I sit in a stall and collect myself. And then I stand in front of the mirror and touch up my makeup. I wipe away the evidence of my sadness and swipe over it with concealer. I refresh my red lipstick like it’s armor.
My phone vibrates with a new email, and I decide to check it while I wait for my face to de-puff.
I swallow. It’s from my dad.
The development process with Busted got derailed because of more Covid delays, and I thought he was probably going to ghost me on it after I sent the treatment. But four months ago, to my utter shock, he said he liked it, and asked for a script. I sent that at the beginning of May and haven’t heard anything back.
I texted him to say I’m in town, hoping that would prompt an update. Usually he at least replies to my texts, even if it’s to blow me off. That he’s been radio silent probably means this email is bad news.
From: rog@rogermarks.com
To: mollymarks@netmail.co
Date: Sat, July 17, 2021 at 7:15pm
Subject: script
Molly—Loma and Cory like your script. (I do too.) They want to meet in LA to discuss. Cassie will send times.
Afraid I’m not going to catch you this trip—I’m out of town—but I’ll take you to dinner after the meeting.
Holy fucking shit.
I start shaking, and laugh to myself like a crazy person in the bathroom alone.
I feel absurd for letting this affect me so much, but that casual aside—“(I do too)”—I’ve basically been waiting for that my whole life.
His email is quickly followed by another from Cassie, his long-suffering assistant, with a series of dates and times for next week.
I choose a week from Monday at 1:30 p.m. and write an email to my dad that I carefully construct so as not to convey too much excitement or expectation.
From: mollymarks@netmail.co
To: rog@rogermarks.com
Date: Sat, July 17, 2021 at 7:25pm
Re: Subject: script
Cool, glad to hear it. Sorry to miss you in FL but see you soon.
M
I’m giddy as I walk back outside to rejoin cocktail hour.
“You okay?” Alyssa asks when I spot her standing alone on the terrace. “You look … suspiciously happy.”
“Never better. Love a smoldering evening.”
“You’re the smoldering one, with those lips.”
I smack them at her. “All the better to ravish you.”
“To ravish someone anyway,” she says, glancing over at Seth, who appears to be introducing his family to Marian’s celebrity husband.
“Stop staring at him,” I hiss.
“Why?”
“Because it’s embarrassing. You’re being conspicuous.”
She snorts. “Maybe you should be more conspicuous and stop pining.”
“I was pretty damn conspicuous last year, if you recall.”
She and Dezzie have come to know all about my exuberant sexual performance, and the way it was politely rejected.
“That was different,” she says. “He was just out of a relationship. You should go talk to him.”
I know she’s right. He is, after all, a huge part of the reason I came to this wedding.
But despite my good cheer, I feel a little demoralized where Seth is concerned. Wounded that he never reached out after last year. I can’t help but read it as a sign that he thought about what he wanted, and I wasn’t it.
I need him to take the first step.
But I’m glad that my good news has given me this boost of confidence tonight, of all nights. I hope he notices my shine.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, changing the subject.
