Juliana
On the Tuesday of the third week of June, George wakes at dawn. She usually wakes early, but now, with the IPO looming,
she’s been rising even earlier. There’s so much to do! Rehearsal and prep for the road show. Meetings with analysts. Constant
monitoring of the market, and of the value of the companies that are comps for LookBook. Preparation for the S-1 filing.
She brings her coffee to the end of her dock, where her decorator, Zelda, had placed a set of outdoor furniture and a small
propane-powered fireplace, and even, because Zelda thinks of literally everything , a covered basket of extra-absorbent towels to wipe the dew-kissed cushions. sits there for a long time, catching up
on emails, looking at her calendar for the day ahead. She has a pair of binoculars (Zelda again), and she lifts them to her
eyes, watching Payne’s Dock wake up for the day: The Cracked Mug opening, the overnight boaters going ashore to use the bathroom
or shower or walk their boat dogs.
Each week, she has decided, she’ll set aside two hours for some sort of excursion to get to know the island. If she doesn’t,
she’s going to succumb to the pressure of her work. She might actually explode. Today she’s going to walk Clayhead Nature
Trail.
Block Island is a small island—seven miles around, ’s Re altor, Holly, told her when she sold her the house in February. But though small, it has a whole string of beaches on the eastern side, a sandy bounty stretching almost the entire length. Then there’s the western side of the island, with unspoiled, rockier beaches. And besides the beaches, there are dozens of hiking trails that lead to stunning ocean views. There are the shops in town. There are the giant clay cliffs at Mohegan Bluffs. There’s an exotic animal farm, with a zedonk and kangaroos! has never seen a kangaroo in person. (In kangaroo.) And she’s never even heard of a zedonk. She had to look it up. What a place she’s landed in!
The fact that she started where she started and is now here— couldn’t have written more of a surprise ending had she been Agatha Christie herself. But she’s not a writer. She’s
a businesswoman, a badass, a girl from the streets (quite literally), who, earlier that morning, after brushing her teeth
in her marbled bathroom, after rinsing her face with water coming out of the touchless faucet, had looked in the mirror and
said, with a mostly straight face, “You live here now . This is yours, motherfucker.”
She reads up on the Clayhead Trail online after she finishes her emails and while she drinks her coffee. She leaves ten emails
unanswered, but she started the morning with eighty-two, so that’s not bad. She’ll complete the rest of them before noon.
has never met a deadline she hasn’t kicked in the nuts. She closes her computer, gets in her car, then follows her
GPS directions to a small parking area off Corn Neck Road. She parks, locks her car (is there crime on Block Island? She’s
not sure. But her car, an Audi SQ8, is the first new car she’s owned in her entire life, and she doesn’t want to take any
chances).
It’s more walk than hike: a mainly flat, easy, curving path that winds through vegetation, heads delicately uphill, and opens up above a stunning, secluded beach. “Ridiculous,” says out loud when she arrives at the end. “This is just ridiculously beautiful.” She’d read online that this trail could get crowded on summer days, but for now she’s the only one here. Far below she sees a couple of beachgoers, a surfer, a dog. But here, she’s alone. The air is hospitable, the sun is shining, and she sits on the ground and lifts her face to it, soaking in the—
“Jade!” stiffens, and all of the sounds around her seem to pause at one time: the chirping of the birds, the crashing of
the waves, the buzzing of an insect that she hadn’t even realized she could hear until she hears it no more.
No. Absolutely not. This is a small island, not nearly as well-known or popular as a place like Nant— “Jade!” again, and pair
of long, suntanned legs appear in ’s line of vision. Her gaze follows the legs up and up, past a pair of shorts, a
cropped tank, until she gets to the face of—“Shelly!” says the owner of the legs. “It’s me, Shelly Salazar! From Boston College.
It’s me. ” She points to herself, ostensibly to clarify the “me” she’s talking about.
Ho-ly shit. No. What? No. But it is, it’s Shelly. scrambles to her feet, scrambles for a foothold, mental or physical or both, scrambles
for her composure, wills her heartbeat to settle. “Hey, hi. Wow. Shelly.”
“I had a feeling I’d run into you,” says Shelly.
“You did?”
“I did! When someone said the founder of LookBook had just bought that big house over by Great Salt, I thought to myself,
It’s only a matter of time until I run into Jade!”
“.”
“! I know that, from the articles. I just keep forgetting.” Shelly beams so hard wonders if her jaw hurts.
“And look, here we are.”
