Having caught a cab back to Alys's apartment, Cassie made her way up in the elevator, clutching the bottom of her dress. She prayed Alys would still be out at dinner with the friends she'd said she was catching up with this evening.
Cassie fumbled with the two keys Alys had given her, until, “Oh.” She was startled as the door opened before her and Alys appeared.
“Oh my God, Cassie . . .” Alys took her in from head to toe. “You look amazing!”
Frozen, Cassie stood on the doorstep, caught out. “I . . .”
“Come on, what are you standing there for? Come inside.” Alys waved her in.
Cassie took a few steps forward into the apartment, and Alys closed the door behind them.
“Well,” Alys said, taking another, long look. “You weren't out with James, that's for sure.”
Overwhelmed and overdressed, Cassie immediately burst into tears.
“Cassie!” Alys exclaimed, running over to her friend, who she knew wasn't one for emotional outbursts like this. “What's the matter? What's happened? Here, come and sit down.”
She led her by the elbow toward the sofa, and somehow, Cassie managed to sit down in her dress.
Alys reached forward to the coffee table and pulled out a tissue from the box kept there, handing it to Cassie. “What on earth happened? Where have you been?” she tried again.
Cassie longed to tell Alys everything—about sitting for Cameron, about Plum, about James, about everything—but something told her she couldn't, or shouldn't, until after the sculpture was finished. For some reason, she knew it was something that needed to be kept private until it was done—that sharing her experience could well jeopardize whether the sculpture came into existence at all. Now, she took as deep a breath as she could and looked over at Alys. “I just . . . I can't say. I want to tell you, but I can't. Not right now.”
Alys's expression was a mixture of confusion and hurt. “What do you mean? You're obviously upset. Has something happened? Has someone hurt you?”
“No.” Cassie shook her head. “No, it's nothing like that.” She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands for a moment. “Oh, God, I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what to do.”
Alys said nothing for a moment or two, then, “You're not here for any meetings, are you?”
Cassie took another deep breath. “No.” She exhaled. “No. And I will be able to reveal all. In a week, or two weeks, or so. I just can't explain right now.”
“You're worrying me,” Alys replied. “This isn't like you. At all.”
“I know,” Cassie said. “Oh, I know.” She sniffed, walking over to pluck a tissue from the box on the table.
Alys gave her a long look as she blew her nose. “You're not in any danger, are you?”
Cassie shook her head vehemently. “No, nothing like that. And I feel awful keeping this from you. Really. Even for a week. But I have to. If it's all to pull off. And the thing is, I want it to. Very much.”
“Okay,” Alys said after a while. “I have to say that I don't understand. And that I'm worried. And also that I don't like to see you in this kind of state, because it's not you at all. But if you say that's what's got to happen, then . . . well, that's what's got to happen.” Frowning, she reached out and touched Cassie on the arm.
Cassie took a shuddery breath. “I'm so sorry, Alys. I thought I could handle this . . . Ugh, I can't breathe.” She sat up straighter. “I've got to get out of this thing.” Cassie pushed herself up off the couch, which wasn't an easy task.
Alys stood beside her, taking her outfit in once more. “Well, I don't know where you've been, or what you're up to, or what's going on. But you look amazing doing it. That really is some dress.”
Cassie managed a smile as she wiped her face of tears. “I know. It is, isn't it?”
“So go and take it off, have a nice warm bath or a shower or something. I'll make us some hot chocolate and marshmallows, and we can watch something bad on TV. I know COPS or Hoarders always makes me feel better.”
Cassie gave her a look. “COPS and Hoarders make you feel better?”
“Of course! Because then you can tell yourself things could always be worse. You could be having troubles with your pimp on the streets of Las Vegas, or wading through five million juice bottles to get to your kitchen, right?”
“I'll take your word for it.” Cassie tried to laugh, though the noise came out more like a bark. With a sigh, she started for the bathroom. “I think you're right about that shower. I'm heading in.”
