Sizzle Reel by Carlyn Greenwald EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Author: Carlyn Greenwald
- Language: English
- Genre: Bisexual Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3 MB
- Price: Free
As I make my hour-long commute to work, I convince myself that the
reason it was mildly difficult to come out to my therapist is because she
looks like Rachel Brosnahan. Which, yeah, doesn’t make much sense
without context, and who’s to say my brain’s working at seven in the
fucking morning as I inch along the slog of Vermont Avenue, longing for
the respite of the equally-as-red stretch on Wilshire Boulevard? In fact, I
can confirm it is not. I’m not even really listening to the Bechdel Cast
podcast I clicked on an hour ago.
Facts: Beverly Hills is seven miles from my apartment. My therapist
looks exactly like Rachel Brosnahan. I’ve been officially identifying as
bisexual for four days.
Four days, and I’m already a bisexual disaster. Or, rather, I became a
bisexual disaster the moment I came out to Julia. Imagine for a moment the
bright lighting of a therapist’s office a block from the beach, with sun
spilling in from the east because some clown didn’t put the windows in the
office facing the beach. We’re doing a P.O.V. shot; Julia’s perfectly centered
horizontally but shifted up a little vertically to suggest her slight authority
over me, a slight authority we don’t talk about.
I’m bisexual, I say. Camera tight on me, Julia off camera.
That’s great! she replies. When did you figure it out?
I reply with: While watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.
We quick cut to Julia’s face and—
Even running the story through my head, my cheeks still go hot with the
memory. I knock my air-conditioning up a notch. Everything’s fine.
Coming out has been fine. The Julia–Rachel Brosnahan story is the kind of
shit my best friends, Romy and Wyatt, will lap up like, well, like stressedout Hollywood assistants lap up hard liquor after work. And yes, I can tell
them this specific story because they’re the next people I’m going to come
out to.
Just as I reach perfect homeostasis from the air-conditioning against the
sizzling heat of Los Angeles in June, I’m tapping my employee card against
the reader in the parking garage and locking away my freedom and sanity,
along with an emergency change of clothing. I take my daily last longing
look at my parked car, wishing I could crawl back to bed. But alas, I’m
twenty-four, nearly two years out of college, and a Working Professional. A
true old Gen Z with a let death take me aesthetic.
Slater Management is what Hollywood calls “boutique,” which really
just means we don’t have enough clients to take up a whole building. We
take up three levels: lobby/café/copy room, literary managers, talent
managers. We’re successful enough to have perks like a café but small
enough that I know the name of everyone I pass as I walk through the
floors.
I drop into my chair at eight fifty a.m., ten minutes before my boss,
Alice, will be in. Or expects to be in. She’s never on time. So, at the very
least, I’m given a few minutes to reassess the scene.
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