Just Haven't Met You Yet(72)

As I’m talking, I grow more confident. This is all off the top of my head, but as I’m saying it, I realize it is an interesting idea.

There’s a grunting sound on the line, then Suki says, “No.”

“No?”

“No. You’re not Malcolm Gladwell, Laura, I don’t want a revisionist history of your family. I want the coin meet-cute, the romantic proposal, the love story to end all love stories that you pitched to me. From what you’re telling me now, this whole trip has been a complete waste of time.” She sighs heavily. “I want you back in the office on Monday. I think we need to have a serious conversation. I’ve allowed you a lot of autonomy, and you’ve shown a real lack of judgment these last few days.”

My skin breaks out in beads of sweat, and my stomach starts to cramp. I’m going to get fired. I can’t even fathom what shape my life would have without my job. Could I even make the rent if I had to go freelance again? I wouldn’t see Vanya every day, she wouldn’t be my flatmate or my colleague.

“I-I-I can’t leave Jersey yet!”

Suki breathes in, preparing to bark at my insolence.

“I’ve met someone.” I squeeze my eyes closed, not sure where I’m going with this.

“You’ve met someone?” comes an angry echo down the phone.

“Yes—and it’s a great story.”

The idea takes shape as I’m talking. I could use my own meet-cute as a story for the site. I tell Suki about Jasper, about the mix-up at the airport, the things I found in his suitcase, and my search around the island to track him down. As she listens, she mellows, her bark becomes an excited yap and by the end of the call, she is cooing with delight.

“You see I can’t leave yet, Suki, I only just found him and—”

“No, no, you can’t leave,” she agrees. “This is perfect—this is wonderful—this is exactly the kind of fated love story people want to read about.”

I didn’t know Suki was capable of sounding so animated.

“Well, not necessarily a love story yet, it’s all so new . . .” I say, in a feeble attempt to temper her enthusiasm. “But a good meet-cute in any case.”

“Laura, the greatness of a love story is not determined by the amount of time a couple have spent together—just look at Romeo and Juliet, Rose and Jack, Marius and Cosette—these people barely spend five minutes together before turning their lives upside down for one another. No, this is fate, this is destiny, this is love at first—luggage!”

I’m annoyed she’s said that. Now she’s going to take credit for that phrase, and I had already thought of the “love at first luggage” tagline.

“Well, I—”

“This could be a good enough hook to land a feature in a broadsheet magazine, great publicity for our brand. It could even go international: ‘Love Life’s lead journalist, unlucky in love and still carrying the emotional baggage from her mother’s death, resigned to a life of writing other people’s love stories, unwittingly finds her own . . . in a suitcase!’?”

I feel myself frown—I wouldn’t have said I was unlucky in love or carrying emotional baggage.

“Leave it with me,” Suki says in a singsong voice. “I’ll work out how we can maximize coverage—you stay as long as you need to seal the deal with your Suitcase Man. If you pull this off in the way I know you can, we’ll have to talk about that promotion again. You know how much I appreciate it when people go above and beyond for a great story.”

I’m about to clarify that I wasn’t pursuing Jasper for the story, I was pursuing him because I genuinely felt he was the man I was supposed to be with. Is the man I am supposed to be with, I mentally correct myself. But before I can say anything, Suki has hung up.

What just happened? It feels like a good thing, in that I avoided getting fired and my boss mentioned the word “promotion,” but part of me can’t help but feel nervous about tying my work and my personal life so inextricably together.

Suki: Pictures we’ll need:

The suitcase

The suitcase contents

You and Suitcase Man kissing

You and Suitcase Man embracing by the luggage carousel, holding your cases in the air, ideally with your leg kicked up in excitement.

What have I started?

Suki: You can look quite pretty when you make an effort—expense a makeover, hair, etc. I don’t want any beekeeper bollocks in these shots. If this goes national, we don’t need any of your kooky eccentricity.

Kooky eccentricity? Now that’s just rude.

Suki: On second thoughts, I’m sending Dionne and Saul out on the first flight on Monday. We need professional, glossy shots for this. Get your man on board for press ASAP.

Dionne and Saul are a stylist and a photographer Suki uses for big product shoots. They’re expensive; they style all the minor royals. If Suki’s sending them, she’s serious about putting this story everywhere. How the hell am I going to sell this to Jasper? He’s a lovely guy, but this kind of publicity parade might be enough to put anyone off.





TIGER WOMAN ON QUALIFIERS

When tigers have something to say, do they work on a draft? Do they litter their message with niceties: “yours sincerely,” “thank you,” “please”? No. They do not. Women constantly undermine themselves with qualifying phrases like, “Sorry,” “I’m no expert but . . .” “I just wanted to check,” “I might have an idea.” Change the words you use, and you will change the way you are seen: I am not sorry, I am an expert, and I’m certainly not “yours,” sincerely or otherwise.