She pulls me away from a gaggle of makeup artists who are huddled over the latest issue of InStyle. “The client isn’t happy,” she whispers, the smell of her perfume so heavy it makes me cough.
I can’t use my gift of foresight to help me solve whatever the problem is because last time around, we didn’t have this photo shoot on a soundstage. Last time, Courtney had still been the lead on the Bright Below the Belt campaign and had convinced the client to shoot on Figueroa Street in downtown LA despite the fact that it was way over their budget and included getting a ton of permits to close down the very busy street. The idea was to have the male model walking in his neon underwear in a sea of businessmen in three-piece suits. The caption would read: The suit doesn’t make the man. It’s what’s underneath it that defines him. Which, of course, had a double entendre that was just the right amount of racy to capture a person’s attention. And the ad had been a huge hit with the focus groups we’d shown it to. But after Courtney was taken off the account, then subsequently left the company, the executives at Calvin Klein got nervous, calling a meeting with Magda and me to “restrategize” the shoot, the doubt in their eyes strong as I’d tried to convince them why they should spend the thousands of extra dollars Courtney had so easily convinced them to do just weeks before.
And so here we were on a boring soundstage and shockingly, the client wasn’t happy with any of the setups we’d pitched them. I sigh. Courtney would know how to fix this. But then again, we wouldn’t be in this mess if Courtney were here. I think back again to her hollow eyes as she sat in the passenger seat of my car, realizing our friendship was over. That the man she cared about had stepped away from her. She had doubled down and lost this time, the advantage of my hindsight too much for her to overcome. But hindsight was a curious thing—yes, you could make tweaks to your life, but if you did that, if you used it to right the wrongs, was it still your real life?
By the time I finally leave the photo shoot, my legs feel like they are filled with lead. I haul myself to the car and slouch down in my seat. It had taken every creative fiber in my body to finally come up with the idea, still playing off Courtney’s original plan but at a fraction of the cost. I could tell by the look in the executives’ eyes that they’d be finding another ad agency if I hadn’t. I’d pitched the idea that we set up a scene where our male model is having dinner with his beautiful date. She is fully clothed but he sits across from her in his underwear. The caption: We all know it’s not his clothes that make the lasting impression. It’s what’s below the belt that really matters. I had seen Magda blush when I’d played around with different caption ideas, each rolling off my tongue with ease. I simply smiled when Magda arched her eyebrow and squinted at me, happy that I’d handled the situation without Courtney.
My phone rings, startling me and I answer it when I see it’s an 808 area code. “Hey, Stella,” I say, forcing my voice to sound upbeat despite how tired I am.
“Hi,” she answers hesitantly. “You got a minute?”
“Of course,” I say brightly, leaning back and closing my eyes.
“Well, I got an email from Max.”
“Yeah? What did it say?” I try to imagine what he was adding to the list—a coconut stand or men dancing in loincloths?
“He said he wants to change everything back to the way it was originally planned,” she says, her voice low, as if she’s revealing a terrible secret to me.
“Really?” I ask, confused. Even though the thought of having my chocolate fountain and orchid centerpieces back on the wedding day made me smile, I also wondered, after all the effort I’d put into making the wedding more like what he wanted, why would he tell Stella to forget it?
“Change everything?”
“Everything,” she repeats.
“The linen pants?”
“Gone.”
“Pig?”
“Hasta la vista, baby.”
“Wow,” I say into the phone.
“You’re telling me,” Stella says, sighing loudly before adding, “Kate, don’t take this the wrong way, but you and Max really need to get on the same page here or I don’t know what you’re wedding day’s going to look like.”
Long after we’ve hung up, I think about Stella’s words, realizing I’m now not sure what it’s going to look like either.
CHAPTER TWENTY