Page 33 of Is This for Real?
Rory thought of “All in, all good.” I like it. Catchy. Even if maybe it’s the opposite of my life slogan. That would be more like “Not in, all difficult.” These thoughts are not particularly helpful. I need to convey confidence. For this party, I need to be “all in.”
Rory drops my hand to greet his boss and introduce me.
My hands are sweaty. I resist wiping them on my blue dress. I’ve been giving myself pep talks.I am a possessive girlfriend. Let no woman or man touch MY man.No fading into the background like a good wingman when someone flirts with Rory. Now I am under strict instructions not to leave his side. I feel a desperate need to go to the bathroom.
We part from his boss, and Rory pulls me over to see the final storyboards on the easels.
It’s cool to see the actual drawings in physical form. The first storyboard shows the “meet-cute” when the guy mistakes her Adventurer car for his because it’s the same color. She says, “You have good taste in cars” and drives off. In the next storyboard, the guy observes her with a James Bond-type guy in a car that looks like an Aston Martin. Cue comparative advertising soft sell. Or so Rory tells me. Car makes are not my forte as a New Yorker. But show me an IND subway car vs an IRT subway car and I will tell you which one is which.
In the next storyboard, she is walking home in the rain, and the guy gives her a lift. In the following scene, he is lost and refusing to ask for directions. She stops because he has an Adventurer car and figures out how to get to his destination. The original thought was she gives his car a jump-start. (Rory wanted to play with “jump-start”—jump-start a relationship or an adventure, “jump-start your life.”) But Adventurer didn’t want to imply that their car might need to be jump-started, so Rory came up with this idea. And then the final scene where they go off for a road trip a laBridget Jones. And yes, I repeatedly made Rory watch thatBridget Jonesscene where she arrives at the hotel with her frizzed-out hair. A classic.
The food spread looks amazing. I suggest we go eat before we have to hold hands. I pile up strawberries, cheese, and crackers on plates as Rory and his colleagues discuss office gossip. I hand Rory a plate of his favorite food.
“Ah, Rory,” a gravelly voice says from behind us. Rory grabs my hand, so this must be his client with the overly friendly wife. We turn. Now we’re holding hands, but our other hand holds a plate of food, so we can’t eat our food without letting go of each other.
The man is smiling broadly at us, but that doesn’t seem like his usual expression. The wife is very muscular, thin, tight face, high cheekbones, very attractive, but she doesn’t look like she laughs a lot. Her sleeveless dress shows off enviable arm muscles. She looks pointedly at our clasped hands and frowns.
“I love the new campaign,” she says. “And who’s this?”
“Penelope, my girlfriend.” Rory sounds proud. “This is Bernie and Myrtle.”
“Nice to meet you.” I put my plate on a nearby high, round table and hold out my hand to shake. This is his career, so I don’t want to mess that up.
“I didn’t realize you were dating anyone,” Myrtle says. She squeezes my hand. She has scary, long, red fingernails. I have no fingernails because I bite them, especially when I am writing a particularly tricky scene.
Bernie also has a practiced power grip handshake.
“We just started dating, but we’ve been friends forever.” Rory looks at me like he’s devoted. I try to give him the same moony look back, but then I stop because I don’t think I can do that convincingly. Who knew that Rory was such an actor? I’ve never even seen him look at his girlfriends with that type of look.
“Ah, true love, Myrtle. Do you remember those early days?” Bernie grabs her hand.
If they had “true love,” then they could be the poster couple for my “love doesn’t last” campaign.
“How’d you start dating?” Myrtle withdraws her hand to take an appetizer off a tray being circulated by the waitstaff.
“I asked her if I could kiss her.” Rory pulls me closer, and I lean into him.
“As I recall, I kissed you first.” I wink at Rory. I can’t help revising our agreed story.
“But you missed. And hit my cheek.”
“Because you moved your head. And then I thought you didn’t want to be kissed,” I say.
“But, when I realized, I asked her if I could kiss her. And she said yes.”
Our glances meet.If only the story was true.
Myrtle’s lips are pursed. It looks like she believes us.
“Should we get drinks?” she asks.
If we get drinks, we can’t hold hands.
Rory says yes. We walk over to the bar with them. Rory puts down his plate of food. Rory’s boss comes over and pulls Bernie aside. Rory joins them, releasing my hand, but gives me a “look” as he does. But a look meaning what? We should’ve developed a more expansive non-verbal code, like I have with my girlfriends when we go out dancing. Pulling on your earlobe means “not interested.” Twirling hair means “interested.” We need a code for “stay near me.”
There’s a commotion over by the storyboards in the center of the room, but I can’t see what’s happening. I’m left with Myrtle, by the bar, as the men retreat to a corner table. She examines me up and down.
“And you and Rory were friends before?” Myrtle removes the umbrella from her cocktail and puts it on the tray of a passing server.