After a shower, donning her pajamas, two episodes of Hoarders, and that hot chocolate with marshmallows, Cassie did feel much better. She slipped into bed in the early hours of the morning and attempted to sleep.
When this didn't happen, the evening's events running over and over in her mind, she sat herself up and fished out her laptop from her bag beside the bed. It had been so long since she'd done any work, she barely knew where to start.
Emails were the safest, so she replied to a few of the more pressing ones before clicking on the file she'd had open, but not added to, for so long—the novel she'd started, but now realised she would never finish. Casting her eyes over it once more she saw just how bad it truly was. No wonder her agent had rejected it. The setting felt forced, the characters fake, and worst of all, the story was boring. Her agent had been right—who wanted to read about bickering students stuck in a city where it never stopped raining? Nobody, that was who. But it was all she knew.
Snapping her laptop closed again, Cassie lay back in bed and groaned. What was she going to do? She really had no idea. Maybe she'd simply have to force herself to keep writing about Badger and Hare. But could she really spend the rest of her days in an uneasy threesome, living with two other beings she was beginning to detest? She didn't think so. Still, maybe that was her lot. After all, there were thousands, probably millions of writers out there who would kill for the kind of success she'd had. Not to mention she needed to make an income somehow. She couldn't sponge off her grandmother, sister and friends for accommodation anymore. She needed an apartment. And soon. And while that might mean sharing if money was tight, she had been hoping for a place of her own in London, having had enough of sharing during her university days.
Seeing that she wasn't going to come up with any answers by lying around and berating herself for being a desperate loser at three in the morning, with a shake of her head Cassie leaned over and slid her laptop back in her bag. Then she finally did the only thing she was good for right now—she slept.
A tap-tap-tapping noise woke Cassie up. As her eyes flickered open, she realised where she was, and also that it seemed oddly bright. “What time is it?” she croaked, spying Alys in the kitchen.
“Sorry, I didn't wake you up did I? It's just gone ten o'clock. I'm making a few things for this evening.”
Not really very good at sleeping in, Cassie was surprised to find it was this late. It took her a moment or two to remember what was happening later in the day, but she finally got there—Alys's rooftop party.
Cassie scraped herself out of bed, and after brushing her teeth, getting dressed and re-making the sofa bed, felt slightly more ready for the day ahead. She spent the next hour or so helping out Alys with her cooking, then the pair headed to the grocery store for supplies.
They had just finished discussing the merits of blue corn chips versus regular, and Alys was putting two packets of each into the cart when Cassie brought up the subject she'd been considering broaching for day. “I was thinking,” she said, as Alys checked out the salsa, “that maybe I should move into a hotel”.
Alys put down the salsa. “What? Why?”
Cassie shrugged. “I don't want to put you out any longer. I'm getting in your way.”
“Is this about last night?” Alys gave her a shrewd look.
Cassie thought about this for a moment. “Yes. And no. No, because I never like to overstay my welcome whoever I'm with, and yes, because
it's unfair of me to fall into your apartment wearing an evening gown and crying, and telling you I can't say where I've been.”
Alys rolled her eyes. “There is that. But I'm sure you'll tell me. Eventually. And it had better be good. But that's the exact reason I want you to stick around, as well. I'd rather I was able to keep an eye on you and . . .” Cassie opened her mouth to protest, but Alys barged on, “. . . anyway, a hotel is too expensive. If you're talking another week or two in New York, the cost would kill you. You have to stay with me.”
Cassie bit her lip for a second, wondering how much to tell. Still, she didn't want Alys to feel lumped with her. “The truth is,” she said, slowly, “I wouldn't have to pay, so the minute you want me gone, just say.”
Alys's eyes widened and she stopped dead, the shopping cart pulling to an abrupt halt. “Now I am worried. What are we talking here? A sugar daddy? Have you joined one of those websites I keep hearing about?”
