At the sound of Bryn’s name, Vivian held her breath. She closed her eyes. Of course the publishers would want to repeat what had already worked.
“I don’t know?—”
“Don’t know what?” Harvey’s energy was relentless. “Did you not believe your own speech about happy gay love? Because let me tell you, it was all anyone could talk about. My niece tells me it’s gone viral. A sapphic rallying cry?—”
“And of course everyone wants to make a buck.”
“At least one,” Harvey agreed. “Don’t worry, I’ve informed all the relevant parties that you’ve upped your hourly rate.”
Vivian hadn’t explicitly told him as such, but it was normal for her to demand more after winning a Platinum Voice in the biggest category. The bigger problem was she hadn’t thought about herself and Bryn as a package deal. She should have.
“So… are you going to tell me why you’re surlier than usual?” he asked as if nothing could impede his excellent mood. “And aren’t opening emails.”
“I have an automatic reply set,” she replied defensively.
“Yeah, that’s kind of my point.” He took a breath. “Vivian. What’s going on? And does it have anything to do with how cozy you and Bryn were last weekend?”
“Cozy? Jesus. I’m not a pair of fluffy socks.”
“Vivian,” he said like he’d called on additional patience, and Vivian nearly ended the call. But she refused to let him think she was being petulant. “You two looked personally involved. More importantly, I’ve never seen you so happy. If you?—”
“We are no longer involved, Harvey, not that it’s any of your business.”
He took the barb with a chuckle. “Honey, we’ve been friends for over a decade.” Friends was an exaggeration, but she let it pass. “If you’re going through a hard time, I want to be here for you.”
Unsure how to respond, Vivian erred on the side of polite. “I appreciate your concern.”
“If you don’t want to work with her?—”
“No,” Vivian snapped. “No, we’re fine. I don’t expect anyone has Montoya’s apparent clout and would force us to record dual in real time. It’s fine. We’re fine.”
“Fine,” he agreed with an audible smirk. “And hey, if you ever want to swing a bat for the other team, I’ll always be here. I don’t mind being chosen by default. You can just think of me as wearing a permanent strap-on.”
Vivian’s sarcastic chuckle vibrated in her throat. “Oh? So you have eight inches always ready to go and no balls?”
“Eight inches?” He whistled. “You wound me, V. I was just trying to pay you a compliment.”
She laughed at him. Objectification was always intended as a compliment. It didn’t seem to matter whether the recipient received it that way.
“And I was just trying to set expectations so no one was disappointed,” she replied.
“Fair. Listen.” He cleared his throat and used a serious tone Vivian rarely heard. “I mean it, Vivian. If you’re going through something, I’m happy to listen.”
“Thank you, Harvey,” she said, and meant it.
No sooner had she hung up, that Iris materialized on the other side of the kitchen counter.
“I knew it,” Iris said like a cartoon detective. “I knew something happened in New York.” She rested on her elbows and leaned forward. “Spill.”
Vivian looked at her only friend in the world and decided she was tired of holding it all in. She opened her mouth and disgorged every single detail.
It was late afternoon when Vivian stepped out onto the patio. It was hot, even for Miami in the summer, and the humidity was easily 700%.
She didn’t have a plan when she walked into the guesthouse for the first time since before she’d left for New York, but she went straight to the only other being more miserable than her.
The damn violets that refused to thrive. She stared at them on the windowsill. Glared at them with her hands on her hips.
It wasn’t their fault that Iris had betrayed their years of close friendship to side with Bryn. To tell her, right to her face, that she’d been an idiot. That she saw every woman as heartbreak, like a hammer saw everything as a nail. She hadn’t even let Vivian address their age difference or different career trajectories. Excuses, she’d called them, when all Vivian had done was list facts.
