‘ HOW AM I DOING? ’ THE QUESTION LINGERED slightly too long upon Frankie’s lips, tasting foreign. Were her company a journalist, or such a momentary person, there would have been no issue in smiling, saying ‘ great, cheers ’ and moving along. Since it was Greer, though — someone they truly regarded as a friend — it wasn’t so simple, and they had the unsettling feeling in their stomach that they ought to give her an honest ( or at least honest-ish ) response.
Honest-ish was a typical offhand manner of the actor’s. She would take a genuine event, or feeling, and deflect from it with a pinch of humour, but the core of honesty was still there, so the guilt that would have come with a lie could be avoided.
‘ Unfortunately, my therapist told me murdering my ex-partner to get rid of the recurring dream I’ve been having isn’t an option. You know how Zelda murders people with a spade in Chilling Adventures of Sabrina and they keep coming back so she gets to do it again? It’s a bit like that. ’
[ featuring @bcllet, at frankie irvine’s home in carnegie hill, manhattan. ]
