Page 9

Shaken, Not Stirred

The Chrysalis bar is packed to nearly bursting.

“Right this way,” the ma?tre d’ says, and Marsh tries to ignore the looks of envy on the faces of the patrons behind the red velvet rope as she’s led straight through, toward the private seating along the glass overhang balcony. She gapes at the opulence, trying not to think about her and Dylan’s disappointing night here.

As Marsh moves deeper into the bar, the lights grow invitingly dim, and the delicate jazz from the band playing inside mixes with the rumble of laughter and tinkle of crystal. Everything is glittering, adorned with either delicate string lights, candles, or chandeliers, the bar mimicking its view of the nighttime city far below.

“You made it,” Jo exclaims as the ma?tre d’ stops and does a little bow. “I was beginning to wonder if I was drinking alone tonight.”

“Never,” Marsh says. Another waiter is already there before Marsh is even fully settled, holding a cocktail she must order often.

“Cheers, darling,” Jo replies, and they clink glasses.

Their two-person table is the best in the entire bar, with a view out over both the western and southern sides of Phoenix, and Marsh can’t help but stare at the desert landscape as she takes a sip. The cocktail is so smooth, it goes down like water.

“This place is gorgeous,” she murmurs, once she puts her glass down.

Jo quirks an eyebrow. “That’s why we always come here. It’s been your favorite place for years.”

“Of course,” Marsh replies. “Just admiring.”

In this new life, going to Chrysalis on a regular basis is not only something Marsh and Jo do, but something they nearly take for granted at this point.

“Do you have that blush I like so much with you?” Jo asks her as she touches up her lipstick.

Marsh opens her designer clutch to see, and blinks at the packets of condoms inside. She’s now the kind of woman who’s so potentially open to an adventure at any possible moment, she carries her own condoms around. Everywhere, all the time.

The wrappers even match her purse. She wants to laugh at that.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jo says. “You should dust some on your cheeks, too.”

“It’s just a little strange,” Marsh admits. “So different from being married.”

That’s the wrong thing to say— different version, different life —but the words are out before she can stop them.

“Married?” Jo repeats, baffled. “That was a lifetime ago. A blip. Only good thing that came of it was Harper.”

“I know,” Marsh agrees, trying to imagine what that would actually feel like.

She takes another drink, and tries not to let Jo see her thumb slide gently over the bare skin where her wedding ring would have been. It shouldn’t even matter—that ring isn’t there in Marsh’s original life anymore, either. But still, it’s strange to think that now, it hasn’t been there since Harper was an infant. Her whole life, Harper grew up with both Dylan and Marsh. In this one, she’s never known them together at all.

“Sometimes, I just wonder...”

Jo snorts. “Who wants a white picket fence when you could have a corner office?” she asks, and this time, Marsh can’t see a glimmer of the secret yearning that she knows is always there, beneath Jo’s constantly buzzing exterior.

Outside the Bubble, she and Jo have always had what the other’s missing, and missing what the other has. No woman wants a part-time wife, Jo would sigh, each time she had to recount yet another painful breakup to Marsh. And no law firm wants a part-time lawyer, Marsh would reply as she listened, while rocking Harper to sleep on her chest. But now, it seems that Jo is wholly satisfied by her career, and really doesn’t wish she could find a long-term partner.

Marsh doesn’t know if she likes that the show has changed that about her best friend or not. It certainly makes things simpler for Jo, but life can’t be only about one’s career.

Can it?

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to call Harper real quick,” Marsh blurts out then.

Jo looks surprised. “Why?” she asks.

Why?

That’s an odd reaction.

“What do you mean, why?” Marsh asks. “Because she’s my daughter.”

“She’ll be back in town in another month or so, when the trimester ends,” Jo replies. “You can see her then.”

“When the what ends?” Marsh repeats, confused.

“I know, I don’t know why they do it that way in LA. They think it makes them sound fancy,” Jo says, but Marsh gasps.

Harper is going to high school in Los Angeles now?

That’s six hours away from Phoenix by car!

What just happened, over that last episode break? Marsh wants to cry.

“Dylan never would have agreed to something like that,” she says, before she can stop herself.

“Dylan knows how much the violin means to her. And he really has no say in anything when you’re the one footing the bill.” Jo laughs. “Besides, she’s at his place whenever school is out, so he sees her plenty.”

Marsh nearly buries her face in her hands, miserable.

It sounds like Harper is now enrolled at a music conservatory, which is good news—except that this conservatory is in another state. And worse, when she is home, she doesn’t even live with her mother?

“Come on. Let’s get another round,” Jo says.

“I’m going to call Harper first,” Marsh insists.

“Just text her. She’ll reply at some point, I’m sure.” Jo shrugs.

At some point.

Marsh takes a deep breath and tries to stay calm.

