In mid-July, I sat in the guest office for a conference call with Chuck Wheeler, his co-agent Thelma, and Vaughn, who introduced himself as my new manager.
“As I was saying,” Chuck said, “she’s a pretty face, but not unapproachably so. Value-add is she communicates well enough to make sense for dum-dums.”
“Huge human-interest angle,” Samantha chimed in. “Her and her fiancé are locked forFrom Yes to I Do.”
I fiddled with my bracelet. Regular-season filming wasn’t set to resume until the fall, so the minimal workload had been easy to mentally shelve. But my omission was starting to be flavored with a hefty side of guilt in my core, as if my gut had developed its own hangnail.
That was my cue to check out. I quietly slid my phone in front of me while the team bantered on my office speakerphone.
Had a thought, Caleb had written.
What’s that?
I get to see you onscreen. it’s an unfair advantage for our reunion next week
well, you get the public version of me how can we even up?
thinking I’ll tell you three things about adult me
go for it
one. I’ve lived in the same place since I moved to NY
funny, I signed a letter of intent for a new lease today
two. The best bite of food I’ve ever had was a $2.25 taco from a food truck in the parking lot of a tire store in LA
and three?
three. I have a goal of seeing every ocean on earth, which was just made more difficult by the announcement of the Southern Ocean being the fifth ocean
I raised my eyebrows. The fifth ocean had been a story I’d worked on and forgotten. My focus flickered between the monitor and my personal phone, thinking about what to reply.
“We’ll set you up with our top content producers,” my second agent was saying on the line.
“Content producers?” I echoed.
“Right, for social—”
“No,” I interrupted.
“You’re an influencer now,” Vaughn the manager said. “Be reasonable.”
“I’m not an influencer.” On the screen, I watched Irving and Micah hug. THEY’RE SOULMATES! read the closed caption.
“You are—”
“Not in the traditional sense.” I turned to Samantha. “Influencers build either loyal or hateful audiences to shill ideas or products.” I shook my head. “I’m not trying to sell anything. I prefer being authentic.”
Heavy sighs all around.
I shifted, suddenly filled with the feeling I’d done something wrong. “I don’t care about my numbers. That’s not going to change.” My phone brightened again. Not Caleb: Another social media notification slid onscreen. I normally ignored them, but it started flashing with notifications and reposts.
“But your follower count indicates your popularity,” my new manager said.
“We’re starting to field brand opportunities,” someone on the line said.
“Mmm,” I murmured. “I probably don’t want to take any.”
