When Polly Met Olly

by Zoe May

  She’s standing in the corner of the store, laughing loudly, sipping champagne while chatting to an older man with a distinctive grey quiff and large thick-framed glasses. Sensing my gaze, she turns to look my way. The moment her eyes land on me, the amusement falls off her face. She says something to the man, excusing herself, before striding towards me in her pointy Louboutin’s.

  ‘Polly,’ she says uneasily, giving me a questioning look.

  ‘Hi Alicia. How are you? The cookbook’s looking great.’ I gesture towards the table.

  ‘Thanks!’ Alicia laughs awkwardly.

  ‘Great resolution,’ I comment.

  Alicia smiles uncomfortably. A second’s painful silence passes between us.

  ‘So, erm, what happened? Did my invite get lost in the post?’ I ask with a nervous giggle.

  ‘Oh…’ She squirms. ‘I asked my assistant to send you an invite. She must have forgotten to.’

  ‘Uh-huh. I mean, I thought I would be invited seeing as I took the photos. There are quite a lot of people here.’ I gesture around the room.

  Alicia nods awkwardly.

  ‘I messaged you a few times. Did you not get them?’

  ‘Erm…’ Alicia’s mumbles, glancing nervously away, as though looking for some kind of conversational get-out. Normally when I’m watching someone squirm, I’d back off, but I keep thinking of my conversation with Eve. She wouldn’t take this rubbish. She would assert her worth. She’d set the standard for the behaviour she will and will not accept from others.

  ‘Did your assistant forget to reply to those messages as well?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  Alicia’s cheeks flush. She takes a hungry sip of her wine and avoids my gaze. Even though making people uncomfortable has never been my bag, I have to admit, I’m enjoying this. It feels incredibly strange to stand up for myself, but also pretty good.

  ‘I’ve been really busy, Polly,’ Alicia tells me.

  I can’t help rolling my eyes. ‘So have I, Alicia. I started a new job last week, but I still found the time to edit all your photos and reply to your emails. I’ve been so excited about this book. I worked hard because I wanted to see your vision become a reality and to be part of this, so it’s just been a bit hurtful to have ended up feeling left out. Especially since it doesn’t seem like you or your assistant were too busy to invite everyone else. Is it just that I’m not enough of an influencer to get an invite?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s not that, it’s just… Sorry, Polly,’ Alicia grumbles, looking suitably sheepish.

  The apology is welcome, but it still doesn’t feel like quite enough. I’m not at all happy with the way she’s handled this but I’m not going to push it, especially not in the middle of a party.

  ‘Looks like the pictures came out well at least,’ I comment, flicking through the copy of the cookbook I’m holding. The photos do look great, they’re printed in high definition on good quality gloss paper and they jump off the page. The lighting is perfect, the detail’s sharp, and the way the images are arranged with the text looks really classy and professional. It’s impressive.

  ‘Yes, they did.’ Alicia smiles uneasily again and glances awkwardly around the room. I get that I made her feel uncomfortable before, but can’t she just relax now? I’m admiring the photos, I’m not attacking her.

  I flick through the book back to the first few pages, where the copyright information is listed. I do a quick scan, looking out for my name. I spot Alicia’s name – of course – it’s in huge letters, with her company information alongside the address of the publisher, but I can’t see mine.

  ‘Oh, where’s my credit?’ I ask in a tremulous voice as I nervously flick through the next few pages.

  Alicia reaches for the book and tries to take it from me. ‘Let’s go and get a drink,’ she suggests, looking nervously towards the bar.

  I eye her warily. My heart beating a little faster. ‘Alicia, where’s my credit?’

  ‘Erm…’ She takes the book and scans the first few pages. ‘It should be there,’ she croaks, flicking back and forth through the first few pages.

  ‘Should be there? Should?’ I balk.

  ‘Yeah!’ Alicia insists as she flicks through the pages again. ‘Is it not? How odd.’

  My stomach lurches. I thought not being invited to the launch party was bad enough, but has Alicia deliberately not included my credit? Is this why I wasn’t invited?

