“So, you wore the ears?” Jada asks softly. “Did he notice?”
“Hard to say. Max is a man with a carefully curated surface. I know in his pictures he looks all natural and warm and friendly with his enchanting smile, but he’s a cold, calculating metal robot. He gives you nothing. Though he did try to act like he was surprised that I was there, and then he got off on ordering me around. It was just…uhhh.” I tell them about the chips array thing.
“I would die,” Francine says unhelpfully.
“I wanted to,” I say.
Jada scowls. The silver glitter headband that holds back her thick blonde hair seems almost to sparkle in sympathetic anger. “Why is he such an asshole to you?”
“Because we’re natural enemies in the wild. Why is the lion an asshole to the antelope?”
“I think that’s a negative way of framing it,” Kelsey says. “It positions you as the prey of the lion. You’re more like the giraffe.”
“A lion can take down a giraffe,” I say.
“Hyena?” Jada offers. “The lion can rarely get the best of a hyena. You’re the hyena.”
“The hyena. Thank you, Jada. Why not a plague of locusts? Or a noxious cloud?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Kidding,” I say. Kind of.
“Anyway, I’m a long way to bringing him to his grovelly knees. It’s not just about his heartless power. There’s a massive flock of supermodels that will be keeping him from sinking to his grovelly knees for me. With gossamer threads. Lifting him up.”
“Max Hilton girls,” Kelsey groans.
Antonio looks up from his phone. As a male member of the species, it’s his duty to perk up whenever Max Hilton girls are mentioned. “You don’t think those girls all actually…”
“Fuck him? No way, it’s just publicity,” Jada says. “Socialites and models and designers use him for his name. And he’s using them for the Max Hilton illusion.”
I study her. She’s quite the Max Hilton expert. “Yeah, they’d flee like rats if he went out in sweatpants with socks under sandals.”
Kelsey snorts.
“Give them a break. The Max Hilton girls are sweet,” Antonio says. “They’re very attractive and clever too. On Instagram…”
“Uhhh.” Kelsey tosses a cork from our cork bowl at him. And then another and another.
Kelsey tosses more corks. I grab a handful and completely nail him.
Antonio’s cringing, laughing. “What?!”
“It’s PR, Antonio,” Kelsey says. “That’s not who they are.”
I’m feeling better. Slightly. Antonio watches Kelsey out the side of his eyes. Did he say that to get a rise out of her?
“It was only your first day working his own rules on him,” Kelsey says. “Do we need to get out the Hilton Playbook and read what it says about perseverance?”
I snort. “No.”
“What does it say?” Francine asks.
“To not get discouraged,” Kelsey says. “Hold your head up high and keep moving forward. You can do anything.”
“As long as you have Max Hilton telling you what to do,” Francine grumbles.
“It’s a good system,” Antonio says, gazing over at Kelsey, who’s all dimples back at him.
Antonio and Kelsey. Is it possible?
“You have to deliver sandwiches to him either way,” Jada points out. “You may as well check off all of the boxes. Worst-case scenario, we buy you those shoes. Best-case scenario, he’s on his knees and you are wearing them as you crush him.”
“You can do it!” Kelsey grabs a marker off the side table and holds it out to me. “Put an X in that box! You nailed that rule. One golden move down, nine to go.”
I just stare at the marker.
“And you’re fighting for us,” Francine says. “For all of us who went home with a clever, exciting guy and woke up with a loser. You’re our hero. You’re showing Max what it’s like for somebody to do a system on him. Please don’t quit.”
“Pleeeeease,” Jada says.
Something swells in my chest. They’re counting on me.
We used to play this nerdy guessing game in acting class where you had to pantomime things in a really specific way—like you’d pantomime washing the dishes smugly or charmingly or happily or wonderingly or whatever, and the others would have to guess the adjective you were going for. It’s a fun game—if you’re an actor—and great for building nuance.
So I’m looking at my girlfriends, old and new. And yeah, maybe I’m fighting a losing battle, but I’m fighting for them, and that means something.
I grab the marker and march over to the chart swashbucklingly. I slash out an X resolutely, and spin around. Boldly I jam my fists onto my hips. I’m fighting for my friends. I’m fighting for all women. I’m Joan of Arc in kitten ears. “One golden rule down, nine to go, bitches!”
Francine hoots, and Jada claps. Kelsey’s hands are clasped. Antonio looks on smolderingly, a five on the Blue Steel scale.
The other nine rules won’t be so easy, but I’m acting as if, and that’s important. Acting as if is the key to a lot in life. Acting as if you’re successful invites success. Acting as if things are sexy with a guy makes things sexier. Like if you act like a kiss is super sexy, then it is super sexy. Or at least that’s what I think. Lizzie disagrees. But she’s a baker, what does she know about the magic of acting as if?
“What rule are you doing tomorrow?” Kelsey asks.
I eye the chart. “Reverse-chasing is next.”
“Reverse-chasing?” Francine asks Kelsey raises her hand. “Oh, I know all about reverse-chasing.” There’s a murderous look in her eye. “Reverse-chasing is where you act like the woman you want to pick up is after you, even though she totally is not. And you’re all like, get away! Even though she’s not at all after you, but you act like you think she is, and it intrigues her. Falsely. That’s how my cheating ex kicked things off. If only I’d known.”
Francine shakes her head disgustedly in solidarity with Kelsey, then she turns to me. “So you’re gonna do it right back at him. What are you gonna say?”
“I don’t have it worked out. But I have some ideas. I want it to feel spontaneous.”