Chapter 5 #2
“You should go. Put the script for Welcome Rising in front of him,” McKenzie said, already scheming.
He was always looking for ways to back-channel scripts into the hands of actors and directors.
But he was reaching new levels of delusion if he thought someone with Sean’s profile was going to consider one of his low-budget projects.
“Reunions aren’t really my thing,” Chloe mumbled, feeling herself starting to sweat.
“Chloe, it’s your job to network. Honestly, I’m disappointed you didn’t bring this connection to me yourself. Do you know what a coup it would be if we got Sean Adler?”
Chloe felt sick. Not just a flicker of nerves, but a full-body wave of nausea that rolled up from her stomach and settled behind her eyes like searing-hot stones.
Because there would only be one thing more mortifying than going to the reunion alone: going alone and having to ask Sean Adler for a favor.
Plus, circumventing agents was unprofessional.
The thought of it made her whole body cringe inward, like she was trying to retreat from her own skin.
She twisted her chair back toward her computer, trying to escape the conversation.
“I’m not sure, Mr. McKenzie. It feels like a long shot.”
“I’ve heard you on the phone, you’re good at pitching,” McKenzie added. Was that a compliment? “But I can’t have an executive assistant who isn’t prepared to hustle when hustling is required. Am I making myself clear?”
Chloe nodded, jaw clenched. McKenzie waddled back to his office. She groaned, sank into her chair, and flicked through the comments on the LinkedIn post.
Lorna Childs: Wow—doesn’t Oxford seem like yesterday? I guess time flies when you’re having fun!
Lorna was now a successful interior designer with two million followers on Instagram and a gorgeous tennis pro husband.
She posted reels like “How to color-contrast your cornices with your couch” and “Fifteen morning rituals that changed my life.” Chloe didn’t even own a couch, let alone cornices, and she struggled with just the one morning ritual, getting dressed and leaving the house.
The next comment was from Harriet, Lorna’s best friend.
Harriet Townsend: So psyched for this! If anyone wants some of my organic jam, let me know!
According to Kiko, Harriet had given up law to become a trad wife in the Cotswolds.
She’d married some rich hedge fund guy, had three beautiful children, and now lived a “fully organic lifestyle” drinking raw milk and making her own cheese, jam, and bath salts from scratch.
She sold them online under the brand name Happy Harriet.
Chloe had attempted to make jam once, when her grandmother had a glut of strawberries. She ended up with an inedible saucepan of burned goo and a painful burn on her arm.
Colin Layton: I’ll be there. Driving down in the Maserati if anyone needs a lift from up north?
LinkedIn told her that Colin had made a fortune inventing some wine-trading app.
Then there was Thea Bankole, partner in a law firm by thirty.
Mark Patel, who’d already won half a dozen prizes for his work in medical research.
The list of astonishing achievements went on and on, only serving to cement in Chloe’s mind what she already knew: she would not be able to face this reunion alone.
Then she thought of Rob. Charming, eloquent, handsome…undeniably impressive. Hmmm. Okay, so she might not want a robot boyfriend, but what about a robot fake date? Just for the reunion weekend…
“People would suspect, wouldn’t they?” she asked Morgan Treeman.
“You couldn’t tell, so how would they?” Morgan replied. “Plus you’re currently taking life advice from a desk plant, so…”
He had a point. She would definitely feel like less of a loser if she had Rob on her arm.
People would ask, “Oh, what’s Chloe Fairway up to these days?
Did she ever become an actress? Is she changing the world?
” and someone else would say, “I don’t know, but she’s got a smoking-hot boyfriend who can quote Brideshead Revisited, so she must be doing something right. ”
This was either an inspired plan of incomparable genius or the worst idea she’d ever had.
Either way, it was the only plan she had.
She replied to the reunion email, saying she would attend with a plus-one, and then picked up the phone to Perfect Partners.
Avery didn’t sound the least bit surprised to hear from her.
On the train home after work, packed elbow to ear with commuters, all glued to their phones, Chloe contemplated this scene.
So sad, everyone focused on the little oblongs in their hands, not one person making eye contact with a stranger.
Then her own phone buzzed, and she promptly forgot whatever it was she’d been thinking about.
John
HI CHLOE, I JUST GOT YOUR RSVP FOR THE REUNION. YOU NEGLECTED TO FILL IN DETAILS TO THE SPECIFIED QUESTIONS. JOHN.
She frowned. The wording felt characteristically blunt from John, but all caps seemed excessively aggressive.
She scrolled up to the message above. It was from eight years ago, the last time she’d been in touch with him.
She’d sent him an article about the largest orange ever grown. He’d replied with a thumbs-up.
She didn’t know why she hadn’t stayed in touch with John; she’d always been fond of him.
She guessed they’d drifted after that first term in third year because he’d lived with Sean.
John was viewed as mildly eccentric by most people in college, but she’d found him quietly brilliant.
You never had a boring conversation with him.
She remembered sitting next to him at a formal dinner once.
She was peeling an orange, and he launched into the story of how a wild, bitter, thin-skinned fruit had been cultivated into the sweet, thick-skinned delicacy in her hand.
He told it as though it were the best story in the world, but then John told all stories like that.
Now, whenever she peeled an orange, she always thought of him.
She should have made more effort to reconnect.
Just because Sean had cut her off, it didn’t mean John had.
Chloe
Hey, it’s been a long time. What are you up to these days? SORRY FOR NEGLECTING DETAILS!
John
SORRY, PHONE brOKEN. STUCK ON CAPS LOCK.
Chloe
Oh right, you should get that fixed. It reads kind of aggressive. Anyway, how are you?
She tried to picture what John might look like now.
Did he still dress like a student from the 1940s, in tweed jacket, waistcoat, and polished shoes?
Had he kept the long hair? She’d googled him once, curious, but he didn’t have much of an online presence.
Apparently, he worked in music production, which wasn’t a surprise.
John
FINE. JUST NEED YOUR DIETARY REQUIREMENTS, WHETHER YOU NEED A ROOM IN HALLS, AND NAME OF YOUR PLUS-ONE.
Chloe
No dietary requirements. Yes please to a room in halls.
John
AND THE NAME OF YOUR PLUS-ONE?
She started typing Rob’s name, then hesitated. The surge of confidence that had fueled this idea was already flickering. Maybe she should see how her first date went before she committed in writing.
Chloe
Can I tbc?
John
ARE YOU WHITTLING DOWN CONTENDERS?
Three dots appeared, then vanished. She pictured John, still typing like he was sending telegrams from a bunker.
John
WELL. WHOEVER WINS, I HOPE HE APPRECIATES CITRUS HISTORY.
Chloe smiled despite herself. With some friendships, even after years of silence, you could pick straight back up where you’d left off.