The angrier the music, the better to remind myself of everything I had. I was gainfully employed. Rightfully coupled. Standing on my own two feet.
As for the things I didn’t have, well, it was on me to go get ’em.
With the right hair tools to tame my fizzy brown hair and good makeup to jazz up what nature had given me, I was on my way.
Tonight I’d picked a little black dress that meant business.
Because business it was.
An international business trip.
My first one.
And not just to anywhere: to the French Riviera.
And not just for anything: I was accompanying my PR genius of a boss to the Cannes Film Festival, as we promoted one of the season’s most buzzed about movies.
At twenty-seven, that was something to celebrate. A reason to feel like I’d made some decent choices in life, that I shouldn’t have any regrets.
I sang at the top of my lungs while applying mascara, being a little loud, like I was on my own. Then I remembered: I wasn’t. I opened the door and squeezed my head through, an apologetic smile plastered on. From the tiny desk in the corner of the room, Ben looked startled, like he, too, had forgotten I was here.
“Sorry,” I said loudly over the music.
He pushed himself away from the desk.
“About what? It’syourwork trip I’m crashing.”
“But you’re working, too.”
The challenge with committed relationships was that you had to constantly be willing, able, and prepared to make compromises. It could be exhausting, but otherwise you might not have a relationship at all. And who wants to be alone? Not me. I turned off the music.
Ben came over, put his hands on my waist, and spun me around.
“You lookgood.”
“Well, thank you, sir.”
“I like that dress.”
Ilovedwhen Ben noticed my outfits. It was proof that he cared, that he saw me.
“I have to look the part. I’m the first taste of the party.”
“You and your little clipboard, deciding who gets in and who doesn’t.”
I squirmed away, gently. “The guest list decides who gets in or not. I’m just a lowly junior publicist. The clip on the clipboard has more power than me.”
“Not for much longer. In a few days we’ll be celebrating your promotion. Nothing junior about you, baby!”
“Ifeverything goes well.”
He ran a hand through my hair. “Come on, Marnie. You kill it at work. Your boss can’t live without you.”
“I really want a pay rise,” I admitted.
“It’s coming. You talked to Carmen about it already?”
I looked away. “Not yet.”
