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Her face was a little flushed, though, and her eyes actually seemed to glow with satisfaction. Jules had seen herself looking like that a couple of times in the mirror. Usually after she’d just had good sex. She looked out the window before Vivian could catch her staring. Well, heck, if Vivian could get some postcoital bliss from eating a pizza once in a while, good for her. It’d be good for everybody else around her too. But the memory of Vivian’s glow and the huskiness of her voice bothered Jules all day. For some damn reason. * * *
Vivian came forward and said, “Hello, Julia,” then—what the ever-loving bejesused fucking fuck?—leaned in and kissed the air to either side of her cheeks. Vivian’s skin was soft and warm as she brushed against Jules’s face. When Vivian pulled away, Jules fumbled for an expression that wasn’t shocked. A smile would do. Hopefully, it didn’t look too ghastly. Her face was tingling. It was not unpleasant.
On the extraordinary side, they broke up work shortly afterward to fool around. It started when Vivian said, “Ugh. Tell Joey we have to get rid of this photo in the big band spread. Joan Smalls looks completely ridiculous with that sexophone.” Jules had stopped writing and stared at her. Vivian obviously had no idea what she’d just said, but she kept on talking and said the word “sexophone” two more times before Jules gave up and doubled over with helpless laughter.
