Chapter Ten
Mal
A week before Portia graced him with a formal goodbye, Mal returned from a trip to Missouri City to visit his parents to find
that his girlfriend had disappeared. Her side of the closet cleared, her endless pomades and lotions and conditioners gone
from the bathroom, her phone going straight to voicemail and then disconnecting altogether. Her existence in his life scrubbed
so thoroughly that, for the first few days, he’d thought he might have just imagined the past ten years of their life together.
The only evidence of his new reality was a note written on a Post-it and left on the coffee table . I’m sorry. I’m a coward. I can’t do this anymore. He’d picked it up so many times that the paper grew waterlogged with his sweat. Portia had left him before, but usually explosively,
impulsively. Within hours she was back at their door, begging for another chance that he invariably gave.
This time was different. This time, when she left, it was for good.
Portia’s biggest complaint had been his lack of focus. To Portia, the time Mal spent tinkering with the story he’d started before they met ought to have gone into networking, scheduling more shoots, amassing more clients. If only she’d stuck around for six months longer. She would have seen him sell his “waste of time” to a major publisher. If she’d given him two years after that, she would have watched him settle at a long conference table in a glass high-rise with the CEO of a production company, her executive producer, and (over a video call) his literary agent to discuss adapting his “waste of time” for the screen. To think said CEO was Renata Kovalenko, whom Portia had only ever seen staring back at her through the pages of an editorial magazine and had once dubbed the “most beautiful human on earth.”
To think that he was doing all of this while surreptitiously messaging a different woman about a potential photoshoot under
the guise of taking notes.
The subject is a bit unorthodox, Jo qualified. So before I tell you what it is, you have to say you’ll do the shoot for me.
Suspicious, but I’m intrigued, so sure, Mal typed back, just as Amelia asked whether En Garde envisioned Dusk as more of a film or a limited series.
I’ll take that as a yes. Let me send you the brief.
“We want to make sure we give this project enough breathing room to do it justice,” Renata’s executive producer, Rudy, a man
with impeccable posture and an even better fashion sense, was saying. “So definitely more of a limited series.”
“Unless you have your heart set on a film,” Renata interjected. It took Mal a few seconds to understand that she was waiting
for his response.
“Um...” he said, looking from Renata to Rudy, then at his laptop screen at Amelia, whose eyes were narrowed ever so slightly.
“I don’t think I mind. Whatever you guys think is best.”
A message from Jo appeared on his screen: a photograph. Mal’s eyes widened, and he resisted the impulse to slap his laptop shut.
“Everything all right?” Rudy asked, peering over his thin-framed glasses to give Mal a look.
“Yes,” Mal said a bit too quickly. “Sorry. I just can’t believe we’re having this conversation at all, actually. Just need
to shake myself off.”
Another message appeared on his screen, this time a private one from Amelia: Dude, you are so distracted.
“There’s no need to be nervous,” Renata said from the head of the table. Ironic, Mal thought, considering she’d probably been
leaving people tongue-tied for most of her life. “We’re celebrating your work.”
“I’ll try not to be,” Mal said. The image Jo had sent him was seared into his brain. It was just so... big . Unwieldy, really. The moment attention shifted away from him, he opened up her message again, staring at the image of the
ten-inch curved vibrator that Jo had sent him.
Read the brief and let me know what you think, she said.
The brief was short: the company, Heavenly Vibes, wanted a professional-quality video, a carousel of photographs, and six
months of ad rights of Jo interacting with their newest product. In a separate tab, Mal looked up the company, then quickly clicked out when a video of a woman, um,
testing a product popped up on his page.
I don’t think I’m the best person to do this, Mal confessed. I’ve done boudoir photography before, but I think this is out of my comfort zone.
Oh my. Where is your mind going? Jo typed back. You really are a pervert.
Amelia and Rudy were starting to talk money.
“I’ll be honest. We’re getting a lot of interest right now,” Amelia was saying. “When can we expect you to be ready with an
offer?”
Mal closed his messenger app, forcing himself to pay attention. He fielded questions about the cast—the main character, Iris,
was a young Black woman with albinism, and it was important to Mal that they found an actress with the same condition—and
tried to stem his excitement when Rudy announced that they would be in contact within a week with the paperwork.
“Wonderful,” Renata said, standing. Then, smoothing down the front of her dress, added, “Well, this is when I must kick you
all out. My son is bringing me lunch and will be here any minute.”
Rudy stood as well, waving to Amelia on his laptop screen.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said. “I hear the Knydus employee lunch today is Persian. I’m going to run down to the
cafeteria before the line becomes atrocious.” He extended his hand for Mal to shake. “Looking forward to working with you
very soon.”