  ‘Are you serious, Alicia? Did your assistant forget to add that too?’ I ask, my stomach fizzing with anxiety.

  ‘I don’t know… Umm, I’m not sure… I don’t know what happened…’ Alicia mumbles, looking away.

  ‘I did those photos in good faith, Alicia. For free. You promised you’d give me a credit. That was our deal!’ I cry out, exasperated. A few other guests look around.

  Alicia takes a step closer to me. ‘Can you keep your voice down, Polly?’ she whispers.

  ‘No!’ I step away from her, my frustration bubbling over. ‘Do you not want your guests to realise that you stole my images? Do you know how hard it is being a freelance photographer trying to make a name for yourself? Scraping by, living in a crappy apartment, surviving on cheap dumplings from Chinatown while taking on photography jobs for free just to build a portfolio?’

  Alicia regards me blankly; of course, she can’t relate. She’s a rich girl who’s had everything handed to her on a plate.

  ‘Do you know how hard it is to try to build yourself up from nothing?’ I ask. Something hot falls down my cheek and suddenly I realise I’m crying. I flick the tear away, how utterly embarrassing. ‘I did those photos just for the credit – just for the credit! – and you couldn’t even give me that.’

  Alicia’s face flushes pink. She glances awkwardly at her guests who I realise are all now watching us. She looks completely mortified. Speechless.

  I flip the cooking book over in my hands and check out the label. It’s a staggering $39.99, which is practically my entire food budget for a week. ‘Wow,’ I utter.

  A large tough-looking man dressed in black comes over and grips my elbow. ‘Can I see your invite, miss?’ he asks.

  I look at Alicia, astonished. She must have summoned him over while I was checking out the price sticker on the back of the book. She glances away.

  ‘I took the photos for this book,’ I tell the security guard.

  ‘I’m sorry, this is a private party,’ he tells me. I look him up and down, noting his heavy frame and the bulging muscles under his tight black shirt. Only someone like Alicia would hire security for a book launch.

  The fizzing anxious feeling in my stomach is growing stronger and I’m aware of other guests watching me. So much for asserting myself and not letting other people make me feel inferior, I’ve never felt so inferior in my life.

  ‘It’s okay, I’m leaving.’ I place the cookbook back on the pile and avoid eye contact with Alicia, the security guard, and all the other guests as I hurry out of the bookshop. My eyes are flooding with hot angry tears and I can’t face the humiliation of everyone seeing me break down. I step outside onto the street, where a few people, oblivious to the drama inside, are enjoying a cigarette. Finally, I blink, and the tears fall. I let them flow as I hurry away from the party, feeling two inches tall.

  I’m never going to make it. Ever. It doesn’t matter how hard I try. Or how many nights I stay up late editing pictures, or how many unpaid, crummy jobs I do, nothing ever seems to work out. I’m just a lost cause. My photography dreams are a non-starter. My university sold me a dream that was never going to materialise. I’m a failure. The tears flow down my cheeks as I walk back to the subway. I’m aware that a few passers-by are looking at me, but I don’t care. I’m nothing to them. I’m just another crazy New Yorker with a drama that is of no consequence to their lives at all. Why should they be bothered about me? My tears are nothing to anyone.

  ‘Polly?’ I hear a man’s voice say.

  I look over – my eyes bleary – to see none other tha
n Brandon stepping out of a cab. For once, he’s not wearing a suit. He’s dressed down in jeans and a thick cable knit sweater and a long dark coat. He looks every inch the wholesome catalogue model. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands, flicking the tears away. Great. Just great. Not only have I just had one of the most awful and humiliating moments of my life, but now I have to run into the top client of To the Moon & Back, not to mention one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen, while being an absolute emotional wreck. Can this night get any worse?

  I force a weak smile. ‘Hi Brandon.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Brandon asks, his face etched with concern. ‘I was just driving past and I saw you and…’ He takes a step out of the cab, leaving the door open. The engine rumbles.

  ‘It’s fine. Honestly, don’t worry.’

  Brandon comes closer, giving me a kind tender, look. His eyes are filled with what looks like genuine concern, although I don’t trust my own judgement anymore. I thought Alicia was genuinely going to give me a writing credit and I was wrong about that. What do I know?

