“I wish I could see you tomorrow night, Savannah … but I have to work all weekend.”
I nodded as I laced our fingers together, studied his knuckles and his fingers, and thought about how small and dainty my hand was compared to his.
“Look at me,” he said, and I shifted my gaze to his eyes, which were serious all of a sudden. “I want to tell you something important.”
Our hands were still connected. I kept them that way and nodded again. “Sure, Alex,” I said, leaning toward him. “Go ahead.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He combed his fingers through his hair and rubbed his neck and glanced out the window and then back at me.
“I just wanted to tell you … I wish you the best of luck with your story,” he said as the grave look in his eyes disappeared and he flashed a stunning smile. “I bet you’ll be a published author before you know it.”
*
I flipped on the light in my dark apartment and nearly screamed. Tina was on the couch with her legs crossed and a bottle of beer in her hand.
“Where were you?” she asked. “I left three voice mails and texted you twice.”
“For God’s sake,” I said, tossing my purse onto a chair. “Why are you lurking in the dark? You almost scared me to death.”
That didn’t seem to matter. She stared at me like an outraged den mother. “I asked where you were, Savannah.”
“With Alex,” I told her, noticing the room reeked of cigarettes. It seemed to have seeped into the carpet and the curtains and the furniture. “I guess you’ve forgotten your promise about not stinking up my apartment.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s interesting. I thought it was our apartment. This is your apartment, too—those were your exact words.”
I walked toward her. “And I meant them. But it’s so unbelievably rude of you to smoke in here. I don’t know how I’ll ever get the tobacco stench out of this place.”
“Don’t change the subject. Why didn’t you answer my messages?”
I shrugged. “I told you … I was with Alex. I didn’t check my phone.”
She slammed the bottle onto the coffee table. “And you call me rude? Maybe you should check your phone. Did you ever think I might be worried about you?”
I rolled my eyes. “I already have a mama, darlin’. I don’t need another.”
“Yeah, I know you have a mother. But did you forget her number? She called a while ago, just as concerned about you as I was. She said she hasn’t heard from you lately.”
I’d been so busy that I hadn’t given much thought to Mom except when I sent her a portion of my latest check. I looked away, keeping my eyes stuck to an empty pizza box on the love seat. When would I ever remember to hire that maid? Or maybe I just didn’t want to.
“By the way,” Tina went on, pointing to a clock on the wall, “it’s a little soon, isn’t it?”
I hated when my own words got thrown back at me, and she’d done it twice tonight. I’d asked her that question after I found Kyle in her bed, but Alex hadn’t been in mine and I hadn’t been in his and she was the last person in this galaxy who should get judgmental about what time I came home.
“Not that I have to explain anything to you,” I said, “but we didn’t do anything.”
She stood up and turned her attention to a stray white thread on her powder-blue satin robe. “Whatever,” she said as she flicked the thread from her fingers. “As you’ve so clearly pointed out, it’s none of my business.”
She headed toward her bedroom. I followed behind and caught her arm.
“Tina,” I said, “what’s the matter with you? Don’t you know that if anything serious had happened with Alex, you’d be the first person I’d tell?”
She jerked her head toward me. Her synthetic hair smacked my face, but she didn’t apologize. “Do you expect me to believe that? I never see you anymore. You hardly talk to me. You can’t even spare an hour for lunch. I think the real question is: What’s the matter with you?”
Her chin was quivering. I backed up and leaned against the wall, thinking that everything she’d said was right and I was a poor excuse for a best friend.
I reached out and squeezed her shoulder.“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll make it up to you. We’ll spend the whole weekend together. We’ll shop and I’ll treat you to Le Bernardin … and we’ll do absolutely anything you want.”
She thought about that for a moment. Then she nodded and offered to make a reservation for Saturday night, but I wasn’t sure if I’d been completely forgiven.
*
I stood in front of Kitty’s desk the next morning and handed her fifteen crisp pages.
