Page 24 of Business or Pleasure

They point in the opposite direction, up an escalator. “Right down there. If you’re going for the two o’clock panel, you probably want to get there early. Anything with Nocturnals cast fills up fast.” And then, as they maneuver their blocky metallic costume into the crowd: “Exterminate!”

As it turns out, they’re not wrong. I make it to the auditorium with five minutes to spare and only just manage to claim a seat in the back row. A hush falls over the crowd as a moderator with short lavender hair and a Rose City T-shirt steps up to the microphone.

“Good afternoon, PDX!” she yells. Cheers erupt from the audience. She tells everyone to save their questions for the Q & A after the panel, along with some general etiquette: photos are okay but no flash, anyone being disruptive will be asked to leave.

“And now, give a warm Rose City welcome to our panelists! You know him, you love him, you doodled his name in your teenage diaries—it’s Finn Walsh!”

The way the audience reacts—I am not at all prepared. Finn struts onstage in dark jeans, a forest green cardigan, and graphic tee featuring some collection of symbols I’m not familiar with, a gleam in his eye as he gives the crowd a hearty wave. They roar back, a few people even jumping to their feet. The girl next to me might even be... crying? He carries himself differently than he did that first night in Seattle, and even the next day at lunch. There’s almost a swagger to him, a confidence that only hundreds of screaming fans can buy. Is he taller, or am I just farther away? His face is clean-shaven, the bright overhead lights glinting off his auburn hair as he takes a seat in a plush pink chair, stretching out his long legs.

I may have watched those Mexley clips and one whole episode of The Nocturnals, but this is Finn performing right in front of me, or at least from a dozen yards away. And he’s good.

The moderator introduces the other two panelists: Lizzy Woo, who starred as a government agent in a superhero TV adaptation, but who I’m more familiar with as a lovelorn barista in an ensemble romantic comedy Noemie and I were obsessed with a few years ago, and Jermaine Simmons, from a mermaid show on HBO we watched a season of before getting frustrated by how sexy it surprisingly wasn’t. “It’s HBO,” Noemie had said. “Why is no one getting naked?”

Until this point, I’ve never considered myself someone who would get particularly starstruck. I was a little intimidated by Maddy, mainly because of how minimal our interactions were, but my Bachelor contestant, Amber Yanofky, who went professionally by Amber Y after being one of a record number of Ambers on her season, made me feel comfortable right away. And yet here, watching Lizzy and Jermaine, I’m struck by the fact that they are simply gorgeous human beings. Almost supernaturally so, which is fitting, given the panel is about the enduring power of the supernatural in pop culture.

Finn, Lizzy, and Jermaine are all properly charming, drawing numerous laughs from the audience. I open up a floral notebook, part of a Rifle Paper Co. set Noemie got me for my birthday last year and I haven’t used yet because it’s just too pretty. Since this trip is all about taking risks, it seemed right to bring it. As I drum the matching pen on the pages, I can’t help wondering why this guy wants to write a memoir that he’s not even technically writing. The reason he was so cryptic about during lunch.

Of course, everyone wants to believe they’re special enough, that they’ve acquired enough life experience to fill a book. They assume their deeply profound story will fly off the shelves. In my experience, that’s just not true. The publisher had too high of hopes for Amber’s Don’t Ask Y: And Other Things I’m Sick of Talking About. They printed too many copies, thousands of which wound up getting pulped.

“What is your story,” I murmur to myself as I stare down at the blank page.

When the panel ends after a Q & A, I fight my way to the stage, where Finn disappeared through a red curtain.

“Hi, sorry—I’m press?” I hold up my badge.

A man in a security T-shirt leans in to scrutinize my badge. “Go right ahead,” he says.

Backstage, Finn is leaning against a refreshments table with Jermaine and Lizzy, taking a long sip from a water bottle. The three are midconversation when I approach, offering up an awkward wave. For one horrible moment when Finn turns his gaze to me, I’m terrified he won’t recognize me.

But then his mouth quirks upward and he beckons me over, and my shoulders release a tiny bit of the tension they’ve been holding on to all day.

“Chandler,” he says. Warm. Friendly. “I was afraid you didn’t make it. I didn’t see you.”

“I’m not sure I would have been very easy to spot from the back row.”

Finn frowns. “You had a seat saved in the front. You didn’t have to hide in the back.”

“Oh—sorry,” I say, my face heating up. Day one, and I’m already making mistakes. “I didn’t know.”

He’s already moving on. “Jermaine, Lizzy, this is Chandler Cohen.”

“A pleasure,” Jermaine says in his posh British accent.

Lizzy flutters a wave as she reaches for a blueberry muffin with gemstone-studded nails.

“Hi, oh my god, I’m sure you get this all the time, but I loved Arbor Day.” I fully expected that I could remain a functioning person in the face of celebrity, and yet here I am, words sticking in my throat.

Next to me, Finn might be muffling a laugh.

Lizzy beams. “I actually don’t! Thank you so much.” Then she rolls her eyes. “Most people here just want to ask how my Renegades costume managed to stay up during filming.”

Jermaine uses a tiny fork to dip a red pepper spear into ranch dressing. “The fandoms can be ruthless,” he agrees, mouth full. “You don’t want to know how many questions I get about mermaid anatomy.”

I decide not to mention Noemie and I have had philosophical discussions about that exact topic.

“I’ve got a signing in five,” Lizzy says with a flip of her sleek black hair. “Great panel—see you in Memphis?”

“Not me, but I’ll be in Pittsburgh,” Jermaine says.

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