Girl Before a Mirror (27 page)

“It's the what?”

“Remember?” I ask, not wanting to open old wounds.

“Oh no . . . right. The lightbulb story.”

“I need to be able to let him change the lightbulb,” I say, my head falling into my hands at the mere thought of such horrific things.

“You're not going to g—”

“No. Oh God no. It's a metaphor. Can you imagine? Me swanning into Mallory Consulting and just . . . yes, hello. Lincoln? I'm here to use your bathroom,” I say, hysterically laughing.

Sasha is wheezing laughing.

“Smell it!
Love me!
” I laugh.

“Oh my God.” Sasha laughs. “I . . . I can't breathe.” It feels so good to laugh. She pounds the little table between us and snorts, whipping her head back and cackling some more.

The Just Be campaign is a phenomenon.

It's not only put Lumineux Shower Gel onto shopping lists and into grocery carts around the nation, but the campaign itself has gone viral. And not just within the ad world. Women are posting it to their social media profiles and the tagline has become a call to arms. It's made people ask questions about their own lives in a way that transcends advertising or shower gel. It's become a movement.

I'm sitting on the Metro going to work and I see a woman take out her phone and snap a selfie in front of one of the Just Be placards. She's pointing at her hair—an amazing pixie cut, newly shorn. She looks happy. Proud. Excited. She did it. She finally cut her hair the way she's always wanted. I'm beaming at her as she looks at the picture and smiles. She's happy.

And this is not the first time I've seen something like this. Two women standing under a Just Be billboard with tickets to a Broadway show. A pack of teenage girls off on a great adventure caught taking a picture in front of a Just Be bus-shelter ad. But
my favorite of all these beautiful vignettes was when I was behind a woman in line at my local coffee shop. She was on the phone talking with her friend and from what I gleaned, she was unhappy with her job. The usual stuff. But then she said she'd seen these pottery classes at this little studio by where her daughter goes to school. She'd always wanted to learn. I smiled, trying not to act like I was eavesdropping. And then she said, “I mean, Just Be, right?” And it took everything I had not to lunge into her for a hug right there.

It's become the subject of morning talk shows, and Lumineux has even come out with T-shirts—all done in that same simple, modern font with the words
Just Be
on them. It's been described as the antidote to all the airbrushed models in string bikinis eating cheeseburgers in front of luxury cars that women are bombarded with daily. Lumineux isn't about shaming women; it's following Helen Brubaker's lead and actually respecting them. Lumineux stands alone in its message among the long-legged models stepping off yachts and happy perfect homemakers dancing with their mops as their children carelessly track mud through their home.

Lumineux is our crowning glory, and Sasha and I are riding high in the days and weeks after the campaign explodes. There is no downside; even Audrey being on our “team” can't dampen our spirits. Charlton had to admit that Lumineux is an unadulterated success—women's product or not. He even put Lumineux on the website. Which means we are now officially “important.”

Michael and I went down to Virginia to watch Ferdie get his sixty-day chip last week, and it was just as emotional and hopeful and wrenching as the last meeting. Watching Ferdie come back to life is nothing short of miraculous. We told Ferdie we
were putting the Shakespeare book club on hold until he could rejoin us. He thanked us and then joked that he thought he was going to get out of reading
Hamlet
.

A knock on my office door. Sasha.

“So what is it you're going to be again?” she asks, settling into one of the client chairs in my office. Every year Holloway/Greene has a huge Halloween party instead of a holiday party. Of course, I think it's because Charlton would rather see his female staff in their slutty Halloween finest rather than bundled up in their holiday best, but that's just me being cynical. Ish.

“It's a surprise,” I say.

“Okay, then I'm not telling you mine, either,” Sasha says.

“But you're dying to tell me yours,” I say.

“Totally,” she says.

“Did you see that whole thing
The View
did on Just Be?” I ask, turning my computer around for her to see.

“Yeah, it was good, right?”

“Really good,” I say, turning the computer back around.

“Oh, good, you're both here.” Chuck ambles into my office, plopping down in the other client chair. Sasha situates herself farther away from him. He doesn't notice. “So, you both are coming to the party tonight, right?”

“Of course,” I say. Chuck looks at Sasha and she nods yes.

“Good,” he says, slapping his legs before standing. “Good.” He walks out of the office without another word. Sasha and I stare at each other.