“Please be impartial, Kitty. I only want you to publish my work if it’s good enough.”
Manhattan was outside the window behind her, grayer than the sky above it. She crossed her legs inside her white pants suit and pointed to a stack of papers beside her computer.
“This is your competition,” she said. “I’m choosing three stories for Femme’s October issue, and you can be sure that if yours isn’t good enough … it won’t be in it.”
I hated wondering if I’d made the cut. I went back to my desk and logged on to my computer, where I found an e-mail from Alex that said: Can’t wait to see you on Monday.
I smiled as a wave of exhaustion swept over me. I’d only slept a few hours, and I’d been working so hard since Kitty hired me. I deserved one Friday to slack off, didn’t I?
I wrote back to Alex, we e-mailed for most of the morning, and I pushed away the list of topics I was supposed to research. Kitty had gone out for meetings that would take up the whole day, so I was sure she wouldn’t notice I’d gotten nothing done. I decided I’d just catch up on Monday as I online-shopped for makeup and shoes.
Then I went out at noon, bought new clothes at Bergdorf Goodman, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch at the restaurant inside, which was bright and airy, with oversized chairs covered in mustard-colored leather that looked like something out of Alice in Wonderland. I sat in one of them, getting curious stares from a table of well-coiffed women who could have been contestants for the next season of The Real Housewives of New York City.
“Are you Savannah Morgan?” one of them asked.
“Yes,” I said.
She smiled with a mouth full of veneers. “I thought so. Your picture is all over the blogosphere, but you’re even prettier in person. And that dress you had on is phenomenal.”
People used that adjective much too frequently, but it still felt flattering. Everyone at the table was showering me with the same admiring smile, and I thought they were the Manhattan version of Mount Pleasant girls like Eva Lee who’d never let me in. Only now they were opening the door, and I couldn’t help that it gave me a smug satisfaction.
A few minutes later, I took a cab back to Stone News. I walked past the Stone haters on the sidewalk and headed toward the entrance, where a man wearing a FedEx uniform and carrying a stack of boxes struggled to open the door. I grabbed the handle and held it for him, and just as he walked into the building Caroline and Virginia walked out. Virginia glanced at me in her typical snooty way, and then she tapped her gold watch as Caroline stood behind her and stared from behind her cat’s-eye glasses.
“Just returning from lunch at this late hour?” Virginia said. “I doubt my daughter-in-law will appreciate your tardiness.”
“Kitty’s not here,” I answered dully.
Virginia raised a black eyebrow. “Well,” she said with a fake smile, “this is one time I’m glad we ran into each other. Now I can let your boss know you’re not as honest as she thinks.”
She brushed past me with her chin up and her hips swaying slightly beneath her sheath dress. Caroline stayed where she was, looking uncomfortable in a plain taupe suit.
“Thank you,” she said finally, and I had a feeling it wasn’t just because I’d held the door.
*
Tina got all dressed up for dinner in a Lilly Pulitzer dre
ss on Saturday night, and she spent lots of time on her hair and her makeup like we were going to an important event. Then she stood in the kitchen, spritzing herself with mango perfume that she tossed into her purse.
“Is Tony picking us up?” she asked.
“No,” I said, noticing how snugly her dress fit across her chest. “We’ll take a cab.”
She widened her eyes. “Savannah,” she said in an irritated voice as she walked toward the pantry, where she opened the door and pulled out a cookie-covered dish wrapped in cellophane. “I baked these for his family. You’re not going to deprive his precious little daughter, are you?” she asked, glancing at Marjorie’s thank-you note on the refrigerator.
I studied Marjorie’s crayon scribble and stick-figure artwork. I didn’t want to take Tony away from her during his off-hours, but getting her out of a small apartment was important, too. I only wished Tony would let me give him some money toward his house fund, but I knew he’d never take a dime he hadn’t earned.
