The Boyfriend Designer - Christopher Harlan Page 0,2
after that—it’s the opposite of us. Cormac didn’t know what to do with the boner he had the minute he laid eyes on you. He couldn’t just jump on you right then and there in your pitch meeting, so he just went little boy and shat all over your book instead.”
“Huh,” she says, scratching her forehead. “Interesting theory—and bonus points for getting the word ‘shat’ into a sentence. That takes some real skill.”
“I’m a woman of many talents, Tor, you know this.”
“That’s exactly my point, Shosh, you’re selling yourself short. My fans love you. Every time we have a signing or an appearance, you always have a crowd gathered around you almost as big as mine. They love you. And I looked the other night because I was curious—all of my top ten most viewed videos have you in them. That’s not a coincidence, that’s you.”
Wow. I actually didn’t know that. And it’s even sweeter that she spent time looking at something like that when she’s got a million things going on at once. “I didn’t realize. And here I was thinking that I’m all Stinking Bishop.”
“Excuse me?”
“Stinking Bishop is a British cheese, I’ll have you know—it’s considered one of the smelliest in the world. Some say the smelliest, but I’m not sure how you actually measure the stink level of cheese scientifically. I don’t think I want to know.”
“Of course you would know that.”
“I know a lot of things, Tor. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m not Stinking Bishop, after all. Maybe I’m more like. . . like a mild Swiss. Takes a few bites, but, once you get a taste for it, it becomes one of your favorite cheeses.”
Tori starts laughing hard. “I swear, only you could take a discussion about popularity and social media and make it into a giant metaphor about palatable cheese. That alone is why you need your own channel. Trust me, I know these things.”
My sarcasm goes away for a second when I realize that she’s serious. Not only that she’s serious, but that she really believes in me and what I can do. I trust her like I trust no one else in this world, and she’s literally one of the most successful social media personalities out there.
“Not a podcast, right?”
“No,” she confirms. “Not a podcast—I think you need the visual of you saying the things you say to make them even funnier.”
“Are you trying to say that I have crazy face?”
“Oh, almost every time we talk. So most of the time, yes.”
“I didn’t realize. And, in this case, you’re saying that crazy face. . .”
“Is a good thing. And it’s not crazy, it’s just funny some of the expressions you manage to generate in that whacky brain of yours sometimes.”
“I’m special, I know. But back to what we were talking about—you really think I could be in front of the camera on my own? Like, for real for real?”
The smile that was on Tori’s face changes from joking to sweet, and I already know what she’s about to say. “For real, for real. You’re amazing, and it’s time you went from my background vocalist to dropping your own album.”
“I like that you’re speaking in metaphors, by the way, it’s very authorly of you. And you’re the best, you know that?”
“I’m not the best, I’m just your best friend. That’s enough for me.” I start to imagine myself in front of a camera and my palms start to sweat. I’ve always been Tori’s support—her best friend and editor—but now I’m imagining myself being the star of my own channel. What if I suck, which I most likely will? What if I get all trolls in my comments section calling me fat and ugly? What if. . . “And I have an idea,” she says, interrupting my anxiety, “if you’re down.”
“Girl, I’m always down. That’s literally my last name. Shoshana Down.” I hear it as soon as it leaves my mouth. “I probably shouldn’t say corny stuff like that when I start my channel, huh?”
“I insist that you don’t. Don’t try to be funny, just be yourself, that’s enough to make people laugh. “
If Tori wasn’t being so sweet to me, this would be the perfect time to launch into my Joe Pesci from Goodfellas impersonation—How am I funny, Henry? Funny how? I uncharacteristically restrain myself—I don’t want to ruin a nice gesture.
“Okay, tell me your idea,” I tell her.
“How about we announce it right now?” I think my heart exploded in