“True,” she says, moving to the bed and perching on the edge. “We’ve been busy on the Webflix show.”
“And we have to do that. And I want to do that.” I pace to the window, fiddle with my glasses and slip them back on. “But I also think we need to keep doing our own thing. Even if it’s hard. Even if it takes a ton of time.” I meet her eyes, desperation chasing my thoughts, my plans. “We can’t depend on someone else.”
“I wasn’t doing that,” she says a little defensively.
“I wasn’t saying you were,” I point out. “But it’s just . . . we can only trust ourselves, you know?”
“I do.”
“We’re the only ones who’ll have our backs. We were already ticking up before Webflix called. We just need to keep that trajectory, keep the same pace. What do you think?”
I implore her, hoping like hell she’ll agree. She’s always been a go-getter and always wanted this future. Still, I’m tense as I wait four, five, six seconds.
Then, she smiles. “When do we get rolling again?”
I stab the air. “Right now. And I know just the place to do it.”
She lifts a brow and points her makeup brush at me. “No offense, but you’re kind of smelly and gross. Maybe shower first.”
“Brains and beauty,” I say, holding my arms out wide.
She pinches her nose. “And brutal honesty,” she calls as I leave to wash off the run and make myself presentable.
Three hours later, we’re sampling kale chips that are so good, so crunchy, the chef must be a wizard. How else could he make these vegan, low-cal treats taste like decadent junk food?
Don’t even get me started on the kale fries.
“These fries are a nine,” I announce after I taste one.
Emerson goes still with shock, then gradually unfreezes. “The man can bend, evidently,” she says.
I just smirk. “When something’s this good, it deserves a nine.”
“I give them a nine point five,” she says, showing me up, as she does.
And I love it.
It feels good.
We find a coffee shop to buckle down afterward, and she edits while I chit-chat with fans on social media, just like we used to.
This feels just right.
But it also feels like I’m running a race to get the girl at the finish line, only I won’t ever win.
The next afternoon, as we’re leaving for an evening Webflix shoot, we run into Dot and Bette outside the hotel. Dot is laughing—probably at something her bestie said—and her cheeks are streaked with red, green, and yellow paint. Her hair too. Bette is also decorated in splotches.
When they spot us, both ladies wave with bright eyes and big smiles. Damn, they are friendship goals.
“Hey, cuties,” Bette says and opens her arms like she’s going to hug us, then she steps back. “Oops. I’m covered in paint. Today was make pies and paintball,” she says, like that makes sense.
Emerson raises a finger. “Your show is now pies and paintball?” Leave it to my friend to go straight to the obvious question.
Dot shrugs happily and adjusts her blonde hair, tucking errant strands into a bandana. “It’s our new shtick, apparently. We make food and tour New York. Tomorrow, we’re flipping burgers at a trendy diner and taking a helicopter over the Big Apple.”
That’s kind of a cool concept. “So, you’re like New York tour guides for food and fun,” I say, adding up the pieces.
“And then Miami and DC and so on. It’s a little wild,” Dot says, clearly jazzed at the new direction for their show. “We’ve always wanted to travel like this, so it’s super fun, as my Evelyn would say.”
“And we love it. One hundred percent,” Bette adds. “Also an Evelyn saying.”
Evelyn pops up out of nowhere; that’s her schtick. She grabs Dot’s arm and tugs her toward the entrance. “We have that meeting in thirty minutes. You need to get out of your paintball clothes and into something—”
“Yes, yes. Dressy and on-brand. I know, sweets, I know,” she says.
Evelyn nods to the hotel entrance. “We should get ready.”
But the message is shut up.
Fine, fine. I get it. We’re competitors now, but clearly, Webflix is making changes to both our shows.
As Emerson and I grab the train to our next stop, she gives me her big-eyed look. “Well?”
I roll my eyes. “Go ahead. Play detective. I won’t stop you.”
“But you won’t play along?” She frowns as the subway rattles downtown, taking us to Tribeca.
“I won’t. Because we just don’t know.”
“But they just might get the slot,” she says. “Their show is like Golden Girls on tour. Everyone loves The Golden Girls. That’s a fact.”
“True, true.”
“And they’re getting so much more bling and fanfare from Webflix,” she points out. “Even more so than Max Vespertine and the Wine Dude and the Drive-Thru Babe. But Max totally appeals to the Bourdain crowd, and Drive-Thru Babe is perfect for twenty-somethings, and the Wine Dude has the whole real guy vibe. They’re all so good in their own way.”