My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [127]
Stacey stops me. “Ooh, is he dreamy in person?”
“Pfft, he was so dreamy that Fletch may have even considered switching teams.243 Fletch and I kind of chased after him to see if we could get a shot taken together. But Alec was in a rush and had to go but he wanted to make sure he wasn’t snubbing someone important by running off to his dinner. He looks at me—not rude or anything, just direct—and goes, ‘I’m sorry, who are you?’”
I run my hands through my newly extension-free hair and continue. “And somehow every single thing I’ve worked on for all these months totally flew out the window, and I looked him dead in the eye and said, ‘New York Times bestselling author, motherfucker.’”
Shame Rattle, Shame Rattle, Shame Rattle.
I sigh and continue. “I’m pretty sure he was so stunned, he held out his arm so we could pose for the picture together.”
Stacey grins and pats me on the shoulder. “So there’s that,” she says.
I nod. “So there’s that.”
EPILOGUE
Last Friday, Joanna and I attended a Stars of Lyric Opera performance in Millennium Park. Joanna stopped to buy us German food for our picnic dinner because she wanted me to give her culture’s cuisine another shot. And you know what? Sauerbraten is way better than expected, and live opera is everything I ever dreamed it might be. Just thinking of the performance still gives me goose bumps.
As for Fletch, he and I are loving our whole new, enhanced life together, and tonight we’re dining at Alinea.
Later we’ll eat scallops served on a pillow full of lavender air and a tiny, perfect chunk of Wagyu beef presented with an ironic A1 powder, but first we have to get past the osetra, also known as fish eggs.
Instead of serving his Black Sea caviar on a bed of ice with traditional toast points spread with butter, Chef Achatz has emulsified the buttery toast into chilled, fluffed foam and covered it with a sprinkling of the tiny black pearls.
Caviar has traditionally scared the bejesus out of me, and the few times I’ve been offered it, I immediately rehomed the horrible little bastards to the edge of my plate or the inside of my napkin. I remember once shaking my hand in revulsion as a black sturgeon egg clung to my index finger.
But today? Here? In this post-Jenaissance life?
I simply dive in.
Turns out I kind of love caviar.
Never saw that coming.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and always, my biggest thanks go out to my readers. Because of you I have a job where I don’t have to serve coffee anymore and that makes me incredibly happy. You guys rock and I’ll do my best to return the favor.
A million thanks to everyone at NAL—Kara Welsh, Claire Zion, Craig Burke, Melissa Broder, Sharon Gamboa, and the rest of the ass-kicking teams in editorial, sales, art, publicity, marketing, travel, and production. I sincerely thank you for everything you do; I know how hard you all work. (And, Kara C., I miss you!)
For Kate Garrick and the rest of the crew at DeFiore, thank you for keeping this ship afloat in the stormy sea of my own neurosis. (I’m not easy but it’s adorable that you all pretend I am.)
I need to thank my writer friends for all their support, particularly Danny Evans, Caprice Crane, Allison Winn Scotch, Karyn Bosnak, Tatiana Boncompagni, and Stephanie Klein. Thanks for being there! And many thanks to Melissa C. Morris—the world’s a more gracious place for having you in it.
I feel very lucky to have had this project bring me closer to some of my best friends in the world. Mad love and pink drinks to Joanna, Gina, Tracey, Angie, Carol, Wendy, Jen, Poppy, and Blackbird. Everything’s a party when you guys are around!
Big, huge thanks go to Stacey Ballis, who is not only a frigging encyclopedia of high culture, but also, like, the funnest person I know. (Yeah, I quoted Romy and Michelle. What of it?) I could not have done this with out you. Team Stennifer rules!
Many thanks to the folks at the East Hampton Library for letting me