You’ve lost sight of who you are. She sounds just like my parents.
I know exactly who I am and what I want. It’s why I’m going through all this trouble. I thought that Gigi of all people would understand why I want to fix this situation, why I need her help. But she doesn’t understand, and she’s refusing to try.
“And you call yourself happy?” I ask, throwing my hands up. “How can you say that when you can’t even bring yourself to leave this house? How can you judge me for my mistakes when you embarrassed yourself in front of the world and ended your career over a mean thing your husband did to you? What do you know about happiness, Gigi?”
My voice gets louder and louder until I’m practically shouting. But when I finally take a look at Gigi’s face, all the fight in me dies.
“I’m sorry, Gigi,” I quickly say. “I didn’t mean that.”
She turns away from me. Gigi doesn’t yell. Her motto is that the quietest person in the room actually tends to be the loudest.
I try to apologize again, but she holds up her hand to stop me from talking just as Milo comes barreling down the steps. I forgot he was still in the house, and I suddenly feel even worse about shouting at Gigi.
“Milo,” she calls, “take Evie out with you.”
“What?” I say.
“What?” he says, pausing at the door.
“I need space.” Her voice is quiet as she massages her temples. “I need to be alone. Completely.” She means she needs space from me, and it’s the worst feeling in the world.
“Gigi, I’m sorry,” I say.
Ignoring me, she stands abruptly and walks out of the dining room.
I bite my lip, looking down at the spread of cold food on the table. I don’t want to leave, but maybe it’s best that I give her space and try again tomorrow. I walk into the sitting room and put my wig back on, adding the baseball cap and sunglasses.
I watch Gigi as she climbs the staircase with Mark Antony and Cleo right at her heels. But she doesn’t turn around to look at me.
Everything blew up in my face before I could tell her the most important reason I need her at the ceremony. As a last resort, Kerri and I finally took the call from James Jenkins’s team. It turns out that he’s producing a remake of Every Time We Meet, and he wants me to play the lead, Diane Tyler. Months ago, I would have laughed at this offer and said absolutely not. But now I am desperate and pretty sure my career might be over before it’s even begun, so I said yes. There’s only one catch, though. He wants Gigi’s blessing and for her to meet with him after the FCC ceremony. If I can’t get her blessing or convince her to take the meeting, I don’t have the role.
This is what I’ve been so nervous to tell her. And now we can’t even have a conversation about it because I ruined everything by yelling at her.
“It’s nighttime,” Milo says, pointing at my sunglasses as I meet him at the door. “You won’t need those.”
Does he actually think I plan on going wherever he’s going? Yeah, right.
But then again, I could use this time to figure out his agenda. His days of Gigi-freeloading are over.
“I can see just fine,” I say, sliding on my platform sandals.
Then I follow Milo outside into the summer night.
Chapter Five
“What do you want from my grandmother?” I ask Milo.
We’ve barely made it past Gigi’s front stoop. The air is less muggy now that it’s nighttime, but it’s still pretty hot. The street is quiet, though. The only sound I hear is the clicking of my sandals and the lack of sound coming from Milo’s mouth because he hasn’t answered my question. His long legs quickly cover a lot of ground, and I have to walk twice as fast to keep up with him.
“Um, hello,” I say. “Did you hear me?”
He stops abruptly and faces me, running a hand through his short dreads. He’s traded in his slippers for scuffed white Vans, and he’s wearing a plain navy-blue T-shirt.
“Look,” he says, “I’m sure you think I’m some kind of gold digger or whatever, but I’m not. I told you, I’m your grandma’s friend. There’s not really much else to say.”
“Somehow I don’t believe that,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He frowns. “I’m not a liar. That’s something you should know about me now.”
I’m so surprised by how serious he’s become that it takes me a second to realize he’s moving again. I hurry to catch up. Not a liar, my butt. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.” His easy smile is back. “And you’re eighteen, right?”
“Yes,” I answer automatically. Then, “Wait, we’re not talking about me! What nineteen-year-old musician willingly spends time with a seventy-year-old woman, who just so happens to have been a movie star, if he isn’t after her money or some kind of business hookup?”
“You wouldn’t ask that question if you knew how lonely your grandmother is,” he mutters, but I hear him perfectly fine and flinch.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t answer and keeps walking. I still try my best to match his pace. Eventually, we turn onto Broadway, where the streets and sidewalks are more crowded. I stop and tense up. In my rush to interrogate Milo, I’d forgotten that following him outside meant I’d be surrounded by a bunch of other people on the busy New York City streets.
Milo turns around when he realizes I’m not walking beside him. “What are you doing?”
“Um.” I clear my throat, tugging my baseball cap lower. That’s when I realize no one is paying me any attention. The disguise really is working.
“Evie?” Milo says.
“Shh,” I hiss as I start walking again. “Someone might hear you.”
His gaze trails from my head to my toes, and something clicks. “Are you in a disguise right now?”
“Yes. I’m not supposed to make any public appearances until Sunday’s ceremony.” I immediately regret saying so, because it’s not any of his business.
