Chapter 22

22

S ol still couldn't piece together the whole thing —or believe her good fortune. Was her fate reverting to luck once again?

She'd woken up that morning convinced that she was about to have one final, idle self-care day that would be pretty similar to the previous one: delicious, slow-paced breakfast on the terrace, walk around one of her favorite neighborhoods, unhurried exquisite lunch, late afternoon date with friends over berenar and light conversation, perhaps another walk after that, and some window shopping to ensure she was still on top of all the latest fashion trends… All that before she really started figuring out some sort of freelancing work.

But other than the relaxed breakfast, it looked like she might have to forget about pretty much everything else on her tight schedule for the day which—up until that moment—had the right amount of leisure time in it.

After a delectable croissant from L'Atelier and tea brewed to perfection, she had checked her email, hoping her finance guru would have good news for her and confirm that her being unemployed would mean lower taxes that year. Also that her parents had been grossly exaggerating and she wasn't technically that broke or anything.

She wasn't sure when she'd become such a clichéd midlife embodiment, but there was no point in denying that she was indeed preoccupied to an obsessive degree with income, career development, and the unavoidable but still somewhat delayable aging process.

But she'd found something else in her inbox, other than the lack of news from her money guru. Something unexpected.

Conceit Fair 's executive film and TV editor Fionna Bennett had sent her an email commissioning Sol to do an interview for the magazine as a contributor.

The subject of the interview would be the longtime Hollywood producer and director Richard Fynn, who was promoting the long-awaited sequel to his 2010 science-fiction box office success, Revengers Reunite . Fionna explained that their longtime Los Angeles correspondent had fallen ill after a too-demanding awards season, and Sol came highly recommended by Miquel Oriol.

Sol called Miquel after replying to Fionna and accepting the assignment.

"Bon dia, guapa," he answered the phone.

He was one of the only people she knew, other than both her parents, who still invariably picked up the phone and preferred a conversation to any nonsensical and infinite amount of back-and-forth texting. And she appreciated it.

"Tell me how the executive film and TV editor at Conceit Fair has not only my email address, but she's also asked me to do a big interview for them even though we've never met?" she asked.

"Fionna contacted you?" Miquel sounded even cheerier than usual.

"Yes. She needs me to do a last-minute interview in Los Angeles in a couple of days. Apparently, their correspondent is sick and they've tried other regular contributors but no one is available. And then she remembered you'd told her about me. How do you know her?" Sol was happy that there was enough trust and friendship between herself and Miquel that he would never feel offended by her directness.

He was also a journalist, but he'd made a career in music criticism in Barcelona. Sol couldn't quite comprehend how he'd come to meet a showbiz editor from an American publication.

"I met her a few years ago. The newspaper I was working for at the time was short-staffed, and they sent me to this boring junket in Paris for some big-budget fantasy TV show or other… I don't remember the name. It's probably long canceled by now," Miquel explained. "Fionna was another one of the journalists there covering the event. We started talking, she was planning a visit to Barcelona, I recommended a bunch of stuff, some music venues and shoe shops, you know…"

He had a talent for reading people and was much more of a connoisseur in all things Barcelona than she was. For one thing, he still lived there.

Every time Sol came back to the city, she made sure to ask him various questions. What new restaurants had opened that she needed to check out? What old institutions were in vogue again? What was the latest not-to-be-missed exhibition? So Sol could believe he'd probably offered Fionna insight on the best-hidden spots of the city tailored to the editor's liking.

"When she finally visited, I met her and her family and showed them around, and we've stayed in contact since," Miquel added.

"Meaning you always send her a prompt message for her birthday and during Christmas."

"I'm good at keeping in touch. You know that," Miquel said unpretentiously.

And he was. He was good at connecting with people in a casual way. But even if Sol knew the theory behind Miquel's modus operandi since he'd share it with her and anyone who'd listened many, many, many times, she could never emulate it. Networking didn't come organically to her, but it was second nature to him.

"So what, you sent her an email and told her your ex-wife was looking for a job?" asked Sol.

"I did contact her, and a few other editors I know, and sent them your contact info in case they needed an entertainment writer. I always referred to you as my longtime friend and fellow journalist. I assumed you'd prefer I leave the being married and divorced part out of it," Miquel said.

"You know I like keeping things strictly professional with editors."

She felt a bit guilty about her comment to Miquel, but she was grateful he still got her. She followed a keep-personal-details-to-the-bare-minimum-or-risk-being-seen-as-weak standard when it came to editors, and it had always worked for her in her career.

"But thank you. You're the best ex-husband and friend."

"Considering who your other ex-husband is, the bar was very low in terms of best for that one."

"I don't disagree," said Sol. "But still, thank you."

"Are you going to see him when you're in Los Angeles?" Miquel asked.

"Who?"

"Ex-husband number two: David Sparrow."

"Are you crazy! Why would I do that to myself?" Sol protested. She knew that made Miquel happy because even if they were no longer together and she'd married David after him, Sol only kept in touch with one of her former spouses.

They hung up after Sol promised Miquel she'd made sure to bring him his favorite organic dark-roasted coffee from Urth Caffé.

She had to hand it to him, Conceit Fair was the sort of big publication she'd been pursuing her whole career. They paid decently well. And she had gotten the assignment when she was least expecting it—and most needed a source of income.

But Miquel's words about meeting David in LA had sounded almost like a menacing possibility. Sol knew that in a city with a metropolitan area of over thirteen million inhabitants, the odds of running into someone unintentionally were zero to none. She just hoped probability would be on her side during her brief work assignment in her former place of residence.

The last thing she wanted was to accidentally see David.