“Do you think—”

“It's got to be Quincy, right?” I ask.

“Clios haven't been announced . . . and even then Lumineux can't be nominated in this go-round anyway,” Sasha says.

“Right,” I say.

“It's gotta be Quincy,” Sasha says.

“I don't want to get my hopes up, you know? But Audrey—”

“I know. I don't know,” Sasha says. A smile. A squeal. She stands and rushes back behind my desk, holding her arms out. “We're hugging now. Come on!” I stand up and we hug. Of course, I'm still wary, but I let the moment whisk me away, even as Sasha starts hopping up and down—while still hugging me—to the words “Quin-CY! Quin-CY! Quin-CY!”

We finally break apart and she chants her way out of the office. Sasha twirls around in the doorway and struts to her office, hiding two middle fingers behind her back.

As I focus back on the work at hand, I don't think about fairness or messiness or getting my hopes up or what I think I deserve.

I just feel proud.

That proud feeling takes a bit of a beating later that night when I hail a cab dressed as Princess Leia, cinnamon buns and all. I try to hide the iconic white sheath with a trench coat, but then I just look like Princess Leia: Private Eye. And it doesn't help when some smart-ass chooses to yell, “Why don't you just use the force!” as I stand out in front of my apartment, hand in the air as the cab slows down just in front of me. And maybe I could have been classier than to tell him I wish he'd fall into the sarlacc pit. Which makes for an awkward beginning with the poor cabbie who just wants to know where he is taking me this fine evening, to which I joke, “Well, clearly not Alderaan.”

Silence.

I clear my throat and give the cabbie the address of the restaurant in Georgetown. I pay the fare, finding myself in a gorgeous
restaurant that's been completely taken over by Holloway/Greene's Halloween party.

The music is loud and people are on the dance floor already. A moment as I remember the parties at RomanceCon and how great their dance floors were. A smile as I think maybe I'll just join in later. Who knows? Candles and floral centerpieces dot the outlying tables, and the costumes . . . oh, the costumes. There are Ghostbusters and a Captain America and Pink Ladies and police officers and nerds and ninjas, and I'm half expecting spotlights to illuminate banners just overhead as I pick my way through the crowds. As I make my way through the party, everyone just laughs and points, telling me my costume is awesome and to help them, Obi-Wan Kenobi, he's their only hope. I smile and laugh back. This party is already better than however many of the ones I've endured since I've been at Holloway/Greene.

“Wyatt!” Charlton says, appearing with a flute of champagne and what looks like maybe someone's babysitter on his arm this evening. “I didn't know we'd be having royalty attend our little soiree this evening.” Charlton bows and I give him a regal nod. Charlton and I are on much better terms now that Lumineux is a success. He hails a waiter, takes another flute of champagne from the tray, and hands it to me. I thank him. I take in his costume and it's the bloody bare feet that give it away.

“John McClane,” I say.

“Yippee-ki-yay, moth—”

“And you've said that . . . a thousand times tonight already?”

“‘Come out to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs,' ” he says, jostling his child bride in the process. She smiles.

“You have no idea what that's from, right?” I ask.

“What what's from?” she asks. I look at Charlton and he just shrugs.

“And you're a . . . ,” I ask.

“A nurse,” she says.

“My kind of nurse,” Charlton says, tugging on the poor girl's pleather nurse outfit that barely covers anything.

“Anna Wyatt,” I say, extending a hand to the girl.

“Kayla,” she says, taking my hand in a half shake, half maybe going to kiss my hand, and then we're just clutching each other's fingers for a few awkward seconds. I smile and pull my hand back, taking a sip of my champagne as I scan the room for Sasha.

“You looking for Sasha?” Charlton asks.

“Yeah,” I say, always shocked that a man so tone-deaf is actually remarkably perceptive.

“She's over by the bar,” Charlton says. I thank him, say my farewells to Kayla, and walk toward the bar, seeing Audrey dressed as Cleopatra. Of course. She gives me a royal nod and I wave back. I squeeze through the crowd and oh, is that your sword, and finally I'm at the bar and see Sasha.

Wonder Woman.

“Hey!” I say, approaching her.

“Hey!” she says, twirling around. “What do you think?” I hug her, saying that it's amazing. That's right. It's just Princess Leia and Wonder Woman hanging around a bar in late October.

And then we just stand there. Smiling and basking. I think we're both still stunned at the success of the Lumineux campaign.

