by Emma Quinn
Unknown Number – It was okay. I’m not a big fan of parties. But tonight was alright, all things considered.
Dianna – All things considered?
Unknown Number – Wound up talking to you, so the night’s not so bad.
I found myself smiling at my phone. I was both impressed by Nathan’s confidence, and a little intimidated.
Dianna – You’re quite the smooth talker.
Unknown Number – Only in text. My friend says I’m a real buzzkill in person.
Dianna – I’m sure that’s not true.
Unknown Number – That’s sweet of you to say.
I snuggled into my blankets, rolling onto my side to get comfy. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Nathan. With a couple quick taps, I added his name to my contacts.
Dianna – How did you get into web development?
Nathan – I had a pretty awesome computer science teacher named Mr. Lance. He encouraged me to get into coding. Said I had a knack for it.
I raised an eyebrow, the name ringing a bell.
Dianna – Mr. Darren Lance? From Eagleview High?
Nathan – Yeah! How’d you know?
My heart skipped in my chest. This couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? What were the odds that a random guy who texted my number by mistake grew up in the same part of LA as me?
Dianna – That’s my high school. I was in Mrs. Bontem’s homeroom.
Nathan – No fucking way. I was right across the hall with Mr. Satchel. When did you graduate? I don’t remember a Dianna Snow.
Dianna – About three years ago. Just finished my photography degree at CalArts.
Nathan – Oh that’s why. I graduated seven years ago. Our paths wouldn’t have crossed.
My mind was spinning with this new information. Nathan was about four years older than me. I didn’t get the sense that he was any kind of threat. The fact that he could rattle off so many names surely must have meant he was telling the truth. He even got the location of Mr. Satchel’s classroom right, just across the hall from our language arts teacher, Mrs. Bontem. It was surprisingly nice to be able to talk to another Eaglehead –the unfortunate name given to our basketball and football teams.
Dianna – Wow, talk about a small world. I’m glad to know you made it out of Joslynville.
I didn’t have very fond memories of Joslynville. It was one of the poorer suburbs located a couple hours outside of Los Angeles. The district was notoriously underfunded, riddled with all kinds of gang activity and a poor sewage system. I couldn’t count the number of times school had to be canceled because the pipes backed up and flooded the school halls. The second I graduated high school, I scraped together what money I could and hitchhiked all the way to college.
I haven’t been back since, and I certainly didn’t have any plans to visit.
Nathan – Thanks. You too.
A deep yawn escaped my throat. It was getting late and I had an early morning at work tomorrow. As much as I wanted to keep talking to Nathan, sleep was more important. It was time to say goodnight to this mystery man.
Dianna – It was nice meeting you, but I’m afraid I’ve got to go to bed now. Sweet dreams!
Not even a second later, he replies.
Nathan – Sweet dreams.
I smiled at his last message, staring at his words as a warmth spread through my chest. Nathan actually seemed really nice. Talking to him was probably the highlight of my otherwise long and complicated day. It was a nice distraction from my chaotic morning with Billie, the threats of her having me fired long forgotten.
I made sure to double and triple check that my alarm was set for tomorrow morning at six, and then again five minutes later –just in case my brain decided it wanted the extra time to snooze. Pulling the covers over my shoulders, I closed my eyes and drifted off while imagining Nathan the web developer might be up to.
I wondered what he looked like. It didn’t occur to me until after our conversation ended that I never asked for a picture of him. I could always argue that he at least owed me a selfie considering how willingly I gave him one of mine. But I knew that was an impossible thing to ask. I was far too shy and sheepish to outright demand a picture of him.
I should count my lucky stars that Nathan didn’t seem like a weirdo I needed to watch my back for. He was just some poor guy who was led on by a random mean girl at a party. At the end of the day, he was just another lonely soul like me in a sea of millions in this terrifyingly gigantic city of Los Angeles.
Sleep eventually found me and pulled me under.
I totally forgot about the tea I made.
4
Nathan
I
wasn’t expecting her to send me a picture of herself. I was even more surprised to discover at how taken I was with the image.
Dianna Snow –the real Dianna Snow– was probably the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. It was true that the image quality was grainy, and the lighting wasn’t the most flattering, but the fact that her radiance still shone through was a testament to her natural beauty.
She had strawberry blonde hair that cut off at her shoulders, locks gently curling and a bit damp like she’d just stepped out of the shower. I wasn’t going to lie, the fact that she had on one of my company’s old promotional shirts definitely won her some brownie points. That couldn’t have been planned. The smiling clovers were some of Monteverde’s first logo designs, long since changed to something more mature and minimalistic. I wondered how she got her hands on it. She said that her ex-roommate left it behind. I wouldn’t be surprised if they found it at a local consignment shop for dirt cheap.
What I found the most striking was the color of her eyes –light blue like sunny skies above or crystal-clear lakes that stretched for miles. They were piercing and full of life, captivating in a way I simply couldn’t put into words.
They were also very, very tired.
