B009R9RGU2 EBOK (4 page)

“For a lot of reasons.” I look him in the eye. “First of all, George has a few more years on him. But it’s also the way he escorts the appropriately dressed women he dates. He takes them to international film festivals, where he’s been nominated. Not out to Hollywood clubs. He brings them to his villa
in Lake Como. Which just
sounds
good. He’s an Academy Award winner, and he acts like it.”

“Exactly!” Now Billy lights up. “I’m not saying I expect to win an Oscar, but I want those roles. I know I can tackle them if serious directors will just give me that chance. I don’t care about the clubs, or the girls. I will totally follow your lead here. If we can get me back on track and off TMZ’s Most Wanted.”

Elle, sensing a meeting of the minds, wraps things up. “It sounds like we are all on the same page then. Billy, it seems to me that you and Sophie have a clear understanding of how this is going to work. Sign with Bennett/Peters and I will make her your direct contact. You are aware of our monthly rate. Take your time, discuss things with your team, and get back to us?” Elle rises and hands her card to Wanda.

The Billy Fox meeting wraps up around 10:15
A.M.
Is my skirt dry? Not enough for me to confidently stroll out with the group. The water stain alone is sure to be hideous. Trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible, I wait for the rest of the group to get distracted gathering their things, and I rise with my files and bag strategically located in front of me. I follow everyone to the door, and after our good-byes—which include an ever-so-charming kiss on the cheek from Billy—I duck down a side corridor to the ladies’ room to inspect the damage to my skirt and pride.

Smooth one, Sophie. Real smooth
.

As mentioned earlier,
lunchtime is always a hectic affair. Unless you’re meeting someone for a business lunch, the team
at Bennett/Peters, as an unspoken rule, doesn’t take much time to eat. Three hours after the Billy Fox meeting I am at my desk, snacking on sushi that Monica, one of the interns, ran out to get for us. And I’m finally comfy, thanks to my Rock & Republic jeans that I found in my emergency-staying-over-at-Jacob’s bag. Life is good. I’ve even finished typing a thorough email to Wanda, reiterating our delight and intended plans with representation. Despite my initial social awkwardness, Bennett/Peters was well represented. I know I did my best. Fingers crossed, we’ve just landed another major client to add to the roster.
And
I managed to secure two long-lead magazine covers for some up-and-coming starlets that Elle is pushing. So, all in all, a good day.

By the time I’m wrapping things up, it’s already past 7
P.M
. Again.

Usually Jacob and I have dinner plans either Thursday or Friday night, but the last couple weeks, I’ve had to bail out at the last minute. I’m just too exhausted for anything more than a bath and my pillow. Lame but true. Jacob understands—he has to work late too sometimes, but I hate being the bad guy. With a final glance at the bottom corner clock on my computer screen, I sheepishly call Jacob’s cell, relieved to get his voicemail, and leave a message.

“Jacob, it’s Sophie. It’s seven-fifteen and I just wanted to let you know I don’t think I can come out tonight. Prep for the big meeting wiped me out, and now that it’s over, I just want to head home and crash. But first I’m going to still be here for at least another twenty minutes or so. Let me know what your Friday night and weekend look like. I could come over to your place, or something, tomorrow. Shall I pick anything up on the way?”
I try to keep my voice peppy though I know I’ll be asleep within twenty minutes after I get home.

As I finish typing up another email, the phone rings. I see the caller ID and pick it up before Monica can—yep, she’s still here too, paying her intern dues.

“Hey.”

“Hi, babe.” Jacob sounds tired. Or maybe disappointed?

“So, I’m almost done now. I really am too tired to go out, but if I can rally a second wind perhaps we can camp out on one or the other’s couch and watch Netflix?” I’m not
that
tired, I try to convince myself. And curling up beside Jacob sounds good, even if I am sure to nod off in the first act of whatever movie we decide to stream. That’s why I had to quit going out to movies after work—nothing is more embarrassing than falling asleep in a movie theater. (And worse, I sometimes snore.)

“No, Sophie. Remember? We were supposed to go to the committee meeting tonight.”

Oh fuck!
I forgot about that.

