Page 36 of The Cruiser
ChapterFourteen
“Holy hotness, girl.”Flynn’s ear-splitting wolf whistle blisters out of my iPhone speakers. “I told you that Versace had to make another appearance.”
We’re FaceTiming in my hotel room before I meet Morgan in the lobby. Half a world away, Flynn sits cross-legged on the floor of her Hollywood home in her usual writing attire of pajamas, messy bun, and tortoiseshell glasses. She claims people take her more seriously with glasses, as if thousands of people hanging on her every piece of advice isn’t serious enough.
“I can’t believe you’re going to a yacht party,” she says wistfully. “Sound like it’s going great so far. What’s the vibe? What’s he like?”
“Today I sat in on some meetings and got a sense of how it all comes together. He’s a personality, for sure. A little imperious with his staff and even with potential clients. I made a couple of comments.”
“How did that go over?” she asks, drinking some kind of ancient healing tea from her thermos.
When Morgan and I regrouped at the end of the day, I explained how Vaughn and I often play the sidekick game in meetings. Good cop, bad cop. Pick up on things the other didn’t. Morgan bristled a little at my feedback that one of the meetings might’ve ended more positively if he’d agreed to a benign client request rather than dismissing it. His argument: I don’t need every client. My counterargument: you need some clients.
“He took it in stride.”
“Anything else going on?” she asks, smile widening.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed and chuckle. “You haven’t won your bet, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s only day one. What about sparks?”
I don’t tell her about the hotel fiasco. I’m still processing that myself. “Definitely some of those. Why are you grinning like the cat who ate the canary?”
“Because it will be so good to have the old Vandana back.”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
She hesitates, very unlike Flynn. “At Stanford you were this ball of wild, unstoppable fire. You wanted to pursue design, not PR. Then you started with Vaughn, met Derek, and … I know people change, but it’s like we lost a little piece of you.”
“We? You and June have had a conversation about this?” I ask, more sharply than intended.
“Bella,” she says in a soft voice. “It’s not like we’re having dark, secret discussions about you.”
“It sounds like you are.”
She undoes her bun and twirls it back into place. This happens at least twenty times a day. “This is kind of what I’m getting at. You never used to worry about people talking about you.”
“I manage reputations. At some point I have to care about mine.”
“Aren’t you fricking bored with all that?” she asks. “Always doing the right thing. Be here, look like that. You railed against your mom for the very same shit.”
I don’t say anything. Don’t know what to say. Other than she’s right.
Flynn, apparently with plenty more on her mind, adds, “All I’m saying is, your life is taking a hard left from here. Embrace it. Let your guard down.”
“You really want to win that bet, don’t you?”
She howls with laughter. “What’s the worst thing that can happen if you have a fling with him?”
“Aside from obliterating all my business ethics and morals?”
“See what I mean? Right there. Get out of your little box of do-the-right-thing. Your dirty ex-husband’s left you high and dry. Live a little. Have a screamer orgasm, or at least make out with the dude. June said his car is worth, like, three million dollars, so he’s obviously loaded. Maybe it all works out with a happily ever after.”
Flynn’s a best-selling author of inspirational non-fiction, and June and I suspect that underneath all her positivity, inner demons lurk. If someone dishes out relationship advice like no one’s business while remaining single for most of her adult life, it’s a sign. Try pushing Flynn’s buttons, however, and she shuts you out.
And yet, we happily let her push ours.
“Are you writing fiction now?” I joke.
