Listen, we’re friends,” she said, as if they’d ever shared a single non-working moment together, “and we all do it. Give ourselves a little google. See what people are saying.” She shrugged. “There’s no shame in that. Especially when you have thousands of women obsessed with your voice.”
“I don’t need validation from strangers on the internet,” Vivian replied, voice dropping to the velvet register that paid her mortgage. “I know exactly where all the good parts are.”
Seraphina brightened. “No wonder you and your little co-narrator swept the charts,” she said, fanning herself dramatically. “After that first steamy scene, I couldn’t even look at my husband.” She stepped closer, and Vivian stepped back. “I mean, I was pretty curious in college?—”
“Good for you,” Vivian said dryly.
While Seraphina adhered herself to Vivian like a parasitic barnacle and talked endlessly about all the ways being partnered with a woman must be so much easier than being with a man, Vivian scanned the patio.
She wasn’t looking for Bryn. She hadn’t volunteered for physical and mental torture for her. Wasn’t actively ignoring an acquaintance’s fetishization of her identity because she didn’t want to make a scene that Bryn might hear about and misconstrue. It wouldn’t be about Seraphina being obliviously offensive. That gossip wasn’t nearly as interesting as Vivian proving herself an “entitled bitch” again.
“Isn’t that your co?” Seraphina stemmed the tide of her endless word vomit and pointed at the doorway to the hotel.
“What?” Vivian bit out because her glass was unexpectedly empty and the line was still long and there was only so much mindless blathering she could ignore.
“You’re up for the biggest honor with her and you already forgot her?” Seraphina laughed. “That phone sex scene? Are you kidding me? It lives rent-free in my head.” She sighed. “If I could do it without my husband knowing, I’d subscribe to a monthly plan to hear her?—”
“It’s not porn,” Vivian snapped.
“Well, actually?—”
The moment she saw her, the noise of the city and too many conversations fell away. It all disappeared, leaving nothing but a ringing in Vivian’s ears. Even the screaming agony in her crushed toes vanished, replaced by a singular, thundering heartbeat.
Bryn was standing near the entrance to the terrace.
In a sea of little black dresses and spray-tanned cleavage, she was a shock to the system. Her shag haircut was a little shorter, but it was the natural red of her headshot. The red of brick and rare earth and life. The only real thing on the rooftop.
Wearing a black vest tailored tight to her body, artsy floral trousers, and new combat boots, Bryn looked ridiculous and perfect all at once. But it was her eyes. Eyes bright and startled and scanning the crowd with a terrifying vulnerability that made Vivian forget how to breathe. Bryn’s barely concealed anxiety was a magnetic pull Vivian struggled to resist.
“She’s a knockout,” Seraphina decided. “What I’d give for that youthful glow without a case of retinol. How the hell did you concentrate with her in the booth?”
Vivian didn’t have an answer. Didn’t have a single thought. There were only flashes of heat over her skin and the alarming pounding in her chest.
“Hey, would you introduce me to Harvey?” Seraphina asked.
Vivian was too distracted to moderate her tone or language. “No,” she said.
She handed Seraphina her empty glass and left her standing in line. All Vivian could think about was taking one step after the other on numb feet. About inhaling and exhaling and swallowing. About the reflexive tingle in her lonely lips.
