Page 101 of Sizzle Reel

I start by applying to five of them. I tell myself I’ll do five more tomorrow. Five, ten, however many until I’m back behind a camera, telling stories.

It’s the first time in a long time that I feel good about the future.

I pull out my phone. Scroll to my text chain with Valeria.

There’s just one more piece of the future I have to deal with.

I know most of this doesn’t make sense and that it may even be cruel to bring these specific problems to Valeria given everything we’ve been through. But I can’t help it. I don’t know any other queer people. She may call herself dumb, but she’s been out for nearly ten years as an adult—a home-owning, had-a-fiancée, retirement-secure, health-insurance-having, independent adult. She’s been dealing with gay love and heartbreak for years.

So here I am, sitting in her home office. It’s spacious and gorgeous. Her bookshelves are lined with tomes on philosophy, pop culture analysis, and history as well as novels. Her awards have been turned into a custom chandelier. The silhouettes of an Oscar, a Golden Globe, a BAFTA, a Critics’ Choice, and a SAG flicker across the walls.

“Yeah,” she says, noticing me staring, “I hooked up with the best supporting actress that year at the Oscars, and we drunkenly decided to make a satanic circle out of awards. But then I realized I was missing an MTV, a Teen Choice, and a Kids’ Choice Award, so in the interest of not driving myself completely insane trying to get those, we made this instead.”

I chuckle. “It’s cool. Weird. Very you.”

She leans back in her office chair, throwing a leg over the armrest. A true gay icon. The true gay icon she can now be, I think, and my heart swells.

“Can I ask your advice about someone?” I ask. I wince. “Romantic?”

The corners of her lips quirk up. “What’s a disaster gay mentor for?”

So I just dump it all. How Romy and I met, how our relationship grew more intimate over the years, how I came out to her, the kiss, her silence.

“And I—” I run my hands down my face. “Now I fucked everything up. She thinks I chose you over her, and I practically confirmed it with my text the next morning and your coming-out photo. She’s ignoring me at home and…I just don’t know how to get her to understand what I’m thinking.”

“Have you just texted her clarifying what happened between us?”

“It’s bigger than that, though! I fucked up. I’ve put her through absolute hell over the past few months, using her for advice on how to get with you. How bad does it look if I just turn around after you and I happen to not work out and am like, ‘I love you’?”

“Well, I think it’d imply things didn’t work out between us because you were in love with Romy. Which, as much as it hurts my ego, is grand and ridiculous and very romantic. She won’t turn you away.”

God, my chest aches. “I’m such a shitty friend.”

“Painfully oblivious. There’s a difference.”

“What do I do? I just—” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I swear she’s never going to forgive me. I’m not the extraordinary girl she thinks she’s loved all these years. I’m not even creative enough to figure out a way to show her how much I care about her.”

Valeria shifts in her seat. “Well, when I proposed to my ex-fiancée, all it really took was knowing what connected us. We were both these huge Beatles nerds, so I proposed on Abbey Road. She ignored the fact that I almost got run over, and she said yes. It’s just about knowing what you love about her and what makes your connection special and showing her that.”

“And that works?”

Valeria shrugs. “Usually. Do you two have something like that?”

We do. And I’ve been neglecting it.

But that ends now.

chapter twenty-five

I honestly never thought I’d be back in Slater Management. Even when I first started the job and was miserable and I spent my days imagining what it would be like to leave, my daydreams never involved visiting again. At my most petty, I even considered never accepting representation from a manager here in order to guarantee I would never have to return. But here I am in the Slater underground parking garage, slightly dressed up in order to blend in, yet completely unable to blend in because of the amount of stuff I’m carrying. Valeria is by my side. She smiles at me.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” I ask.

She rolls her neck, and I hear a couple of soft cracks. “A little.”

“It’ll work out for both of us.” I pause. “At least, I’m hoping it works out for you.”

She gives me a look. “We’re hoping this works out for you.”

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