Florida Man Tries to Evade Arrest by Cartwheeling Away From Cops.
Florida Man Attempting to Time Travel Crashes Into Strip Mall.
I’m grinning and shaking my head. Florida has gotten a bad rap for crazy headlines like these, but I could probably searchforTennessee manand come up with just as many unbelievable stunts humanity has tried to pull. Either way, the Florida male population has successfully distracted me for a few minutes, and for that I am grateful.
Seagulls fly and shriek above me. One swoops down and grabs a stray Cheeto in its beak. A cluster of tiny birds waddle just out of reach of the surf. When I get too close for their comfort, they wing away into the sky.
I glance down at my watch and realize I should be heading back to the room. I tried to bow out of going to the dinner with the Squire authors, but Julien wouldn’t hear of it. I’m not sure why he wants me there. He’s let me know in no uncertain terms lately what he is and isn’t paying me for, and I can’t see how attending this dinner in any way falls under the job description. These authors all already have contracts with Squire. My presence will be superfluous. Even so, I’m going. Which means I need to take a quick shower to wash away the sweat clinging to my damp body.
Julien isn’t in the room when I arrive, and I can’t say I’m not relieved. I shower and change, and when I step out of the bathroom, he still isn’t here. I check the clock and realize walking back and getting ready took a lot less time than I’d calculated. Not wanting to hang around the room, I grab my purse and head down to the lobby.
There’s a pair of plush sofas near the entrance, the backs of which are pushed together so they face away from each other. One is occupied by a trio of ladies, so I take a seat on the other. Once again, I pull out my phone, but this time idly scroll social media while I wait.
The women are discussing the classes they attended, how their pitch appointments went, and how inspiring the guest speaker has been so far. I’m not eavesdropping on purpose, but it’s impossible to sit here and not hear their conversation. Just like it’s impossible not to pick up on their excitement or thebuzz of energy circling around them. Even though publishing is a hard industry to break into, none of these women see the other as competition. Instead, they’re lifting one another up, celebrating the one who’d been offered representation by an agent, and, simply put, loving on one another.
That ache that started deep inside me when I’d first entered this hive of literary-minded individuals once again begins to beat alive from the dormancy of the grave from which I thought it had been laid to rest forever. At one point in time, I thought I’d be one of these women, a part of a bookish community creating stories. Seeking publication. I thought I’d gotten over the pain of the rejections. The longing for a dream that wasn’t ever going to come true.
But being here brings all of it back. I’m hit with the feeling of being an outsider. A benched player. No, maybe not even that. I haven’t even made the team. But I shouldn’t feel like this. I’ve found a new path, a different purpose. I’ve taken my passion for books and channeled it in another direction. I love the library. I love my kids. I’m here for them. But that certainty doesn’t negate the other either. I also love writing. What am I supposed to do with both of these truths?
“Hi.” Julien’s smooth voice snaps me out of my introspection. “Are you ready to go?”
I slip my purse over my shoulder and stand. “All ready.”
In less time than it takes to inhale a breath, his gaze moves over me, checking me out. I don’t think he does it consciously, and by the way his lips roll between his teeth as he quickly looks away, I don’t think he likes that he did it either.
Because doing so would cross that professional line or because taking a moment to give me a compliment on my dress would be wasting his precious time? Both have come out of his mouth, and both are more than starting to get on my nerves.
Maybe I have a bit of orneriness in me because I pinch the side of the flowy skirt of my yellow dress and hold it out, movingmy hips side to side. “How do you like my dress?” I ask, making my voice as sweet and innocent as warm apple pie. “Perfect for a balmy Florida evening, don’t ya think?”
Julien refuses to give my dress another second of consideration as he stares out the floor-to-ceiling windows like his life depends on it. He sweeps his arm in front of him, indicating that I should take the first step forward. “The others are meeting us at the restaurant, so we should get going.”
I roll my eyes but walk forward anyway. I am curious to see how he treats his authors. Will he go back to being friendly Julien, or are we stuck with the version of himself he’s been since that infernal phone call?
The restaurant is only two buildings down the road, so it doesn’t take long to walk. We’re shown to a large table near the back of the room. One man and three women are already congregated to one side, talking amicably and sipping on drinks. Julien makes his way around, shaking hands, introducing me, and making small talk. There’s a bit of schmooze going on from both sides, but I guess that’s to be expected.
The evening is no great revelation. Julien is never outright rude, but he isn’t outgoingly friendly either. In fact, the meal is conducted much the same as I imagine a business meeting would be. He directs the conversation to brainstorming marketing ideas to uptick sales, but he also listens intently to feedback when he asks the authors how they think Squire can improve in the future. It isn’t the laid-back, we’re-all-part-of-a-publishing-family vibe that I think the authors were expecting. Before today, that’s the atmosphere I would’ve said Julien would’ve spent his energy creating. Instead, the meal is ... productive. And, honestly, a little tiring.
I’m not sad to see it end. The day has been long. Made longer still by not getting enough sleep the other night. As Julien and I walk back to the hotel, I have to stifle a series of yawns behind my hand. I almost expect him to apologize again. Afterall, yesterday he’d felt so bad he’d tried to make up for it in gallons of caffeine. Instead, he doesn’t even seem to notice my wilted state and the fact I can barely keep my eyes open.
His manners are on autopilot as he opens the door for me, then offers first use of the bathroom to get ready for bed. This time I take him up on it. With efficient movements, I remove my makeup and braid my hair into two French braids to protect my curls throughout the night. It’s a testament to how tired I am that I don’t even give my pajamas a second thought.
I pad out of the bathroom, and Julien slides in behind me. It’s unfair that men don’t have to go through the same long routines in the morning and at night that women do. Only a few minutes later, he’s stepping out in his Christmas-catalog-worthy pajamas, his glasses perched on his nose.
I’m curled up on my side, my light already off. Julien pulls back the covers of his bed, then stretches out his long legs on the mattress. He places his laptop on his thighs.
“Will the light from the computer screen keep you awake? I thought I’d get some more work in before going to sleep.” He clicks off his lamp, and the room plunges into darkness except for the glow emanating from in front of him and illuminating him in spotlight.
I close my eyes to check, but the light doesn’t bother me. “No, it’s fine.”
I want to ask again about what’s going on. Find a way to get him to open up about the phone call. Make sure that he’s okay. Because while I’d been angry earlier with him at how he’s been treating the writers during their appointments, that initial reaction has burned away, and what I feel now is a deep sense of concern.
But he doesn’t even spare me a tiny glance. Doesn’t wish me a good night. He just pours his focus into his laptop.
With a sigh, I roll over and close my eyes. Maybe he’ll be more like himself tomorrow.
20
Spoiler alert: Julien has not undergone any type of reverse Cinderella moment. Whatever wicked godmother turned him into a troll instead of a prince is more powerful than the fairy variety because the magic worked on him has lasted well past the stroke of midnight.
