“How’d that work out?”
“Horribly.” She smiles, sharp. “We all knew I couldn’t carry a tune, but no one would tell me the truth because they were thinking about the money.”
I bite my lip. A waiter comes up to the table, and I feel my stomach clench. I didn’t even get the chance to scope out the cheapest thing on the menu.
“Two cheeseburgers, please,” Penny says without looking at the menu. She turns to me. “I promise you they’re amazing.”
“Oh,” I say eloquently. “Well, I— My sister has my wallet.”
What a stupid excuse. I wince, waiting for her to give me an odd look. The waiter does. He purses his lips, probably seeing straight through my bullshit, before walking away.
“Don’t worry about it,” Penny says, waving her hand. “It’s no problem.”
The pain in my stomach doesn’t go away.
“Oh,” I say. “I mean, you can’t pay for my stuff. That’s— I—”
“I meant,” Penny says, “that we could get your wallet from her.”
I nod, pressing my lips together. Right. Of course. I stare at my notebook, trying to think of a way to smooth out the conversation.
“Oh, I guess I should probably talk about Marius, right?” she asks. “I’m so self-absorbed. Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re fine.” I shake my head. It’s a little easier to breathe with the change of subject. “But what can you tell me about working with him?”
Talking with her is different from talking to Marius. He was easy to talk to, but also more guarded. With Marius, I had to dig. Penny just gives up stories before I have to ask.
“He’s really focused on set,” she says, taking a sip of water. “Sometimes he messes around, because, you know, there’s a lot of time between takes. But whenever he wanted to get away, he’d find some corner and wear these gigantic headphones and read a book.”
“Really?” My ears perk up. “Is the movie based on a book?”
“It isn’t,” she says. “He’d read a lot about conversion camps, like fictional accounts and real-life ones. I read one, but I can’t get through them as fast. Whenever we couldn’t find him, he was somewhere reading.”
I want to ask more, but then the waiter comes and we have to stop to eat. Penny’s eyelids flutter when she takes a bite. I snort.
“I promise,” she says, wiping her mouth, “it’s really good.”
And, fuck, it is. I almost forget to be anxious because of the way it makes my tongue melt. She laughs at me. I smile back.
We don’t talk again until half her burger is gone and she’s offered me the rest of her fries. I usually feel uneasy about eating in front of other people, especially skinny people, but everything is so good that I don’t care.
“So,” Penny says. “Any more questions?”
I glance down at my notebook. There’s one I’ve been thinking of since she first showed up in the movie, but I wasn’t going to bring it up because I wasn’t sure how it would sound. But things seem to be going so well….
“How does it feel to see a newcomer like Marius step into such a big role?” I ask. “Especially since you’ve worked so hard to get where you are?”
Penny blinks, wiping her hands on her napkin. She’s silent for a long moment. Shit. Did that come out wrong?
“You should know,” she finally says. “Marius really deserves all of the attention he’s getting, but I’m worried he’ll fall into this trap where people care more about his talent than they actually care about him. Do you know what I mean?”
Words stick to the roof of my mouth. Is she implying that I’m one of the people who don’t care about him?
“Oh,” I say, closing my notebook. I always leave the recorder going, even as I pack up, just in case I catch something important. “That’s definitely not— I’m going to try my best to write a piece he deserves.”
“I know you will,” Penny says. “If you didn’t, we’d have a problem.”
Another pause. I squirm in my seat. Penny smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“But I’m sure that won’t happen.”
Then the waiter appears, and she smiles up at him.
@JosieTheJournalist: taking a break from being anxious to stare at pretty clothes. really nurturing my soul here
On Tuesday, I’m supposed to go to a fitting with Marius, but I can’t focus on what to ask him. All I can think about is Penny.
I think she hates me. She’s definitely wary of me after I put my foot in my mouth with that question.
“It’s fine,” Alice says. We’re both looking in the bathroom mirror. She must notice the mess that is my hair—stuck up in all directions—and the bags under my eyes. “The second time should be easier. You don’t have to be so nervous.”
I stare after her as she leaves. Funnily enough, her words aren’t making anything better. After I interviewed Marius, it felt like he was all I could think about, but that thankfully faded after a good night of sleep. But now I have to actually spend time with him at a fitting—I don’t even know anything about fittings. I pull my hair back, but my curls are all over the place, so I settle on a ponytail and a hat.
It’s harder to do Mirror Time when I’m away from home. There’s my face I like, I guess. But I hate my mouth. I never say the right things at the right times. And I can’t stand the pudgy stomach, no matter how hard I try to force myself to like it.
“Hey, Alice,” I say, stepping out of the bathroom. She’s already dressed, which will probably make this harder. “What if I just went to this one alone?”
She glances up from her phone with raised eyebrows. I don’t even have all of my clothes on yet, so it is kind of embarrassing to stare back at her. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to negotiate. It used to be easier when she was in high school, sneaking out to parties or asking me to hide things from Mom and Dad, but I have to take what I can get.
