Page 64 of Pick-Up
She rolls her eyes. But, sheepish, she puts the beauty tool back in its velvet case for some unsuspecting future guest to purchase. And that’s when I have my light bulb moment.
“Okay, I might have an idea. Hear me out.”
All eyes are on me. I am grateful that at least Ethan is staying out of it, leaning against a wall at the back, on his phone.
He’s doing work, I think. He has his email face on. It’s one of many of his expressions I’m coming to learn. I shake my head clear.
“The whole crux of what makes this place—and our ability tofeature it—special is that it’s as yet unspoiled by the very spoiled. Right? We’re here first! Even before the one percent.”
“Okay?” says Stephanie. “And?”
“And everyone loves a glimpse behind the curtain. So, what if we give the viewers one? What if, for the video and digital element, we mess around a little and feature Stephanie using that gua sha and lounging in the infrared sauna? Jackie sneaking a cocktail at the bar? Derek at the dessert buffet? And on from there?”
Jackie scrunches up her nose. “Would anyone want to see that?”
“Of course they would!” Stephanie says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Joking, not joking.
“I think it might work,” Derek agrees. “Just the whole aspirational element of getting to fuck around in this super swanky place. It could be kind of addictive to watch. In the vein of unboxing videos?”
“It’s kind of our only option. And the worst thing that happens is that it looks bad, so we fall back on the other B-roll footage and chop it up into bite-size chunks to make it feel more dynamic.”
Everyone is nodding. I am way less confident than I seem. What if it’s a disaster? What if I fail at this one shot to impress the team?
To impress… Ethan?
As makeup begins touching up Stephanie for the spa shoot, I feel half like Ms. Marvel and half like Miss Muffet. Am I a hero? Or a colossal fraud?
Time will tell.
At least Stephanie looks at home reclining in her plush white robe, her frizz-free hair framing her face. And she does a great job of hamming it up. The footage is strong. Hopefully everyone will be this good.
After the spa shoot, when we ready to move on to the restaurant, she heads out to go conduct her big interview with Martin at his home for the article.
“Text me if you needanything,” I tell her as she packs up her tote. She insists on being alone with him so he’ll “open up.” I think he’s likely harmless, but I still don’t love it.
“I got this,” she says, winking.
Soon after she leaves, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I duck out to answer, blinking as my eyes adjust to the sun.
“Hello?”
“Hi, love!”
It’s Martin’s publicist, Barbara. I recognize this ploy. I am definitely “love” because she’s drawing a blank on my name—just like I’m “Mom” at school pick-up.
“Hi,Barbara,” I can’t help but say pointedly. “How are you?”
“Remarkable! You? I wanted to check in.”
“I’m okay. Look, this is awkward, but you should know that Martin made some very offensive anti-Semitic remarks to me earlier.”
“Yes, yes,” she says.
“And he’s pretty inappropriate with the ladies too.”
“Right, yes.”
This is not the response I expected. Or what makes sense conversationally. So I say, “Does that surprise you to hear?”
