Chapter Thirty-Six

Julia

ONE MONTH LATER

It's been a dream of mine to have a space in the Arts District in downtown LA ever since I started working on Rodeo Drive at Love, Always. Most people would argue that reaching Rodeo Drive is a better life goal, but Angelenos know what's up. The Arts District is where innovators set up shop, and all kinds of people from all walks of life flock.

I check my phone to see if Zoe has replied to my text, but she hasn't. Probably driving. She is a stickler for the no texting and driving rule, and I am respecting her boundary about it.

I'm still at the beginning of my six-month noncompete clause after resigning from Love, Always on mostly amicable terms. My boss tried to keep me on by dangling carrots she hoped I'd chase. Three more weeks of vacation time. A forty-five percent pay increase. A title change that allows you to have first pick of clients. The job security and the money were hard to let go of, but I'm getting pretty good at relinquishing control. Not expert level yet, but learning fast.

The first thing I did when I got back from the desert was hand in my resignation.

The second thing I did was immediately donate half my wardrobe to charity, including the green Versace I wore to Millie's wedding. Piper's gift to me, now tainted not only with her touch, but also with the scent of that night's painful memories. It was a purge of more than just my work wardrobe and other morbidly meaningful items, and it's taken me a while to come to any kind of equilibrium with how this new, less buttoned-up Julia Kelley wants to look.

Today, for instance, I've paired some moto boots with belted pin-striped slacks and an old Fleetwood Mac t-shirt that used to be my stepmom's but was stolen by me one Christmas in college. It shrunk, and I cropped it, then added a fitted leather jacket since it's a little nippy in LA today. December usually is, and it's been uncharacteristically rainy already. No white Christmas is likely, but a wet one seems guaranteed.

I haven't minded the gloom. It's suited my mood a lot better.

The third thing I did when I got back to LA was send out emails to Piper's editors, letting them know about her behavior and threatening to expose it. The very real implied threat that the information would be used against her discouraged them from continuing to hire her. No one wants that kind of bad press. Not even the press.

I know it's vindictive as fuck, but it's also well-earned. My own "Vigilante Shit," and I believe Taylor would be pleased to know the day I hit send on those emails, I drew my cat eyes sharp enough to kill a man.

Or, in this case, a woman.

Millie, Coco, and Natalie made a group text that included me and was largely dedicated to keeping tabs on Piper. I think she most recently published an article in the Martha's Vineyard periodical all about their annual regatta gala. How the mighty have fallen.

The only thing I haven't done since I got back to LA—even though every day I consider taking the leap—is DM Kit.

I never got her phone number before she left the desert, and in the weeks since then she's been mostly MIA from all her social media accounts. The one exception was a post she made a couple days after she left Millie's wedding. It loaded on all her accounts and was just a simple text image saying she was taking a break from content creation. She gave no indication of when she would be back, and did not address the still heavily shared and commented-on viral video of us dancing.

For a few weeks, I gained new followers as her fans figured out who I was and came over to my Instagram to lurk. Many have since unfollowed me for lack of Mystic Maven sightings, but a hefty number remain and even engage with my content.

"Warmer, warmer." I hear Coco's voice from behind me. She's talking about my clothes. She's become a sounding board for my aesthetic evolution, weighing in on how to strike a balance between personal style and professional branding.

She dangles a set of keys in front of my face when I turn around.

I won't launch my agency for a few more months, but the space in which I will do the launching is still up in the air.

"My friend Hugo owns the space and he's not technically showing it for another month, but if you want to get it premarket price, he's willing to listen." The group text, aptly named Desert Bitches (by Coco, of course), also yielded some leads on studio spaces all over the city, but this is the first one in budget and in my ideal area.

My phone starts to buzz. Zoe.

"We're waiting," I say when I answer.

"I'm walking over from the parking garage now," Zoe says, out of breath. "Do not leave me behind." I hang up without confirmation.

Zoe won't quit Love, Always until a month before we launch, but I'm already paying her a small hourly rate to help facilitate all our pregaming. My hope is that by the end of Q2 I can make her salaried and give her a more fitting title than "assistant to the director."

"Did I tell you that Jenni is dating one of the dudes from Selling Sunset ?"

"There are dudes on that show?" I quip.

She raises her brows. "Exactly."

"So you've officially given up then?" I ask. She doesn't reply to that, but I really hope—for both of their sakes—that she has. I don't know what kind of person would make Coco genuinely happy, but Jenni isn't the person.

"Jesus, she's going to get hit by a car." Coco completes her sidestep of my inquiry, focusing instead on watching Zoe dodge a Tesla in the pedestrian walkway.

Zoe has not developed chill even though she now no longer questions her value to me.

She whips an iPad out of her bag and illuminates it before shoving her sunglasses up to hold her hair back. They strain against the pressure.

"Okay, I have our specs for the studio space, so we can compare with this one." Zoe looks up to see we're both staring. "I'm here, let's go."

Coco chuckles as she opens the door, letting us into a tight stairwell with a large, bright window at the top. The stairs take us up to the studio, an open loft with windows on three sides. It's a blank canvas except for the functional and attractively designed kitchenette and bathroom. The lack of other walls or décor is both a pro (absolute freedom) and con (there's nothing existing to build off). I walk the floor as Zoe takes some measurements, dutifully inputting them into the iPad.

I step up to the window, taking in the view of the row of dining and shops on the street below. If I get this place, I'll have to live and work out of it. My budget does not allow for a separate apartment and my lease is up next month. My parents have agreed to house some of my furniture and extra belongings until I can get a more permanent living space.

"What do you think?" Coco asks. "Knee-jerk reactions only."

"I want it," I reply. "But you know Zoe won't swing for it if she thinks it's too small."

"It's massive," Coco replies. "You could roller-skate in here. Set up a dance floor and boogie." Coco does a disco jig to demonstrate.

My stomach twists.

The last time I danced was with Kit at Millie's wedding. My jaw clenches, but Coco doesn't seem to notice the tender spot she's inadvertently pushed on.

"Oh shit!" Zoe exclaims from the other side of the loft.

"Please tell me that's a good oh shit ," I say, even though it sounds more like the disastrous kind.

Zoe looks like a kid who got her finger caught in the cookie jar. Not promising. She approaches, iPad out in front of her, and I can tell by her twitchy expression that she is about to launch into an overexplanation.

"What I'm about to tell you might piss you off," she says. Coco guffaws. "So bear that in mind and confirm you want to risk it but will not hold me accountable."

"Zoe, this, right here, is freaking me out," I reply. She blinks and stutters to a stop, waiting for me to respond to her request. "Okay, yes, I confirm."

She turns the iPad around to show us the screen. She has YouTube pulled up and the Mystic Maven main page open. It doesn't register with me for a second that the reason she's showing me this screen is because Kit has uploaded a new video.

"After she announced her hiatus, I set up alerts for new video postings in case she came back. I know you've been playing it cool since the wedding, but we can all tell you are hurting."

I can't feel my legs. I look to Coco, who is nodding in agreement. I can't breathe.

"This just hit my inbox." She walks closer so that I can easily read the title.

"Choose Your Own Way to Come Out," a play on her popular video series Choose Your Own Tarot Adventure . It's a little over four minutes long.

"Julia," Zoe says. "Say something."

The thumbnail image is her face, with a tastefully designed background in the colors of the bi flag. Her hair is tipped with fresh pink, her makeup is minimal.

"Play it," I breathe.

Zoe taps the button in the center of the video and we all huddle around to watch.