“What’s the point of me being here, then?” She folds her arms. Maggie only fights if she needs to, but Alice does it just for fun; it’s exhausting. “I’m supposed to go everywhere with you. That’s what Mom said.”
“Since when do you care what Mom says?”
She pauses.
“Don’t you want to go sightseeing?” I ask. “Go see the Hollywood sign or the Walk of Fame? Isn’t that why you came in the first place?”
Alice bites her lip. I know I’ve got her.
“Just tell Mom I’m talking and you can’t interrupt me,” I say, trying to inject honey into my voice. “If you feel so bad about lying to her.”
“You can’t do whatever you want, you know.”
“Well…,” I huff, “neither can you.”
Alice rolls her eyes and scoffs. When the Uber comes, I go in one direction, and she goes in another.
Marius was nice the first time I met him, but we were only talking about surface-level topics. If I’m going to write a profile, I need to dig deep, to find out more about this new actor who’s going to blow everyone away. I’m just not sure how to do that, especially with Penny acting like she’ll murder me if I say the wrong thing.
Before I know it, the car stops. The building looks fancy from the outside: big windows revealing suits and long, flowing dresses framed by white marble. I’ve never seen a building like this at home. It reminds me of the store that kicked Vivian out in Pretty Woman. Hopefully they don’t kick me out. I step out of the car with my notebook open.
The guy at the front desk asks for my credentials before escorting me through a pair of white double doors. Inside are a few people I don’t recognize: one taking measurements, one writing things down. Marius turns and I see the warm brown eyes, the easy smile. I’d recognize his curls anywhere. I force myself to smile back at him.
“Thanks, Ethan,” he
says, craning his neck to see. “I was worried she wasn’t gonna show up.”
Shit. I’m not that late, am I?
Ethan just shrugs, closing the door behind me. The person with the notes stares at me. I’m not sure if I should smile or not.
“Twenty-four,” the lady taking measurements says. A measuring tape is wrapped around Marius’s arm, various pins sticking out of his suit jacket. “Thirty-three, forty-two.”
The person with the notes writes frantically. I bite my lip, glancing around. Pink plush chairs decorate the room, which is filled with racks of clothes and long mirrors. The windows are tall, like we’re in a castle, and adorned with golden curtains that drape down to the floor.
My eyes find their way back to Marius. He’s still looking at me, the ghost of a smile on his face, like always.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “My Uber took forever to come. It’s beautiful here.”
The woman with the tape measure finally looks at me. I already know who she is, because Past Me took the time to research her. Christina Pak is a super-eccentric designer who’s dressed a lot of people for red carpets and the Met Gala. I don’t understand exactly how it works, but I guess she picks actors like Marius and dresses them to publicize her designs. Or maybe he picked her.
Either way, he definitely looks good. His suit is dark green. Somehow, it makes his cheekbones stand out a little more. When the smile drops, he seems more like a man, even if just a young one. The suit looks like it was made to fit him, not the other way around. I guess that’s what tailoring does.
“This is Josie,” he says, breaking the spell. “She’s a journalist. Super smart. Josie, this is Christina Pak, and her assistant, Meghan.”
It’s harder to breathe, but not because I’m anxious. Christina glances at me with an appraising eye.
“I’m just here to watch,” I say, plopping down on one of the chairs. “And take notes, if that’s okay with you. There’s a separate person who takes pictures for the magazine.”
“Yes, yes.” Christina waves a hand, turning back to her measurements. “Perfectly all right. Meghan, did you get the arms? I want to move on to the pants.”
I go back to my notes, trying to pay attention to the room, to the clothes, to the fabric on the racks waiting to be measured out. I’m not sure what else to talk about—the way Meghan helps him take off the suit jacket?
“We need another piece,” Christina says, gesturing to Meghan. “Just in the other room. It shouldn’t take too long to find.”
The two of them are gone before I can say anything. Now I actually have to talk to him, because I’m the only person around.
Not that I don’t want to. I want to know everything about him—what he thinks about right before he falls asleep, what music makes him cry, if he ever feels out of place. But I wouldn’t want to put any of that in the profile. It’d just be for me.
“So.”
I jolt up, as if he’s heard me thinking. Marius is still smiling, but this time it looks like he’s trying not to spook me.
“Do you remember the last time we talked? Your sister caught up to me on my way out.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We were talking a little bit.”
I remember going to the bathroom right after Marius left our interview early, but I didn’t realize Alice had followed him.
“Oh God.” My breath freezes. “What did she say about me?”
“Nothing bad,” he says, smiling like I’ve made a joke. “She told me about your anxiety.”
My stomach drops. No one in my family talks about my anxiety to other people. It’s just an unspoken promise that no one has broken. Until now. Logically I get that no one should look at me differently once they find out. Being awkward is one thing, but having an anxiety disorder is just—I don’t know. I don’t want him to think there’s something wrong with me. If I had it my way, he never would’ve known.
The few people who know about my anxiety always say the same things: that it’s okay, that they’ll watch out to make sure I don’t get uncomfortable, that I don’t have to worry. But that’s never how it works. I don’t know how to communicate a panic attack in the middle of one.
