“Totally.” Evie nodded. “I’m just doing it one more week.”
“Me too,” Krista said. “As soon as we finish shooting Funderland, it’s over.”
The girls regarded each other. Evie was unsure who, exactly, sounded most suspicious. “Can I borrow a dress?” she asked.
Krista nodded, gesturing at her closet. “Where you going?”
“Just a lo-fi thing with Velma.” Evie tried to appear nonchalant. “And her friends.”
Krista’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s introducing you to her friends? Dude, that’s huge.”
“I met some of her friends already,” Evie said. “At the after-party for her book launch. But that was like, ‘Come to this party that I’m inviting everyone in a short dress to.’ This is like, ‘Welcome to my world, here’s the people who know me the best.’ ”
Krista nodded in understanding. “It’s GF territory, for sure.”
“I know. And I know it can never be anything, but still.” Her smile turned goofy. “She wants me to meet her friends. She told me to dress to impress.” She held up two dresses: one red, one black.
“Red,” Krista said. “For sure. It’s way more, ‘Look out, I’m hot as hell, bitches.’ ”
Ordinarily that would be Evie’s cue to take the black dress. But tonight, Krista was right. If there was one thing Chloe could do well, it was dress to motherfucking impress. “Done.”
Krista hunched forward, circling her knees to her chest. “About all that stuff with Willow. It’s not good, right? The photos.”
Evie let the dress fall to her side. “No. I don’t think so. But she’s an adult. She can make her own mistakes.” But even as she said it, doubt niggled. Was she supposed to be doing something more for Willow? Call Mark? Certainly Evie felt Mark could get through to Willow, maybe even better than she could. But was that just another impulse to intrude?
“Hey, Evie?”
“Yeah, babe?”
Krista fixed Evie with a surprisingly earnest expression. “What do you think Amy Poehler is doing right now?”
Evie took a deep breath and sighed. “I think she’s just trying her best, Kris. I think she’s just taking it one day at a time.”
53.
Evie slammed the cab door shut. As it rumbled off into the night, she took a few seconds to marvel at the sight across the road.
Velma Wolff, head bent to her phone.
Waiting. For her.
As her interest in women had begun to cement itself as more than just sexual fantasies, more than just thoughts she’d assumed (incorrectly) that every girl had, the accompanying relationship fantasies had begun to bloom. Evie would spend subway rides imagining extended scenes of being someone important’s girlfriend, the one thanked in speeches or mentioned in interviews. Of course, in these fantasies, Evie was equally famous—a celebrated columnist like Carrie Bradshaw without the terrible relationship, or an overly accomplished twentysomething feminist icon—a Lena, a Tavi, the next four-letter-named cultural phenomenon.
Standing across the road from a cute-looking Fort Greene bar called Sweet & Lowdown, she realized that impossible dream was coming true. In a completely unbelievable and logic-defying way, it was actually becoming a reality.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe you could manifest your own destiny.
When she was just a few feet away, Evie called to Velma, “Excuse me.”
Evie sashayed the four-alarm-fire red dress toward her. Velma’s eyes bugged, practically zooming three feet in front of her face like a cartoon character. It was the kind of outfit that inspired stand-up bass on a soundtrack and caused cigarettes to fall from open lips. Sure, it took two hours to create and was intensely uncomfortable, but right now, that all seemed worth it . . .
“Sorry to bother you.” Evie curled her fingers around Velma’s lapels. “But are you . . . Velma Wolff?”
Velma regained her cool. “I might be.”
Evie hovered her lips an inch from Velma’s. She could smell the sweet hint of alcohol on the writer’s breath. “Can I have an autograph?”
Velma shifted forward without letting their mouths connect. “Maybe. If you’re a good girl.”
Evie was getting wet. “What happens if I’m a bad girl?”
Velma’s hands found Evie’s hips. Her voice was husky. “I think you know,” she murmured, “what happens to bad girls.”
For a long, electrifying second, the two women stood there. Evie wanted Velma to break.
Velma said, “Let’s go in.”
Abruptly, she pulled back from Evie, circling around her to pull the bar door open. Music and the loud babble of conversation spilled from inside, breaking the tension. Evie’s entire body was thrumming.
This night would be wonderful.
“Thank you,” she said to Velma as she strutted into the bar.
Sweet & Lowdown was nicer inside than the modest exterior suggested, all warm wood and low-hanging Edison lightbulbs. The crowd was well dressed without being preppy, and while it was noisy, you didn’t have to shout to be heard. The guys behind the bar were wearing black button-downs with red suspenders and artful mustaches. It was a thirtysomething bar, Evie decided. A grown-ups’ bar.
Velma steered her toward the back. In front of a set of wooden stairs leading up, a sign read: Upstairs Bar Closed for Private Event. Velma unhooked the red velvet rope. “After you.”
Evie assumed Velma was checking out her butt as they went up the darkened staircase. She added a little wiggle for her benefit.