So I called him, and I was relieved that he wasn’t at home. He was working, dropping somebody off a few blocks away, and it only took a few minutes before the sedan was parked outside and Tina and I slid onto the backseat, where she leaned into the front and handed him the dish.
“For your family,” she told him in the most syrupy voice.
“Oh,” he said. “That’s really nice. I’m actually not supposed to take gifts, but Savannah’s convinced me to break the rules. So thank you.”
She smiled. He put the dish on the seat beside him and she lingered where she was, gazing lovingly in his direction. It was so embarrassing that I grabbed her arm and yanked her backward as he pulled away from the curb.
A half hour later, we were sipping wine and buttering bread inside Le Bernardin. Tina kept grinning and bouncing in her seat like this was her first night of freedom after a lengthy prison sentence. She also chattered on and on about how much she loved her job and how rewarding it was, and I was happy for her, but it was hard to pay attention. My mind kept drifting to Alex.
She put down her fork when we were eating our salads. “Are you even listening?”
“Of course I am,” I said as my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and read a text from Alex that said: I’m at work. I’m bored. What are you doing?
This was one of the things about a new boyfriend that I loved—the warm rush of adrenaline that came whenever I heard from him, even if it was just a message complaining about being bored. And it was good to know somebody cared what I was doing.
I’m at dinner with Tina, I wrote back.
Tina picked up a knife and tapped it against her plate. “Texting at the table is very rude.”
I knew that, but it didn’t stop me from glancing at the screen again when the phone vibrated in my palm. Message from Katherine Stone, I read.
“I need to see this,” I said.
Tina threw her hands up. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here and gossip with the bread.”
I read Kitty’s message, which said she’d chosen my story as one of the three to be featured in the October issue of Femme. She said it was more than good enough.
I let out such a high-pitched squeal that a couple at the table beside us glanced at me like I was insane, but I didn’t care. I only cared that I was finally going to be a published author.
“What are you so happy about?” Tina asked as she finished her second glass of wine, and after I told her she seemed to forget my bad manners, because she squealed as loudly as I had. “Congratulations, Savannah,” she said, beaming at me. “I’m so happy for you. This is your dream.”
“Tell me about it. It’s amazing. I have to call Alex and thank him.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Thank him for what?”
“For editing my story. His ideas made it so much better.”
I typed a message into my phone and sent it off, and then I looked up at Tina, whose face had gone pale. “This story…,” she said slowly, “is it the one you were writing the other night … the one you said you’d let me read when it was finished?”
I felt awful. I had told her I’d let her read it, but that didn’t seem necessary after Alex had. “Well,” I began, feeling guilty and trying to find a way to soothe her bruised ego, “you’re busy with work, and I didn’t want to bother you.…”
“Bullshit,” she said.
The couple beside us shook their heads. Other than when Tina and I had gotten into that fight back home a few weeks ago, this was the first time I’d heard her swear for real.
“Tina,” I said. “Watch your language.”
“Screw my language. Who are you to tell me how to act? I’ve been your only editor since you learned how to put two sentences together, and now you ditch me for a guy you barely even know?”
I didn’t feel like I barely knew Alex, and her superior tone annoyed me even though I understood why she was upset.
“I asked for Alex’s help,” I said, “because he’s an aspiring author, too. He’s very talented, and he’s got a degree in—”
“Oh,” she said indignantly, “he’s got a degree. Well, I guess all the time I’ve spent editing your work means nothing because I don’t have a degree.”
That wasn’t what I’d meant, but I doubted I could convince her of it. She called the waitress over and ordered something stronger than wine as my phone wiggled in my hand and I looked down at a text from Alex that said: I’m so proud of you.
I smiled. Tina glared at me. Our dinners arrived and so did her drink, which she downed quickly, then ordered another.
“Cool it with the booze,” I told her.
She tossed her hair. “Don’t worry. I’m paying for myself tonight.”
“That’s not what I meant. This was supposed to be my treat, and I’ll take care of the check. You don’t make a lot at the shelter.”