“I just want you to tell me if I do anything that freaks you out,” he says. “I— Well, I know I can be too much sometimes.”
I don’t know if I should laugh or roll my eyes. He’s not overwhelming, exactly, not in the same way people at school or strangers can be. I guess he’s still a stranger, but it’s not the same sort of anxiety. Marius just seems different. I like being overwhelmed by him.
“You’re not.” I stare down at the ground. “It’s— She’s not really supposed to go around telling people that.”
“Sorry. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, if it makes you feel better.”
“No.” I shake my head, glancing back at my notebook. “You don’t bother me, anyway, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
It’s just looking at him that bothers me. I’m afraid to do it for too long because I might never look away. It’s not fair that I’m supposed to be professional when he seems so cool.
“Oh.” He pauses. I watch him rub one thumb over the other. “That’s good, right?”
“I mean, it only gets hard around people I know or really care about.” I wince. That definitely didn’t sound good. “Not that I’m saying I don’t care about you. It’s just— Usually interviews are easier because I’m interested, but it’s not like I’m talking to the same person every day for the next four years, you know?”
“So school must be hard.”
I glance up. There’s something understanding in his eyes. For a second, I forgot he went to an actual school. I want to ask what it was like, if he knows how it feels to be so interested in something that people don’t usually care about, if he was the odd one out.
I don’t get the chance to say anything at all, because Christina and Meghan come whirling back in. Marius glances over at them but smiles at me again. It doesn’t seem like smiling takes any effort on his part. He just gives smiles away.
“Christina, could we play music?” he asks. “It’s really quiet.”
“Of course.” She waves a hand at Meghan, who puts down her notes and walks over to a stereo in the corner. “I have to warn you, though. I’m not sure we’ll share the same taste in music.”
Something light, with lots of harps, fills the room. I go back to doodling in my notebook. I realize, twenty minutes into this fitting, that I probably should’ve been recording. What an idiot. I guess that’s one more thing to remember for next time.
“Josie.”
My eyes snap up. Marius isn’t yelling, but he’s the only one speaking. There’s also the fact that him saying my name is like catnip or something. I hate it. I’m still not sure how to get rid of the tightening in my chest when he does it.
“I like A Tribe Called Quest,” he says, hands in his coat pockets. “Do you like them? Have a favorite song?”
“Of course I like them,” I say. All Black parents from a certain generation play their songs at parties. “I, um, like ‘Check the Rhime.’ ”
My favorite ATCQ song is actually “Electric Relaxation,” but the entire song is about sex, and I definitely don’t think that should be playing right now.
Christina and Meghan work on him for a little longer, “Check the Rhime” playing in the background. It might be because of the song, but I actually feel safe. Safe enough to get up and wander around.
“Do you mind if I look at these?” I ask Christina, gesturing toward a rack of clothes. “I won’t rip anything.”
She waves a hand. I take that as a yes.
Christina makes colorful clothes. They aren’t bright like Skittles, more like those variety packs of twenty-dollar colored pencils. I don’t think I’d wear any of them. They seem too loud, calling too much a
ttention. Maybe that’s what famous people want. I definitely don’t.
There is one dress. It’s short-sleeved, black with roses embroidered all over the place. There’s also a long slit that would reveal leg, Angelina Jolie–style. I guess it’s the type of dress to call attention, but it isn’t as bad as the other ones, at least to me. It’s beautiful. I run my hands over some of the roses. They’re different colors—red and orange and yellow—contrasting against the black background.
“You should try it on.”
Marius is next to me. I don’t yelp, which I consider an accomplishment. He’s not wearing the suit jacket anymore, just an undershirt. I can’t tell if he’s joking or if he actually thinks this would look good on me. Of course it would look good. It’s a beautiful dress. But that doesn’t mean I’d look good in it.
“I don’t think so,” I say, letting my hands run over it. This isn’t about me anyway. “There’s no way it would fit.”
“Well, yeah,” he says. “They never do at first. My jacket doesn’t fit.”
For a second, I let myself stare at him, hoping. I shouldn’t. I’ll expect this dress to fit me, to look beautiful, to look like it was meant for me. And then it’ll hurt even more when none of those things happen.
“Christina,” he says, turning around, “don’t you think Josie would look beautiful in this dress?”
Oh God.
I’ve been called beautiful before. My parents and my sisters tell me—at least, one of my sisters does. Even Cash tells me, after we spend the night together reading stories about princesses, the same ones Mom and Dad used to read to me.
But it’s different coming out of Marius’s mouth. Maybe because it feels like he’s lying. Maybe because people never say it to me unless they’re trying to make me feel better: “You’d be so beautiful if you just lost a few pounds.” He’s just saying it to say it. I swallow down whatever feelings his words give me.
“Come on,” Christina says, grabbing me by the hand. “I’d love to see how you look in it. I bet it would complement your skin tone and your eyes just perfectly.”
Off the Record Page 7