Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Frannie stares at her reflection in the big mirror over the sink.
She rarely wears this much makeup or tames her hair like this with sleek, arranged curls that look intentional.
The flared, hunter-green jumpsuit with a halter top she and Gretchen combed through a few boutiques to find fits her perfectly, but it doesn’t feel like her at all.
She looks professional, and chic, and serious. Which she should, since she’s going to Hereafter’s April cocktail party. It’s her first ever author event, and it’s with the whole publishing house and all their top New York authors. Henry’s been in raptures over the canapés all week.
Apparently, Hereafter is excited to show her off and get lots of publicity photos, as well as line up huge best-selling authors for her book tour. Frannie’s not sure she’ll make it through the night without vomiting.
“You look divine.”
Frannie spins around to find Elsa standing in the middle of the staff bathroom.
Lined with white tile with black grout, and equipped with a clawfoot tub, toilet, and white porcelain sink, the bathroom is truly strange.
It’s simply there in the middle of the hallway, like someone’s home bathroom was somehow left out of an apartment.
“What if I’d been peeing?” Frannie asks. She’s lucky she wasn’t doing her mascara.
Elsa rolls her eyes and steps forward to wrap her arms around Frannie’s waist so they can look at each other in the mirror. “You’re going to blow them all away,” she says confidently.
Frannie hopes so. Right now, it feels like she’s playing dress-up and is about to perpetrate the world’s biggest fraud.
“You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re funny, and they already bought the book. Try to enjoy tonight. And while you’re there, really think about whether—”
Frannie shakes her head and closes her eyes, and Elsa stops talking.
Her arms tighten around Frannie’s waist, and Frannie takes a deep breath.
She knows Elsa wants her to think about how much easier it would be to walk into the party, head held high, if she could have Elsa’s hand in hers.
That she wants Frannie to go to this party and decide that a future with Elsa isn’t worth having to attend this, and so many other future events, alone.
Joan’s words have been rolling around in her head for weeks, pricking at her heart and nerves. Gretchen’s been watching her at home, quiet, supportive, but questioning. And Elsa …
She’s getting tired of everyone assuming how they think, and how they’d feel in her place, should matter above what she wants.
And this, tonight? Going to a party alone? Frannie’s not letting a little professional and social anxiety stand in the way of her happily ever after.
She opens her eyes and spins in Elsa’s arms, arching up to drag her into a kiss. Elsa smiles against her lips, her hands gripping into her jumpsuit. Maybe she should just skip the party all together, stay here with Elsa while Henry’s out and—
Elsa pulls back gently and reaches up to brush Frannie’s hair from her eyes. Her cheek tingles beneath Elsa’s fingers and Frannie can’t help but sigh.
“I love you. Kick ass,” Elsa whispers.
Frannie drinks in the proud, excited look in her eyes and nods. She can do this. They can do this.
She’s much less confident when she’s actually standing on the edge of The Bankers Club rooftop bar at the Equitable Building.
The patio is enormous and lined with brown banquettes and greenery.
The flowering trees aren’t quite in bloom yet, but the warm yellow fairy lights wrapped around every branch make them sparkle.
Getting from one end of the packed, L-shaped patio to the other takes nearly an hour. Her feet are already killing her, but six people have complimented her four-inch rust-colored heels, so they were definitely the right aesthetic choice. She just won’t be able to walk tomorrow.
“Okay, so that’s Herman Stein,” Beatriz mutters next to her.
Henry and Maribel got pulled away twenty minutes ago to speak with the head of marketing about the Jaundice figures. Frannie started to go with them, but Maribel put her foot down, saying Frannie isn’t involved in any of Henry’s business tonight. Then Beatriz found her.
She glances at her editor, marveling again at how incredibly chic she looks in just a black blazer and broad-leg black slacks. She looks exactly how Frannie always wishes she would as a professional in New York, down to her black stiletto heels.
“He’s still working?” Frannie asks, surprised.
Beatriz snorts and turns to her, brushing back her wolf-cut brown bob. “Usually only on Tuesdays, but he comes out for the parties. He reads everything, though. Loved your book.”
Herman Stein is the managing editor of Jackdaw they must make a perfect team at all of them.