“Lantz got booked by that outerwear company,” Sasha says. “It's the whole—” And both of us mime “beard” at the same time.

“Did he really?” I ask.

“Yeah, that's what he said,” Sasha says.

“Did he now,” I say, sipping a poached glass of champagne.

“Just because I'm on Time-Out doesn't mean I can't plan ahead,” Sasha says with a wink.

“Indeed,” I say, smiling.

“And if he's the right guy? He'll be there a year from now,” Sasha says.

“He'd be lucky to have you,” I say. Sasha smiles, undoes her golden lasso, and says, “I can see if you're telling the truth, you know.” I laugh and it takes her upward of twenty minutes to get the lasso back to how it was. “Did you get the invite yet?” Sasha changes the subject.

“To Jake's perfect wedding? Of course,” I say.

“They're bringing him in for a soap opera next week,” she says.

“Oh my God, he'd be perfect for that,” I say.

“And then he wouldn't have to leave his beloved New York,” she says.

“Right?” I laugh.

“I saw that Josh booked a movie. This is going to be so huge for him,” Sasha says. I nod. Happy. I'm happy.

“Is this thing on?” We all turn to face Charlton as he hops up on what looks like a little stage for karaoke. The spotlight finds him and he momentarily shields his eyes. “This costume was awesome until I realized I had to use the public toilet with no shoes on.” Everyone laughs.

“What's Chuck dressed as?” I whisper to Sasha. She fixes her gaze on her ex-flame. Then . . . confusion.

“Is it . . .”

“It's some Internet meme thing. No one gets it,” a guy dressed as Inspector Gadget says.

“That's awesome,” I say, pointing to his costume.

“This, everyone gets,” he says. We laugh.

I situate myself next to Sasha and she takes my hand and gives it a good squeeze. I look over at her and we smile. We did it.

“Happy Halloween, people of Holloway/Greene,” Charlton says. “Before we get too drunk, I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight. It's been quite a year for our agency and it's going to get even better.” Sasha gives our joined hands a wiggle and I settle in even closer to her. “Tonight, we're starting a new tradition. It seemed more than fitting after the year we've had to mark the performances of a select few with a bit of an extra bonus.” Chuck brings up two trophies and two pink envelopes. He stands just behind Charlton as he continues speaking. Sasha starts squirming.

“I know,” I whisper. “It's going to be okay.” She nods and nods and nods, but I can see her face tensing as we both take in the two trophies, which are not the Quincy campaign. Charlton is droning on about other campaigns and this and that. “This doesn't mean we didn't get Quincy. Those might not even be our trophies.”

“The pink envelopes?” Sasha's voice cracks as she points to the ridiculous pink envelopes.

“I know,” I say, trying to stay ahead of my emotions. It's not going well. I scan the room and find Audrey. She . . . she has no idea what's going on, either. Clearly.

“But tonight is about announcements and our brand-new Employee of the Year Award. It should come as no surprise to
anyone here who this year's recipients are. The masterminds behind the monster Lumineux campaign, Anna Wyatt and Sasha Merchant! Come on up!” The crowd applauds and Charlton takes a swig of his beer as Sasha and I walk up to the little stage, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. “Leia. Wonder Woman.” Chuck hands us each a trophy. Each trophy is topped with a businessman carrying a briefcase. “They didn't have ladies. Funny, right?” Chuck whispers. Hilarious. “And this nice little bonus should let you know the depth of our admiration.” Chuck hands us the two pink envelopes. Sasha begins to open hers and when she sees that I am not opening mine, she clears her throat and smooths the tear over. “Thank you again, ladies. And let's all say it together.” And the entire room intones:
“Just Be.”
The crowd applauds as Sasha and I nod and thank Charlton before tucking ourselves back into the bar next to Inspector Gadget. I open up the pink envelope and, wow, the zeroes just keep going and going on what looks like a bonus check from the partners of Holloway/Greene. Sasha tucks the stupid businessman trophy under her arm and opens her own pink envelope. A huge smile.

Of course, this all makes me very nervous. Charlton continues.

“What Anna and Sasha accomplished with the Lumineux campaign was beyond anything we could have imagined here at Holloway/Greene. But more than anything else? Quincy Pharmaceuticals has finally taken notice.”

The crowd goes wild. Sasha and I freeze.