Chapter 16 Lucy #2
“Out of curiosity…” I start, obviously only thinking of the hypothetical, “if anything were to happen between Marsh and me, how bad could that really be?”
“Is both of you losing your jobs pretty bad?”
That’s the answer I was dreading. “Do you think we’d actually lose our jobs?”
“Luce.” Jonah’s face immediately switches to looking concerned. “I don’t have to tell you that you can’t sleep with co-workers—”
“I know, I know.” I think about how years ago two people at The Rue were sleeping together for months. Hanna was an editor and Casey was a writer. During that time, Casey got all the top stories, and nobody knew why. It ended up becoming a huge conflict of interest, and both of them were fired.
“Also, you wouldn’t just be sleeping together,” Jonah reminds me.
“You’re also using him for your column and you’re an expert for his feature.
It’s too messy, girl. I like Marsh enough to know I don’t want him to lose his job.
And you’re doing all of this for your job.
Don’t let this be the reason you lose it. ”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Jonah takes another sip of his beer. “This is the perfect example of something you can bring to your therapist.”
This isn’t the first time that Jonah’s advocated for therapy. Most of the time he shares what he talks about in his sessions, but he’s never really pressed that it’s something I should seriously consider.
“Or you can bring it up to your therapist and tell me what she says,” I offer.
“Oh, trust me,” Jonah says, “she knows who you are, and I will absolutely be bringing this up.”
“Thanks?” I scrunch my face and Jonah just nudges me.
When we walk back into the brewery, Marsh waves us over; he’s standing next to someone who needs no introduction.
“Hey.” Marsh waves to us. “Lucy, Jonah. This is Nadia, she’s the managing editor of The Journal.”
“Hi, Nadia,” I say as calmly as I can manage and offer my hand to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Lucy.” She gives me a firm shake and a warm smile. There’s a tenderness that exudes out of her, not unlike what I imagine Oprah is like. It’s quite the opposite of who I expected her to be. How can someone so warm not be jaded by the years in her field? “Likewise.”
“Nice to meet you, Nadia,” Jonah follows.
“Jonah, you look so familiar,” Nadia says. “Have we met before?”
“Briefly,” Jonah says. “At a holiday party a few years ago. I’m the senior pop culture writer at The Rue.”
“Yes, of course. Jonah Katz?”
“Yes!” Jonah smiles. “You have a sharp memory.”
“It’s a gift and a curse.” Nadia rolls her eyes.
This feeling is probably more nerve-racking than meeting your favorite celebrity. A celebrity is someone who’s larger than life, who you admire, a person you can’t believe is face-to-face with you. While Nadia is all those things, she’s also someone who can make or break my career.
Jonah turns to me. “Lucy writes for our sex column.”
“Ah, yes, Lucy Reid. I read your piece about women’s sex lives post cancer…” I’m pretty sure I forget how to breathe because not only does she know who I am—it’s silly of me to think Nadia Lewis wouldn’t know all the writers at The Journal—she’s also read my work. “Well done.”
A giant sigh of relief lets out of me that thankfully resembles some kind of laugh. “Wow, thank you so much. It’s an honor coming from you.”
“My sister has been battling breast cancer for the past four years,” she says solemnly.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Nadia. My aunt battled breast cancer too, which was the inspiration for the piece.”
“Thank you. Your article definitely gave her motivation for her latest round of chemo, that’s for sure.” She lets out a chuckle. “So, how are you two liking The Rue?”
“I’m loving it,” I say. “The team is great and it’s a dream publication.”
“Very grateful to have jobs,” Jonah adds.
“It’s been terrible. I don’t think I’ve hired anyone all year.” Nadia nudges Marsh. “Well, except for this one.”
“I hardly count,” Marsh says.
“But, Lucy, I really admired the depth and emotion your writing had,” Nadia says. “Great work.”
“I really appreciate that, Nadia. Truly.”
“It’s my pleasure.” She takes a sip of her drink and then waves to a group behind us calling her over. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Oh, of course.” I take a step aside. “Lovely meeting you.”
“See you.” Jonah tips his drink then turns to me when Nadia’s out of earshot. “Not Nadia Lewis praising you!”
“Stop.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m still processing…Do you know I’ve never seen her around the office?”
“It’s because she’s always chained to her desk,” Marsh whispers, and I smack his arm.
“But, Luce,” Jonah says, “she knew your name…Can you take that in? She’s read one of your stories!”
“I can’t believe it.” I rub my hand across my chest. Nadia saying that my piece was good is all the validation I need. “Way to set the bar for networking.”
We make our way back to the high-top table, joining the rest of the group. Effortlessly, Marsh and Jonah ease back into conversation with everyone, and I continue to nurse my beer.
Nadia’s words sit with me. The fact that she knows me, that she said I had depth and emotion, means more than any praise Eman could give me. I forgot what it felt like to be proud of my column. I have proved I’m a good writer and that what I write matters.
I’m not going to be stupid and risk it all now.