Faking Life (3 page)

Pause. Nico drew more pigtails. “I see. So how many completed pages do you have? All right then. Well Mr. Gillis, your proposal intrigues me, both as an agent and a businessman. It has a certain
je ne sais quois
, but understand I'll be taking quite a risk if I take you on as a client. Along with more samples, I'd like you to send over another sample and a recent photo of yourself.” Esther could tell from Nico's expression that Gillis understood every word.

“Now John, I can't promise anything. Most perspective authors expect too much in terms of compensation for their work, and I'll be the first to tell you that those instances are few and far between. I
am
willing to look at more of your material, albeit on an exclusive basis. What this means is you cannot contact any other agents for the duration of the submission, and if I decide that working together will be mutually beneficial, I'll offer secure representation. Don't get discouraged, I'm only telling you how it is. If the pairing is meant to work, it will. I'll call you as soon as I've received the material. Take care John, it's been a pleasure speaking with you.” Nico hung up the phone and turned to Esther with a wry smile.

“Let's see what he has to offer.” Esther nodded, no longer able to contain her emotions. She was thrilled, both for the project and that she'd broken through Nico's defenses. She wished she could have heard John's voice, tried to conjure what it sounded like. Was it high pitched or baritone? Suave or cracking like an acne-scarred teenager?

She walked back to her desk, feet light as air. Gazing around the silent office, for the first time in months Esther felt a beautiful spark of anxiety. Who was John Gillis? She closed her eyes and daydreamed, picturing herself walking into his bar late at night, his eyes following her as she moved, tracing every gyration of her hips, her legs. He was waiting for her, and as she slowly approached the bar, almost tasting the smile on his lips, he asked what had taken her so long.

Then she heard Nico on the telephone, his deep voice resonating throughout the office. She sensed a liveliness that hadn't been there earlier. She couldn't help but wonder…

Why Nico was as taken with John Gillis as she was? She'd been waiting for this feeling, waiting for inspiration, but did Nico sense something she didn't? John Gillis's story wasn't finished, yet Nico was intrigued by the possibility of where it might go. What if, Esther shuddered to think, the rest of his life was uneventful? Boring? Nico would cut him loose in a heartbeat.

Esther scolded herself, ignoring the thought, and decided to be thankful Nico had seen things her way. Clearly he saw potential there. Nico, who used to have an innate ability to cultivate dreams into reality, had a chance to do just that. Now all Esther had to do was wait, and dream as well.

T
hree days later, a package arrived at Vanetti Literati with the return address of one John Gillis. Esther ripped it open to find a hundred and fifty pages of typed, double-spaced manuscript, a signed letter accepting the agency's terms of exclusivity, and a photo of John standing in front of a bar. The date on the photo was stamped four days ago. He was smiling in the picture, but the emotion seemed forced, unwilling. The neon in the saloon's window cast a harsh light on his face.

This is what I've done to date. Well, most of it. Should I send you more as I go along?
Esther nodded as she read the note. She couldn't wait to soak up more of John's life, to his face in a candid setting, not harnessed by a camera's unfair expectations.

He was beautiful; the picture was beautiful. Strong, boyish features. Brown hair, green eyes.A tad uncertain, but confidence behind his eyes. Before doing anything, Esther ran to the copy machine and made a carbon for herself, shoving it under her desk blotter. When it was safely out of sight, she eagerly plopped the manuscript on her desk and began reading. An hour and a half later, she'd finished it.

Pushing back from her desk with a deep breath, Esther kicked her feet up and smiled. She carefully replaced the mussed pages, trailing her finger along the edge as though looking for a vein's pulse. She checked the envelope to make sure she hadn't missed anything. She reread the first page, trying to fit the words to the face whose features she'd already memorized.

The beauty of John Gillis's story wasn't how it related to Esther, but how it related to the emotions felt by literally
thousands
of people. She was sure of this. It painted a naively brilliant portrait of longing by a man unafraid of the moral weight of his emotions. She desperately wanted to meet John, if only to see if what she felt was real. There was a life in his story, as though his soul had been scanned and printed out.

