In a New York Minute(14)

My mouth dropped open in disbelief. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“Tyler said a producer had emailed the general account. I had them forward it to me.”

“You said you got a call.”

“Well, first I emailed the producer back. Then she called. They tracked down the woman too.”

I shook my head. “Then call them back and say no, Eleanor. This kind of thing is your specialty, not mine. You’re the one who did the Ted Talk.” I felt the anxiety creeping across my skin. “You, of all people, should know I have zero ability to speak in front of a crowd. Live television will be a disaster.”

“It’s a five-minute spot, Hayes. You say hi, she says hi, you laugh, you answer a couple questions. You’ll blink, and it will be done.” She said this like she was teaching a child how to tie their shoes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever watched New York News in my life,” I said, racking my brain for a time when I’d flipped to our local cable news station. ESPN, yes. CNN, sure. But NYN? Maybe for weather, once.

“Well, you’re missing out. Pete Killian is a New York icon.” She swooned, placing a hand to her heart. “A legend. Statue of Liberty levels of New-Yorky-ness, the Empire State Building of people—”

“Okay, I get it,” I said, exasperated. “I get it. But it still sounds excruciating.”

“Oh, Hayes, come on. You’ll be fine.” She shooed a hand in my direction. “But also, Paul thinks it’s a good idea. For promoting the business. I looped him in.”

Paul, the publicist we’d hired after the Forbes list had come out. Of course.

“We’re paying him too much money to just ignore him, Hayes,” she said in her quiet, firm voice.

“Okay,” I said begrudgingly. “For the business. That’s it.”

I walked out, headed next door to my office, and tried to think about the conference call happening in just a few minutes. But instead, my thoughts shifted back to the woman on the train.

The thought of seeing her again shook my insides like a martini, left me feeling excited, buzzed, nervous. But what was most frustrating is that I couldn’t solve the equation, couldn’t answer the question of why she was making me feel this way. I needed to clear my head, resettle, reorganize my brain so that I could focus on the day ahead.

For a split second, I thought about heading back outside, pushing through the glass doors and out into the heavy spring air to take a lap around the block. Instead, I sat down, took a deep breath, and did what I did best: I got to work.





Chapter Three

Franny



“Why did I agree to do this again?” I asked Cleo, who was bent over a plastic folding table set up in the corner of the NYN greenroom, smearing cream cheese on an everything bagel. “I haven’t been on TV since I was interviewed by the local news in third grade about why New Haven pizza is the best in America. And I had a crumb under my nose the whole time, and for the rest of elementary school, kids called me ‘Booger.’ That should have been an omen or something.”

“How the hell have I never heard that story before?” Cleo asked with a guffaw. “That’s hilarious.”

“Because it was traumatizing, and I’ve tried everything in my power to forget it. And of course my mom texted me about it today.”

Wow honey your first time on TV since third grade! Good luck! is what she’d messaged me earlier this morning, followed by How is the job search going? It hadn’t even been a week, and already I could feel her maternal worry hovering over my shoulder, which always left me feeling stressed, afraid I’d somehow let her down.

My mom and stepdad’s opinion had always been that the best kind of job was the one that pays well, not the one that fulfilled your soul. Just the fact that I’d pursued a creative career had always made them nervous, and while they tried to keep that anxiety to themselves, I could still vividly recall them both sitting at the kitchen table, teeth clenched, as I described yet another low-paying internship. Maybe they worried like this because I was an only child. But then again, I had a lot of friends who were the only kid in their family, and none of them seemed to feel like they existed just to make their parents happy.

My job at Spayce had checked all the boxes for them, though, and maybe that’s why I’d been comfortable staying put. It paid well. It was steady. Still, if I texted my mom back and told her I was abandoning all my interior design dreams to become an accountant, she’d be thrilled. The practical always won out with her, no matter what, and I hated feeling like I was on my way to disappointing her and also proving her right.

“Well, look, you’re doing this because she said it was a good idea.” Cleo shook her head at Lola, who was wedged into the corner of the couch I was perched on, squinting at her iPhone.

“Lola said you should do it because it’s bullshit that someone can take a photo of you on the subway and make up a story about it like it’s some sort of movie,” said Lola in a chiding tone. She glanced up to glare jokingly in Cleo’s direction.

Cleo nodded. “And to give you control over your own narrative. Get your power back. Which is an avenue I appreciate.”

“I still wish I could just sue the person who posted this,” I said with a resigned sigh.