Page 72 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Uh – yeah,’ I say, taken aback. ‘Photography, sort of. It’s more of a hobby than anything else, but – how’d you know?’

‘You’ve got that artfully dishevelled look. And your girlfriend’s a model, right?’

My heart does something akin to a backflip, hearing her refer to Audrey as my girlfriend. I guess she saw us kissing, which – it’s nice to be reminded that it actually happened and isn’t just a figment of my fevered, lovesick imagination. We kissed. I kissed Audrey, and she kissed me back, and now – I don’t know what happens, now.

‘Right on both counts.’ I nod, abruptly lightheaded. ‘I mean – this is genuine dishevelment, but that’s impressive.’

‘It’s what I do.’ She grins, exposing a gap between her front teeth. ‘I’m a journalist.’

‘Ah.’ I smile back. ‘I was going to guess private investigator, but that’s almost as cool.’

“When I’m getting paid, sure.”

“You’re freelance?”

‘Uhuh. I do a lot for this website called Soil, though.’

‘I know Soil.’ I say, surprised. ‘It’s like … politics and pop culture stuff, right? My sister’s sent me a couple of your articles. I mean – maybe not yours specifically, but it’s good.’

‘Thanks.’ She smiles faintly. ‘What about you?’

‘Oh, I work in a restaurant. Waiting tables, mostly.’

‘I was a barista for four years.’ She nods. ‘Working a menial job for minimum wage is a rite of passage for any aspiring creative.’

‘Good to know.’

‘What about your girl? Is she on the struggle bus too?’

‘No, uh – she’s doing great,’ I say, glancing around as though I can somehow will her into reappearing. ‘Just wrapped some big, fancy campaign.’

‘Wow. Who for?’

‘Uh – Miranda something. Miranda Brown?’

‘Miranda Browning,’

‘Right, yeah. Have you heard of it?’

‘Unfortunately,’ she mutters, exhaling smoke. ‘I mean – congrats to your girl, but the brand is toxic. One of my friends interned there a few years ago and it was a nightmare.’

‘Oh, for real?’

‘Uh-huh. She was harassed the entire time she was there. The assistant art director was this notorious creep, but no one ever did anything about it.’

‘Jesus. Didn’t they have anHR?’

‘Said creep was Miranda’s nephew, so he was pretty much untouchable. And he was apparently super nice, at first – had all kinds of advice to make things easier for her. But then it became pretty clear that he just wanted her to feel like she owed him something.’

I grimace.

Demi nods, flicking ash. ‘Mm-hm. She told her supervisor after he groped her at the Christmas party and got advised to “play nice” for a good reference.’

‘Christ. And he still works there?’

‘He rebranded as a photographer, last I heard. I mean – no offence, but the profession is a magnet for creeps, assholes and nepo babies. He just so happens to be all three.’

‘The trifecta,’ I murmur, distracted. My cigarette burns away between my fingertips, all but forgotten. A thought just occurred to me – a stupid thought, probably, but …

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