Page 28 of The Ex Effect
Frankie sunk deeper into the couch. “You have no idea. First, I’m not used to interviewing at all. Normally, I just send a portfolio, or people check my references, and call it good. But I swear given the opportunity they would’ve asked me for my blood type and what type of porn I watched.”
I gobbled down everything Frankie said about all the prep she completed just to land the interview, pulling every string she had and droppingallthe names. When Frankie talked about going to the headquarters (which was not too far from Times Square, apparently) and spending a full eight hours getting to know the creative team, I inched closer.
“Anyway, yeah, it’s definitely a chance of a lifetime.” Frankie stood and adjusted her jean legs. “So, we’ll see. Who knows, I may have scared them off the moment I strutted in like a badass with all of this.” She swiped her hands down her torso and grinned.
No matter how cavalier the voice, or the actions, I could see through the bullshit. This carefree attitude was the exact same one I flexed around others when talking about not caring about my five-star reviews, knowing damn well the power it held over me. I gathered the craft items into the totes and followed Frankie outside to my car. “Okay, tomorrow, bright and early atPete and Patty’s. I know I said around eight, but in full transparency, I’ll probably get there at seven.”
Frankie swiped her hands down her face. “God, that’s early.”
“You have until eight, though.”
“Gee, thanks. How overly generous of you.” Once the items were securely in the trunk, Frankie slammed it shut. “And, uh, thanks for the nice things you said tonight. I forget under that Rambo-Barbie exterior, there’s still a hint of sweetness.”
“Jerk.” I didn’t know what possessed me, maybe the ghost of a past relationship, or the fact I had very few close friends, but I threw my arms around Frankie and hugged. Only a split second passed before Frankie squeezed back. Her dark and stormy cologne drifted from her neck anddammit. Maybe it was because Frankie was so strong, or because it had been a long time since I’d been held, but my body melted.
Stop. I stiffened and did an odd one-arm bro tap on Frankie’s shoulders. “See ya tomorrow.” Pretty sure I could not have made this encounter any more awkward if I tried. I peeled out the driveway, my face so hot it felt like it’d bubble. I pushed a palm into my forehead and exhaled.
What in the hell am I doing?
ELEVEN
FRANKIE
A small container of food, some tools from Peaches’s shed, and cleaning supplies filled the truck’s passenger seat as I made my way up to the tree farm. Who knows what I’d do when I arrived, but I wanted to be prepared.
Not wanting to think about the hug from yesterday, because absolutely nothing good would come from diving into that pond, I turned on Ruby Reanne’s podcast,Love ’Em or Leave ’Em.
“Okay, all, a listener emailed this to me last week, and I had to jump on it,” Ruby said in her signature smiling voice. “‘Hi, Ruby, I’ll keep this short but looking for your advice here. I’ve been married to a wonderful man for ten years and have never lied to him. But I’m lying now.’”
Oh, juicy. I turned up the volume.
“‘My husband thinks he has a good singing voice,’” Ruby continued. “‘And he doesn’t. It’s truly terrible. I think he struggles with tone deafness or voice dysmorphia or something. And if he only sang around the house, that would be fine. But he told me he wants to develop this singing hobby into a career. He even recorded demos, sent audition tapes to every show you canimagine, and next week he’s trying out as the lead singer in a band. But, as the rejections trickle in, he asked if I thought he had a good voice and if he could make it in the business. I dodged the question, but what should I do when he asks me again? I know your motto is honesty is the foundation of relationships, but I’m torn. I don’t want to lie, but also I don’t want him to feel humiliated if he auditions and gets laughed out of the club. Sincerely, a New Jersey Wife.’”
I turned left onto the county road and leaned in to hear Ruby’s response.
“So, honestyisthe foundation of everything. You cannot have a healthy relationship built on lies,” Ruby said through the speakers. “Being married to Amelia has taught me this a million times over.Now, that being said, I’m reminded of a few things. One, several years back, Amelia forced me to listen to this new singer, Billie Eilish, and her song ‘Bad Guy.’ I didnotunderstand the appeal at all.”
Say what?Ruby was just knocked down ten points. She better redeem herself, stat.
“I thought Billie was too breathy, spoke more than sang, and her style was not at all my cup of tea. I told my wife this. Mind you, I consume grunge and metal the same way I consume coffee, and it was just…different. But, before you grab the pitchforks, hear me out.I thought Billie didn’t have a good voice. Can you believe that? Considering I am now one of her biggest fans, I’m shocked that ever entered my mind.”
Thank God Ruby restored my faith in her. I’d really hate to stop listening to the show.
“Next point. Bob Dylan. I mean, notoriously not good voice, right? But he’s one of the most respected artists ever. So, who are we to judge? Maybe even if your husband doesn’t have a traditionally good voice, he can still make it in the business. There’s an audience for everything, you just have to find it. Final point. I’m reminded of a time when Ameliawore one of these poofy shirts that were apparently all the rage. I thought she looked like a pirate. But when she asked, ‘How do I look,’ I said she looked beautiful, because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or sleep on the couch. So, to recap, voices are subjective. Maybe his voice is good and you just can’t hear it. Second,every once in a while, it’s okay to lie. In this case, lie like a damn doormat. Tell him he’s wonderful. Let someone else tell him he sucks. It’s going to hurt either way, but he can be hurt by them and not you.”
Huh.Solid advice. I cracked the window as I weaved up the winding road into Pete and Patty’s. The phone rested in my palm.I shouldn’t…don’t do it…but I couldn’t help it. I slowed to a stop and held my breath as I swiped through emails. No new messages fromBirch & Willow. I exhaled. I was not the praying kind, but another week or two of silence and I may dig out one of Peaches’s rosaries.
Less than five seconds after getting out of the vehicle, Morgan marched towards me with a frown visible from across the valley.
“You’re late.”
If this was the attitude on the first day of this massive project, I would seriously consider telling Morgan to screw herself. After all these years, Morgan still hadn’t dropped her holier-than-thou attitude when it came to thingsshethought were important. Time, rigid schedules, college…it didn’t matter. If it was important to her, then it was clearly important to everyone else. How had she not evolved over the years and realized that other people had different priorities? The self-centeredness was truly remarkable.
I was about two seconds away from saying something snarky but goddamn…Morgan was in denim overalls, tennis shoes, with her blonde locks tucked in a red bandanna. She looked like an even sexier version of Rosie the Riveter, and I was totally disarmed. Unfair playing field, unfairadvantage.
I glanced at my watch. “I’m exactly on time. It’s eight a.m. You said be here at eight.”
Morgan crossed her arms. “Which is late.”
