“Well, hello, hello,” I say to Gemma.

“Charlotte. So funny seeing you here.”

“Same to you. Well, I’m not sure how to put this, but I’m here for the boys,” I spew out.

“Me too. But happy to play along and go through the getting-to-know-you motions. So...what’s your last name, Charlotte?”

I smile at this more relaxed version of my uptight client before telling her, “It’s Rosen. You?”

“Sutherland. I’m born and raised in LA. How about yourself?”

“New York City. Brooklyn.”

“Really? I didn’t know that. And you’re not in show business obviously, so how’d you find yourself all the way in sunny SoCal?”

She’s right. Hollywood is what brings most everyone here and I’m not an exception, even though she thinks I am. I could skip over that part of my life, or I can try dabbling in something new: being honest about my past.

“Actually, I started my career in casting and craft services. That’s where I met my husband. I was married, but I’m a widow now. My husband was born and raised in LA like you. Went to USC, did the whole lacrosse thing. Anyway, after he died, I just ended up getting a job here that I really loved and decided to stick around ever since. I don’t think I could handle an East Coast winter again, to be honest,” I joke.

Yes, that whole exchange was clunky. But it felt amazing and empowering to just rattle the awkward truth off to a person I hardly know and who’s about to shift seats in three, two...

“And rotate!” says the moderator.

“What was your married name?” she asks. I know we need to change partners, but I like this follow-up question over the other possibilities, such as...how did he die? When did he die? etc.

“Austin.” I indulge her before she moves.

“Go around me,” Gemma says to the suitor who was supposed to take the seat in front of me next.

“Are you for real right now?” he says. “This isn’t how speed dating works, lady. You get one minute. It’s my turn with her now.”

She flicks her hand at him like she’s shooing away a fly. Clearly, she’s not budging, so he shakes his head and skips over a seat, leaving me forever wondering if the guy, a young Denzel Washington look-alike, could have been my soul mate.

“And begin!” shouts the stopwatch-wielding moderator from a distance.

“What are you doing, Gemma? You have to rotate.” I can’t believe I’m voluntarily policing this event.

“You look so different,” she says. “Your hair. It was blond back then.”

“Excuse me?”

“And short. Wasn’t it? It was a pixie cut, in that picture of you I saw five years ago.”

“Okay, you’re actually freaking me out right now. What are you even talking about?”

“Are you sure the name Gemma Sutherland doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“You’re a client of The Influencer Firm,” I announce matter-of-factly.

“That’s it?”

“You’re a valued client of The Influencer Firm? I don’t know what you want me to say right now, Gemma. But I really don’t want to get in trouble by the lady with the whistle, so could you please—”