I actually felt kind of bad for disturbing her. It was obvious from the picture that she was about ready to go to sleep. Nevertheless, she stayed on the phone with me, shooting me back messages as quickly as I sent them.
She seemed very sweet. Trustworthy. And the fact that we grew up in the same place and both made it out alive? Maybe we had more in common than I first thought. I was actually quite grateful that woman at the party gave me Dianna’s number. It had been a long time since I’d spoken to anyone about anything other than business, or had to fend people off when they asked me for money. Everybody wanted a piece of me, a piece of my company, or a piece of my wallet.
But she didn’t. She didn’t know who I was.
It was refreshing. It was exciting and new.
And then she said goodnight. I hadn’t heard from her since, and I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to again.
I was sitting at my office desk, scrolling through the messages we’d exchanged last night. There was a huge stack of important documents in front of me that I needed to get through, but my heart just wasn’t in it today. I thought a piping hot cup of coffee would do the trick, but the caffeine hadn’t set in yet. My mind was hazy. Distracted.
It didn’t happen very often. Monteverde was more or less my life. I’d spent the last decade building it up, investing all my time and effort in order to ensure its success. The company was rivalling the largest online retailers in the world because of me, because of the fact that I ate, slept, and breathed everything Monteverde.
But today was an exception.
Today, all I wanted to do was stare at a picture of a pretty girl I didn’t know.
What is wrong with me?
Three sharp knocks sounded at my door. The offices at Monteverde’s headquarters were designed with glass walls and doors to promote transparency at all levels of the company. It was my idea, but sometimes I hated myself for it. On days like this when I couldn’t find the focus to hunker down and work, all I wanted was a bit of privacy.
I looked to see Alison, my secretary, standing on the other side. She was a Califo
rnian bombshell. Tanned olive skin, waist-length brunette hair, absurdly full eyelashes, plump lips, perfectly arched eyebrows, a tight waistline and a curvaceous rear she deliberately flaunted in a tight black dress that was a little too short to be considered work-appropriate. I reluctantly waved her in because I knew for a fact that she wouldn’t let me be otherwise.
“Hello, Mister Alexander,” she greets, voice silky smooth like velvet.
“What is it?”
Alison’s smile didn’t falter. “Mister Lopez is on hold on line one for you.”
“Matty? He knows better than to call me when I’m at work. Take a message.”
“I’m afraid he was rather insistent, Mister Alexander. He said there was some sort of emergency that he needed to speak with you about.”
My eyebrow knitted together as I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If Matty was really in the middle of a personal crises, he could just text my personal cellphone.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “I’ll take care of it. Anything else?”
Alison sauntered up towards my desk, swaying her hips as she walked. “I actually do have a question for you.”
“What?”
“I checked your schedule and noticed your evening’s clear. My friend, Patricia –you’ve met Patricia– she’s the actress? She’s staring in her first indie feature film and she’s given me two tickets to the premiere. Would you like to accompany me?”
I didn’t know how to answer. Or rather, I didn’t feel like answering.
I’d seen the way Alison looked at me, eyes raking over me like meat she wanted to buy at the butcher’s shop. I’d been in this business long enough to know a social climber when I saw one, and that described Alison to a T. I never took much interest in the personal lives of my employees, but I’d heard through the grapevine that Alison’s been through at least four different boyfriends in as many months –all richer and stupider than the last.
I was definitely richer.
But unlucky for her, I was far from stupid.
“No,” I answer flatly. “I’ve already made plans.”
Alison’s smile finally fell, but she quickly masked her disappointment. “Oh,” she said, doing her best to look as pitiful and wide-eyed as possible. “I understand, Mister Alexander. It was rude of me to assume you were free. I’m sure a busy man like yourself has a lot to do.”
“Indeed.”
“May I ask what you’ll be up to?”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Why?”
“I’d like to update your schedule. This way nobody will be tempted to book any last-minute appointments with you. I wouldn’t want you to be disturbed.”
Despite Alison’s bold attempts at climbing the social ladder, I couldn’t exactly fire her, either. She was competent at her job. Too competent to get rid of. I’d gone through several secretaries before I found her. She was the only one who was half-way decent. I supposed I could always transfer Alison to work as a secretary in a different department of Monteverde, but not until I could find a suitable replacement. In the meantime, I was just going to have to deal.
“I’m getting coffee with an old friend,” I said without much thought.
“Wonderful. Shall I range for a town car to pick you up or make a reservation for you?”
“No. I’ll handle it. If that’s all, you may leave.”
Alison nodded her head once, smiling as wide and friendly as she can. She turned on her heels to leave, the sharp staccato of her stilettos on the polished tile floors announcing her retreat.
I slumped in my chair. What was I even talking about? I didn’t have to lie to my secretary and make up fake plans just to avoid the woman. But I’d attempted to be straight with Alison before, but she was annoyingly persistent. Sometimes it was just easier to tell a white lie and get things over with.
There was a mountain of work I had to get done. There were invoices that needed sending, shipments that needed double-checking, important conferences that needed organizing, and so on. I really didn’t have time to waste. Time, as the old adage goes, is money. If I was going to elevate Monteverde to Amazon-level success, I couldn’t afford to have my head in the clouds.