She confidently strode into Nico's office and placed the pages on his desk, far away from the brimming cup of coffee. Two hours later, Nico called her name. He was sitting straight backed in his chair, a devilish grin on his face.

“Esther,” Nico said slowly, enunciating every syllable. “Start the wheels turning. I want a list of editors by the end of the week. I'm going to send over samples of what we have, but I'll tell Gillis to keep submitting entries as he goes. By the time we're ready to sell, I want them salivating over every word.” Esther wasn't sure why, but a relieved laugh escaped her body. They smiled in silence and once again, for the first time in ages, Esther was proud to work for Nico Vanetti.

***

She arrived home at a quarter to eight, gave a polite nod to Felipe, the night receptionist at Normandie Court, and rode the elevator to the twenty-third floor. The apartment felt warm, the sky outside still tinged with a hint of orange and blue. Night hadn't yet fallen. Now she could settle down, maybe take a bath, put on some 80's glam rock and settle in. Maybe throw some popcorn in the microwave, see if Courtney wanted to watch a movie.

Esther could smell the Chinese food as soon as she opened the door, and welcomed the greasy smell into her nostrils. Courtney was on the couch, a sloppy noodle dripping from a pair of chopsticks. She cursed as the noodle fell in between the cushions. She was in powder blue pajamas bottoms, a Friends rerun on the DVD player. Her lime green sweatshirt was so hideously out of style that it was probably in style.

Their apartment was a small two-bedroom with a so-called living room barely large enough for a couch and endtable. Esther and Courtney had moved to the Upper East Side after the expiration of their two-year lease in a rat-infested shithole on 55th and 11th . The Normandie complex was a blessing. The sidewalks clean, building graffiti-free, with lush green trees with knee-high iron fences to guard them from the marauding canines of the New York elite. Most of the tenants in Normandie were young: young families, young singles. She'd never seen anyone other than a deliveryman over the age of thirty-five.

At twenty-six, Esther was a three-year veteran of the towers. Yet unlike the previous rental, their apartment was devoid of unwanted loud noises, rodents, the sexual escapades of their neighbors, anything. Not even the doorknobs squeaked. The month they arrived, Esther and Courtney had thrown a housewarming party that went horribly awry, spilling into the hallway and culminating in a less than amused neighbor calling both called the police and fire department. As penance, they rarely invited guests over, save Courtney's Merry-Go-Round of boyfriends and Esther's parents who stopped by twice a month to drop off food supplies.

Courtney lowered the volume on the television set. “Oh hey, I didn't you'd think be home till late so I ordered from First Wok. I would have waited if I'd known…”

“It's o.k., Court. I've had enough Lo Mein this month to feed the Ming dynasty.” Esther took off her jacket and hung it in the closet, tugging and pulling to make room between the dozens of hangers used by Courtney, finally tucking it between a blue pea coat and a red Burberry jacket she'd bought on sale last week, now on sale for even less. “So, what's new in your world?”

“Well,” Courtney said, rolling her long, blond hair between her fingers. “I think that guy Jimmy, the one in mergers and acquisitions, you know, the one with the eye? Anyway, I'll bet a dinner at Nobu that by Friday he's going to ask me out.” Esther laughed.

“So do I get the dinner if he doesn't, or are you that sure?” Esther knew full well Jimmy was probably going to ask her out. Give them time and they all did.

“Well, he invited me to Lava Lounge after work next Thursday. He said there were a bunch of people going, but the way he asked made it sound like he wanted it to be just him and me. Fishy, you know?”

“So what did you say?”

“I said no of course!”

Esther frowned.

“Why of course? Did I miss something?” Courtney paused the picture right as Chandler was tripping over a couch. She sat upright and assumed the familiar lecture position. At least once a month she took time to instruct Esther in The Ways of Men. Not that it was Sanskrit to her, but Esther knew her roommate's opinions on dating differed greatly from her own. And from most other people on the planet.