“And if you can’t find the perfect partner, bring an interesting friend,” Beth suggests.
“The more you go to these, you’ll also make event friends, like us,” Natalie adds.
“Thank you,” Frannie says, hoping they can hear how much she means it. “I don’t have a lot of experience with … well, I have no experience with this.”
“You’ll get there,” Beth says confidently.
“Yeah, with that premise? You’ll be up to your eyeballs in stuff like this. It gets easier fast,” Natalie says.
Frannie nods, hoping they’re right.
They stand talking for a few more minutes before Beatriz takes Frannie’s elbow again, steering her through the party to meet staff, authors, publicists, and journalists.
Frannie smiles through all of it, but her eyes absently track Beth and Natalie throughout the night as they navigate the party, totally at ease, sharing secret smiles.
The squeeze of Elsa’s fingers, her hand on Frannie’s lower back, her throaty laugh in her ear while they gossiped and debriefed about each conversation, would make this so much easier.
More than that, she wants to see Elsa here with all these glamorous people. She could be Frannie’s more impressive partner, wowing everyone with her charm and poise and allowing Frannie to just float along in her wake. She’d be so much fun—she’d have so much fun.
Henry circles back to her and Maribel about two hours later. His hair’s a bit mussed, and his cheeks are pink. He greets them with a jovial, “Franibel!”
Maribel snickers into the last of her whiskey sour and Frannie just blinks back at him. She’s never seen him drunk before.
“Now you know my pain,” Maribel mutters. Henry turns around to chase a plate of passed hors d’oeuvres and Frannie gives Maribel a look. “Okay, now you know the one way he’s more annoying as a client than a boss.”
Frannie laughs, watching him stuff a far too large crab rangoon into his mouth. What a child.
“He’s turning into a pumpkin,” Maribel says. “I’m gonna push him into a cab in a bit. You should head out when he does.”
“Oh, okay,” Frannie says. She doesn’t feel the need to stay longer, but she could. Her feet are finally pleasantly numb.
“Always leave before the party winds down. Keeps you classy,” Maribel says.
“So, what do you think?” Henry asks, returning to them with a plate of six mozzarella sticks.
Where did those even come from?
“It’s amazing,” Frannie says honestly. “And a lot.”
Maribel and Henry laugh.
“Never gets to be less,” Maribel says, patting her shoulder. “But you get less overwhelmed over time.”
“Thanks for getting me in,” Frannie says.
Maribel cocks her head and Henry snorts. “Frannie, you’re the hottest guest,” he says. Frannie and Maribel simultaneously wrinkle their noses. “Right, sorry. I’m buzzy.”
“They cared much more about having you here than him tonight,” Maribel says, gesturing to Henry and rolling her eyes when Henry pouts.
“That’s nice of you to say,” Frannie says with a laugh.
“He’s old news,” Maribel says. Henry huffs and she elbows him, still looking at Frannie. “You’re the future.”
Frannie smiles nervously. That’s not scary, or overwhelming, or utterly ludicrous at all.
Twenty minutes later, she’s sitting in the back of an Uber paid for by Hereafter, watching the city go by. She leans her head back on the seat and blinks out at the lights, her feet and back sore, her head still floaty from the booze and conversation. That was thoroughly exhausting.
But she did it.
She went there alone. She impressed people, alone. She succeeded, all on her own.
Her phone chimes and Frannie rolls her neck to look down at it. It’s a text from her work laptop: How’d it go?
Frannie smiles down at her phone, heart skipping a little. I’m in a cab on my way home, FaceTime you when I get there? I’ll give you the lowdown.
She watches the three little dots rise as Elsa types back and swallows against a lump in her throat. Would she prefer Elsa could do this with her? That they were together in the cab, hands entwined, tired and leaning against each other? Of course.
But she doesn’t need that.
Maybe Joan did. Maybe most people do. But Frannie doesn’t.
Frannie can do her career on her own. She proved it tonight, aching feet, anxiety, and all.
Looking forward to it, Elsa replies.
She wasn’t there at the party, but Elsa’s still with her. It’s not the same, but it’s enough.
Me too, Frannie types back.
She’ll convince Elsa it’s enough. She has to. Because she so desperately wants to go home to her for the rest of her life.