Page 11 of Sizzle Reel

I’m not here for indecisive chicks.

“And you shouldn’t,” Alice says. “Between you and me, I get that we have to appease leftist Hollywood, but come on. It gets so hard to follow sometimes.”

I stare so hard at the space between my keys the image starts to blur.

Hollywood’s liberal. That’s the rule, right?

Hollywood’s liberal, yet Alice is really saying this. Just being in this room feels like inhaling garbage. Inhaling it into my lungs and spreading it through the arteries into every inch of my body. I’d give anything to crawl out of here.

“No, but, like, I listened to what people had to say. I learned. I just hope they know that.”

Alice waves dismissively. “You’re fine. People are just so sensitive nowadays.”

I sink into my chair, my throat tightening.

Indecisive chicks.

People from one of the most liberal industries in America don’t think this is real. And so what? If I were in a Lifetime movie or whatever, I’d turn to Alice, tell her off, and quit. Give justice to my identity and a community that I’ve never even really interacted with. Send the message of the week.

But I’ve never felt smaller. My voice has never been so quiet.

Alice hangs up. “Can you believe that? Devon tweets once about not wanting to date bisexual girls and everyone loses it.”

I take a deep breath. My grip on the phone has turned my knuckles white. I can sort of imagine saying the right thing. Telling her off. Being the right person.

“People are weird on the internet. Better safe than sorry.”

And even after Alice has long forgotten her conversation with Devon, I can’t help but feel like I did something horribly wrong.

Alice and the phone call sit heavy with me long after Romy and I make our way over to the movies. I don’t even know how to begin to approach it as the two of us stand in front of a sparse AMC movie showing list. It’s displayed on one of those robot screens, because who interacts with people anymore? It felt terrible to hear Alice say that, and I know I should’ve said something, but that doesn’t even feel like the real issue here. Something else is eating at me.

“Do you still hate new kid movies?” Romy asks me, her purple-painted nail hovering over a poster of a yeti, a chupacabra, and a Mothman hugging.

“I only hate when they use fart jokes as a crutch.”

I’m not here for indecisive chicks.

Things like that don’t just come out of a vacuum. I’ve been so disconnected from queerness—even living with Romy—that I don’t even know stereotypes of bisexual girls. And it’s not like I haven’t thought it these past seven days: How do I know I’m really bisexual if I’ve never even been with a woman? If someone were to say, Bi girls are just indecisive, to my face, could I really stand there and say, No, it’s not like that?

Romy makes a face and toggles over to a different movie. “Action?” We click to the description. Romy clicks right out. “Too many male feelings.”

I laugh as she hovers over the one remaining movie that we haven’t seen—some modern western-type shoot-’em-up called Goodbye, Richard! with a very Las Vegas aesthetic poster. It’s headed by none other than Valeria Sullivan.

“I could do this,” I say.

Curiosity had gotten the better of me after I met her. One sweep through IMDb, and I learned she’s a Pasadena-raised daughter of dentists. She came out of nowhere, her Oscar film her first acting credit anywhere, and she’s since costarred in three ensemble studio films, one other indie that has 92percent on Rotten Tomatoes, and this film. This movie’s been out for a couple of weeks, but her IMDb STARmeter has only just dropped into the top five hundred (as in, she was high to begin with). She’s got a smattering of late-night interviews and magazine covers and a dedicated fanbase, but her only appearances in tabloid magazines are things like “Valeria Sullivan Spotted Leaving Whole Foods in Hollywood Hills,” and they occur exclusively around when her films are released. She’s one of those celebrities who disappears from the public eye only to reappear when their movies come out. From what I’ve observed on the manager end, those celebrities tend to be shy and their appearances are the team’s idea. Keanu Reeves–like.

Romy nods. “Valeria Sullivan looks super queer coded and that’s enough for me.” Her eyes light up. “I should make you a list of essential sapphic films. We could watch together.”

I smile. “That’d be fun.”

One credit card swipe, one Venmo request, and two tickets later, we head over to the food counter. I haven’t eaten an actual meal all day, and the subpar dine-in options suddenly look luxurious.

“Hey,” I say as we wait in line while the workers let someone in the premiere line cut ahead of us. I mildly regret not being in the special AMC club. I really should go to the movies more than I do. “Do you…You’re willing to date bi people, right?”

Romy scrunches her brows together. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just…you know, curious about my prospects.”

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