Cassie laughed out loud, wondering what Cameron would think of being called a “sugar daddy”. As it stood, he was the one who would be making a whole lot of money out of this transaction—the very person who least needed it. “No. Nothing like that. Look, I'm sorry I said anything. It's come out all wrong. But the minute you get sick of me, please tell me. I'd rather it that way.” Cassie linked arms with her and stepped forwards, forcing Alys to keep the cart moving. “Come on, we have shopping to do. Now, take me to the confectionary aisle. I have needs.”
Back at Alys's apartment, the pair were sorting through the groceries. “Alys, where . . .?” Cassie began to ask where something went in the kitchen, but was interrupted by the buzzer.
Alys put down the brown paper bag she was holding and ran over to the intercom, picking the phone up to talk to whoever was downstairs. “Oh, right. Yes, she's here. I'll buzz you up. We're on the second floor.” She pressed the small button as Cassie gave her an inquisitive look from behind the kitchen bench. “It's for you. A woman.”
Cassie thought, hard. “I'm not expecting anyone . . .” She stepped into the living room. Unless it was Marianne? But surely she'd call, or text before coming over? Please let it not be any kind of journalist. She sent up a quick prayer.
Alys opened the front door just as the elevator began to open, though from her position Cassie couldn't quite see who exited until she was through the front door itself. Alys pulled the door open wider then, her eyes flicking to Cassie's, shocked.
“Plum!” Cassie said, in a half gasp. “What are you . . .?”
“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?” Plum said, those blue-red lips of hers flashing a “butter wouldn't melt” smile.
“Um, of course. Alys Winters, Plum Tarasov. Alys works at The Met, Plum.”
“Lovely!” Plum shook Alys's hand. “I do so love The Met. Now they've acquired some of my work, that is.”
Alys gave a weak laugh. “Yes, well. It's lovely to meet you.”
“I was in the area, and thought I might stop by for a little chat.” Plum began to peel her coat off.
Instantly, Cassie was a ball of nervous action. “Maybe we should take a quick walk.” She began to bundle Plum back outside with this. “I'll just be a minute, Alys.”
“Okay,” Alys replied, her eyes still wide.
Cassie had the door open again, and Plum in the corridor in seconds. She wasted no time in dragging her down to the end of the hall, in front of somebody else's apartment, away from Alys's earshot.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
Plum feigned surprise. “Well, I was in the area and . . .”
“Oh, rubbish. You and I both know you weren't 'in the area'. What is this really about? What's going on? What's your problem with me, anyway?” She thought for a moment about whether she should tell Plum she knew about her and Jo, but then decided to keep her cards close to her chest.
“There's no problem,” Plum said, calmly. “And I would have done this last night, or any other night, but you've been avoiding me, haven't you?”
Cassie could hardly deny this.
“Thus, I thought I would stop by.”
“What do you want?” Cassie said, sounding altogether rude now.
“Just to know how the sculpture is coming along . . .” Plum answered, evenly.
Cassie said nothing once more, wondering what Plum knew. Was she here to gloat? Did she know something was wrong? That she'd started to feel that Cameron was putting less energy into the sculpture? That she was constantly wondering if there were more to it than he was telling her? That everything surely wasn't quite right? Although she had said little, Plum's presence made Cassie doubt everything she had felt the night before. She had thought she was in control, and now she felt precariously out of control, as if she were spiraling downwards, the sculpture above out of her grasp. “And why would you want to know about that?” Cassie finally said, defensively.
Plum gave a small shrug. “I'm interested. Of course.”
“But why?” Cassie tried again. What was it she knew, or didn't know, and was trying to discover? For the life of her, Cassie couldn't figure Plum Tarasov out.
The two women stared at each other for a moment or two before Plum sighed slightly. “Cassandra, I don't know what to tell you, but if you want this, you're going to have to dig a little deeper. There has to be more to you than this.”
Cassie flushed. What was she talking about? Was she referring to the night they'd been out for dinner? The evening she'd felt so young and naïve, and awfully out of place? Within seconds, her anger heated up her body and her cheeks, her breath and words coming fast. “I don't know what your problem is with me. I don't know why you're here. Maybe it's not even about me, but about your issues with Cameron, I have no idea, but you need to go. Now.”