He makes a face as if he’s trying not to laugh, then gets serious again. “Even if you looked like yourself, people would still ignore you. You’re in New York City. But regardless, don’t you think you’re being a little extra? I mean, you were only in that one movie, right? No offense, but it’s not like you’re Rihanna or something.”
I do, in fact, catch myself taking offense! If Milo knew the nasty things people said about me online, he’d tell me to wear a hazmat suit. But then I remember that I don’t want to be recognized. So if he thinks I’ll go unnoticed, that’s perfect. I’m still irritated at what he said, though. “You don’t have to worry about why I’m dressed this way.”
He shrugs. “Okay. Can you just try not to trip while wearing those sunglasses? Your grandma would be really pissed at me if you fell and wound up in the hospital while on my watch.”
I glare at him, deciding I don’t need to respond. I’m mostly annoyed because he’s right. These glasses are pretty dark. When Milo isn’t looking, I lower them a little so that I can see better.
When we reach the entrance to the 1 train, he turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “You’re not actually coming with me to my band meeting, are you?”
Going to a “band meeting” sounds worse than being forced to do improv without notice. But he hasn’t answered all of my questions, and I’m not ready to let go of what he said about Gigi being lonely.
“Yep,” I say, walking down the steps, feeling blisters form on my pinkie toes. These are not the right shoes for walking across New York City, but I’d rather die than ask Milo to slow down. It’s hotter down here, and it stinks. But one subway ride won’t kill me. At least I don’t think it will. “So, tell me, when did you transition from Gigi’s friend to Gigi’s roommate?”
“I don’t live with her full-time,” he says. At least he hasn’t completely infiltrated Gigi’s house, like how Simone did with mine. “I just stay there when I have to work late nights and early mornings back to back. I live in Crown Heights with my bandmates.”
/>
“Where’s that?”
“Brooklyn.” He pulls a yellow card out of his wallet. “You have a MetroCard?”
“A what?”
He waves his card in front of me. “You’ll need one to get on the subway. How do you not know what a MetroCard is? How many times have you visited your grandmother?”
“She used to have a driver, remember? And if you know Gigi so well, you’d know that she barely leaves her house. Frank took me wherever I wanted to go.” I fumble to open my clutch. “Can I buy one with my credit card?”
A voice comes over the loudspeaker, announcing that a train is coming in two minutes. I glance at the long line of people waiting to buy MetroCards and look back at Milo. He’s watching me, slightly amused.
“Let’s just get an Uber,” I suggest.
His eyes widen. “We’re going all the way to the West Village. You have that kind of money?” He pauses, then adds, “Never mind. I’m sure you do. I’ll swipe you through with me. Just stick close.”
We walk up to the turnstile, and I stand right behind him.
“Closer,” he says, wrapping his hand around my arm, pulling me so that I’m right up on his back. He smells good, like cinnamon.
“Won’t we get in trouble for this?” I whisper as he swipes his card and pulls me through the turnstile and onto the other side of the platform. I can already see the headline: EVIE JONES FINALLY REAPPEARS TO COMMIT ILLEGAL ACTS IN NYC. If Kerri knew what I was doing right now, she’d have a heart attack. My heart thumps in my chest, and I’m not sure that it’s purely from committing a crime.
Milo laughs. “They don’t care.” He nods at the MTA employee, who is sitting in the booth, busy texting with her head down.
The train pulls up to the platform, and Milo and I manage to get on just before the doors close. It’s really crowded, so we don’t get a seat. And that really sucks because my feet are killing me.
Milo leans against the door, and I stand in front of him, holding on to the pole. The train jerks when it takes off, and I stumble.
“Whoa, careful,” he says, reaching out a hand to steady me.
Embarrassed, I mumble, “I’ve got it, thanks.”
“You want to sit down?” he asks, eyeing my shoes. “We can switch train cars.”
Ha, nice try, musician boy. You and your manners won’t distract me from my mission.
“What I want is for you to admit what you want from my grandmother,” I say, leaning closer. “Just tell me the truth.”
“I already told you the truth,” he says, frowning. “The better topic is, what do you want from her?”
“Me?” My hand flies to my chest like an offended woman in Victorian-era England. “What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, you,” he says. “You’re trying to force her to go to that ceremony when she clearly doesn’t want to. That’s pretty messed up.”
I suck in a breath, literally speechless. Finally, I manage, “How dare you eavesdrop on our conversation!” People turn to look at us, and I lower my voice to a whisper. “That is not okay.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping; you were shouting. I could hear you all the way upstairs.”
“Gigi understands why I need her to be there,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “Does she? Because it didn’t sound like she did.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
He sighs and holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. We should try to get along for your grandma’s sake, so let’s call a truce. Friends?”
He holds out his hand, and once again I just stare at it.
“No,” I say.
“No?” he repeats. “Is the idea of being my friend that unappealing?”
I frown at him. “Yes.”
“Let me guess,” he says, smiling slowly, “you have something against musicians.”
“Musicians are passionate people who are dedicated to their craft. As an actress, I can respect that. I’m not big on friends.”
