“Nice!”
The bags were still all over the floor, and she sighed at the mess she’d created.
“What areyoudoing in Cannes?” I asked.
She’d recently gotten a job in partnerships and events for Clapard, the official jeweler of the festival. Her father knew someone there; Laila was never shy about her connections. I guessed that Laila hadn’t known the company would put her up here during the festival, otherwise she would have used her personal funds to book a room in a much fancier hotel before everything sold out. She was one of those people who didn’tneedto work, but her parents expected her to at least pretend to be a regular member of society. Last time I’d heard about Laila’s occupation, she was a digital nomad hopping around Southeast Asia, a freelance consultant of I don’t know what.
She checked her watch, a diamond-encrusted Clapard model, and sighed. The brand was hosting several parties throughout the festival, so she had a full schedule.
“What are you doing now? Wanna check out tonight’s Clapard soirée? The venue isamazing.”
This might be my only chance to see Cannes from the party side, and it might be a great way to meet potential clients. My responsibilities could wait. Laila gave me a few minutes to change into a strapless black-and-white dress and white high-heeled mules. I slipped my red lipstick and concealer inside my clutch to apply in the car.
We arrived at the Carlton Beach Club as two men rolled out a black carpet, stopping every so often to check that it was lining up perfectly. Laila had caught me up on the way over: today’s event was a gathering of emerging talent, the soon-to-be Hot New Things. Tyler had gone a year or two before, if I remembered correctly. This, Laila explained, was moreof your regular “cool young people party” at the beach, with cocktails and canapés. I had a brief moment of panic. Was I going to be the oldest and least successful person in the room? Laila was my age, twenty-nine, but Laila was Laila. People like her got by on clout and attitude. Age was irrelevant.
I offered to help, and she wasted no time putting me to work. We arranged the gift bags on the table at the back, then checked that the bathrooms were stocked with soaps and hand creams from a luxury brand with which Laila had struck a partnership. Her aunt knew the founder. After that, we placed the cocktail menu—printed on Clapard stationery, with gold embossed lettering—on each of the tables.
Laila moved with impressive authority, and yet, just as I remembered her, there was a lightness to how she held herself. She was at ease in the world, using her very decent French in conversations with the staff, moving on to the next item on her list with a casual air, like this wasn’t work at all. You’d never know that she’d only been in this job for a few months. I followed her around asking for instructions, relishing in being told what to do. Sometimes, it was nice to hand over a piece of your life for someone else to shape.
She came back from briefing the DJ with two bottles of chilled Perrier. The floral team was setting up gigantic arrangements of white roses, hydrangeas, and peonies. The space looked like it was covered in buttercream frosting and smelled divine.
“It’s going to be a fabulous party,” she said, drinking her water in tiny sips so she wouldn’t smudge her lipstick.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?”
She laughed. “We might have to hide you under a table.” Then, noticing the concerned look on my face. “Oh Constance, you were always so serious!”
“I do have to meet a client later tonight,” I said, more of a reminder to myself.
Laila straightened up. “I need to check the latest on the guest list. We just signed a deal with Margaret Lawson. Forty years of ruling this industry! What a legend. And so nice, too. We’re crossing all of our fingers she’ll pop by. Same with Dorian Fisher.”
This sent shivers through me. “Dorian Fisher?”
The renowned actor had been a permanent fixture in my mind over the last few months, but it was my first time saying his name out loud in a long while. It felt wrong. Decadent. I could only hope Laila didn’t notice the change on my face. The shame melting my skin.
Laila nodded. “He’s one of our spokespeople. I don’t think we’ll see him tonight though.” She did sense something was up with me, because she added, “Wouldn’t it be amazing to meet him in person?”
“Ihavemet him,” I said quickly, mostly to quiet the storm thundering through me.
“That’s right, Carly Wolf is his stylist!” Then she checked her phone. “Based on his Instagram, he’s on a yacht somewhere near Saint-Tropez. Sigh…”
“What?”
I knew every corner of Dorian Fisher’s social media presence. It was all business, red-carpet appearances, and promos for his new projects. He never posted personal stuff, like his whereabouts, and certainly not in real time.
Laila’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
The truth was, when it came to Dorian Fisher, I wouldn’t tell anyone anything, ever. There wasn’t a moment in the day when I could forget what had happened between us, and it had already destroyed enough of my life.
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He got sloppy during a Zoom meeting one day. Wanted us to see a picture of his vineyard in the Napa Valley and pulled up his profile. Or maybe he did it on purpose. I don’t know. His account was private of course. I requested to follow it right then, just to see, and he immediately accepted. So strange. Anyway now I get to see the real Dorian Fisher.”
I was speechless. Laila pulled up the profile of username Dory98765 and showed it to me. There he was. No flashlights, no red carpet. Just a wildly famous man hanging by the edge of a pool on a shaded terrace. Or grabbing an old-fashioned with his “best Aussie mate.” Or walking a golden retriever on a Malibu beach.Not mine, I travel too much to have a dog, sadly.
“You wouldn’t believe that a guy like him is posting so much to his stories, but it’sconstant,” Laila said. “It’s like hewantsus to follow him all over Cannes. Not that I mind.”
She chuckled as she tapped his profile picture to display his stories. Today alone he had posted snaps of the beach, his suite, and his breakfast. I resisted the urge to snag the phone from her hand.
“Laila!”