Plum sighed once more. “Oh, dear. I'm not good at these kind of girly things, am I? Diplomacy was never for me. Fine then, I'll go. But think about what I've said, won't you?” And with this, she turned and waggled her fingers as she departed, taking the stairs this time.
Cassie watched until she was gone, her brow furrowed, wondering what on earth that was all about. Had she come over here just to insult her? To make her squirm, as if dinner the other night hadn't been enough? With a shake of her head, Cassie made her way back into Alys's apartment, where she found her friend sitting at the kitchen table and staring at a brick wall.
When Cassie entered, Alys turned her head, looking to see if Plum was behind her. When she saw that she wasn't and that Cassie was closing the door, Alys spoke up. “We were talking about sugar daddies before. Maybe I should have asked about a sugar mummy?”
Cassie groaned. “Please. Don't . . .” She thought on her feet. “I've told you before—Plum went to university with Jo and me, remember?”
“Vaguely,” Alys said. “I didn't know you knew her that well, though.”
“I didn't. Not really. But we met up the other day. Through a . . . friend. And now I can't seem to get rid of her.”
Alys's eyes widened. “I should have such problems!”
Cassie gave her a look. “She makes me nervous.”
Alys laughed at this. “Yes, but that's the whole point of Plum Tarasov, isn't it? To make everyone nervous?”
Cassie didn't know how to reply, already feeling sick to her stomach about lying to Alys, who she couldn't remember ever having to lie to before, apart from the little white lies required of friends. She ended with a very dodgy looking half-smile, which Alys inspected in a long and disbelieving manner.
“Hmmm . . .” her friend finally said. “There's no doubt about it, there's something fishy going on with you. Still, that's decided it, then. You're staying here, where I can keep an eye on you. Oh, and one other thing . . .”
“What's that?” Cassie said, warily.
“If you're thinking of having any more hugely famous modern artists stop by, that's more than fine with me.”
Alys's rooftop, with its strings of twinkling lights set against the back
drop of the dazzling NYC itself, was magical, despite the chill of the evening. Three braziers, chairs pulled all around them, helped to stave off the cold. There was mulled wine and large platters of hot dogs to cook over the fire. For dessert, the ingredients were laid out to make something called S'mores, which Cassie had never had before but would now make sure she ate again regularly. All of this saw everyone kept busy and laughing as hot dogs fell off sticks and chocolatey fingers were licked.
As everyone mingled, Cassie found herself talking to all kinds of friends Alys had made since moving to New York, many of them English, from people who worked at The Met, to people Alys had known at university who had also moved over, to journalist friends of her sister Cerys's, like James also was. Amazingly, almost everyone she met would have had some kind of work-related interest in her relationship with Cameron, if only they had known about it. She could barely believe she had been so ridiculously stupid to think it would be easy to lie low in New York. Especially staying with Alys, who had such amazing modern art and journalistic connections. When Cassie finally met someone who worked in IT, she was so thrilled that she spoke to him animatedly for at least half an hour, sipping away at her delicious mulled wine, sweet with cinnamon.
As she continued chatting, she caught James's eye yet again, across the other side of the rooftop. He had been around the whole evening, though they had both been caught up with talking to other people. Every time her gaze fell upon him, she remembered their kiss from the other night, that uncomplicated, simple kiss, unlike so much of what had passed between her and Cameron.
When the IT guy's girlfriend finally broke into their conversation and spirited him away, James somehow slipped into his seat, the two of them the only remaining parties at the brazier. “I was worried for a minute there,” he told Cassie with a grin. “I thought you'd found someone else.”
Cassie felt her cheeks become hot—a combination of the mulled wine and James's comment—and was glad of the darkness surrounding them. She tried to think of something witty to say and failed. And then she realised she was over trying to think up witty things to say, and attempting to be clever, and that it was impossible to do so when all she could think about was that kiss they had shared, and how she desperately wanted to do nothing more than repeat it and run her hands through James's hair once more.
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