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India wasn’t only my agent or manager or whatever it was she was doing for a cut of my sales. She still worked at Porteras, Neil’s magazine, and walked a very fine line trying to pull off managing my career as a debut author. Neil hadn’t been thrilled, in light of how I’d left his company, that India was working with me. He’d set some very strict parameters regarding the work she did at the magazine and didn’t want to see evidence of the beauty department slipping due to her attention being focused elsewhere.
“I completely understand.” I couldn’t really complain. For a first time author, I was getting a pretty amazing roll out. Granted, most of that was because the book was about a high-profile one-percenter. Because he worked in media, enough people knew of him to make his incredibly personal details a desirable thing to read about. Though the book was my memoir, they would be reading it for Neil Elwood.
“There was another reason I wanted to see you in person today,” India said, and the hopes about audition news that I’d just set aside returned and immediately plummeted. India nodded, as though she saw my disappointment as a physical symptom. “Wake Up! America passed.”
“Oh.” I had the strangest feeling that I’d been punched in the chest, and the wind had been knocked out of me. I’d never been great at dealing with rejection, but I’d never been given a thumbs down like this before. “Did they say why?”
“They just wanted to go with someone who had a bit more broadcast experience.” She shrugged. “We knew we were a long shot, but we gave it our best.”
Though I appreciated the plural possessive, India hadn’t missed out on a job. I’d only been turned down from an interview once in my whole life. I hadn’t liked it then, and I didn’t like it now. Especially when it was too easy to pin the blame on things like my looks or my height or my weight.
Good lord, this was what Holli’s entire job was. How did she survive?
“I think this will be good for you, in the long run,” India went on cheerfully. “You can concen
trate on writing. M and R will want a follow up, once they know you’re engaged. Any chance you’d want to write about planning your multi-million dollar wedding?”
“Yikes, is it going to be that expensive?” I tried to laugh, but it sounded slightly hysterical. I was working so hard to keep myself together, and even though I thought I was doing a good job of it, I wanted to die from embarrassment. Maybe India had sensed how vainly excited I’d been over the audition. That would have been terrible. In the face of rejection, I wanted to be cool, like it didn’t matter to me.
I really hated the fact that it was affecting me this much. I’d always had a little bit of disdain for people who wanted to be on television. When Holli would go stand outside the Today Show windows, trying to get “discovered” when we were in college, I would roll my eyes and silently congratulate myself on how above it all I was. If I saw a movie being filmed on the street, I didn’t go out of my way to try and insinuate myself into the background, the way some people—mostly tourists—did. I was happy being mostly anonymous.
But all of that would change soon. People were going to read my book. They were going to know things about me. I’d been all right with that for a while. As it got closer to becoming a reality, though…
“Are you all right?” India looked alarmed. “You’re absolutely colorless.”
“I’m sorry, I just had a thought about what’s going to happen when I marry Neil. That’s going to be kind of public news, isn’t it?”
“It will run in all of the social columns, yes.” Her forehead creased. “Sophie, you didn’t think of this at all?”
“No… Where I come from, when you get married, you put an announcement in the local paper. Maybe get a ‘congratulations, Sophie and Neil’ billboard put up, if you’ve got money and want to show off. Maybe he goes out with his friends and spray paints your name on a rock by the highway.” I thought I might hyperventilate. “Seriously, people are going to care?”
A smile tugged at the corner of India’s mouth. “There are a lot of very wealthy women in New York who are going to be fuming mad over your engagement. Prepare to be hated.”
“He hasn’t told his ex-girlfriend yet. I think she’ll be the lead pitch fork holder.” I groaned and slumped down a little in my chair. “Do you really think I’m going to be enemy number one?”
“No, honey. Far from number one. But you just wrote a book about the well-known and influential bachelor you landed. You already put yourself out there.”
“I would have much rather put myself out there as a four times a year beauty segment host on a morning show.”
“Well, it fell through. Be disappointed about it. Drink and cry and listen to sad music and pretend no one understands you. But in the morning, get your ass out of bed and start coming up with an idea for a follow up book. People are going to ask about that when you do press.” India’s practical response was strangely soothing. She gestured to the waiter and said, “Look, I think we’re going to need some drinks here. Scotch. Doubles, neat.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
India gave me a look that would have stopped a charging elephant. She leaned forward and fixed me with a hawkish gaze. “We’re going to start brainstorming. Right now.”
And I was way too frightened to say no.
* * * *
India’s method of making me feel better by steering me toward the future was well-meaning, but ultimately I left our lunch feeling worse than I had over the rejection. I was beginning to feel like it was a mistake, leading off with the cancer in my very first book. It was difficult to top.
Was every job I had going to be a one-hit wonder? Would I just flit from industry to industry until I was completely unemployable?
My pity party continued on the cab ride home. To add insult to injury, when I arrived at the apartment, Emma’s mother, Valerie, was there.
Over the past year, Valerie and I’d had our rocky moments. She believed I’d tried to sabotage Porteras, and I believed she was trying to sabotage my relationship with Neil. After I had put my foot down about the strangely close relationship she’d still had with Neil, we were on more even footing.
Still, we didn’t like each other, and I wasn’t thrilled that I was coming home from bad news to have to put my nice face on.
