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I did all of this while fielding texts and emails from informers and drafting an outline of a report we’d film on Monday.
I lost track of time, which meant I had to race back to my place, take a quick shower and engage in the ubiquitous conundrum of trying to figure out what to wear that my mother would have the least comments about.
I hadn’t come up with anything, was still engaged in that at the same time putting the finishing touches on my makeup—multitasking because Hale was going to be there in fifteen minutes—when I took the call I’d rejected ten times since she got in the elevator that morning.
“I’m only answering to give you the opportunity to share your profound and heartfelt apology for being unprofessional and a friend traitor,” I said to Fliss after I took the call.
“Babe, you need to get laid.”
At her words, I stopped inspecting an off-the-shoulder sweater for snags.
“It’s a fake date,” I returned.
“And you need to get a life,” she went on like I hadn’t said anything.
“I have a life,” I retorted, found no snags on the front, so I turned the sweater over to scrutinize its back.
“Okay, listen to me,” Felicity urged. “While he was sitting for me, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. I constantly had to tell him to look at me, and in the end, just gave up and moved around him so he could watch you. And, girl, you were doing nothing but sitting so Chuck could check your lighting. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to miss witnessing you paint a masterpiece.”
I again ceased my sweater inspection to stand straight and blink at my bedroom while I tried to moderate my suddenly erratic heartbeat.
“What?” I asked.
She didn’t repeat herself.
She said, “I don’t know what all that was about when you told us he was an asshole, he seemed super cool to me. And I heard his interview. He’s not looking for anything serious. You’re deeply involved in your career, you’re not looking for anything serious. It’s perfect. But, E, you can’t workall the time. I’m not going to get into sex because I know it’s been a huge dry spell for you. But when even was the last time you went out on a date?”
“Men are not a priority right now.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear. So I’ll ask you a different question. When was the last time you came out with me and C to have a drink? I mean, C is a stockbroker so she may be even more goal-oriented than you, and she carves out time to sit down with a sister, unwind and commune. You say you will, then Henry Cavill does something, and you’re off to the studio to film a segment.”
Lamentably, this was true.
“I think today proves that my dedication is garnering results,” I remarked.
“I can’t argue that, and this next is gonna be harsh, so beware, but you need to hear it. You could interview God herself, and your mother would still say the dress you wore while doing it was a bad color on you.”
As I sustained that blow (because, even more lamentably, that was true too), there was a knock on the door.
My gaze flew to my bedside clock, and I saw it was 6:02.
Was he serious?
“I can’t talk about this anymore. Hale’s here. And he’s early.”
“Niiiiiice,” she drawled.
“There’s nothing nice about being early,” I snapped as, in my green kimono robe with black at the edges and purple cherry blossoms all over it, I headed to the door.
“Pal, you’ve been out of the game for too long. And evidence is suggesting he’s a master player.”
“How’s that?”
“How many ways do you want me to explain right now?”
“All of them,” I bit out.
“Okay. One, this says he wants to see you, not that he’s trying to pretend he’s too busy for you. Or, in his case, is actually too busy for you and isn’t that into you, so he’s not gonna bother to make a point to be there even on time, much less early. That’s huge. It says a lot, especially for him. A lot that I like, and you should too.”
