“I will.” She elbowed Freddie. “London will just have to wait a little longer!” She turned to Harry. “I’ll have to find something special for Budgie to thank him.” She put on her sunglasses. “So, guys, how did your meetings go?”
Simon grinned. “They loved my designs—they ordered two of the five dresses I presented.”
“Oh, Si!” Alex squeezed his arm.
“Mine went brilliantly, too,” said Harry.
“Sorry—what?” Freddie squinted, cocking an ear towards Harry. He side-eyed the baby.
Harry raised his voice. “The property at West 11th and Greenwich has good bones, the potential for a rooftop terrace. I think Bespoke 2.0 has found its American home—”
The table erupted with a chorus of “That’s amazing, Si!” “Congrats, Harry!”
Alex smiled, happy that her friends had such amazing news to share, too.
The baby’s wailing grew louder. “Please!” Freddie threw his hands in the air. “Would someone give that kid a boob…”
“Someone’s hangry, and I don’t mean that table’s baby.” Lucy snickered.
The exhausted-looking hipster parents paid their bill and whisked away their red-faced infant. They passed two servers, carrying enough food to feed Alex’s group twice over.
“These portions!” Freddie’s eyes bulged as his meal was placed in front of him. “They’re a gift from God—God bless America!” Freddie swiveled this plate, stacked high with a Black Angus short rib burger dressed with sharp cheddar and smoked bacon. It was kept company by a silver cup overflowing with golden French fries.
“Thank goodness we’re flying to Montréal tomorrow.” Simon stared at his fiancé’s plate. “Freddie’s forgotten what a vegetable looks like.” He glanced across the table. “And no, Lucy, ketchup is not a vegetable.”
She curled her lip, unscrewed the ketchup, and smacked a massive blob on her fries.
Freddie pointed a fry at no one in particular. “I tried being veggie.” He looked at Simon. “I did—for you, for over a year—but given the choice between meat sweats or veggie shits, I’m picking food with a face every time. I gotta be me, Si.” His eyes slid sideways to Alex’s plate. “That penne pasta looks amazing, Lex. I’d Instagram it immediately if I were you.”
“No, you go for it, Freds. It will look better on your feed.”
“So, what happens to your spot in that TV development scheme back home?” asked Harry.
“I had to drop out.” She leaned out of Freddie’s way so he could photograph her lunch. “It’s happening in two weeks.”
“Too many writing commitments…nice problem to have.” Harry bit into his Italian panino.
“Don’t I know it.”
“Suffragettes back home, Thirteen off-Broadway—I told you, didn’t I?” Lucy’s lips hovered over a forkful of fries. “I knew it would be just a matter of time, and that silly quote, you can’t make a living in the theatre, or whatever the fuck it was—that Robert whatshisname can bite me. He never met my bezzie mate.”
Alex swallowed a mouthful of tomato-y pasta. “I’ve got a long way to go before I can diss Robert Anderson. Think about it: I’m still bunking at Tom and Naomi’s, and relying on Budgie’s kindness over here, but yeah, at least people are returning my calls again. It’s a good feeling, but you know what I want to do more than anything else?”
Lucy shook her head, her mouth full of ketchup-drenched fries.
Freddie rolled his eyes. “Please don’t say a musical.”
Alex smiled. “Finish our graphic novel. A few more all-day sessions and I think it will be ready to shop around.”
“Watch out, world! Lex and Lucy are takin’ over!” Lucy’s raised cocktail was met by clinking glasses around the table.
Fifty
Three days later
“Thank fuck we’re not sending it out tomorrow,” said Lucy.
“Why?” Alex typed ‘Proposal’ in the subject line of a new email.
“Hello? Friday the 13th? There’s no way in hell I’d send our finished masterpiece out into this nasty world on that spooky day.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Alex typed their log line and attached their graphic novel’s submissions agreement, synopsis, and story outline to the email. “Are you okay to fly tomorrow, though? Doesn’t that go against your superstitious hocus pocus?”
“Majorly, but I have no choice. Harry’s mum is throwing a surprise party for Budgie on Sunday.”
Alex attached six pages of Lucy’s art to the email. “Want to look it over before I hit send?”
