Now That I've Found You

by Kristina Forest

  As we ride the train for the third time this week, I think about the conversation from our first subway ride and how it went unfinished.

  “Do you really think that Gigi is lonely?” I ask.

  He glances down at me, and I’m wondering if he’s going to evade the question like he did before. But he says, “The day I first brought groceries to your grandma, I was nervous, of course, because she’s Evelyn Conaway, you know? Mr. Gabriel was all like, Don’t stay too long or annoy her. Just drop off the food and go. But as soon as your grandma let me in, she just kept talking to me. She asked what I did other than deliver groceries, so I told her about the band. She told me she worked at a speakeasy when she was around my age.”

  “Don & Jake’s,” I say.

  Milo nods. “Yeah, Don & Jake’s. She asked if I wanted to listen to some records, and I thought I should say no because Mr. Gabriel told me not to stay longer than necessary, but I just had this feeling that she wanted to spend time with someone, that she was tired of spending so much time alone. So I stayed, and we listened to Curtis Mayfield. Every time I dropped off her groceries, we’d listen to a new record. I guess we bonded over music.”

  “Okay,” I say, absorbing this. I imagine Gigi, sitting at home alone, just waiting for someone to come along and talk to her. My heart aches. “But how did that turn into you staying with her?”

  “She was just trying to help me out.”

  Again with the vagueness. “And you said she doesn’t stay inside all the time. I could have sworn that Gigi hadn’t left her house in eight years. Where does she go?”

  “Nowhere too far,” he says. “Sometimes she brings me with her to Esther’s, and every now and then she’ll want to go for a walk in Central Park. But she always wears these weird outfits so that no one recognizes her. Big hats and glasses.” He pauses. “Kind of like what you’re doing now.”

  “Yeah,” I say, sighing. “I’ve put that together too.”

  All this time, I thought that Gigi never went anywhere unless Frank was around to drive her. But why did I just assume that this was true? It’s not like she ever said so herself. She’d just been adamant for so long about not coming back to LA; I thought that meant she never went anywhere.

  When we get off the subway and walk up Gigi’s street, the same black car is idling a few houses down.

  “That car is still here, hours later!” I hiss, pointing.

  Milo shrugs. “I really think you’re reading too deep into this.”

  But then, as if the universe wants to help prove me right, the driver-side door opens and the same older man who approached me outside the museum last night walks toward us.

  Alarm bells sound off in my head again, and for some reason, I doubt that this man is a friend of Gigi’s like Mr. Gabriel. Did he follow me here? Has he been waiting for me since last night?

  “Milo…” I stop walking.

  He follows my line of sight and stops too, shifting to stand in front of me.

  The man continues to approach, smiling widely. He stops when he’s a few feet away.

  “Can I help you?” Milo asks.

  “Yes, good afternoon,” the man says. “I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.” He lowers his voice a little. “Does Ms. Evelyn Conaway live here?”

  I gasp. So much for thinking he was a harmless and kind old man! He’s a stalker!

  “Why?” Milo asks, his voice serious. “Who are you?”

  “Forgive my manners. My name is George. I’m an employee of Mr. James Jenkins,” he says. “I was instructed—”

  “Wait, James Jenkins is your boss?” I interrupt.

  “Yes.” He looks at me and blinks. “You’re the young lady from last night. Lovely to see you again.”

  Milo’s head jerks back in surprise. He glances at me and raises an eyebrow.

  George continues, “I was instructed by Mr. Jenkins to give this invitation to Ms. Conaway the moment she surfaced from her home, but I haven’t had any luck so far today.”

  He pulls a small white envelope out of his pocket. Slowly, Milo takes it from him.

  I stand on tiptoe and peek over Milo’s shoulder as he opens the envelope. Inside, there’s an invitation to the premiere party for Aliens Attack Earth 4, including a personal note from James.

  Peg,

  I know your feelings haven’t changed since the last time we spoke, but given the recent circumstances, I hope there is a chance you will reconsider. Please come tonight. I would love to see you.

  J

  Um, excuse me?!

  “What recent circumstances?” I ask, swiping the note out of Milo’s hand. I look at George. “What is James talking about?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” George says. “I’m just a driver and occasional errand runner. I don’t involve myself in Mr. Jenkins’s personal affairs.”

  My head is spinning. Her feelings haven’t changed since the last time they spoke? Her feelings about what, exactly? This has to be in reference to that phone call they had.

  “Sounds like it will be a great party,” I say to George. “I’ll make sure she gets this.”

  Milo says, “Um.” I give him a pointed look, and he gives one right back.

  “Great!” George says. “Mr. Jenkins will be thrilled.” He nods goodbye and smoothly walks back to his car.

  “You’re not thinking of going, are you?” Milo asks, although his tone says he knows that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  “James obviously knows something,” I say. I guess it’s time for the not-exactly-family reunion I’ve been avoiding.

  “I thought you weren’t making any public appearances before Sunday.”

  “I’m not. That’s why I have my wig.” I look over the invitation again. “It’s at The Copacabana on Forty-Eighth Street.”

  Milo frowns. “I don’t think your grandma would want you to go to his party.”

