“It’s very interesting,” he said, handing the iPhone back to her.
“I know,” she said. “My friends are always saying big things are going to happen to me.”
“What kinds of big things?” Philip asked, noting her smooth, unblemished skin. Her presence was turning him into an idiot, he thought.
“I don’t know,” she said, thinking how different Philip Oakland was from anyone she’d ever met. He was like a real person, but better, because he was a celebrity. She sat back down on the couch. “I know I should know, because I’m twenty-two, but I don’t.”
“You’re a baby,” Philip said. “You have your whole life ahead of you.”
She dismissed this by blowing a small puff of air through her lips. “Everyone always says that, but it isn’t true. These days you have to make it right away. Or you get left behind.”
“Really?” Philip asked.
“Oh yes,” she said, nodding her lovely head. “Things have changed. If you want something, a million other people want it as well.” She paused, holding out her sandaled foot and cocking her head to admire her black toenail polish. “But it doesn’t bother me. I’m very competitive. I like to win. And I usually do.”
Aha, Philip thought, suddenly inspired. This was what his character was missing in Bridesmaids Revisited. This unbridled confidence of youth.
“So what is this job?” she asked. “What do I have to do? I won’t have to pick up your dry cleaning or anything like that, will I?”
“Worse, I’m afraid,” Philip said. “I’ll expect you to do some research for me—but I’ll also want you to be an assistant. When I’m on a conference call, you’ll be on the other line and will take notes. If I make handwritten notes on a manuscript, you’ll retype it. I’ll expect you to read every draft before it goes out, checking for typos and continuity. And occasionally, I’ll use you as a sounding board.”
“Meaning?” Lola asked, tilting her head.
“For instance,” Philip said, “I’m working on a screenplay now called Bridesmaids Revisited. I’m wondering how obsessed a twenty-two-year-old woman would be with her wedding.”
“Haven’t you ever seen Bridezillas?” Lola asked, flabbergasted.
“What’s that?” Philip said.
“Ohmigod,” Lola said, warming up to this discussion about reality shows, which was one of her favorite topics. “It’s about these women who are totally obsessed with their weddings, to the point where they literally go crazy.”
Philip tapped his pen. “But why?” he asked. “What’s the big deal about getting married?”
“Every girl wants to get married now. And they want to do it while they’re young.”
“I thought they wanted to have careers and take over the world by thirty.”
“That was older Gen Y,” Lola said. “All the girls I know want to get married and have kids right away. They don’t want to end up like their mothers.”
“What’s wrong with their mothers?”
“They’re unhappy,” Lola said. “Girls my age won’t put up with unhappiness.”
Philip felt an urgency to get back to work. He unfolded his legs from the desk and stood up.
“Is that it?” she said.
“That’s it,” he said.
She picked up her bag, a gray snakeskin pouch that was so large Philip guessed it must have been made from the entire skin of a boa constrictor. “Do I have the job?” she asked.
“Why don’t we both think about it and talk tomorrow,” Philip said.
She looked crushed. “Don’t you like me?” she asked.
He opened the door. “I do like you,” he said. “I like you very much. That’s the problem.”
When she was gone, he stepped out onto his terrace. His vista was south. A chunky, modern medieval landscape of gray-blues and terra cottas lay before him. Just below was Washington Square Park, a patch of green populated with tiny people going about their business.