It Had to Be You Georgia Clark (bookstand for reading txt) 📖

Rachel frowned. He could see her wondering if he was a lunatic. “Soggy?”

Don’t say soggy again. Don’t say soggy again. “And different greens get soggy differently. Arugula: now, that’ll get soggy. Kale, not so much on the, um, soggy… front.”

“Charles.” Rachel turned her attention to him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said on false consciousness.”

Zach’s face heated. Idiot.

Next to him, Jon Favreau was making Darlene cackle with laughter. Ordinarily a lovely sound, but right now it screeched like nails down a blackboard. How soon till this nightmare could be over? Every passing minute underlined the fact that he didn’t belong here at all.

“So, Zach.” Charles was speaking to him across the table. “Didn’t think this sort of thing was up your alley.”

Screw you, mate. He knew Charles thought he was a Zoolander-level idiot: a lot of less attractive men did. “I enjoyed it very much.” Actually, there were parts of the conversation that he enjoyed, when Charles wasn’t posturing and generally being a cocky knob. The debate had the lively, unpredictable feel of improvised jazz.

Charles took a sip of water. “So I assume you’re still Darlene’s bandmate?”

“That’s right. Bandmate.” Zach gave Darlene a smile that tottered over the line between platonic and secret passion.

She returned it like a bad throw.

Charles watched the whole exchange with open alarm. His mouth hardened. “I’m curious, Zach. What was your take on the debate in my book?”

Zach felt a small slap of panic. “Considering I’m at the launch, I haven’t quite had the chance to read it yet.”

“Sure,” Charles said. “But why do you think the working class vote against their own interests?”

To his horror, Zach sensed Rachel Maddow leaning closer, curious as to his reply. “That’s a very complex issue. That I’m not really qualified to have an opinion on.”

Charles nodded slowly. Mockingly. “No, you’re not really the political type, are you?” He returned to his dinner, slicing into his fish. “How many people googled ‘What is the EU?’ after voting in Brexit? Millions, wasn’t it?”

Zach had voted for Britain to stay in the EU. And he knew what the European Union was, Christ. Charles might be a progressive, but he was also a bit of a bully who loved the sound of his own voice.

“Racism,” Charles continued, voice swelling like a politician, “is just as much of a problem in the UK as it is here. Right, Darlene?”

Darlene blinked. “I know more about racism in America,” she said, with what Zach felt was admirable control. “Which, considering Black women make thirty-nine percent less than white men, is obviously alive and well.”

“Spoken like a true Princeton grad.” Charles’s smile read as patronizing.

Zach didn’t get the sense that for Charles, Darlene-as-girlfriend was proof that he could “date up” in terms of her hotness; rather, that he could date across racial difference—and he wanted everyone at the table to see it. And that was so mind-blowingly foul.

The conversation appeared to have come to an end. But Zach was surprised to realize he wasn’t done. “Obviously racism is an issue in the UK, and here, and everywhere,” he said. “But the leave vote wasn’t all about immigration. It was a protest vote. Like Trump.”

Charles snapped to attention, stunned that Zach had dared offer an opinion. “What’s that about Trump?”

Instantly, Zach doubted himself. But it was too late now. “Well, his election was a protest vote. Wasn’t it?”

Charles raised his voice. “Donald Trump is an ignominy who should be erased from the pages of history.”

Zach almost laughed. “What, like, censored? Careful, Charles, you’ll be burning books in a minute.”

A flash of anger passed Charles’s face before it was hidden with noble posturing. “Brexit was about race, and class, as was Trump.”

“Obviously,” said Zach. “But you make it sound like people were stupid for voting for them: Against their own interests.”

“Not knowing what the EU is after you vote to remove yourself isn’t just stupid, Zach,” Charles said. “It’s disrespectful, dishonorable, and unpatriotic.”

“Sure,” Zach said, “I agree with that too, I think. And look, I am definitely not working-class. But I played music in London, right, I played, and drank, with lots of guys from the north. And it’s really bloody rough up there.”

“Rough like how?” Darlene asked.

“No jobs, loads of drugs, really dangerous,” Zach said. “They see what it’s like for the elite, like me, and you, Charles, and everyone at this table, and they’re pissed. And rightly so.”

The people around him were all listening. Including Rachel.

“And so, yeah,” Zach said, “some of them voted to leave.”

“These are friends of yours?” Charles said. “People who supported one of the most racist cultural shifts in modern memory?”

“I think Zach said they were his colleagues,” Darlene said. “But does it matter if they were also friends? We’re always talking about how we need to hear all sides; get out of our bubbles.”

“And I’m not saying I condone it,” Zach said, “I’m saying I understand why people voted for Trump or for Brexit, not as a mistake, but as a… flex. A firing shot.”

“Even if they are shooting at the wrong target,” Darlene said. “The right-wing media—”

Charles addressed Zach. “People voted for Trump because—”

Zach spoke over Charles. “She wasn’t finished.” The thought of punching Charles in the face flashed briefly, enjoyably.

“The right-wing media,” Darlene repeated, “does a pretty good job of convincing people that immigrants and people of color are taking their resources, rather than the top one percent in the US who own forty percent of America’s wealth.”

“Totally,” said Zach. “Yes. And, to be honest, I think it’s a patronizing liberal fantasy to think it was all a big mistake. These people need help and respect, not to be gaslit about their own intentions.”

Next to him, Rachel Maddow nodded.

“Well, maybe you should write a book about it,” said Charles. “Oh, wait, you’re a musician, not a thought leader.”

“Is that what you are?” Zach feigned surprise. “All this time, I’ve been going with ‘pretentious know-it-all.’ ”

Someone choked out a laugh. Charles pressed his lips together. With enormous effort,