She leaned over Alex’s shoulder, her fingers sliding over the trackpad. “Yep. Yep. Looks good. Shame we can’t send it to Marvel or DC.”
“I know, but a smaller publisher might be the perfect fit for us. With the biggies, we’d be fighting with Wonder Woman or Captain Marvel to even get noticed.” Alex’s finger hovered over the send key. “Ready?”
Lucy took a deep breath and crossed her fingers. “Hit it.”
Alex’s middle finger did the deed, and the familiar whoosh erupted from her laptop’s speakers. “It’s all happening!”
“Too right!” Lucy beamed. “Go on. Send another one.”
Alex opened a fresh email and typed in the next address.
“Lex, this has been the best week of my life…”
“Aw, babe! I knew you would love it here. It’s so loud and busy and brash—remind you of someone?”
“Ha, very funny. Well, that’s part of it, but I also feel like I walked in Gran’s shoes this week.”
Alex glanced up from her laptop, puzzled.
“She lived here, when she was twenty-one.”
“Seriously? Lucy, that is wicked.”
“Yeah, it is. When you moved to London…I couldn’t help but think of Gran, leaving home alone at the same age, starting over in another country.”
“How long did she stay here?” Alex abandoned her typing, turning to her friend.
“Not long, just over a year. It was the late sixties. She rented a room in Brooklyn, and she tried to find work as a secretary, but people weren’t exactly open-minded about hiring Jamaican immigrants. She moved to London when she could afford it.”
“I had no clue. Wow, she was so brave.” Alex’s eyes flicked to her inbox and back to Lucy. “Did your gran draw, too?”
“Not even a doodle. She refused to buy me colouring books. She gave me colouring pencils and blank paper instead, saying, ‘Draw what your heart sees.’ I was so little, I had no clue what she meant! I scribbled at first, but then I started drawing people with huge heads.”
Alex laughed. “Like aliens? Did she watch sci-fi with you?”
“No, not until I was twelve—the Doctor Who reboot. Maybe my early art was inspired by my secret alien abduction!”
“Now that would explain a lot…” Alex raised an eyebrow.
Lucy smiled. “I drew all the time, and Gran encouraged me, even during uni applications. The careers advisor pushed me towards nursing, but Gran wouldn’t have it. She marched up there, full of piss and vinegar: ‘My Lucy is an ARTIST. She’s going to art school.’ She believed in me.”
Tears glistened in her eyes as she spun her ruby and gold ring. “I miss her so much. If I could be even half the woman she was…”
Alex wrapped her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Lucy, you’re just like her. You’re loyal, encouraging, loving…if I could take all the best qualities and write myself a best friend, she would be you.”
“Lex…” Lucy sniffed.
“Gran would be so proud of you, Lucy, just like I am.”
“I hope so. The novel is for her as much as for me. I just wish I could tell her, ‘I did it, Gran.”’
“She knows, Lucy. I swear she does.” Tears began to sting Alex’s eyes. “I wish I had met her.”
“Me, too. She knew about how we met—online. She thought it was so cool, a best friend on the other side of the world. When I met you in person, a part of me beli
eved Gran made it happen. If she couldn’t be here, she did the next best thing—sent you crashing into me.”
“Crash is the right word.”
Lucy chuckled and dabbed her eyes. “Gran would have loved you—and Joan.”
“Oh, my God—Joan would have adored your gran. Imagine, those two together?” Alex snickered. “Double trouble. Now that’s a story idea we should work on!”
Lucy jolted up in her chair, eyes wide with excitement. “Yeah!”
“They could be a superhero duo in their youth…” Alex squeezed Lucy’s arm. “…or best friends in their golden years, sidestepping into a parallel universe, running an undercover superhero academy for girls—”
“Fucking hell, we have to do it!”
“We will, I promise.” Alex resumed typing.
“Harry said I should find a way to celebrate Gran’s life, and something arty would be bang on.” Lucy piled her hair on top of her head. “You know, yesterday Harry took me to the street in Brooklyn where she lived.”
“Aww!” Alex flashed a smile at Lucy. “He’s the sweetest. You got the last good one.” She sent off another email.