  “Of course she wouldn’t. But I also didn’t want her to up and leave without telling me if she’d be back before what is quite possibly the biggest night of both of our lives, so I guess we’ll have to call this even. And she never has to find out that I was there if you don’t tell her.”

  He narrows his eyes, and I narrow mine too. We’re in a standoff on Gigi’s front stoop.

  He breaks the silence first. “You shouldn’t go by yourself. I’ll go with you.”

  He braces himself, like he’s ready for me to argue. I take in his long and lanky limbs, and when I look up at his face, I fixate on his nose ring and full lips. But only for a moment.

  “Just in case anything happens,” he adds quickly, “I want to go with you as a friend. Or I guess I should say acquaintance, since you’re allergic to friendships.”

  “Ha,” I deadpan. “At least you won’t need a suit for this.”

  His apprehensive expression changes to a smirk. “Good.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back during my brief time in the spotlight, I had a stylist and we created an Evie Jones aesthetic: bright and flirty, yet classic. There is nothing bright or flirty about the black silk sleeveless dress and white patent leather platform boots I took from Gigi’s closet. But that’s the whole point. I don’t need to call attention to myself tonight. The plan is to blend in, find James, ask about Gigi, and then get out of there.

  I finish the look with my bob wig and sunglasses and take a car to the venue. I’m not surprised there’s a line outside. Paparazzi are snapping pictures of the celebrities who skip the line and walk right through the door.

  Milo is already standing in line, and he waves when he sees me coming. He’s wearing a denim jacket, a striped white button-up, black jeans with rips in the knees, and classic black Vans.

  “Hi,” I say.

  He takes in my whole look, and then he smiles. “You look really nice.”

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  He blinks. “You mean you’re not going to make me go home and change this time?”

  “Of c
ourse not,” I say, surprised. I feel prickly all over with guilt. “Your suit wasn’t that bad, really. It just wasn’t appropriate for the setting. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  He laughs. “I was only joking, Evie. But thanks for two compliments in a row.” He gives my shoulder a friendly little pat and removes his hand before I can react.

  “And here I thought you didn’t like to lie,” I say.

  “Jokes and lies aren’t the same thing.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I hum. I turn away to pull out my invitation and so I can stop looking at his smile. As we inch closer to the door, I prepare myself to smoothly explain that Milo is my plus-one, but it turns out I won’t have to do any explaining at all.

  “Adrian?” Milo says, looking up at the bouncer, who is apparently employed by every nightclub between Manhattan and Brooklyn. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m working,” Adrian says. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “We’re here for the party.” Milo points at the door, and Adrian quirks an eyebrow.

  “How did you score an invitation?” he asks.

  Milo, who clearly wants to give Honest Abe a run for his money, just stands there and gulps.

  “We know people,” I say, stepping forward and showing my invitation.

  Adrian looks at me carefully with his huge brown eyes. “Oh, look, it’s the girl from last night.”

  “I told you I wasn’t lying about knowing Milo,” I say triumphantly.

  “Uh-huh.” He squints at the invitation like he thinks it’s fake. “Who do you know?”

  I blink. “What?”

  “You said you know people. What people do you know?”

  I bet I could name at least fifteen people who are inside this establishment right now, but none of them would recognize me looking like this. And I doubt that any of them would come to my aid.

  “I don’t see why that’s important,” I say, crossing my arms, trying my best not to pout like a little kid. “You have our invitation. Now can you please let us inside?”

  He stamps a little green alien on the backs of our hands. “Go ahead, but let me remind you, no alcohol. If I find out you were drinking—”

  “You’ll pull us out yourself,” Milo finishes. “We know, bro. Thanks.”

  It’s clear once we’re inside that Adrian didn’t spout his no-drinking rule to every person who looks under twenty-one. Two guys, who are already drunk, amble in our direction, and when one trips, Milo grabs my hand and pulls me out of the way. As we continue on, the crowd gets thicker, so I don’t let go. My sunglasses make everything darker, but I don’t dare take them off. The music is crazy loud, and the bass vibrates so hard it’s throwing off my equilibrium.

  There are people in alien costumes, taking pictures with guests, and they look cartoonishly evil. On principle, I’ve never actually seen any of the Aliens Attack Earth movies, but I hear they’re entertaining. Tonight, the aliens are like little specks in a sea of partygoers. Too many people in one place. That was always my least favorite part about going out, but Simone never minded it so much.

  When I think about it—and trust me, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it—I realize Simone only wanted to be my friend because she thought it would give her some kind of connection. The first time we met, I was sitting at the lunch table alone. It was the second day of freshman year. The majority of my classmates had already decided I’d been given enough handouts and that I didn’t need their friendship too. But Simone sat down right across from me.

  “Hey, I’m Simone,” she said, tossing her long braids over her shoulder. “What’s your concentration?”

  “Acting,” I said, relieved to have someone to talk to. “I’m Evie.”

  I thought it was a Black thing, you know? Like how Black people always seem to find one another and congregate, regardless of where they are. We were two of the few Black girls at McKibben. But now I see how she would find ways to ask about my parents, to ask about Gigi.