“Est,” she said. “I
know
this guy wants to take me out. But the way he asked me left him a loophole. It wasn't definitely a date, since according to him there's the possibility of other people being around. There's no way in hell I'm letting him off on a technicality. If I'd said yes right away, he'd know I was saying yes to a date and he'd have the upper hand. Then if he got cold feet, he could weasel out of it by saying 'oh, I just meant we were going out with the whole company.' By saying no, he's got to suck it up and ask me on a
real
date before I commit. And he's got to do it before the weekend otherwise he knows I'll have plans. If he doesn't make the first move, he'll never make the second or third, you know?” Esther shook her head.

“Court, if you like the guy, why don't you just say yes? Why play stupid games when it would be so much easier to get to the point? Just put him in his place. You've done it before.”

Courtney looked at Esther like she'd sprouted a goiter.

“Say yes? Est, here's why, and I'll put it in language you can understand.” Courtney stood up, went to the television and picked up the case that housed the
Friends
DVD. She pointed to the gorgeous, always smiling actors on the cover. “You know how Monica and Chandler are married, right?”

“Right.”

“And you know how when Chandler wanted to propose he decided to play a trick on her, you know, to make sure she really cared about him. To make it a surprise, right?”

“You do know I understand a language other than television.”

“Sorry, I'm just trying to help,” she said, putting the box down as though it illustrated her point. “Anyway, Chandler and Monica
knew
they wanted to be together, but nothing was accomplished until Chandler got up the balls to ask right?”

“Uh, right.”

“So, my point is that nothing ever happens until one of you sucks it up and gets right to the point. Do you think Monica would have said 'yes' if Chandler had said 'Well, baby, why don't we, you know, go to the chapel one day. I'll wear a suit and you wear a nice dress, oh and by the way, some of my coworkers will probably be there.' You think she would have said yes?”

“Didn't Monica propose to Chandler?”

“That's not the point.”

Esther nodded reluctantly. “I know what you're saying.”

“Good. That concludes today's lesson.”

Esther shrunk into the couch as Courtney unpaused the video. It was so easy on television; people meeting and falling in love, always crossing paths at the perfect moment, bumping into each other while hauling groceries or checking their mail. It was all wonderfully spontaneous, and like nothing she'd ever experienced.

There was something holding Esther back, yet there was something oddly comforting about being held. Courtney was always trying to set her up with guys from the office, I-Bankers that worked ninety-hour weeks and took her to nice restaurants and went for the kill right after the tiramisu. Esther had no desire to put up with men who acted like civilized human beings one second and morphed into chest-thumping cavemen as soon as their Mastercard was approved. Chances were this guy Jimmy
did
like Courtney. And though Esther had no allegiance to Jimmy, she wished she could warn him about the perils of having a crush on Courtney. She was always several miles ahead of her partners in the marathon of romance, knew right away whether or not she could play them and for how long. Even when she developed legitimate feelings, they rarely showed. She had a remarkable ability to keep her emotional slate wiped clean, while her beaus wore theirs like grape juice stains. More ex-boyfriends left pleading voice messages for Courtney begging to be taken back than Esther received total, from anyone. Not that she was counting.

“So how was your day?” Courtney asked, diverting her attention from the screen.

“Really good actually.” Courtney perked up. Esther seldom described a workday in such glowing terms. They were always
fine
or
ok
, or, once in a blue moon,
dandy
.

“Really? Why so good?”

“Well, we got in a project that I'm excited about. Nico went nuts for it, and I have a feeling it could be big for us. Big for the agency.” Esther chewed on a fingernail, then stopped.

“How big?” Courtney asked. She was leaning forward, anxious.

“I can't say just yet. It's this guy John Gillis who works as a bartender who's writing kind of a memoir. The cool part is that it's not done, so we can watch his life develop as it goes. And the guy, he's just, I don't know. The whole thing just seems right.”

“Sounds mysterious,” Courtney said, the way she might describe a proposed blind date. “So anyway, what are your plans tonight? I think I might go to Life with that guy Ken I met at Craft. It took four phone calls before he asked me out. He beat around the bush for two weeks saying he wanted give me some decorating tips.”

Esther smiled and raised her eyebrows. “You sure he's not gay?”

“
Trust
me,” Courtney said. “This guy is not gay. Straight men have their own special scent. I could smell this one a mile away.” She snapped her arm down as though she were whipping a creature into submission. “So you wanna tag along?” Esther held back a grimace.