“Lex…” Lucy bit her bottom lip, letting her curls fall to her shoulders. “Harry…asked me to move in!”
“Lucy!” Alex sat back, grinning.
“It was so romantic! He asked while we were watching the sunset from Brooklyn Bridge. I almost cried, but I stuck the landing. Fuck, Lex, I am so becoming that girl!”
“That’s not a bad thing. So, are you…moving in?”
“Um, not yet. I don’t want to jinx it.”
Alex laughed. “Typical you.”
“I love him, but I also love my space and my flat…when Charlie’s not home.” Lucy shrugged. “I don’t think I’m ready to give it up just yet.”
“Nothing wrong with being happy with the way things are—”
Lucy’s phone danced across the table with a text. “Oh, it’s Freddie. About bloody time! Hang on, I’ll read it aloud.”
It’s done. Simon came out to his parents. He cried. Then he told them about our engagement. They cried. Then they popped open some cut-rate bubbly. I cried. Wait—I cried because I was HAPPY, not because the champers was terrible. I love Si and his parents and you guys and the entire FUCKING world so hard right now. Give Lex a huge kiss from the future Mr. Simon Desjardins. Looks like Freddie Ryan finally gets his happy ever after. x
“First you and now this?” Alex waved her hands in front of her eyes. “I’m gonna bawl.”
Lucy couldn’t contain her smile. “Love conquers all.”
Seeing her best friend so loved up and happy, Alex didn’t have the heart to disagree.
Fifty-One
Two weeks later
Alex hit print on her laptop. “Revisions coming up, Laurel.”
The ancient printer in the 59E59 artistic director’s office creaked, gasping what sounded like its last breath.
“Sorry!” Alex looked over her shoulder. “The printer’s being temperamental again.”
Laurel stood up behind her desk. “Sounds like the perfect time for a Starbucks run. The usual?”
“Please.” Alex pulled out a twenty-dollar bill from her purse. “My shout.”
Laurel accepted the cash and left Alex alone with the stuttering printer.
Thumbing through the revised pages of Thirteen collecting in the printer tray, Alex looked across the room, spotting the Variety website on Laurel’s open laptop. The photo, half-scrolled up the screen, was unmistakable—Mark. Curious, Alex couldn’t resist a peek.
Her two fingers swept along the laptop’s trackpad, revealing the headline and article dated the day before, July 25.
Mark Keegan’s Agent Coen Winkler Leaves Agency Following Actor’s Departure
Her eyes widened.
Following Mark Keegan’s departure from the Creative Talent agency, Variety has confirmed that his agent, Coen Winkler, has been let go. It’s believed that the agent’s exit is a result of Keegan firing Winkler and seeking representation elsewhere. Winkler was the agency’s second in command in their London office and worked with up-and-coming clients including Keegan’s A Promise Unspoken co-star, Fallon Delaney. A source at Creative Talent also confirmed that Delaney is no longer represented by the agency. Keegan is currently attached to the latest in the Full Throttle franchise, Full Throttle 3: Blood Lust, which also stars Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson.
Neither Keegan nor Winkler could not be reached for comment.
“Got yours, Wink.” Alex scrolled the page to where she had found it and with a contented sigh, removed her Thirteen revisions from the printer.
Fifty-Two
Three weeks later
Alex stuffed the latest draft of Thirteen into her laptop bag and grabbed her sunglasses and phone from the table. “Okay guys, see you Monday. Enjoy the weekend.” She waved to Laurel and the set designer.
Her second-last weekend in New York City beckoned, and she couldn’t wait for it to start. Late nights spent reviewing Thirteen meeting notes and early mornings plotting out the Gran-Joan graphic novel over FaceTime with Lucy had left her exhausted and desperate for some me time.
Rushing down the hall, she checked her texts one last time. Steve, an editor at a New York men’s magazine, had been pursuing her via texts since they met at a 59E59 press night two weeks earlier. He was cute and fun, but Alex wasn’t keen, politely declining his offers for coffee or drinks. Unfortunately, his latest text proved he had yet to take the hint: Alex, I’ll be in your ’hood this afternoon. Let’s get that drink!
