An Absolutely Remarkable Thing (An Absolutely Remarkable Thing #1)(25)

“April, I absolutely understand. But not everybody will. I’m just saying that it would be simpler if you were either straight or gay. I have no issue with bisexuality, and I want very much for the rest of the world to feel that way too, but it would distract from your message. Some people will latch onto this as a way to make you less human. We’re looking at this through not just a New York City lens but all of America. Really, all of the world. Your sexual orientation will be a weakness through which you can be attacked.”

I looked down at the floor and stayed silent for a full ten seconds. I mean, yeah, it made some sense. We’re dealing with fucking space aliens—who gives a shit if I’m gay or bi?

I looked up at Mr. Skampt, who just shrugged.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m currently thinking about hooking up with any dudes,” I said, sort of lying, since I had just been thinking about hooking up with Robin. But Mr. Skampt’s silence sounded like agreement to me, so I caved. “Sure, uh. Yeah, I can just be gay.”

That was the first time I got a glimpse of the ways in which Jennifer Putnam sucked as a human being and I didn’t even notice it in the moment. I know I’m blaming her when I could just as easily blame myself, but I was confused and out of my depth and she seemed so competent. For her, it was easier to sell a quirky lesbian than a quirky bi girl, so I became a quirky lesbian for her.

Though I’m not sure I’m one to talk, what with the whole staying up until 10 A.M. very intentionally converting myself into a brand. Our goals, most of the time, would align.

After everyone was satisfied that I had never eaten even a single baby, I was released for a coffee break, which I had with Andy at a café across the street. We debriefed and talked war stories. I kept the bi thing from him, and I’m sure he kept some stuff from me. Whatever, neither of us had ever done anything terrible, that was the important thing.

I’d been texting Miranda on and off throughout the day. She had left Berkeley and was on her way to Los Angeles now. We were going to meet her at the CVS (not a Walmart, alas) that was closest to the Carl in Los Angeles (Hollywood Carl). Of course, LA traffic was conspiring against her, but this meeting with Putnam was taking way more time than we’d expected anyway, so it was working out pretty perfectly.

I still hadn’t texted Maya. I couldn’t figure out how. There was so much to say and so much to do and, honestly, I was afraid of how she’d respond to the day’s events. In my mind, I could only hear her on the spectrum from disappointed to livid. I didn’t feel like there would be excitement or support on the other side of that conversation, so I just kept not having it.

“Hey, April.” Andy had been looking at his phone. “More Carl weirdness. Nobody’s saying he’s a space alien, but they tried to move the one in Oakland to a slightly more convenient spot because he was causing traffic problems and they couldn’t. He broke their crane. The story reads like it was inept city management or crane operators or something. I’m guessing it’s more than that.”

I stared into my coffee as the magnitude of it all crashed down on me once again. This just kept happening. I’d be living my normal life, being me inside of me the way I’d always been, and then I’d remember. It was a little like how I felt a couple of years before when our cat Spotlight died. You keep forgetting that life is never going to be the same again. But you can only go so long without thinking, “Where’s Spotlight? I haven’t seen him all . . . oh . . . fuck.”

“Oh god, Andy, this is really happening, isn’t it?”

“Jennifer Putnam sure seems to think so,” he said as I dosed myself with another sip of coffee.

Now, with a better understanding of her business (and of her), I realize that Jennifer Putnam didn’t need to be sure Carl was a space alien to go full war room; she only needed there to be a chance. She needed to look like she was all in even if she believed there was only a 5 percent chance we were right, because even a 5 percent chance of making tens of millions of dollars was more than worth her while. In the end, if Carl wasn’t an alien, we would still be her client, and she could point to her faith and belief in us. It was a win-win for her.

When we walked back into her office after our coffee break, she said, quickly and carefully, “April, I’m giving you Robin. You need a full-time assistant right now and it’s much easier for me to get a replacement than for you to find someone trustworthy. He’s fantastic, a little soft-spoken but ridiculously effective. We’ll continue paying him, but he’ll work for you. He’ll be in your email, if that’s all right, and possibly doing some social media. We’re going to make it clear to him that he works for you, not me.”

Mr. Skampt didn’t look extremely pleased about this but conceded, “We don’t think it would be wise to involve anyone else at this point.”

“So you officially have an employee. They make your life easier, but only if you use them. If you are not telling him to get you coffee at least once per day, he will literally feel offended. He is there for you, you need him, and he wants to help.”

“Does Robin know any of this?” I asked.

Jennifer Putnam picked up her phone and hit a button.

“Robin, can you come in for a moment?

Ten seconds later he was in the room.

“Yes, Mrs. Putnam?”

“How would you feel about working for Ms. May?”