Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Bryn woke up before the sun, ready to run into the booth. She wanted to bottle the magic coursing through her veins so she could huff a little later when imposter syndrome reared its ugly head again.
Last night’s email from Harvey was next to miraculous. Not only were there no notes, but Yenni Montoya also didn’t want to hear any more advanced tracks. She wanted to experience Magpies in its final polished form. Montoya was happy, and Bryn was ecstatic.
Guesthouse too small to contain the enormity of her good mood, Bryn showered and got dressed while singing “Dog Days Are Over.” She took the licorice tea that hadn’t really gotten any less gross outside.
Her vocal cords were moist and pliant, or whatever the hell words Vivian used to describe them, and her confidence irrepressible when Iris stepped out to the covered patio with breakfast. Tray in hand, Iris did a double take at Bryn already seated at the table rather than waiting for room service.
“Well, good morning,” Iris said as she set down the tray.
Bryn was still smiling when Vivian stepped outside. Vivian, who took one look at Bryn and said, “Don’t get too excited.”
With a laugh, Bryn popped a grape into her mouth. “How exactly do you know if I’ve surpassed the pre-approved threshold of excitement?”
Iris laughed.
Vivian had no visible reaction. She sat in her usual seat at the head of the table.
“Just because—”
“I know it’s not over until the romance novelist sings,” Bryn interrupted. “But maybe we can take this little tiny win and build some momentum?”
Vivian, hair slicked back so that it was impossible to miss the perfection of her face, blinked.
While Iris brought out her breakfast, Vivian didn’t speak.
Each silent second drained the warmth from Bryn’s body.
It was so unbearable, Bryn was ready to say anything to get out from under her microscope when Vivian reached for the honey.
“It’s unfortunate,” Vivian said, her cold-detachment digging a pit in Bryn’s previously content stomach.
Bryn swallowed but her mouth was no less dry. Her pulse no less erratic.
What did Vivian know that Bryn didn’t? It was obvious Vivian was tight with Harvey. Had he called her and told her something that wasn’t in the email? Her blood turned glacial, jagged ice freezing her arteries. Had she misunderstood? Did Montoya not want any more files because she was firing Bryn?
“Unfortunate,” Vivian continued while she stirred her tea. She looked at Bryn, taking her time while she took a sip. “That you chose Garbo as your pseudonym. After all the attention this release is going to garner, you’ll never be able to change it.”
Relief was a warm blanket and a roaring fire and marshmallow-topped hot chocolate.
Bryn nearly collapsed forward and yelled at Vivian not to scare her like that again.
But she’d caught something in Vivian’s expression.
The ghost of something like amusement in her dark, unreadable eyes. It made Bryn recklessly playful.
“What do you mean?” Bryn asked with the most deer-in-the-headlights look she could muster.
Vivian did an incredible impersonation of a flat affect emoji before she scoffed. “You picked Garbo and you don’t even know why?”
Bryn dug her nails into her thigh to keep from laughing. From giving away the game. “Are we having two different conversations here?”
“Garbo? As in Greta Garbo?” Vivian said, like she was attempting first contact with an alien species and it was not going well.
It was all Bryn could do not to break. To keep a clueless expression plastered on her face.
“Is she an influencer?” Bryn asked, her face the picture of innocent confusion. She tilted her head, squinting slightly as if engaging every brain cell in the act of remembering. “What era is she from? YouTube or Insta?”
Vivian stared at her, expression somewhere between horror and pity.
“An influencer?” Vivian repeated like she was scaling a mountain with every consonant. “You think Greta Garbo… is a YouTuber who opens packages for gawking strangers?”
Bryn’s entire body was vibrating with the urge to crack up. The more distressed Vivian’s expression, the more Bryn wanted to keep the gag going.
“I mean, there are so many of them,” Bryn said with a careless shrug, digging back into her fruit salad. “It’s hard to keep track of the vintage ones. Was she on Vine?”
“Vine?” Vivian closed her eyes like she was praying to the gods of humidity to grant her strength in her time of great need.
“Greta Garbo is a cinema icon. She was the ultimate enigma who refused to play by Hollywood’s rules.
” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Bryn’s expression to change. “Queen Christina? Anna Karenina?”
Pretending not to understand, Bryn cocked her head to one side. “So, like, indie movies?”
“Indie movies?” Her eyes widened, color rising on her high cheekbones.
“Greta Garbo defined what it meant to live authentically in a world that demanded conformity. She wore men’s clothing decades before it was acceptable, refused to play Hollywood’s games, and chose artistic integrity over commercial success.
” Vivian’s energy blazed, eyes dark and intense.
“She was androgynous, mysterious, unapologetically herself when women were essentially props. Garbo walked away from fame because she wouldn’t compromise who she was for anyone’s expectations.
” She leaned forward. “She said, ‘I want to be let alone’ not because she was antisocial, but because she had to live entirely on her own terms or wither.” She sat back and rolled her eyes before muttering, “Indie movies.”
Bryn couldn’t contain her laughter for another second. The abject disgust on Vivian’s face was too funny. She broke, laughing harder when Vivian’s face registered that she’d been messing with her. For the briefest moment, she looked like she might laugh too, but held it together.
“I’m glad you’re in the mood to amuse yourself.”
“How could you think I wouldn’t know who the hell Greta Garbo is?” Bryn shook her head, still smiling. “How young and dumb do you think I am, Vivian?” She raised a brow. “Don’t answer that,” she teased before digging into her breakfast.
