It seems like Mercury is always in retrograde these days.
But Katie is a reminder that even though it had gotten bad the last year or so between Jeremy and me, there had been some good there too.
“You gave it your best shot,” she’d told me. “But you were up against the stars.”
That was her way of saying our astrological signs weren’t compatible. I didn’t believe it, not really, but I did take some comfort in the belief that someone else thought the end of my marriage was inevitable in some way. That it wasn’t my fault.
Say yes, she texts again as if she might not have been clear enough the first time.
I roll my eyes and put my phone away.
There are several things she could be referring to, but it’s probably in regard to the email I’d gotten from my agent after accepting this assignment.
She wants me to pitch another collection of essays. My editor wants to buy one. I know they’re both thinking that this article would be the centerpiece of that theoretical book.
I keep telling them to wait.
I don’t know what I’m asking them to wait for.
They’re both thrilled I’m doing this interview. Everyone involved is looking to capture the same lightning in a bottle that happened the first time—when my article about Gabe made him a believable Bond and me a marketable name.
I don’t want to be ungrateful, but I also know that the main reason I got my first book deal was because I was that writer. The one that didn’t sleep with Gabe Parker （or did sleep with him, depending on what part of the internet you visit）。
It’s not exactly what I want to be known for.
But I don’t really have a choice.
I step out of the bathroom and head to the patio.
Ten years ago, it was a sunny winter day. Today is overcast.
It’s a good day for writing—for holing up inside with a cup of tea and working until your eyes are bleary and you’ve missed dinner.
I wrap my cardigan around me, second-guessing my outfit. I know that for the most part, I look the same. The changes are small—my jeans aren’t as tight; my eyesight isn’t as good. There are some witchy whites threaded through my hair, which is bang-less and has been for years.
I wonder what Gabe will think of it—of me—now.
I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t care. I wish this was like the other celebrity profiles I do these days—where I don’t worry what the person thinks of me. Where I don’t wonder what they remember about that weekend. About that night in New York. About that phone call.
I wish I didn’t keep wondering what if?
Of course, I know what Gabe looks like now. I did my research. Technically, I never stopped doing my research, but it was nice to tell myself I had an excuse to look up pictures of him.
The last time he’d been photographed was a few months ago when he was filming The Philadelphia Story. He’d been clean-cut and groomed in a dreamy 1940s-modern mash-up reminiscent of his predecessor, Cary Grant. He’d looked good, his jawline still razor-sharp with just the right amount of salt peppered through his dark hair.
There are a few people scattered about, but that famous jawline is nowhere to be seen.
My heart is fluttering at the base of my throat, and I hate how nervous I am.
Does Gabe feel the way that I do—the way I wish I didn’t—as if those three days ten years ago have been suspended in time? Perfectly frozen like a mosquito in amber.
I’m about to head inside, when I feel a hand on my elbow.
I turn, already knowing it’s him.
“Chani,” Gabe says.
He has a beard now.
But he still knows how to say my name.
Tell Me Something I Don’t Know
Reviews
Horowitz’s much-anticipated collection gathers some of her best works—including, of course, the infamous Gabe Parker interview—and includes some new pieces. Her writing sparkles with humor and wit. Reading it, you’ll feel like you’re talking to your best friend—if your best friend was the type of person who snuck out of the newest James Bond’s house in the middle of the night.
—Broad Sheets Fans of Horowitz’s profiles will love Tell Me Something I Don’t Know. A fizzy, lighthearted read, it’s the perfect book to toss into your beach bag. You’ll tan while you giggle at her best hits—her Gabe Parker profile is of course the star of the collection—and grin at the new additions.
—Publishers Weekly Tell Me Something I Don’t Know is a bubble bath in a book—soothing and calming, the perfect balm for the end of a long day. The collection revolves around her viral hit, “Gabe Parker: Shaken, Not Stirred,” and readers will wince again with embarrassment as she recounts how she blew her once-in-a-lifetime chance with the Bond star after attending a house party of his and passing out in his guest room.