2. Chez O’Connor
2
CHEZ O’CONNOR
O’CONNOR
“I don’t know. Maybe I should fire you for lack of anxiety.” I studied my publicity manager critically.
“O’Connor,” he said firmly. “Believe me, I have anxiety”—I’d hired Paulo because he was unflappable—“but you’re making too much of this. You have twenty-four million followers on Instagram.”
He hit the number with the instinctive flair of a gay man, but I was not appeased.
“I used to have that many on Twitter. Or should I say X.” My contempt didn’t mask my own stress on the subject. “And I don’t even want to get started on TikTok.”
“You were right to leave them both. You know that. You’re still revered on Reddit. The Opinionated O’Connor blog has never been hotter, your YouTube channel is rock solid, and podcast subscribers are on the rise. You’ve got to give it more time.”
The podcast was three months old and should have grown bigger by now. “Fucking social media. How can I be a well-respected influencer if the platforms keep drying up and blowing away?”
Paulo shifted away from my outflung hand when I hit Warrior II. Yoga on my deck was supposed to lower my blood pressure, but I wasn’t seeing the benefits.
“What are The Scoop ’s numbers today?” I asked.
Paulo’s fingers flew on his phone. “Same. They’re at fifty-three million followers.”
I scoffed. “That’s because he and his flunkies are a willing mouthpiece for the studios. If I gave five stars to that last shitty movie, I, too, could interview the biggest stars. But those fifty-three million followers can’t trust what they read on The Scoop , right?”
He reassured me, “Nobody trusts The Snoop . They just follow to see the latest photos.”
I could use a few more celebrity photos. “How about Bella Southdown? How’s she doing?”
Paulo consulted his phone and then frowned. She was up again, and he didn’t want to tell me. “ Southdown’s Variety is at seventeen million followers. Still not as good as you,” he hastened to reassure me.
His reassurance didn’t help. Bella Southdown’s views could be bought, but she was more subtle about it than most. She was young and new and hot and dogging my heels.
“Your T-shirts are going like hot cakes,” Paulo said, trying to soothe me. “I love the new one. So does everyone else.”
I’d come up with the catchphrase for the podcast, and it was gaining some traction. The T-shirts said, it’s just my opinion . . . but i’m right on the front and the opinionated o’connor podcast on the back.
“Yeah.” It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. “I need more stability. Figure out some way I can rely on a steady source of income. Not just now, while I’m trendy. I mean long-term. ”
“O’Connor.” Paulo sighed. He was one of the few people who would express frustration with me. Most people sucked up too hard to do it. “You can earn fifty thousand dollars for a blog post and a hundred thousand for a video on YouTube. Your rates are the cheapest in the industry, so you’ve got offers coming out of your ears. Why are you so stressed?”
“Most of those offers are for products I’d rather die than endorse.” I switched to a Sun Salutation. Maybe that would slow my heart rate. “You know I only endorse products I actually like.”
“Which is why you’re so beloved, O’Connor! It’s the perfect recipe for success. Your fans trust you. That’s so rare in this industry.”
I switched from Runner’s Lunge to Downward-Facing Dog. “Great. Rare. Fine. Get me some stability.”
He sighed, unimpressed with my Cobra Pose. “I’ll keep working on an idea. Don’t forget you’ve got the gala for the anti-bullying coalition tonight.”
“Oh, hell. Do I have a date?”
“I’ll call Jane.” His fingers flew. No one was faster on his phone than Paulo. He was connected to my virtual assistant in no time, despite the fact that the service was in Indonesia. “ Salam , Jane, dear. O’Connor wants to know if she has a date to the gala tonight. Can you look it up? Frederick Campbell? Yes, I’ll tell her.” I winced. Frederick Campbell owned a string of car dealerships. He’d never asked me outright to endorse him, but that was coming, and then I’d have to take him off the list. “And what’s she wearing? The gold halter top? Perfect. She’ll be lovely. Thank you, Jane. Until tomorrow.”
Maybe if I did the yoga more slowly—my trainer said slower would be better, but who had time for that? “I don’t like Frederick Campbell. You go with me instead.”
“Not for all the money you pay me, O’Connor. Don’t you want at least one person in your life who you can call a friend? ”
I pouted. Paulo had no problems pointing out that I paid him. This was what it had come to. I had to pay people so I could imagine they were my friends. “Fine.”
I plopped down on my yoga mat and set my timer. Five minutes of silence and deep breathing, and then I’d work on editing the most recent video on hair care. The world loved it when I tried various products on my entirely boring red hair, so I’d keep feeding them. I did like the bangs, though. Bangs were trending, so I’d rock them.
“If you’re on to meditation, I’m getting out of here. The car will be here for you at seven. Bye, hon.”
Paulo fled. I was left with the scent of eucalyptus and the light filtering through the leaves. Without the trees, I wouldn’t be outside. Irish skin was far too pale to endure the California solar radiation, but I’d bought my house halfway up Brentwood Hills. The wealthiest people lived on the ridgeline and my house was in a valley, but on the ridgeline, the sun was as unrelenting as the view. This was more sensible.
My brain was caught in a loop. I couldn’t break away from the belief that my entire career was as fragile as the next social media crash. Two massive platforms tanked. What would I do if Instagram came afoul of some idiot or YouTube lost its magnetism? How would I protect myself? How would I broaden my power as a social media influencer far enough to be invincible?
Damn it. I could feel my blood pressure going up. Deep breathing. Center my thoughts. Show some discipline, O’Connor. Think of something else. Express gratitude.
Okay. A charity gala for a cause I appreciated. I’d find a way to make a big donation tonight. The gold halter top had ruching at the waist that would disguise my belly. I ate as vegan a menu as I could endure and the scale said I hadn’t gained any weight, but my camera did not lie. My career depended on being pretty and skinny, so that was what I focused on. Endlessly. It was tiresome but necessary .
Not helping. Blood pressure not going down. Apply more gratitude.
Charity gala. Gold dress. Navy stilettos because they’d let me tower over Frederick Campbell. An evening of smiling winsomely for cameras, hiding my boredom, and waiting until I could escape, going home to the quiet isolation of my tranquil house.
God. If only something different would happen.