“If you know who she is, why would you choose that surname?”
Bryn shrugged. “Pretty easily.” She sipped her tea. “It’s hard to argue that a name like that is a ton of pressure when you’re only two days old.” She smiled. “It’s my real name. Stamped right on my birth certificate. And I guess now it’s too late to pick a pen name.”
Still obviously annoyed at having been teased but trying to hide it, Vivian went off on an impromptu lecture about bromelain enzymes in pineapple. Bryn was listening when her cellphone rang. Only her contacts could bypass her do-not-disturb settings by calling repeatedly.
“Sorry, I don’t know why…” Bryn flipped her phone over to see that it was Gloria calling. “I should take this. Give me just a sec.” She stood, not waiting for Vivian’s response, while tension coiled in her gut.
“Gloria, hi. Is everything okay?” Bryn turned her back to the table and moved toward the pool to get out of earshot.
“Bryn? Honey?” Gloria’s voice was thin, stripped of its usual brassy confidence. It sounded small, trembling in a way that made the hair on Bryn’s arms stand up. “I… I think I made a mistake.”
“What’s wrong? Where are you?” Bryn wanted to take off in a sprint but she didn’t know what direction to go in.
“I’m at the eye institute. For the in-injections,” Gloria stammered, the background noise a wash of wind and traffic.
“Colleen dropped me off, but the shuttle,” she gulped for air, “the driver said I wasn’t on the list. And of course I didn’t want him to get fired.
I understood why he left.” Her distress strangled Bryn’s racing heart.
“But it’s just that I can’t see. The drops…
Everything is a blur of light and I don’t know where the bench is.
But I told the phone to call you, like you showed me. ”
Bryn’s stomach dropped. “It’s Friday, G,” she said gently, keeping the rising panic out of her voice. “Did you change your Tuesday appointment?” It was more likely that Gloria had gone on the wrong day, but Bryn poured all of her hope into rescheduling and away from mistake.
“Friday?” The silence that followed was heavy with a confusion so profound it shattered Bryn’s heart. “But… I… Oh, God. I’m so stupid. I mixed up the—I’m an old fool.”
“You are not stupid,” Bryn said firmly.
She looked back at the table. Vivian was watching. Waiting. Probably wondering how Bryn planned to fuck up their progress. How was she going to tell her she had to leave? That they’d lose the morning?
“I’ll just… I’ll find a taxi,” Gloria said, her voice rising in pitch, bordering on hysteria. “I’ll walk to the corner. I can do it.”
“Gloria, stop. Do not move,” she pleaded.
Bryn closed her eyes. She could call an Uber. She could call the front desk of the medical center and beg a nurse to go sit with her. There were probably a dozen ways to get Gloria home safely that didn’t involve Bryn leaving Vivian’s house.
But the tremor in Gloria’s voice boomed in Bryn’s mind. She pictured Gloria, with her lemon-yellow glasses and her fierce pride, standing on a curb in downtown Miami, vision blurred by dilation drops, clutching her purse while cars whipped by. She pictured her scared. Pictured her alone.
The calculation took less than a second. Work, even life-changing work, could never be worth more than a friend.
“I’m coming to get you,” Bryn said.
“No!” Gloria cried. “No, honey, you’re working! You’re with the movie star! I remembered that, I just got my days—well, I’ll figure it out. You stay there. Silly old Gloria is not going to ruin this—”
“You aren’t ruining anything. I have time,” she lied.
“Are you sure?” Gloria sounded too much like a little kid.
“I’m sure. Just stay exactly where you are. Don’t move an inch until you hear my voice, okay?”
“Okay. Okay, honey. I’m sorry,” she said, voice cracking like she might cry from fear or relief or both.
“Don’t be. I’m on my way.”
Bryn hung up. She stared at the black screen for a dread-filled heartbeat. She was about to walk back to that table and blow up her life by telling Vivian that she was about to duck out to play chauffeur in the middle of her workday.
She took a deep breath, turned toward Vivian and Iris, the latter of whom was looking at her in open worry, and explained the situation in a rush.
Nearly panting when she was finished, she expected Vivian to say that if she left, she wasn’t welcome back. To call her childish or unprofessional. To tell her that her priorities were all wrong and she’d never make it in this business. Her unmoving face was already screaming as much.
Vivian set her cup down on the saucer with a delicate clink. She looked at Bryn and said, “Go.”
Bryn furrowed her brow. “What?”
“Go,” Vivian repeated calmly. “Get your friend.”
Bryn stared at her, mouth agape. “But… the book. The schedule. You said—”
“The book will be here when you get back,” Vivian said, picking up a napkin and dabbing the corner of her mouth. “We can work late tonight if we need to. Or tomorrow.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Just go.”
Bryn felt like the floor was tilting. Like she was trapped on the hellish teacup ride.
“Well, go,” Iris insisted. “Don’t leave that poor sweet lady waiting.”
“Thank you,” Bryn breathed, the relief hitting her so hard her knees almost buckled. “Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Bryn sprinted to the guesthouse for her keys, her heart pounding with a strange, soaring gratitude. Vivian was still sitting at the table when Bryn darted for the side gate.
She understood Vivian less than ever but as she scrambled into her van and peeled out of the driveway, Bryn knew one thing for sure. She was going to record the hell out of this book when she got back.