  ‘Talk to me, Polly,’ Brandon says, placing his hand on my shoulder. The touch is so foreign that it makes me flinch. It’s been ages since I had any kind of physical contact beyond hand-shaking.

  ‘Sorry,’ Brandon says, letting his hand fall away. He looks embarrassed, as though he’s been inappropriate.

  ‘It’s okay.’ I meet his eyes, and the expression in them really does look like kindness. ‘I’ve had a rough night and I didn’t expect to see you, that’s all,’ I tell him.

  ‘I know. I can see you’ve had a bad time. Want to talk about it?’ Brandon asks.

  I glance towards the cab. The engine’s still running, the door wide open.

  ‘Don’t you need to be somewhere?’ I ask.

  ‘Not really.’ Brandon shrugs. ‘I was just heading home from the airport but I’m not in any rush. Come on.’ He gestures towards the back seat of the cab. ‘Sit down for a minute and you can tell me what’s happened.’

  I hesitate. If this were any other man, I probably wouldn’t just hop into the back of a cab with them, but it’s Brandon. Gorgeous, sexy, charming Brandon.

  ‘Really?’ I search his eyes, questioning why he’d want me to pour my heart out to him after a long flight, but all I see is kindness and empathy. Perhaps he’s just a really nice person, perhaps he actually cares.

  ‘Of course.’ Brandon gestures towards the backseat.

  ‘Okay.’ I smile, before taking a step forward and clambering into the cab.

  Chapter 15

  ‘So, what’s up?’ Brandon asks as we drive away. He looks genuinely interested, and yet I’m aware of the fact that he’s just flown all the way back from Switzerland and my cookbook issues are probably the last thing he needs to hear about.

  ‘Are you sure you want to hear it? Don’t you need to be getting home?’ I ask before sniffling. My nose is still dripping from my crying fit.

  Brandon shrugs. ‘It’s okay.’ He asks his driver for some tissues and he retrieves a small pack from the glove compartment.

  ‘Here.’ He hands them to me and I take them. I tear the packet open and blow my nose, a little self-consciously since blowing my nose is the last thing I want to do in front of Brandon. He looks so handsome. The amber streetlights are glowing through the cab window accentuating the shadows and contours of his chiselled cheekbones and straight nose. He seems almost statuesque in the sepia light and I can’t help cringing at the thought of how I must look right now, with mascara tears streaking my cheeks.

  ‘Thanks.’ I finish blowing my nose and place the bundled-up tissue on my lap.

  ‘It’s okay. So, what happened?’

  ‘If you really want to know I can tell you, but what about your cab? Aren’t you heading home?’ I ask.

  ‘No, it’s fine. We can cruise around.’

  ‘Really?’ The idea of just cruising around in a cab is a foreign concept to me. Being in a cab is pretty much a foreign concept in itself. The last time I used one was a novelty when I first moved to New York but since then, I’ve just taken the subway everywhere. Cabs are too pricey and the idea of casually cruising around in one is so strange to me. But I guess the fare is probably spare change to Brandon, even if we cruise around all evening.

  ‘It’s totally fine,’ Brandon insists. He really doesn’t look bothered at all.

  ‘Okay.’ I smile, before telling him everything. From how I first found Alicia on Instagram to what just happened at the party, including a scene-by-scene account of everything from Alicia’s face when she saw me to the security guard gripping my arm. It feels good to offload. Brandon’s a good listener and makes sympathetic noises in all the right places. And it’s strangely relaxing to just cruise through the city in no rush for anything, observing life beyond the window, close and yet distant.

  ‘That’s awful,’ Brandon sympathises.

  ‘I know.’ I glance down, feeling glum.

  ‘What she’s done is completely illegal. She’s stolen your copyright,’ Brandon says.

  ‘I know. It sucks.’

  ‘Yeah, it does suck.’ Brandon sighs, looking genuinely sad for me. ‘But the good news is, I can help you.’

  I frown, wondering what he means. Does he have another pack of tissues stashed away or something?

  ‘How?’

