“Ah, to have your hopeful naivete for just one day.”
I say nothing then, painfully aware that it’s near impossible to get her out of one of her moods once it’s taken hold.
“Do you remember what the critics said about my last play?” she goes on. “That it was a pale reminder—a sad, weathered husk of a show that didn’t belong in today’s theater. That through trying to re-create my past success, I was left flailing. Flailing, Winnie. That one hurt.”
“Only a few critics said that. Plenty of the other reviewers thought it was delightful.”
“Right,” she says with a bitter laugh. “And whoever did say that was probably just as much of a hack as I am. One bad play can be forgiven. Two and you should get nervous. After three, you need to accept your fate of being buried in an unmarked Broadway grave.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.” I push the button to lower my legs back down to the floor, quickly glancing around for a flight attendant. I make eye contact with a kind-looking blonde and gesture for two more glasses of champagne. Maybe the alcohol will cheer Juliette up, or, fingers crossed, put her to sleep for an hour or two.
I face across the aisle again and now find her fully reclined, no doubt trying to appear as corpse-like as possible as she covers her eyes with her hands. “I’m being forgotten, Winnie. And what’s worse, I’mlettingmyself be forgotten.”
The flight attendant comes over with the drinks, and I gratefully take them. She looks over at Juliette and gives me an encouraging smile before walking away. I take a generous sip from one of the glasses and focus back on the task at hand.
“You just need to decide to write something and then do it. We’re living in such a dynamic time where millions of stories are buzzing around us wherever we go. There are hundreds of plays waiting to be written by someone as talented as you.”
“But that’s just the problem! I’m detached now.” She whips her hands down from her face and looks over at me, bereft and hopeless until she notices the champagne. She maintains her sad demeanor but presses the control button to un-recline her seat. “I’m not the woman I was in my twenties, going out and meeting the people who breathed life and energy into my work. I eat dinner at six, and I’m in bed by nine. And as far as love, it’s a definitive no to the creepy old men or slimy younger men who are only after my money.”
“Not all men are like that. If we signed you up for a dating app, I bet you would get a ton of responses. Lots of my friends use Vibefinder, and they love it.”
“Me on a dating app?” She takes the champagne that I obligingly offer her. “Yeah, I’m sure I’d be all the rage online. We can post a sexy selfie of me divvying up my calcium supplements.”
I shake my head, understanding her hesitation but also knowing that there’s so much more to be had out there for her.
“And what about you?” she asks. “Are you on this dating app?”
“Me? No.”
“Why not? You seem as solitary as I am.”
“I guess for the most part I am. There is a guy I talk to on occasion, though.”
“Define ‘talk to.’”
How to phrase this?“I mean ‘talk to’ in a semi-romantic sense. We text every so often and hook up once in a while.”
Juliette seems confused but intrigued. “And this is in the hopes of eventually forming a relationship?”
“Not really. He’s just a friend I enjoy spending time with occasionally when I’m feeling lonely.”
“I see. And I’m assuming you two...have the sex?”
“The sex?” I repeat, coughing on my champagne a bit. “Yes, he and I sometimes have the sex.”
“But you’re not interested in dating him?”
“I don’t think so. I doubt he and I would work in the long term, plus I don’t really have time to date.”
Juliette continues to gaze at me, a mischievous gleam slowly taking shape in her eyes. “Okay, I just had a thought that’s actually kind of perfect. And I want you to really hear me out before you get all up in arms and say no.” I take a breath, bracing myself for whatever hit is about to come my way before she says, “We need to sign youup for this Vibe Selector app.”
Well, it’s finally happened. Juliette Brassard has lost her mind.
“Alright, first of all, it’s Vibefinder, not Vibe Selector, and second of all, no. I’m not signing up. I’m not even trying to meet anyone right now, plus dating is awful.”
Juliette tucks one of her knees under her as she curls up in her seat, looking animated and girlish and very much ready to bring me nothing but stress. “Just think about this for a second. I need to write a new play, but I have no material, and you’re the demographic I’m supposed to be writing for now if I want to stay relevant. If you do this, you can gallivant your way through romantic adventures in London, and I can write about it. It’s a brilliant, foolproof plan.”
“Hard pass,” I say with absolute certainty. “One hundred percent hard pass. If you want material, then you can go on out there and get it yourself. A play about your own emotional and sensual pursuits would honestly be kind of amazing.”