  Like on my fifteenth birthday, when Simone came to my house and was surprised to see that it was just a dinner for the two of us and my parents. “Where’s your grandma?” were the first words out of her mouth, instead of “happy birthday.”

  I was just so desperate and grateful to finally have a friend that I ignored all the signs. And it cost me my career.

  “You okay?” Milo shouts over the music, angling his face toward mine.

  I didn’t realize that I zoned out. And we’re still holding hands. I should probably let go, but then I might lose him. This place is really packed.

  I nod, then shout back, “Yeah!”

  We stop at a corner of the room, near one of the bars. It’s a great vantage point to scope out the entire club. All the way to the right, there are roped-off sections with tables, and that’s where James Jenkins is sitting. It looks like he’s only surrounded by his team. There aren’t any other actors up there with him.

  Do men in their seventies usually go to after-parties for their films? I don’t know. But I guess most men in their seventies aren’t like James Jenkins. I have to find a way to get up there and talk to him.

  Beside me, Milo sings along to the song that’s playing. It’s not one I recognize. I pull on his arm to get his attention, and that’s when I realize there are three boys standing a few feet away and they’re staring at us. They don’t stop staring when I make eye contact with them either. They whisper to one another, and then, as if gathering confidence, they start to walk over.

  Crap. They know who I am. The wig and sunglasses aren’t enough. Are they Paul Christopher superfans, coming to get revenge?

  “Milo,” I say, pulling harder on his sleeve, nodding my head at the boys.

  They approach, and I ready myself. No, I’m not who you think I am, I’ll say.

  But they don’t even look at me. One boy says to Milo, “Yo, are you in that group Doves Have Pride?”

  Milo blinks, then his mouth splits into a huge grin. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “That EP you dropped over the summer was lit,” another boy says. The others nod enthusiastically.

  I stare at them in complete silence. My jaw is on the floor.

  The boys turn around and beckon over more friends. Like bees to honey, they flock to Milo until a small crowd has surrounded us, and they all want to know more about Doves Have Pride. When is their next show? Why is Milo here? Were they included on the Aliens Attack Earth 4 soundtrack? Answers: Two weeks. He’s chilling with his friend (me). No, but he wishes they were.

  After all the questions are answered and Milo autographs one girl’s hand, the small crowd disperses. Milo has a dreamy-eyed look on his face. Meanwhile, I’m astounded. I mean, from the amount of people at their show last night, I could tell they had a following, but I didn’t realize it went past Brooklyn.

  I guess this is what happens when you avoid social media. You miss everything.

  Milo is practically glowing.

  “I really need to see your music video,” I say.

  He turns to me, shocked. “You haven’t seen it yet?”

  “No,” I say sheepishly.

  “Wowww, that’s messed up.”

  I start to tell him about my social media hiatus, but two of his fans return and excitedly ask if Milo will take a picture with them. As he pulls out his phone, he moves his arm wide, and his drink splashes down the front of my dress.

  “Oh no,” I groan. Gigi is going to kill me. This dress is vintage silk!

  “I’m so sorry,” the boy says. He reaches out to, I don’t know, attempt to help me or something, but I shake my head.

  “It’s okay.” I turn to Milo. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and rinse this off.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” he says, but I shake my head at this too.

  “No, no, stay and take your pictures. I’ll be fine.”

  He doesn’t look happy about it, but he also doesn’t want to disappoint his new fans either. “I’ll wait for you here.”


  I nod and make my way to the bathroom, which is really hard to do while wearing these sunglasses and without having Milo’s height or broad shoulders to push through the crowd. I don’t understand how there are celebrities who wear sunglasses 24/7.

  Several groups of girls are taking pictures in the bathroom mirror, and I bypass them for the sink at the end of the row, farthest away from everyone. They eventually clear out as I struggle to rinse the spot from my dress. When the door shuts behind them and I’m finally alone, I take off my sunglasses so that I can see better. As soon as I get the alcohol smell out of Gigi’s dress, I’m going to find a way to talk to James and then be out of here.

  “This is the most boring party I’ve ever been to.”

  My head snaps up as the bathroom door pushes open and I hear a familiar voice.

  Almost as if it’s happening in slow motion, I watch as Simone Davis walks into the bathroom, her phone pressed to her ear.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  Her braids hang long and loose down to her waist, and she’s wearing a tight-fitted fuchsia minidress. She looks amazing. Somehow that makes everything much worse.

  Her eyes widen when she sees me. “Oh shit,” she whispers into her phone. “Celia, let me call you back.”

  She hangs up, and we stare at each other across the room. My heart is hammering in my chest, like it wants to climb its way up my throat and escape.

  “Evie?” she says in disbelief. “What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?” She looks me up and down, scrunching her eyebrows together.

  I always imagined what I would do or say if we saw each other again. I’d scream and shout, make her feel horrible, bring her down as low as she brought me. But I can’t say anything. I’m too shocked, frozen to the spot. I feel like all the blood is rushing to my face, as if I’ve been on one of those spinning rides at an amusement park. I didn’t expect to run into her here, although I should have. Everyone is in the city for the FCCs. Why didn’t I guess that she’d be here too?