“Here we are,” says . She squints up at Shelly. Shelly is tall, and is petite, so even though they’re on equal
footing the setup feels almost purposefully unequal.
“I mean, tbh, I didn’t believe it at first,” says Shelly. “Why Block Island, of all places, for you to buy a home? It seems
so... random.”
steels herself. Do not, she tells herself, forget who you are. Do not forget where you came from. “ You’re here,” points out.
Shelly purses her lips and nods. “You’re right. I’m here. But that was random too. I was in New York, and a few years ago
I got sent up here on an assignment, when I worked in book publicity. I fell in love with it, but of course I was like, Calm
down, Shelly, you can’t just up and move your whole life to Block Island.” She looks at expectantly, so says,
“Right.”
“But then, I was just getting out of this terrible relationship, don’t get me started on that... ”
“I won’t,” says .
“And I came up here to lick my wounds. I ended up doing a couple of freelance jobs and—well, I never left. So here I am.”
“Here you are,” says . “Here you definitely are.”
“And here you are. I can’t believe it. Jade Gordon. Sorry. .”
“Jade was—a nickname. I dropped it when I started my business.”
“I didn’t know Jade was a nickname for ,” Shelly muses.
Funny how you don’t know everything, thinks . Funny how you all thought you knew more than me, and look at us now.
“It’s like you fell off the face of the earth!” Shelly continues. “You never come to any of the BC stuff. A bunch of us try
to get together every three years or so. We rotate locations, usually over a long weekend. We have a blast. We’ve done, let’s
see, Nantucket, and Nashville, and Napa... We invited you!”
Yes, knows this; she’s received invitations through her office, but she has never responded. Her scars from BC run
deep.
“I never got any of those invitations,” she says.
“Well, you were so busy . Of course, we knew what you were doing with LookBook.” Shelly beams. “I’ve read all the articles. You’re everywhere!”
“Everywhere,” agrees . Damn right she is. Forbes ’s 30 Under 30. Fast Company ’s best female entrepreneurs. The How I Built This podcast. The spread in Vogue. An article about her foundation in the New York Times. And on and on.
“So we figured you were just too occupied, you know, being rich and famous.”
“Right.” feels a pinching along her collarbone: this is her anxiety tell. (Who is she going to tell, though?) So far,
a lot of her wealth is paper wealth, but there is no way in hell she’s going to admit that to Shelly. Fake it until you make
it, etc. ’s been faking it one way or another her whole life. Now she’s making it, and she’s not going to kowtow to
Shelly or anyone else.
She stretched to buy the Block Island house, and stretched further to decorate it. The car, the clothes, all of it—they are
the possessions of the person she will be in October more than the person she is right now. But this is how business works;
this the nature of entrepreneurship. You build your life on spec. It’s all so close to her now that she can taste it. She
can reach out and touch it. She just can’t have it quite yet.
“We’re so proud of you! Our little Jade, from the dorm!”
“.”
“I heard about the parties at your house, and I thought, That can’t be true! Not the Jade I know! I mean—”
“I know,” says . It doesn’t seem worth it to correct Shelly yet again. “I’m full of surprises.”
“We should go out!” cries Shelly. “We should totally go out for a drink. We should go to Poor People’s or The Oar. Phenomenal
cocktails at both places.”
“Now?” asks dubiously. She glances at her watch. It’s 9:22.
“Not now!” chortles Shelly. She gives a light, jocular punch on the upper arm. “Even I don’t start drinking at ten in the morning.” tenses her arm, tenses all of her muscles. Shelly is coming really close to crossing ’s threshold. Shelly purses her lips. “Eleven, maybe. But I meant some evening. Or afternoon. I’m pretty open. Or maybe I’ll come to one of your parties. I can’t believe I haven’t come to one yet.”
“Definitely come,” says insincerely.
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“When is the next one?”
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
“Well, here , let’s at least exchange numbers so you can let me know. Right?”
“Right.” hands Shelly her phone and takes Shelly’s from her, tapping in her number under the contact Shelly has already
created with the name Jade . She changes it to .
“But right now, if you’re free, we should go get a coffee. Have you been to Joy Bombs yet?”
“What’s Joy Bombs?”
“Oh, girl. You have to go to Joy Bombs! It’s one of my favorite places on the island. You ever had a mini whoopie pie?”
“No,” says again. She doesn’t want to get a coffee; she doesn’t want a mini whoopie pie, whatever that is. She is
George, founder of LookBook, a person who has created something out of nothing. She has to answer to her board, and
to her attorneys, and soon she’ll have to answer to the stock market, but she no longer has to answer to or worry about or
feel naked and exposed in front of Shelly Salazar.