  Brandon’s face breaks into a smile. ‘I’m a lawyer, Polly. I don’t specialise in copyright law, but this is a simple, clear-cut case. I’ll send her a copyright infringement notice tomorrow morning. She’ll have to recall all the books printed and reprint them with your copyright.’

  ‘Seriously?’ I gawp. I knew Brandon was a lawyer, but he specialises in tax. It had never occurred to me that he could flex some legal muscle.

  ‘Definitely,’ Brandon answers affirmatively, as though it’s nothing, even though what he’s offering is huge. Huge! Brandon works at one of the leading law firms in Wall Street. God knows how much his fees would cost. Probably thousands. Alicia would never in a million years expect someone like me to be able to afford the services of a firm like Statten & Jones. She won’t know what’s hit her.

  ‘Really? That would be absolutely incredible,’ I croak. I can barely believe Brandon would do something so completely selfless. It’s such a helpful gesture, and I feel myself welling up again. I dab my eyes with my tissue and let out a pathetic little sob.

  ‘Polly, really. I want to help. What she’s done to you is wrong and you don’t deserve to be treated like this. I can see you’ve been trying hard and you’ve been up against it. If there’s anything I can do to help, of course I will.’

  I dab my eyes again. ‘Thanks Brandon. That means a lot. It really does.’

  ‘I can see that.’ Brandon smiles kindly and places his hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze. I don’t feel the electric impulse of attraction that I’ve felt from his touch before, but it still feels good to be comforted by Brandon. He’s more than just sexy, he’s kind too. He’s the full package: successful, competent and compassionate.

  ‘It’s like you’re just waving a magic legal wand and making everything better,’ I joke.

  Brandon laughs. ‘The fairy godmother of the legal world. I’ll take it.’ He grins. ‘Anyway, it’s the least I can do seeing as I hear you’ve found me a date. I’ll be your fairy godmother seeing as you’ve been my Cupid.’

  I smile. ‘Derek told you about Eve?’

  ‘Yeah, he emailed me last night. He said you’d managed to find me the perfect match,’ Brandon enthuses. He looks so optimistic and it’s incredibly bittersweet. I’m so glad I’ve managed to find him someone as cool as Eve, but his happy, eager expression is just another reminder that I’m not remotely on his romantic radar. If I thought Brandon might have started warming to me – my plight perhaps igniting an alpha need to protect, a spark of sorts – then I was clearly wrong.

  ‘I have indeed. She’s awesome.’

  ‘Tell me about her.’

  ‘Of
course. I’ll show you her too.’ I rummage in my bag for my phone, find Eve’s Tinder profile and present it to Brandon. I watch his face as he scrolls through her pictures with a strange curious feeling, that’s part excited anticipation and part dread. I want him to be impressed with my matchmaking skills and I want to feel the professional pride of having finally found someone for one of the agency’s pickiest clients, but I also don’t want to lose him. If Eve really is his type, then there’s absolutely no hope for me. Brandon’s silent as he clicks through her pictures, his face unreadable.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ Brandon says, in a sincere tone. ‘Really beautiful.’

  I smile, but it’s a little forced. My heart has sunk a bit too.

  ‘Is she real? She looks too good to be true.’ Brandon pauses on the photo of Eve on the sofa, looking cute with her side plait and oversized woolly jumper. In his cable knit, with their model good looks, they’d really go well together. It’s impossible to deny. ‘She went to NYU. Works at J. C. Fisher. She seems really impressive,’ Brandon notes. There’s hesitation in his voice and I can tell he’s feeling sceptical.

  ‘I think she’s genuine. Obviously, you can’t be 100 per cent sure until you actually meet the person in the flesh but I found her online,’ I tell him, trying to ignore the cynical words of Gabe replaying in my mind that professional profiles can be faked just as easily as dating profiles.

  Brandon nods pensively. ‘And you’ve been chatting to her?’

  ‘Oh yeah! Loads. She’s awesome. Seriously, she’s way more than just a pretty face. She’s got a lot to say for herself. She’s so smart, so sensitive. She’s witty and philosophical. I’ve loved chatting to her. I’m going to miss her!’