I watched Stacy’s expression as she realized I was, actually, quite relevant. “Oh my God, of course that was you! I loved that project! I knew I recognized you from somewhere. We must take a photo. Hayley, could you?” She tossed her phone to her publicist and smooshed her face against mine. Awkwardness reigned my body as I tried to pose in a way that didn’t make me look as if I was trying to get down with the youth. I was highly aware of my eye wrinkles compared to Stacy’s smoothly made-up face. One of her many “youth privileges,” like being able to shop at boohoo without looking like mutton, and her instant understanding of TikTok, the gender spectrum, and which brand of oat milk was morally questionable that week. The phone clicked, and Stacy grabbed it back, zooming in on her own face before pocketing it.

“It’s great to meet you too,” I gushed. “I loved the book.”

This was the toll I’d found you must always pay in the publishing industry. You must first lie that you’d read the book the whole way through, and then you lie about having loved it.

Stacy accepted my payment, smiled, and offered up an equally inauthentic response. “Oh, really? Thank you. That means so much coming from you, Fern.”

Me, a woman who needed formal identification less than two minutes ago.

We grinned inanely at one another, our cheeks aching.

“Do you have a few minutes to go through the event?” I asked. “My questions?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Do you mind if we didn’t? I feel like I lose my flow if I know what’s coming up. You know?”

“Oh... Of course.”

Hayley the publicist appeared at my side, while Stacy sat down again and disappeared through the portal of her phone screen. “Stacy’s just so comfortable in front of her followers that it all flows really easily,” she reassured me.

“Of course.”

“Honestly, just let Stacy be Stacy, and it will be amazing.”

“Of course.”

Of course, the event was the train wreck I knew it was going to be from the moment I’d read her book. Not that anyone else, a) noticed the train wreck, or b) minded it. At least my reputation, and Gah!’s, didn’t appear to be harmed by it. In fact, as Stacy had so kindly tagged me into her socials afterward, I was privy to the hundreds of her fans crying and shaking at the beautiful energy of the inspirational evening. It was the easiest money I’d made in a long while. After we’d been miked up, we emerged in front of hundreds of cheering faces, and, as chair, I had to ask only one question to fill the forty minutes. “So, tell me, Stacy, what led you to write this book?”