“I’ll show you! Are you free now?”
She can easily be not free. She could have a business meeting, a plumber coming, an online therapy appointment. Any of these
would do. Or none of them; she doesn’t need an excuse. How many times in the past ten years has she reminded herself that
no is a complete fucking sentence?
But there is a part of that does want to show Shelly what she’s become—a part of her that wants to have the upper hand, and to make a fist with it.
“I have a little time,” she says. “I have a call at one, though.”
Shelly says, “Great! My treat.” She reaches out and impulsively hugs to her. Shelly smells like the ocean and like
sunscreen and, inexplicably, like limes (breakfast margarita?). When she releases she holds her at arm’s length for
a moment, considering her proudly, almost like a parent. “You’ll love this place, Jade.”
takes a deep breath. “Hey, listen, Shelly. Don’t call me that. Like I said, it’s now. Especially here, okay?”
“You got it.” Shelly makes a motion like she’s zipping up her lips. “If you ask me, Jade was a great name. Why’d you stop
using it?”
will explain herself to nobody. “It’s complicated.”
“ is pretty too. But your last name—?”
“Long story,” said .
“Got it. If there’s more to it than you want to say, girlfriend, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not sure if you remember
this about me but I am a total vault.” She turns and begins to make her way down the trail, and , walking the twin
tightropes between past and present, present and future, follows. Hopefully they’ll at least take separate cars.
They don’t take separate cars. Shelly insists on following home to drop off her car (“So I know where you live for
the next party!”) and makes room for in her cluttered Corolla, sweeping a whole collection of items off the passenger
seat. A lipstick without a cover, a lipstick with a cover, a Styrofoam takeout container that smells like vinaigrette, three
dimes, a pair of tweezers, two empty nip bottles.
Joy Bombs, it turns out, is a cute little café in the center of Block Island’s small, bustling downtown. They each order a
coffee, and once they’re seated at one of the tables Shelly leans in and says, “So, George , tell me everything that’s been going on with you.”
“Since college?” says . “Everything?” A café worker, a pretty, suntanned teenage girl, is cleaning the table next to her, maybe listening in, maybe not.
“Everything relevant. I gave you my capsule bio. Give me yours!”
takes a long sip of her drink. She ordered a hot cappuccino, and Shelly has an iced Americano. Adult Shelly,
notices, still chews on the end of her straw the way College Shelly did. Because the straws are paper this habit now results
in a shorter, messier chew, but there you are, habits are hard to break.
“Well. Honestly, I’ve just been working. It’s all-consuming, running a company like mine.”
Shelly nods sagely and says, “I bet. Never mind spending all the money!” She chortles. (Adult Shelly chortles quite a lot.)
“Not married?”
“Nope.”
“Too independent for all that, I bet. Or just haven’t found the right person?”
hesitates and looks around the café. There’s a line now: teenage girls in tiny shorts and bikini tops, a sandy family
already done with the beach, a toddler wiping his eyes and saying, “No no no NO.”
“Yeah. I mean, I’ve dated plenty. Not that much in college, but after, sure.”
“Yes, queen,” says Shelly supportively.
“Once I found the right person,” says . She can’t believe she has just confessed this to Shelly. “But he was taken.”
“Oh, that sucks,” says Shelly with what seems like genuine feeling. “Was he married? I’ve been involved with a married man
before. Trust me, it’s no bueno .”
“Not then, but he is now. No bueno, ” agrees . “Definitely no bueno .”
Shelly’s straw is now a lost cause. She removes it altogether, then whisks the plastic top off her cup and begins to drink
it that way. “You remember Mary Ann? From BC?”
“Of course I remember her. We were roommates freshman year. That’s how I met you, Shelly.” allows herself an internal shudder. Freshman year at BC had been challenging. (All of the years at BC had been challenging.)
“She lives in Greenwich, Connecticut, and has three kids! Can you believe it? Three kids already! I don’t think I could even
handle a cat.”
“Wow.” can believe it, in fact. It seems like exactly what Mary Ann would be doing. Lots of barre classes and competitive
healthy eating, a nanny.
That wasn’t fair.
Maybe she did yoga instead of barre.
The coffee is gone; the whoopie pies are gone. begins to do all the little things you do when preparing to leave a
table: wiping crumbs with a napkin, stacking her mug on top of her plate. All of this to give the hint that she is ready to
go. The pretty teenager swoops by and says, “I can take that.”