Jacob’s mom had a breast cancer scare ten months ago, though she was very lucky and they caught it early and now she is in the clear. But ever since, Jacob has been an active member of Tribe of Hope, an organization that raises awareness and money for research. It’s so like Jacob—he’s not always good at the emotive side, but he can “help.” It’s been his role ever since being caught in the middle of his parents’ messy divorce while still a kid. Whether it’s fund-raising or organizing, Jacob’s your man. It’s the mushy stuff of commitment he has trouble expressing. Tonight is the kickoff meeting to begin planning the annual gala, and I promised Jacob I would also help.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I had a million things to do today and I just completely spaced. Even if I left now, with traffic, I would be at least an hour late.” Honesty is always best with Jacob. If I made up excuses he would know. “Take good notes for me, okay? I swear I’ll make the next one.”

“Yeah, okay.” He still sounds kind of quiet. From anyone else it would be censure, but Jacob isn’t the guilt-tripping sort.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night, I promise.” I try to put a little Demi Moore throaty sexiness to my voice, but I probably just sound sick.

“It’s okay.” Now Jacob sounds like he’s holding back a laugh. “I did get that Hitchcock film we added to our queue. How ’bout it?”

“I’ll bring the takeout. Ready to tackle Indian?”

“Sounds good. Always up for a spicy evening with you.”

It is my turn to suppress a giggle.

“Well, I’ve gotta run to make the meeting,” Jacob says. “Miss you.”

“Hey, wait!” I say. “You never asked how my meeting with Billy Fox went.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry. So…?” I imagine him standing there clutching his briefcase and car key, monitoring the time. Unlike me, Jacob is always punctual.

“Pretty good, I think.” And pray. “It’s wait and see now.”

“That’s my girl.”

We hang up. I love that we’re at the comfortable point in our relationship. I can just show up on his doorstep without having to dress up or reapply makeup. I can be tired, sloppy,
and simply ready for some Netflix. Yet sometimes I do miss the thrill of putting on a sexy dress and having a guy unable to take his eyes off me. And then, without pausing to consider why, I absentmindedly raise a hand to my cheek and gently touch the spot Billy Fox’s lips graced only hours ago.

2:47PM

Izzy has been my best friend since grade school. If anyone knows me best, it’s her. She gave me my now well-worn bunny slippers in high school as an inside joke because I would always “hop on over” to her house. From slumber parties to high school keggers, we were inseparable until Izzy was accepted at Brown and left West LA for the east coast. We still saw each other during holidays and summers, but to be separated during such a defining period of our lives inevitably led us to drift apart.
We reconnected by chance a few years ago, through the biz of all things, when Izzy started working at
Vintage
, a fabulous, glossy wine magazine in New York, and her familiar name caught my eye on its masthead. From there we picked up where we left off after college and now email or IM every day as if we’re still passing notes or procrastinating about homework.

There is no stress in my friendship with Izzy. Maybe it’s because she’s in New York and I’m in LA, so we’re not in each other’s life too much—though we always wish we saw each other more. Or maybe it’s because she’s now married, settled down, and always provides a different perspective on my issues. The bottom line is Izzy is once again the coolest chick I know.

Simon is Izzy’s fabulous husband and a talented graphic designer. They met while both working at the same magazine and were mutually happy to make the relationship official after months of water cooler flirtation and near-daily shared lunches in Central Park. No one at the workplace was surprised by the
good news. I don’t say this about a lot of couples—mostly because I don’t want to jinx it for them—but I think Simon and Izzy are meant to be together. And you can’t hate them for it. They are smitten and couple-y without being smug or obnoxious. And I never feel like the third wheel when I’m with them. Without fail, whenever I get to New York, Simon and Izzy always treat me to dinner, whether sharing their new favorite haunt or remarkably whipping up a huge feast out of their tiny Manhattan-sized kitchen. And I love that Simon is as much involved and a part of the conversation as Izzy is.

As I’m typing this, I realize it’s true. I didn’t really want to admit it, but Billy did wow me a bit. And I really don’t know what to think about that.

How refreshing. An actor who actually dresses appropriately for a business meeting. Usually, unless they know there’s a camera present, the celebrities who come through our doors dress like they live underneath a freeway overpass. Not that you’d expect them to be always close-up perfect, but most dress for the PR firm like it’s a milk run or a trip to Target.