Then he grinned, as if he fully understood the presumptuousness of his statement, and marched out the door. Leaving Mal alone
with Renata.
With Amelia and Rudy present, Renata had seemed almost human. Now, without them, he found himself caught in her inquisitive
stare, wondering how one could be blessed with cheekbones so sharp. He muttered an excuse me under his breath, shoveling his laptop into his bag.
“Thank you for giving us a chance, Malcolm,” Renata said, and Mal looked up at her, astonished.
“Giving you a chance,” he repeated, dumbfounded. “No, no, thank you . I... honestly can’t even believe that I’m here right now.”
Renata’s smile dimmed.
“Stop saying that,” she said. “You deserve to be here. I read your book from cover to cover, all in one night. I’m not surprised
that you have multiple offers, and likely from all sorts of reputable companies. En Garde is new. We’re not based in LA with
the rest of the hotshots. As you can see, we don’t even have our own physical location—I’m mooching off my husband’s office
space right now. She Blooms at Dusk will be our first major project. You are the one investing in us, not vice versa. And you better start acting like it.”
Thoroughly admonished, Mal stood straight. Up until this point, he’d seen Renata as larger than life, a living statue of sorts.
Right now, however, she reminded him of his mom.
“Got it,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing too,” she said, pointing at him. “One of the first things I learned when I came to this country was that
I needed to be audacious. The second was to never apologize for anything that wasn’t clearly my fault.” She walked over to
her desk in the far corner of the room and settled into her white leather chair, and Mal followed, sensing that their conversation
wasn’t quite over. “I thought Josephine would’ve taught you that by now.”
Mal sputtered. Yes, Jo had been the one to hand him off to Renata, but she’d made it clear that they’d just met at Ezra’s
birthday party. How did she—
“Jo told me about your date,” Renata provided, smiling at him knowingly. “Don’t worry. She said you were a perfect gentleman.”
“Ha. Thank goodness,” Mal said. His attention snagged on a sole framed photograph on Renata’s desk: a picture of her, Jo, and Ezra, several years younger, judging by the roundness of Jo’s face and Ezra’s shaggy hair, dressed to the nines, with their arms around each other. Paul Adelman, her husband, was notably absent. When he looked back at Renata, she was regarding him carefully.
“She’s special, you know,” Renata said. “An exceptionally strong, exceptionally brilliant young woman. Fiery. If she decides
to love you, she does it with her whole heart.” She propped her head on the heel of her hand, and Mal swallowed under the
intensity of her assessment. “Make sure to earn her, Malcolm. It won’t interfere with our business if you don’t, but it would
make me very happy.”
“I—” Mal started, his face warm, but another voice from the doorway cut him off.
“You’ve seen Jo, then.”
Mal turned to find one Ezra Adelman standing behind him. In casual dress, he perfectly encapsulated the small-town-pretty-boy
aesthetic, his artfully tousled hair perfectly ruffleable, porcelain skin unblemished. Mal hadn’t watched any of Ezra’s shows,
but he’d once caught an episode of One True Kiss , the popular teen rom-com in which Ezra played Zachary, a simple and happy-go-lucky baseball player vying for the affection
of the nerdy-hot female lead. Mal couldn’t imagine a person further from his character. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Ezra
smile—which, he supposed, might be his fault.
I have feelings for Ezra. He doesn’t have feelings for me , Jo had said. If only she knew how dead wrong she was.
“Jo?” Mal said. “Yeah, I’ve seen her.”
Ezra nodded to himself, placing a delicious-smelling paper bag onto the table.
“How is she?” he asked.
“You still aren’t talking? Jo and I just caught up the other day,” Renata said, surprised. She’d hustled back to the table and had pulled a takeout box and a pair of chopsticks from the bag. Mal wasn’t sure what was more surprising, the fact that Renata Kovalenko willingly consumed carbs, or that she would speak so candidly in front of him.
“Nope,” Ezra said, not elaborating further.
“She’s fine. Great, actually,” Mal said. He held back the urge to exaggerate, to tell him exactly how fine she had looked that night.
But Ezra nodded, looking wistful.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “I worry about her, is all. She’s tough, but sometimes she struggles, and...” He looked at
his mom, then back at Mal, the corner of his lip curling up. “Sorry, I didn’t realize we had a guest, or I would have ordered
more food.”
That, Mal thought, was the most polite get the fuck out I have ever heard.
“No worries, I was just about to leave,” he said, throwing his backpack on. He nodded to Ezra, then to Renata, who was watching
the exchange with barely contained amusement. “Thank you again for your time, Renata.”
“Anytime,” Renata said, raising her chopsticks in salute, and Mal deemed now the time to go.