Her drink arrived—a cocktail with a maraschino cherry at the bottom of the glass. She plucked it out by the stem and stuck it in her mouth. “Well,” she said between chews, “we can’t all be an editor’s assistant and work for media empires and have massive checks delivered to our front door every week. But you seem to have forgotten that my daddy has money, too. I’ll put my half of the bill on the credit card he gave me.”
I sighed. She was so worked up that beads of sweat had broken out on her upper lip. “I know your father has money, Tina. But you can’t charge anything on his credit card. He said he’d only support you until you found a job, right?”
She swigged her drink and slammed the empty glass onto the table. “Don’t concern yourself with what my daddy says, Savannah. You never gave a damn about it before.”
Eighteen
Tina kept her arms folded and her legs crossed as she stared out the window when we were in the back of Tony’s car. All I heard was muffled traffic and “WCBS News time is ten seventeen.”
Tony seemed to feel the rift between me and Tina. “So,” he said cheerfully, like he was trying to smooth over the awkwardness, “Alex called earlier, Savannah … and he told me you’re going to be published in the magazine you work for. You must be really excited.”
“Yes,” I said stiffly.
He cleared his throat and turned a corner. “Alex also mentioned he’s sorry he has to work all weekend. He really misses seeing you.”
Tina’s eyes shot toward me. I nearly winced. I was sure Tony had meant to cheer me up, but he couldn’t have found a worse thing to say.
“Oh-h,” Tina said, lengthening the word, “Alex has to work all weekend. Well, aren’t I an idiot? I thought you’d cleared your schedule so we could spend some time together when all along I’ve been a cheap consolation prize.”
“That’s not true,” I said, but maybe I was wrong.
She leaned forward and stuck her head into the space between the two front seats. “You know something, Tony?” she said, her words slightly slurring. “Savannah and I were best friends once. She loved my cooking … but now she won’t touc
h it. And I used to be the first person she’d let read her stories because she didn’t trust anybody’s opinion except mine. But suddenly she thinks Alex’s opinion is more important, which is why she let him edit the story that’s going to be in the magazine. She never even let me see it. She thinks I’m useless because I didn’t finish college and anybody who doesn’t have a degree is stupid.”
Tony looked at me in the rearview mirror. I remembered Alex saying that Tony hadn’t graduated from Columbia, which made me want to vanish. And there was no time to argue with Tina and salvage Tony’s opinion of me. We were at 15 Central Park West, and Tina flung open her door with no regard for the passing cars.
“Tina,” I said, watching her stumble onto the street. “Be careful.”
She slammed the door in my face. Tony turned around.
“Is that true?” he asked.
“Of course it isn’t. I don’t care if people have a degree or not.”
He held up his hand. “No. I mean did you treat her like crap because of Alex?”
I didn’t say anything; I just stared at his brown eyes and the fading freckles on his cheeks before I opened my door and stepped onto the sidewalk, where Tina was staggering toward the building. She’d nearly reached the entrance when she slipped out of her shoe. She twisted her ankle, fell to the ground, and scraped her bare knee against the concrete. I raced toward her and tried to help her up, but she shoved me away.
Then Tony was there, crouching beside her. He took a handkerchief out of his blazer, wrapped it around her bloody knee, and carefully touched her ankle the way he’d examined my knuckles after I slapped Ned.
“It’s probably just sprained. Do you have a compression bandage upstairs?” Tony asked, and when I shook my head he went back to his car and returned with a first-aid kit.
“I can’t stand up,” Tina told him.
“I’ll help you,” I offered.
“Don’t bother,” she said.
Tony put his arm around her waist and hoisted her up. She leaned on him, hopping on one foot while he led her through the lobby and into the elevator as I trailed behind. Then we were outside my apartment, and I opened the door into such a mess that I wondered if Tony thought I was like one of those crazy hoarder people on TV.
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