“Hey, Maggie,” says Shelly, and the teenager says, “Hey, Shelly.”
“Before we go,” says Shelly. “Do you need any help with LookBook?”
feels like this emoji: “What kind of help?”
“Publicity, etcetera. I could help you, you know.” Shelly leans conspiratorially over the table. “I’ve been working as a publicist
to the stars.”
“Oh, yeah? What stars?”
“Lots of stars.”
considers inserting her own chortle, thinks better of it, and asks, “For example?”
“All kinds. Books, theater. I’m publicity-fluid. I coined that phrase. Do you like it? This summer I’m working for Buchanan
Enterprises.” blanches, and Shelly, seeing this, says, “Do you know them?”
Careful, , careful. “No,” she says. “I’ve heard the name, is all.”
“Okay, well, I’ll be honest, one of the perks of working for them is spending a lot of time in their house. And that’s a perk
because there’s this guy staying with them, a friend of the Husband Buchanan, and he’s such a hottie. Jack Baker. He gives major Justin Trudeau vibes.”
“Justin Tru deau ? The world leader Justin Trudeau?”
Shelly blinks at her. “Of course. Don’t you think JT is sexy?”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“Well, think about it. He’s a super hottie. Anyway. I am doing actual work for them. I’ve done book publicity too, like I
mentioned. I could do, and don’t take this the wrong way, , but I could do like an image makeover on you.”
“Image makeover? You think I need an image makeover. Shelly, do you even know what LookBook does? I practically invented image
makeovers.”
“Oh, sure! Yeah. I know you did. For clothes. I’m talking more about makeup. Everyone can use a little objective help.” Shelly
looks carefully at and purses her lips. “I mean. You’re like a whole different person, stylewise, than you were in
college. Which is a good thing, no offense. And obviously tracks with your business. But have you ever considered eyelash
extensions?”
“No.”
“You totally should. Those gorgeous dark eyes of yours... a Medium Glam set would really make them sing.”
isn’t sure she wants her eyes to sing—but she grants that Shelly’s eyelashes are attention-grabbing. The lashes seem
to have their own life, their own range of motion. “Is that what you have?”
“I get the Mega Glam.” Shelly blinks—oh, how she blinks! “The longest ones they offer. That’s how I like to roll. But honestly,
you don’t need a lot. You’ve always been Gorgeous with a capital G. You just didn’t know it, back in college. I mean, that Thanksgiving at Mary Ann’s—” wants to hold up her hand and say, Stop . She doesn’t want to think about that Thanksgiving at Mary Ann’s. She doesn’t want to think about Mary Ann at all.
She’s like obsessed with my mom is what she thinks about when she thinks about Mary Ann. She remembers Mary Ann saying that, and Shelly laughing.
“And now you do know how gorgeous you are,” continues Shelly. “That’s it. Same face, different attitude. Different bank account,
obviously. Maybe... maybe it’s more of a touch-up. A touch-up can be for any reason, you know.” Shelly pauses, tips her
cup back toward her lips one more time. There’s no coffee left, so the ice hits against her teeth. “Okay, to be honest, I
sort of need the work. I’ve been piecing things together, but that only goes so far. I don’t want to go back to New York.
And we’re thirty-two now, and I look at you, and I look at Mary Ann, and you guys are cruising, just like all set, doing your
thing, living the dream. And I—well, I guess I’m a little bit stuck.” Shelly’s mouth twists in a sad way.
What makes say what she says next? Is it again that desire to have the upper hand, to feel like more than that college
freshman out in the cold, hands pressed against the metaphorical glass, peering into a place where everyone else is gathered,
warm and safe? Or maybe simply wants a friend, and here is potential friend material, available for purchase. Everything
is available for purchase. (Almost everything.)
“Sure, Shelly,” says. “I’m sure I could use you.”
Shelly’s whole aspect changes. She sits up straighter. Her eyes sparkle. Even her lashes stand at attention. How easy,
thinks, it is to make some people happy. “Really?”
“Really. I could use some extra help, going into a big fall.”
“Big fall?” Shelly squeals.
“I’ll have my assistant contact you, draw up a contract for some freelance work. There will be a nondisclosure agreement in there, but that’s standard.”
Shelly holds up a hand like a Girl Scout taking a pledge. “Oh, I told you, I’m a vault.”
“Right,” says . “A vault.” And finally, on that dubious note, Shelly stands, deposits her cup into the recycling bin,
bids goodbye to Maggie. Finally, they are leaving. Finally, can be alone.