But my fingers itched to scroll through my phone again. Last night’s conversation with Dianna had been short, but incredibly genuine. She seemed smart, funny, and kind. There wasn’t anything overtly fake or pretentious about her. She was just a young woman making her way in the world –a hardworking photographer trying to buy herself fancy new equipment to excel her forward. Perhaps we were kindred spirits in that regard, two people willing to put in the hours to get ahead.
Her business card sat on my desk, a logo of a pelican with a ribbon of film hanging from its mouth in the corner. Dianna apparently worked for some company called Pelican Media Group. I’d personally never heard of them, but I didn’t exactly make it a point to involve myself with local production companies. If there was ever a need to network, I’d send a representative in my place. I had too much on my plate to be shaking hands and exchanging small talk.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t attempt to look her up online. A guy like me had to be careful, after all. There was no telling if the woman on the other end of the line was unhinged. I quickly learned that Dianna Snow was a fairly common name, so I was unable to pull up any personal profiles. I even attempted to find her contact information on Pelican Media Group’s website, but she wasn’t listed on their registry.
As far as I was concerned, Dianna Snow was a ghost.
A ghost that I wanted to get to know.
My thumbs flew over the screen, crafting a message. I didn’t send it right away. Instead, I stared at the words, judging them over and over again. I normally wasn’t like this. If I could walk up to a complete stranger and ask for her number, I could send a simple text message. Granted, I only did that because Matty dared me to, but still. I couldn’t understand why this feeling of doubt kept washing over me.
It’s just coffee, I told myself. No big deal.
I pressed SEND before I could change my mind.
5
Dianna
T
he worst days at work were the ones where I was chained to my computer all day. Our photo editor was out sick with mono, which meant that I had to go in and make all the painstaking changes to the pictures I’d taken in Photoshop. It definitely wasn’t my favorite thing to do. I would much rather be outside in the sunshine taking photos of random people, trees, the city’s skyline, graffiti, even trash.
In the right hands, a viewfinder could make anything beautiful.
I wasn’t too sure how long I’d been working on the Billie spread. She’d apparently had her agent call back to give Rachel an earful. But as expected, my dear friend handled the situation with grace and what happened in detail. I wasn’t privy to the details of the conversation, but Billie’s agent came to be quite understanding. I had a feeling they’d experienced one of Billie’s tantrums firsthand, so they couldn’t really fault us. We wound up keeping the rights to the magazine spread.
And by extension, my job.
My back ached. The padding of my office chair was worn down and barely provided any lumbar support. My eyes were straining from staring at my monitor for far too long. I knew I should have been taking breaks, but I wanted to hurry up and get the work done. The sooner the edits were made, the sooner Rachel would give me another assignment.
The photographs turned out lovely. I could understand why Billie was so popular despite her lack of talent –but that was a personal opinion. She was mesmerizing to look at. Larger than life, more radiant than the sun. She had the personality of a cactus, but the rest of the world didn’t see her that way. Every image of her, every interview, every video captured of her was carefully curated to present an idea of perfection.
Even now, I was assisting Billie with this unattainable goal of flawlessness. I zoomed in and erased every single flyaway strand of hair. I blurred blemishes, smoothed out fine lines, even whitened he
r teeth and the corners of her eyes. My job didn’t stop there, however. I had to go back in and make sure her wedding dress was perfect, too. I added highlights in places to accentuate the lace. I darkened shadows to give the woman more dimension.
It was soul sucking work, really. If I had a choice, I’d be a nature photographer ruffing it out in the wild tundra hunting down the perfect shot of an artic fox or polar bear. But that took a lot of time, dedication, and clients willing to purchase those kinds of pictures. Not everybody appreciated the lengths professional photographers were willing to go for the perfect sequence of frames.
The sad truth was that I needed to pay the bills. And what paid the bills were superficial pictures like these. As long as the general public was willing to buy a magazine or engage with online content, I had to keep snapping pics of diva’s like Billie to satiate their curiosity and fascination.
I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.
Fake it ‘til you make it, Anna.
“Um, Dianna?” I turned in my chair to find Stephen standing slightly behind me, a coffee cup in his hand. He was dressed in the same dingy jeans that he always wore. The only difference was that instead of wearing a Star Wars graphic tee, he had on a red shirt with the Flash’s lightning symbol emblazoned across his chest. He held it out to me shakily. “T-this is for you. As a thank you for the other day.”
I giggled and graciously took the drink. “Thank you, Stephen. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. I really admire the way you stood your ground like that. I hope I can learn to do that.”
I smiled at him as I took a sip of the coffee. It was incredibly sweet. Too sweet. I fought against the urge to grimace because that wouldn’t be polite.
“I-is it alright? I didn’t know how you liked it.”
“It’s great, Stephen. Thanks.”
He didn’t make a move to leave. He kind of just hovered there, fiddling with the corner of his shirt.