Chapter 39
23 November 2023
Brynn’s NYC Missions:
Go to Serendipity3, have a Frrrozen hot chocolate and pretend you’re Kate Beckinsale (also according to Google you can buy sachets of the chocolate mix. Buy some for Chris and Matty if you remember).
‘Brynn, hi, it’s Laura Ferguson from The Paris Review .’
My heart instantly starts hammering and I sit up, putting my book on the coffee table and holding the phone closer to my ear. ‘Hi Laura,’ I say and mouth ‘ Paris Review ’ at Sienna, who looks up from her textbook. She gives me a pat as I extricate myself from our blanket nest on Jenny and go into my room.
‘Okay, so Brynn, I’m really sorry but I’m not calling with good news. We were very impressed with your application and the way you clearly love the Review , but unfortunately you’ve not been successful.’
My heart sinks and the floor feels as though it drops out from underneath me. I sit down heavily on the bed, putting my feet firmly on the floor to stop the bed from rolling. I was so, so close to my dreams and everything working out. I’ve got through the torture of Thanksgiving being a holiday by hanging out with Sienna and Corey, by going to the Cat’s Meow, by watching movies at home, by walking around the city and allowing myself to feel excited about Christmas approaching and all the possibilities this city has to offer. Sienna and I have even started making tentative plans for what we’ll do when my internship is over. We’ve gone so far as to start filling out Australian visa applications for her.
But now we’re back to square one. I’m going to run out of money in January before businesses have started advertising positions in the new year. I’m going to lose six months of my visa because I don’t have enough money to stay and because I haven’t got this job.
‘Brynn, are you okay?’
‘Yes, sorry. Just ... disappointed.’ I try not to sound like I’m on the verge of tears.
‘I understand that,’ she says. ‘Well, I am sorry. My suggestion is that you look into the Columbia ...’
As she’s about to slip into the niceties that indicate the end of the call, I decide that I’ve got nothing to lose now. I take a breath.
‘Laura, sorry, can I ask you something before you go?’ I interrupt. ‘Just to stop myself from going over and over this conversation when it’s done.’
She lets out a little laugh. ‘Of course.’
‘Did Lucas Bennett have anything to do with me not getting the internship?’
‘Lucas Bennett? I’m sorry I don’t ...’ she trails off. Then, ‘Oh, he was in Non-fiction? No, he had nothing to do with anything. He was made redundant about a year ago. The person who got the internship just had a better understanding of the American literary industry. I was going to suggest you look into something like the Columbia Publishing course. And ...’ She hesitates again for a few moments before continuing. ‘For what it’s worth, Lucas Bennett is fairly well known in literary circles for not being the most proactive employee. I wouldn’t recommend listing him as a referee, if you catch my drift.’
I let out a little gasp of surprise. Wow! That’s so not the impression his stories had given me. What a dickhead.
I consider my options for a moment. I could leave it there, thank her and then obsess over the Columbia Course. I could go back out and bury my face in Sienna’s neck and she’ll comfort me while I cry. But I will always, always wonder if I don’t ask my last question. ‘Did you by any chance read a Substack that Lucas wrote about me, though?’
There’s a beat. ‘Brynn, I think you better tell me exactly what you’re dancing around here.’
I take a deep breath and then I tell the managing editor of The Paris Review everything about me and Lucas.
‘Wow, okay,’ Laura says. ‘I wouldn’t normally disclose all this but you’ve been honest with me. Lucas was here before my time as editor. But as I understand it, he was hired because of his contacts on our board. During his time at the Review he commissioned a few, um—male-centric—pieces that made him quite unpopular with the female staff, not to mention the readership.’
I run my fingers over the blanket on my bed as she continues.
‘He was let go about twelve months ago and I gather he’s been writing his Substack since then. Some of my colleagues say it’s quite popular with a certain set of readers in New York. But I’ve never read it myself.’
‘I appreciate you being so honest with me,’ I say. ‘I’m embarrassed to tell you all this, but the wondering would have been worse.’
‘Look, Brynn. We all felt you’ve got a really bright future in the industry, whether you find work here or back in Australia. Keep at it. And be really careful who you trust. It’s not an easy path for women of colour.’
‘Is it worth it?’ I ask softly. ‘People keep telling me about the terrible pay and hours of this industry, and I obviously know about the lack of diversity and racism and how few jobs there are. I’ve always been adamant that I want to make those decisions for myself, but now I’m not so sure.’
She’s quiet for a moment. ‘It’s hard. My advice is to find your people. I don’t know how many other Aboriginal people work in publishing in Australia, but here I’m in some networks with other Black women who have similar experiences and we help each other out. We’re all trying to make change and it’s not easy. But I’d like to think it gets a little bit easier for the next person who comes in.’
I thank her for her time and we sign off warmly. I’m super disappointed and don’t know what I’m going to do, but there’s also something about the conversation that has left me feeling hopeful.
Later, in the famous Serendipity3 café where John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale first met in Serendipity , I stir a straw around my neglected and very melted frozen hot chocolate. The conversation with Laura is running around and around in my head.
‘Brynn.’ Sienna’s voice pulling me back to the café. ‘I don’t think this is what your mom had in mind when she set you a Serendipity mission.’
‘I know, I disappeared,’ I answer, pushing the sundae glass away.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t have come out today,’ she says, taking some money out of her wallet and slipping it into the billfold that the waiter must have delivered while I was zoned out.
‘Maybe,’ I agree. ‘But I was scared that if we didn’t do something, I’d just take to my bed and, like, disassociate until rent was due and Corey kicks me out.’
‘Corey is not going to kick you out.’
‘No, but now I’ve got no job and more than six months left to work on my visa. Not to mention, it’s nearly Christmas and no one is gonna give me a job before January, and I’ve just told the editor of one of the most prestigious literary journals in the world that an ex-employees of theirs not only used me for a viral Substack post but promised me introductions to literati.’
‘You absolutely did the right thing with the Review. And with jobs, we’ll work something out. Should you try and ring someone from your sponsor company?’ she asks. ‘And I know this is a big step so I don’t want you to freak out, but you can move in with me to save on rent if you like. I’m covering my bills with work and dancing, and I love having you around. We could be U-Haul lesbians.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe?’ I say, sighing. ‘But thank you, it means a lot that you want to help like this.’
She looks sad and my heart squeezes. The choice to stay or go home was never going to be easy, but now it’s an impossible decision. No matter what I decide, I’ll be leaving people and places I love behind. Most importantly, I’ll be leaving Sienna behind when we have just started out.
‘Well, I hate to do this, but I have to get to work,’ she says.
We clatter down the narrow staircase and through the shop. Out on the street, she wraps her arms around me and we kiss. It’s yet another perfect New York tableau but I can’t enjoy the moment because I feel like my heart is being torn in two.
Sienna leaves in a cab while I walk down 60th towards Bloomingdale’s. I’m outside the door of the department store when my phone rings.
‘How’s Serendipity?’ Corey asks when I answer.
‘Not very serendipatious ,’ I reply.
Corey chuckles a little, but I think it’s more for my sake. ‘What are you doing now?’
‘Walking and moping.’
‘Great,’ she says. ‘Catch the 4 downtown and meet me at Bowling Green station in thirty minutes.’ She hangs up before I can protest and I turn away from Bloomingdale’s and walk towards the subway.