ALPHA || TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

039

Several days later

After clocking out of work and heading to the back to grab my bag, I pull out my phone. The screen informs me I have a missed call from Timothée, and above it, a text that reads "call me!!!"

When I've made it outside, walking at a quickened speed on the sidewalk with the rest of the city folk around me, I hit "call," adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

"Marleyyyyy. I have some news," he says immediately after picking up.

"Is everything alright?"

"Listen, I just got out of a meeting with some of my management, and well, I figured something out."

"You figured something out?" My walking pace slows, causing someone to hurriedly push past me.

"Ever been to a film festival?"

"Have I — what are you talking about?"

"Surprise, you're coming to Festival de Cannes. It's in two weeks."

"I'm — Cannes?"

The Cannes Film Festival? In France? The idea is so large that I nearly feel my head vibrating.

I come to a sudden full stop, causing a man walking behind me to collide into my back. He curses and angrily walks around me. "Sorry," I offer after him, then make a quick run to the outer edge of the street. "Timmy," I say into the phone. "Cannes?"

"It'll be the time of your life. Say you'll come."

"Oh my god, well I—"

Like a checklist in my head, I'm thinking of all I'd need to arrange first. My passport is in my dresser drawer. And work. I know Rosie would let me take the days off this far in advance, so it would be fine.

But the internship. I have orientation tomorrow. I already know I'm mostly working from home, but how much work would there be? Would I be able to work ahead, would I miss an important meeting or deadline?

"My assistant found a flight and everything. First class. Five days. And you'll be staying at my rental flat right there in Cannes, right on the water. You'll come with me to the events and parties, and there will be plenty. So there, I think that's most of my pitch. Say you'll come."

"Timmy. Wow. I—" I stammer, trying to collect my thoughts — "okay, I know Rosie will let me take the days off, but the internship. That's my only concern. I don't know how it fits into the picture yet, and I won't find out until orientation tomorrow."

"Oh. Yeah, you're right," he says, using a mask of false enthusiasm to hide the disappointment I hear on his voice. "You're right. Hmm. Well, you know what? If this doesn't work, then that's totally fine, and we put it back on the table. We're not fucking with the internship."

I shut my eyes for a moment, my lips pressed together. "I really want to see you," I say through an exhale.

"And I really want to see you." He pauses. "I'm sorry I couldn't call yesterday, or the day before. Things have been picking up a bit, pre-production and everything."

"You're fine. I wasn't worried. I know you're busy and working."

I realize how hard I've been gripping the strap of my shoulder bag. And like some sort of metaphor or symbolism for at least something, I'm envisioning the two of us gripping each other's hands across the ocean that separates us. I'm starting to fear one of us losing our grip.

"I need to get going soon, I'm actually on my way to dinner."

"Okay."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too. Timmy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna go. I'm going to Cannes. I'll figure everything out. I'm going."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Marley?"

"Hm?"

"I see you in two weeks."

I let out a small squeal. "That's so soon. Just not soon enough."

"That means in two weeks, I going to kiss the shit out of you. And a whole lot of other things, too."

"Oh my god, aren't you around people right now?"

"Nah, It's just me and this Uber driver, he's totally fine. Hey, ever had phone sex? Because, um, it's already been three whole weeks and now I have to wait two more, and my hand can only do so much." His voice goes to a deep, raspy whisper. "Are you wearing underwear?"

"I'm fully clothed in the middle of the sidewalk. Try later."

"Oh, there's a 'later'?"

I'm not sure when his voice over the phone began reminding me how it sounds when it's in the crook of my neck, accompanied by his body heat, the beads of sweat on his forehead, his grunts and moans, the sweet, dirty things he breathes into my ear.

I arrive home to my bedroom, and Timmy hides in the single-stall restroom at the restaurant. We find out that yes, there was in fact a later.

**********

The New York Muse's editor-in-chief is Justice Grimaldi, and she officiates the next-day orientation of myself and three other interns. I find out that my weekly assignments will consist of reviewing local cultural arts and events in different parts of New York, such as concerts and art shows and street fair performers, which will keep me on my feet.

I'm wracked with nerves from head to toe, but keep myself composed, straightening my posture as I approach her after orientation ends.

"'Something came up'? Where ya headed?" Justice inquires with curiosity after I let her know. So I tell her, Cannes. Yes, in France. Yes, the international film festival.

"Hell, if that just 'came up' for me I'd be headed there too. Alright, you get some grace on that week's work. You're lucky I was so impressed with your portfolio. And it's good that you're seeing the world and experiencing these extravagant events, especially as a young writer. Perhaps you could even write a piece on your experience — I'm sure I could work out another slot for this month's issue."