Jo has to be wrong about this. She has to be. She’s Marsh’s best friend, and still is in this reality, but she’s also different. Sharper, tougher. Maybe so is this version of Marsh, but never where Harper is concerned. She never would let that happen. Ever.

“One call,” Marsh says. “Also, that brunette by the crystal fountain is staring at you.”

Jo’s eyes flash. She casts a subtle glance across the bar, where her eyes land on a curvy woman with a blunt bob, cute freckles, and a killer tight dress. Her type, at least, is one thing consistent across realities.

“On second thought, maybe do call.” Jo winks. “I’ll be right back.”

As Jo prances off to flirt, Marsh dials Harper. She waits for her daughter to pick up, but the call goes to voicemail. She leaves a message saying that she was just thinking about her and wants to say, I love you .

She waits five minutes, but Harper doesn’t call back.

Hmmm.

Marsh sends a text message to the same effect, and asks Harper to shoot her back a quick reply so she knows that she received it.

She waits another five minutes, staring at her phone’s screen. The little check mark goes from gray to blue—Harper has read the text.

Five more minutes later, she still hasn’t replied.

At last, Marsh puts the phone back in her purse, lips tight.

She chose this path because she’s always dreamed of being a lawyer, but also because of Harper. Because she’s the best thing in Marsh’s life. Because she wants to give her everything.

And she has, in a way. She’s an ambitious, accomplished role model for her daughter, and she can afford to send her to a music conservatory, where she can pursue her own dreams. But instead of bringing them closer, this choice seems like it’s pulled her daughter even further away.

“Well, well, well,” a voice says.

Marsh turns around to see Adrian standing there. Again.

“Fancy running into you here. Celebrating your big win?” he asks.

It’s the same man, but she can’t tell if he’s still flirting with her like he was at the office yet. Is this a continuation, or a reset?

“I am,” Marsh allows, playing it safe. “And you?”

“Drinking away my sorrows.” He shrugs. “There are worse places to do it. And also, worse lawyers to lose to,” he adds roguishly.

Adrian must not be a colleague, but rather her competition, now, Marsh realizes. The opposing lawyer for the big case she just won.

“Nothing personal,” she says, as blithely as possible. “Just doing my job.”

Adrian nods. “Well, I’m glad for the chance to finally talk to you. I’ve been trying to catch your eye for years from across the courtroom, you know. Ever since the first day you joined Mendoza-Montalvo and Hall.”

Marsh snorts privately. She can’t help it.

“Really. Ever since the first day?” she replies, incredulous.

This Adrian doesn’t know it, but outside the show, where Marsh has been a paralegal at their firm for decades, he’s never spoken to her even once.

He sighs, but as if he’s pleased, not disappointed. “But that’s the problem with people like us.”

“... Lawyers?” Marsh guesses.

“Hungry.” Adrian grins. “Neither one of us was willing to be the one to slow down for just a second, not until we got to the top.”

“The view is good way up here, I have to say,” she says.

Adrian chuckles. “I gather you’ll be moving into the office next to Jo’s now, after this win.”

He takes a sip of his cocktail.

“I hear that desk is... very sturdy.”

Marsh chokes on her drink.

Adrian laughs. “I meant because of all the case files you’ll have sitting there waiting for you. What did you think I was insinuating?”

Marsh tries to come up with a clever retort, but Adrian is even more handsome in this episode, if that’s even possible, and she can’t think. His cologne is intoxicating, a subtle poison.

Adrian steps closer, and Marsh’s heart skips a beat.

“Next time we’re up against each other, I won’t make it so easy,” he purrs.

“Well, I look forward to it,” she finally manages. “What fun is life without a rival?”

“Agreed. But who says rivals can’t also be friends?” Adrian winks.

Marsh swallows and tries to bat her lashes. Is this how a powerful, sexy person seduces someone? Does she look alluring, or like she has something in her eye?

“I can drink to that,” Marsh finally replies, and Adrian’s grin grows wider.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, disappearing toward the bar. He doesn’t even ask Marsh what she drinks. He probably already knows.

Marsh casts about for a slightly more private section of the balcony, where she can practice this new sex vixen identity without too many people overhearing her bumbling attempts, and as she does, her eyes land on a familiar face.

Talia is at one of the tables nearby.

“Look at you!” she squeals at Marsh as she slides into the open seat, touching Marsh’s stylishly coiffed hair and running a finger admiringly along the hem of her apricot-colored blazer like the fabric must cost a million bucks. “Gorgeous. Who’s the designer? I’ve got to get myself one.”

“Oh, stop,” Marsh says, but she’s flattered. By the end of her season, Talia Cruz looked like a totally different person. She’d been cute before, but at the finale, her wardrobe had become a whole fashion show in and of itself. But it wasn’t just her stylists—it was also her confidence, Marsh knows, and sits up straighter. The clothes do feel better this way. As if tailored to encourage power poses.