She perched her sunglasses on her nose and rushed through the door, hoping for a quick, anonymous getaway…
Ugh. Midtown’s August humidity had other ideas, smothering her like a heavy wet blanket. She could get used to the honking taxis and clogged sidewalks, but New York’s suffocating summer heat always made her wilt. Turning right on East 59th, she slogged west into the sun, towards Central Park. The subway would be hot and crowded, so an hour or two spent reading under a shady tree was the perfect way to let rush hour simmer down before her underground descent into Columbus Circle Station.
“Alex!”
A male voice fought with the traffic and a helicopter hovering somewhere overhead. She squinted over her shoulder but didn’t see Steve in the parade of hurried New Yorkers. Thank God! Alex was a common name. She kept going, her phone buzzing in her hand.
“ALEX!”
She ignored the text and turned around, her sudden stop drawing dirty looks from the sidewalk brigade fighting to get past. Rising to his feet, a guy with a scruffy moustache and beard, wearing sunglasses and a ball cap, was brushing the sidewalk off the butt of his jeans. His ratty white t-shirt was weighed down by a backpack. He looked homeless.
She impatiently turned away and glanced at her phone: Marmalade.
…What? The blaring taxi horns, rumbling car engines, and raised voices pushing past vanished. Alex swung around, her jaw dropping along with her stomach.
“Hello stranger.” Mark squeezed the strap of his backpack, a quick smile raising the corners of his mouth. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and moved closer, his body swaying to the left and back again. Nerves? Or was the pavement too hot for his feet? He removed his sunglasses and hung them from his t-shirt’s collar. His normally bright eyes were dull and weary, like life had taken a cruel toll since she had last seen him.
Alex laid a shaky hand on her pounding chest, barely able to speak. “Hi…?”
Mark tugged at his beard. “You look well, Lex.”
Jesus—you don’t, Mark! “What are you doing here?”
“Simon told me where to find you.”
“Simon?” Alex backed up towards the building, out of the flow of foot traffic. Mark followed and leaned against the wall. He smelled of sweat, like he had just come from a muscle-blasting boot camp workout. He flew up from Mexico to see me?
“I know, right? I couldn’t reach Freddie, so Si helped me out, su
rprisingly.” He looked over his shoulder at the people rushing past.
With Mark’s attention elsewhere, Alex’s gaze fell to his feet and flew upwards: Converse, tear in the knee of his faded jeans, sweat stains on his t-shirt, hair peeking out over his ears…
He turned back, tilting in. “Look, can we go somewhere quiet to talk?”
Alex’s eyes got lost in his beard. Mark with a beard! What?! Her sunglasses saved the day—Mark couldn’t see her wide-eyed stare. His whiskers were dense and in desperate need of a pair of scissors. “I was headed to Central Park.”
“Great.” He nodded. “That will be great.”
They walked along East 59th Street to the park’s entrance just off Fifth Avenue, but their conversation didn’t progress as far as they did: they talked about the steamy weather and nothing else. Alex took a sharp right, passing a cart selling hot dogs, pretzels, and soft drinks.
Mark fanned his face. “Can I get you water or an ice cream? It’s so hot…”
“No, I’m okay, thanks,” she said with a pinched smile. “But don’t let me stop you.”
He fished out several American dollars from his jeans pocket and joined the small line looping around the cart. Alex stepped back, her eyes studying every inch of her ex-boyfriend while he busied himself reading the cart’s menu. His jeans hugged his ass and his t-shirt, discoloured with perspiration, stuck to shoulder and back muscles Alex hadn’t seen before—souvenirs of his ‘Rock’-worthy Full Throttle 3 workout regime, no doubt. His hair crept past the back of his collar, most likely grown for his movie role. It was so odd. He looked so different, and yet…the same. She had intentionally stayed away from Throttle’s online press, but all clues today pointed to the fact that Mark’s character was rough around the edges and frankly, a bit of a mess.
Water purchased, he turned back to Alex. “Christ, I could never live here.” He cracked open the bottle and took a large satisfying swig. “It’s too much. I always thought London was busy, but this is another level of insanity.”
London, Can You Wait? Page 34