The receptionist nods very slowly. “I see.” He punches in a number on his landline the old-fashioned way. No headsets. I can hear ringing two doors down. “Hi, Laverne. I have a Valentino Prince here to see you.” There’s a muffled voice. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay.” He hangs up. “Laverne will be out in a moment. You can have a seat if you’d like.”
I’m certain the three chairs against the wall are leftovers because they’re too lived-in for a new business. Orion and I sit anyway, and he pats my knee.
“This is so exciting,” he says.
“It is.”
“Wow, you sound so unexcited.”
“No, I am. I’m trying to contain myself.”
“Why?”
I lower my voice so the receptionist won’t overhear, even though he’s about eight feet away. “Whenever I pictured this moment, I told myself to play it cool because it’s cooler to be cool about something big. I want to be seen as professional and hirable again.”
Orion nods. “Okay, I get that, but . . . you know. Get hyped while you can.”
“What would I do without you?”
“Probably nothing,” Orion says with a smile that belongs on the wall with the other headshots.
A door opens, and out comes my agent, Laverne, an older white woman with gray streaks in her black hair. She’s wearing a simple periwinkle-blue sweater with jeans—very casual Saturday attire for a modeling agency.
“Valentino, Valentino. So wonderful to meet you in person,” she says as she pulls me into a hug.
“You too!” I say enthusiastically. “Thank you so much for taking a chance on me.”
“Oh, please. Your parents laid the foundation of your look and you built it up.”
I feel weird about giving my parents any credit given how they disowned me. But she’s not wrong. I have my father’s eyes and the shape of my mother’s face, nose, and lips. They can’t deny that I’m their son. Though I’m not going to give them credit on my build. It was all my hard work that got me to where I am today.
“Laverne, this is my friend Orion.”
“Beautiful name,” Laverne says as she stares at his hair. “And beautiful curls. Why are you hiding them under that hat?”
“It belonged to my dad,” Orion says.
“Are you a model too? I can easily find you work in a shampoo commercial.”
Orion shakes his head. “Not my thing, but thanks.” He squeezes my shoulder. “But this guy is ready to crush his photo shoot.”
Laverne looks puzzled. “Didn’t you get my voicemail?”
Am I about to find out I got fired? On my End Day?
“I lost my phone last night.”
“Ah. I hate to break it to you, but the photo shoot has to be postponed.”
“For how long? A few hours?”
“A bit longer. We need to find a new photographer.”
“What happened to William?”
Laverne takes a deep breath. “William was murdered last night in Times Square.”
I fall back into my seat, and Orion’s hand flies to his mouth. I feel transported back to Times Square. The gunshots . . . I never in a million years in a city of millions would’ve thought I’d know the person who died. Even peripherally.
I wonder if he was registered for Death-Cast.
“That’s horrible,” Orion says, turning to me, just like when we were at the hospital. “We were actually in Times Square last night.”