He looks at me like I just admitted that I hate babies or those YouTube videos where tiger cubs play with puppies.
“‘Not big on friends’?” he repeats dubiously. “What does that even mean?”
I think of Simone and her bright smile. The way she laughed as we sat across from each other during lunch, or when we stayed up all night in my big, empty house. She was like my sister. Until she wasn’t.
“Some people prefer solitude,” I simply say.
“Hmm” is his only reply. He eyes me intently, and I don’t like the way it seems as if he’s trying to find some deeper meaning behind my words.
“What? Quit looking at me.”
“Sorry.” He turns away, not actually sounding sorry at all.
Behind me, two young boys walk through the subway car selling candy. Milo flags them down and offers a couple of dollars but refuses the candy. The boys smile, eagerly thanking him before moving on. Now it’s my turn to eye Milo. Apparently, musician boy is generous. He glances down and catches me staring. I shove my sunglasses farther up my nose and look away.
“I really was sorry to hear about all that stuff with Paul Christopher,” he suddenly says. “I’ve never liked any of his movies, to be honest. I think he’s overrated.”
I blink, taken aback at how straightforwardly he says this. Everyone else walks on eggshells around me when it comes to what happened with Paul Christopher.
“He’s not overrated,” I finally say, because it’s true. Paul Christopher is brilliant. It’s very rare for thrillers to win Best Picture at the Academy Awards, and he’s done it twice. That role in Deep Within would have changed my life.
“If you say so.” Milo shrugs and looks up to track our stop.
“What did you mean when you said that Gigi is lonely?” I ask.
He returns his attention to me and opens his mouth like he might explain. But instead he says, “That’s something you should talk to her about. We’re getting off next.”
Obviously, I’m not going to get any real answers out of Milo. As far as I’m concerned, my job here is done. For now.
The train comes to a stop at Christopher Street, and I follow Milo out onto the platform and up the steps aboveground. He starts leading me in one direction, but I stop. “Yeah, I’m not actually going with you,” I say.
He nods. “Right. You probably have a lot of friends—I mean, associates—in the city.”
I know of a few classmates who are in New York for the summer, but it would be a stretch to reach out to them even if I weren’t a pariah. I don’t have anyone to see. Milo doesn’t need to know that, though.
“I do,” I lie.
He nods again, slower this time. “Well, if you want some good french fries, you’re welcome to come with me. My bandmate works at Pommes Frites, but I get that you have better things to do.”
French fries? My stomach grumbles at the thought. I barely ate anything at dinner. The last real meal I had was on the plane from LA hours ago, and even that was only crackers and a salad. But why would I settle for french fries with Milo and his bandmates when I’m in New York City and there are literally thousands of other places I could go?
“Um, no thanks,” I say.
We stand on the corner and turn to look at each other. He’s tall. And he really does have a handsome face.
Now would be a good time to stop staring at it.
“Okay, bye.” I turn on my heel and hurry up the street.
“Bye!” he calls after me.
I walk faster and bump into a woman walking her dog. The dog snarls, and so does she. “Take off your damn sunglasses. It’s nighttime!”
Jesus, okay. New Yorkers.
But she’s right. I do need to ditch the sunglasses because it’s way too dark now. I finger-comb my bangs over my eyes and pull my baseball cap down lower. I have no idea where I’m going. I pause in front of a Mediterranean restaurant. It’s packed, so the food must be good. But b
efore I open the door, I clam up. I’ve had luck so far without being recognized, but what if my luck runs out? Sitting alone at a restaurant feels like a bold move. I don’t think I’m ready to be around all of those people yet. It’s funny that I’ve spent all summer wishing I didn’t have to be alone, but the thought of being in a room full of strangers makes my heart race.
I could catch a cab back to Gigi’s, but she said she wanted space. I haven’t been gone very long. If I want her to hear me out, I need to give her all the time she needs. But if I can’t go back to Gigi’s, and I can’t bring myself to go into a restaurant, what am I supposed to do? I’m exhausted, and my feet hurt.
Before I can think better of it, I turn around and speed-walk back to the subway stop, looking for Milo’s blue T-shirt.
And there he is, standing right where I left him, a full head taller than the New York City foot traffic swirling around him.
“I wanted to make sure you got where you were going safely,” he says as I get closer, a tiny smile just short of smug on his face.
I clear my throat. “Um, those french fries … How good are they?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Best in the city.”
He stands there, staring, that tiny smile still on his face. I wish he would stop looking at me so closely.
“Okay, well, are you going to take me there, or what?” I ask.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of bossy?”
I cross my arms and frown. “No.”
He laughs and steps aside, holding out his arms in a gesture for me to walk in front of him. “After you.”
* * *
Pommes Frites is tiny and crowded, but it smells heavenly. Once we step inside, I put my sunglasses back on and stick close to Milo. There’s a long line of people waiting to order, and a short boy with brown skin and a long ponytail stands at the register, looking annoyed and tired. His face lights up when he spots us.
“Milo!” he shouts, completely ignoring the customer in front of him. He waves Milo forward, and his grin widens when he glances at me. “You gonna introduce me to your friend?”
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