She has to admit, she could get used to this part, at least.

“So, now that you’ve been here a little longer, how’s it going?” Talia prompts. “Is your career everything you dreamed it would be?”

“I’m definitely a... high flyer,” Marsh replies. “But...”

“But what?” Talia waggles her eyebrows. “I saw Adrian around here a moment ago. You’re not still thinking about your old ex, are you?”

Marsh shakes her head. “Harper.”

Talia grows more serious. “Something’s wrong with Harper?”

“No, she’s great, I think,” she says. “But that’s the problem! Apparently, I hardly even know her in this life. She goes to a music conservatory in California, and then when she’s back here, she lives with Dylan! I work so much, then party with Jo every night, and I barely see her. I just...” Marsh snorts, disgusted. “It sounds like I just pay for everything, and that’s it.”

“You have a very important job,” Talia says comfortingly. “And it’s enabling Harper to pursue her dreams.”

“I know,” Marsh says. “But I just thought... I just thought all of this might have brought Harper and me closer, too.” She sighs. “I did want to be professionally fulfilled, and I love that Harper can attend a music school now, but I also want to be a good mother to her. I can’t do that if we’re practically strangers! I mean, how often do I even see her, in this life? Like four times a year?”

“Marsh,” Talia coos.

She frowns. “Maybe I gave up too much by choosing this path.”

“There are a million reasons why Harper could be hard to get ahold of, other than that you’re not close,” Talia suggests. “It’s late in the evening already, for one. Or she might be studying for an exam, or preparing for an upcoming concert.”

Marsh tries to believe. But she can’t shake the way that Jo said what she did when she wanted to call her daughter. Not like Harper was busy right now, but like she’s busy all the time. Because they aren’t close.

“Just give it a little time,” Talia is saying.

Marsh frowns. “I already have.”

Talia watches her for a moment, and then reaches into the huge leather satchel beside her.

The Show Bible thumps heavily as she sets it down on the cocktail table.

“Look, things might not feel perfect right now, but the longer you stay here and make choices, the more data we’ll have, and the better final outcome we’ll be able to achieve for you,” Talia says. “By the end of the season, we’re going to have so much to work with, it’ll be a cakewalk. Even better than the incredible one Mendoza-Montalvo and Hall just made for the party in your honor!”

Marsh watches the pages whiz by, wondering what’s on each one. It’s larger than it was in the first episode. Much larger. Talia has taken so many notes. How can she possibly have written so much, let alone actually use it all?

“Plus,” Talia continues with a wink, “it’s already so late. Wouldn’t it be better to just have a little fun tonight, and then get more serious in the morning?”

Marsh glances up at that, just in time to see Jo near the exit of the bar. One hand is on the waist of the woman she’d been flirting with, and the other is giving Marsh a smug wave goodbye.

“She’s going to have a good night tonight,” Talia says.

She leans in.

“Maybe this episode isn’t perfect, but maybe it is exactly what you need, for once,” Talia suggests. “To get out of your head a little, to just have some fun instead of always trying to do the right thing. Don’t you deserve it?”

“There you are,” Adrian says then, his timing exquisite. He’s back with two drinks, and an expectant smile on his face.

Marsh stares at her cocktail.

Adrian has brought her the drink she ordered the night she came here with Dylan.

“You don’t like the Chrysalis Twist?” he asks.

“Chrysalis Twist?” she asks.

“The name of the drink. It’s their signature cocktail. One sip and you’re supposed to leave your old life behind, they say.”

Leave your old life behind.

The words were meant flirtatiously, but here and now, inside the All This and More Bubble, they seem a little too on the nose.

What’s going on, exactly?

Why does that word, Chrysalis , keep following her?

Marsh casts about for an excuse not to take a sip. “Adrian. This is, uh...” she starts, trying to come up with some kind of plausible backstory for why she’s friends with Talia.

But everyone at Chrysalis is powerful and famous, including Marsh, now. Adrian likely doesn’t think it’s strange at all that she’s sitting with a celebrity like Talia Cruz.

“A friend,” she settles on at last.

“A friend who’s stayed out far past her bedtime,” Talia replies, sliding off her stool, the Show Bible tucked under her arm.

She gives Marsh’s shoulder a squeeze as she passes, and Marsh just barely catches the words under her breath.

“Let go, have fun, for once. There are always more episodes. Remember, you could have All This...”

“ And More, ” Marsh returns quietly, as Adrian smiles and her heart begins to nervously quicken.

Tourn3sol: Elle ne le fera pas

BenzinhoGatinho: Sim, ela fará isso

YanYan242: Come on, have some faith in Marsh!

Adrian tips his head politely as Talia leaves, and then looks back at Marsh—Talia, the giant binder in her grip, and the drinks already utterly forgotten.

“So,” he asks. “Your place or mine?”