“Exactly,” I agreed. “If you have a few more minutes, I’d love to show you something only you can pull off. You will look stunning in this.”
Like I said, my job had turned me into a pathological liar. One so skilled even I had started to buy my own bullshit.
Marnie
We need to talk. Where are you?
The film was premiering tonight, and Ben was well aware of that. Just like he knew that, once the whole cast was ushered up the steps and into the Grand Théâtre Lumière, there wasn’t much for me to do. I hadn’t even checked whether there might be an empty seat so I could finally see the movie I talked about all day. I wasn’t here to soak in Cannes. I was here to do my job and snag that promotion Carmen and I had been discussing for weeks.
But Ben needed me and that was that. He was waiting for me on a street bench, about ten minutes’ walk from the Palais des Festivals. As soon as I saw him, the look on his face gave me chills.
“I know you’re working and Carmen’s probably going to call you ten times,” he blurted out right away. “But please, let’s go eat and talk, okay?”
I felt my blood pressure drop. When people want to talk about good things, they just do. They don’t announce it in advance. They don’t warn you or hunt you down during your work day.
Ben had already found a restaurant, correctly guessing that I hadn’t haddinner. He gently pressed against my lower back as we arrived at the cozy terrace. It was tucked under a blue and white striped awning with single sunflowers in tiny vases adorning each table.
We sat down and accepted the menus that were handed to us.
Ben studied the wine selection. “How do you feel about rosé?”
He rolled the R as best as he could, trying to pronounce it the French way.
“Great.” I glanced down at the menu. “Why don’t you just order for us? You know what I like.”
Our server came back and Ben ordered in what sounded like near-perfect French. For a moment I forgot everything and filled with pride, watching him. His killer smile always did it for me. I knew very little about the early years of my parents’ relationships, but I couldn’t imagine they’d ever been this good together. There was no way a solid, loving relationship could crumble to the point of such nasty indifference.
Our rosé arrived and Ben clinked his glass to mine. “To us!”
I followed along, but I was waiting for my life to blow up in my face. The suspense was unbearable.
“So good,” he added after taking a sip, pleased with his choice of wine.
“You said you wanted to talk.”
“Right. First, I’m so proud of you, Marnie. You’re working on one of the biggest movies of the year. You have connections to people like Odetta Olson. I know Carmen rides you hard, but she couldn’t do it without you. I still can’t believe she didn’t give you those contacts. You asked herweeksago.”
Did he know already? Maybe he’d bumped into Carmen and the whole thing had come out. And now he was waiting for me to fess up. Our appetizers arrived, a salad of grilled zucchini, confit red peppers and mesclun salad, and sea bass ceviche, to share.
“Carmen’s been so busy preparing for Cannes. I can’t really talk to herabout anything right now.”
Ben took a bite, then put his fork down.
“Harper said I should do anything to push things along. It’s such a competitive field and I’ve been trying forsolong.”
“I know.”
Ben had waited until three months into our relationship to ask me to read one of his screenplays. It was a big deal for him; he was opening up a piece of his heart to me. I saw it as a privilege, and I was so sure I would love his story. My amazing boyfriendhadto have the talent to pursue anything he desired. After I’d finished the first one, I figured I didn’t know how to recognize a good screenplay. Maybe it was too out there for me. So I’d asked to read more. And more. Ben had a whole digital drawer full of them. And then I downloaded screenplays from other writers, so I could form an educated opinion. And, well, you know what that opinion turned out to be. Ben was bad. Just plain bad.
“You know I’m never going to give up, right? I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Of course,” I said between mouthfuls.
All along, I’d never stopped longing for the day Ben would come to his senses. He loved to watch his 401(k) grow and religiously updated the amount in his income spreadsheet, as his father had taught him. Ben wasn’t an artist. I was pretty sure his parents knew that, which was why his dad had pulled strings to get him that copywriting job.
Ben took a sip of his rosé.
“Shit, why is this so hard?” he muttered under his breath.