As they walk to Shelly’s car, Shelly says, “I’d love to hear more about why you changed your name. Now that I’m on the inside.”
What have I done? thinks . I’ve put Shelly Salazar on the inside. “I already told you,” she says, as kindly as she can manage. “I just wanted a fresh start, for the business. There’s really
nothing more to it than that. People do it all the time.”
“Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. That’s our mantra in PR. All that matters are the parts we show.” ( has worked with
a lot of publicists over the years, and she’s never heard this mantra. But okay.) “It’s sort of like when a lawyer for someone
accused of murder doesn’t want to know if the person actually committed the murder, because that would take away their ability
to do the whole innocent-until-proven-guilty thing.”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” says , and her heart starts to pitter-patter.
“Oh, I know that!” Shelly looks closely at as she unlocks the car. “I mean, I think I do.” She stares so long and so hard
over the hood of the car at her, really gazing deep into her eyes, that starts to feel uneasy.
Several wretched seconds pass, until finally says, “What?”
Shelly bursts out laughing and says, “Nothing! I’m just playing with you! Oh my gosh, your face . But nevertheless, the point stands. My job is to worry about your future, not your past. Hop in.”
doesn’t exactly hop, but she does at least slide into the car. Is she reverting to her old college self, unsteady and bewildered? How can she stop ? Shelly takes the back way, avoiding Water Street, and when they reach the intersection of Old Town, Dodge, and Corn Neck
she turns, expertly avoiding a couple of cyclists who have drifted too far from the edge of the road. “Good beach day,” Shelly
observes. “Still pretty quiet. Wait until you see how absolutely nuts it gets here after July Fourth.” They pass the Yellow Kittens, McAloon’s, the Beachhead, the pavilion at Fred Benson Town
Beach.
When Shelly pulls up the long drive to ’s house, opens the door and gathers her phone, her water bottle, her
resolve. Then she sees that Shelly has turned off the ignition and is getting out herself.
“I’ll pop in and see the house.”
“Oh,” says . “I’d love you to. It’s just that I have a call with L.A.—”
“Don’t worry about it! I can totally entertain myself.”
draws in her breath. “It’s going to be a pretty long call.”
“Okay,” says Shelly merrily. “Did you say it’s at one?”
“Yes. But I have to do some prep first.”
“No worries. Let me just—” She sticks her head into the back seat and emerges with a pad of paper and a pen. “Let’s just do
a super-quick meeting, so I can get started on the PR plan.”
In they go through the side entrance, and into the kitchen, with its vast, gleaming countertops, the island that goes on forever , the appliances that are too fancy to be shiny so instead are gunmetal, industrial.
“Oh my God ,” says Shelly. “This is yours?”
“Mine,” says . She straightens her spine. Mine, mine, mine. Her assistant, Allison, pokes her head in and says, “Need
anything?”
“All good!” says . “Thank you.” She points at Shelly and says, “Ran into an old friend. This is Shelly. Shelly, Allison.”
“Hi, Shelly.” Allison consults her phone. “You’ve got L.A. at one. You know that, right?”
“Yup. One. I’ll take that in the office.” Allison gives a jaunty thumbs-up and disappears. Shelly pulls out a stool at the island, so does the same. Shelly lays out her phone, face down, her notepad, her pen.
“My wheels are just turning here... turning, turning, I’ve got it!” Shelly snaps her fingers. “How do you feel about animals?”
“Fine?” says . “Do you mean like dogs or cats or—”
“Doesn’t have to be pets,” interrupts Shelly. “Could be something endangered. Wildlife. Or the environment! How do you feel
about the environment?”
“Hopeless,” admits .
“Perfect,” says Shelly. On her notepad she writes, HOPELESS RE: ENVIRONMENT. “Hopeless we can use.” Her phone begins to buzz and she flips it over and frowns at it. “Listen, I have a hundred things
to take care of. But this is a great start. I’m going to begin working on this, on putting together a plan. In the meantime,
when did you say the next party is?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“How about Friday? Summer solstice party!”
has to think for only a second. That’s an excellent idea. She’s impressed! “Actually, Shelly, that’s a really good idea.”
Shelly beams. “Do you have people who can pull it together for you, or should I share some thoughts on the theme?”
“I have people.”
“Amazing. I’ll come Friday, and after that we’ll talk about how we can elaborate on the parties in the future. I’m so glad
I ran into you, Jade!”
“.”