I came here to do the same. Tucked in the corner near the windows, I’ve spent the past hour answering emails, and my stomach is now rumbling with hunger. I’ve been dodging my agent’s calls for the past two weeks, and I know her patience is waning.
She’s been trying to convince me that Oliver cheating was a blessing in disguise and a PR godsend. She’s been trying to spin the story in my favor—without my help, as she keeps reminding me—since the news broke. I’m only now returning hermanyurgent emails, half-heartedly agreeing with her.
Whatever helps my image, I guess.
All of it suddenly sounds ridiculous to me. Was thisreally what I wanted? Was this really what I meant when I said I wanted to become an actress? I’ve always had such a romanticized image in my head of what it meant to be an actress. Moveto LA, make it big and live happily ever after. Simple. Never did I imagine that it would mean cheating scandals and PR coverups.
I sigh, coming up for air from all the emails, and look at my phone for some distraction. There’s a text from Jamie saying she’ll be a few minutes late. Then there’s a couple of messages from the few friends back in LA that I haven’t ghosted yet since I’ve been dodging mostly everyone else. I feel too exposed. Too raw.
I open Instagram but ignore all my notifications. I never did reply to Oliver. I blocked his fake account and tried to push him out of my thoughts. By pushing Gael into my bed.
Ignoring Oliver doesn’t seem to help with the angst, though, and it certainly doesn’t seem to prevent my stomach from twisting every time I open the app, worried he’ll just find another way to contact me.
Then again, even with all my efforts, I can’t seem to get away from him. Every detail I’ve learned about him lately has been against my will, and I keep stumbling onto think-pieces about him online. Everyone seems to have an opinion about his mental health ever since he announced that he was checking into rehab last week.
I pause, my thumb hovering over the screen.
I deliberate.
Finally, I switch Instagram profiles and log into my secret account. The one I use when I want to go incognito. Only Jamie and a few others know I have one; even Oliver is oblivious.
I don’t bother visiting Huxley’s profile, the man has zero online presence. It’s annoying. Instead, I type Selina’s handle into the search bar.
It didn’t take much sleuthing to find out who the girl was that Huxley was with at the club, especially after spotting her in Gael’s Instagram stories and connecting the dots.
Of course,she’s a bottle service girl.
Young, flirty, and alwaysready to party.
It’s unclear what their situation is. The one thing I do know is that there isn’t one picture of Huxley on Selina’s feed, so it can’t bethatserious.
Not that I would care if it was.
I can’t help but tap on her profile picture to access her Instagram stories. I tell myself that I’m not looking for anything in particular, just quenching my curiosity.
Her stories aren’t revolutionary. Just the life of a typical young twenty-something: A few random reshares, a selfie, an aesthetic picture of a restaurant table.
Huxley appears on screen.
My heart sinks.
They seem to be at the same restaurant as in the previous picture. He’s scowling at the camera, green eyes sardonic, black hoodie and arms folded over his chest. But there’s the smallest of smirks on his lips, and I consider taking a screenshot of the picture just so I can zoom in closer on his mouth.
“Connie?”
I startle and slam my phone screen down on the table before looking up.
A brunette with wide brown eyes smiles down at me.
“Oh my god, Mary-Beth?” I stand up and give my friend a long hug. “I can’t even remember the last time I saw you,” I add when I let go of her, nostalgia creeping into my voice.
“I know, it’s been way too long,” she says with a similar intonation.
“Do you have time to sit?” I gesture to the free chair at my table.
She nods with a warm smile. “I only have a few minutes,” she says while settling into the chair in front of me, “But I’d love to catch up longer if you’re in town for a few days?”
“Of course! I’d love to. I’m here ‘til January, actually,” I say while I close my laptop and put it to the side so we have more space to talk. “So, how’ve you been?”