The stairs gave way to a large, private room, smaller than the bar downstairs, and less crowded. A bar ran across the back wall. One bartender mixed something in a cocktail shaker, while another circled with a silver tray of champagne and wine. Louis Armstrong’s tender, guttural voice underscored the chatter from the small group of polished-looking people who were closer to Velma’s age than to Evie’s. But what caught Evie’s attention was the sign that was strung up. Gold lettering on a black banner: Congratulations Karyn + Mitch OO!
The two Os were meant to be rings. Wedding rings.
“Is this an engagement party?” Evie asked Velma in surprise.
Velma nodded. “That’s Karyn.” She indicated a woman who was laughing with a gaggle of other women, the center of their focus. In her polite black dress, not too high heels, and flawless French braid, Karyn looked pretty, if on the conservative side. Someone who had a gym membership she actually used; someone who didn’t swear a lot. “And Mitch is . . . over there. By the windows.” Velma pointed to a man with short curly hair and a pleasant open face talking earnestly with another man who looked similar—his brother, maybe.
The waiter with the tray of drinks approached. Evie took a glass of champagne gratefully. Was it odd Velma hadn’t mentioned this was an engagement party? Maybe. But what difference would it make?
Karyn’s eyes met hers. Her face twitched subtly, as if detecting smoke. Then she saw Velma. A look of raw shock surged onto her face. It took her a few seconds to recover. She excused herself and began walking over, touching the side of her braid self-consciously.
Velma circled her hand around Evie’s waist, casually protective.
“Velma, oh my god.” Karyn’s smile was wide. Almost too wide. She pressed her cheek to Velma’s, air-kissing her. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”
Velma shrugged. “You invited me. Congratulations, by the way.”
Karyn was staring at Velma. Evie couldn’t get a read on her expression: she was either thrilled or horrified. It took a long moment for Karyn to take in Velma’s words. “What?” She shook her head. “Oh, thanks. Mitch’ll be . . .” She smiled hard at Velma, cocking her head. “I think he’ll be surprised you’re here.” Her face clearly said, As am I.
“This is Chloe,” Velma said.
Evie stuck her hand out. “Hi. Congratulations.”
Karyn’s handshake was quick and cold. “Hi.” Her eyes moved around Evie’s face and she began nodding. Someh
ow, the visual of Chloe confirmed something. Karyn looked back at Velma. “Well, she’s gorgeous!”
Evie felt a snap of surprise, of anger. “And she’s right in front of you,” she said, forcing herself to keep smiling.
Karyn gave a loud, odd laugh. Velma chuckled too, tightening her grip around Evie’s waist. The whole thing was decidedly awkward. Did Velma bring her as a trophy date?
Karyn addressed Velma again. “Congratulations on Milk Teeth.” Karyn’s hand pressed into her chest. “I read it last weekend. Couldn’t put it down. God, I love when you work with Brett. He really knows how to push you.”
“Brett’s my editor,” Velma said to Evie. “Karyn and I . . . used to work together.”
“That’s diplomatic!” Karyn exclaimed. “I used to work for you.”
Velma made a face as if she disagreed. “No, I like to think of it—”
“I used to work for you.” Karyn almost snapped the words. She addressed Evie. “I was her publicist.”
“Oh.” Evie nodded, affecting polite interest, masking biting discomfort.
Karyn took in Evie’s expression. “You didn’t know that? She hasn’t told you . . .” Then, under her breath, “No, of course she hasn’t.”
Evie glanced back in the direction of the fiancé, Mitch. He was staring at them from across the room.
“I have to mingle,” Karyn announced with a hard-won sort of cheerfulness. “Lovely to meet you, Chloe, and . . . I’ll . . . see you guys later.”
Karyn headed back into the party.
Velma nodded in the direction of some empty leather couches. “Let’s grab a seat.”
As soon as they sat down, Evie turned to Velma incredulously. “Okay. So?”
Velma looked back. “So?”
Evie elbowed her lightly. “Don’t play dumb, just tell me.”
Velma’s lips curled up teasingly. “Tell you what?”
Evie gave Velma a hard look. She wasn’t going to be taken for a fool. She grabbed her purse and made a move to get up. Velma grabbed her arm. “Hey, don’t go. I’m sorry, I’ll stop being a bitch.”
“What, did you used to date or something?”
“Yes.” Velma nodded. “Actually . . . We were engaged.”
“Engaged?” Evie felt the blood drain from her cheeks. “As in . . . to be married?”
“No, engaged to be astronauts.”
Evie sneaked her eyes back at Karyn, who was air-kissing an older couple who’d just arrived. “When?”
Velma creased her forehead.
“If it’s anything less than a year, that’s seriously weird,” Evie added. “Anything less than six months and I’m leaving.”
“Oh god no, it was ages ago,” Velma said. “Eight years. Nine?”
Karyn looked about thirty. Eight years ago she would’ve been twenty-two. About Evie’s age. “So she was gay then,” Evie said.
Velma shrugged. “She was in love with a woman.”
“Why didn’t you get married?”
Velma rolled her glass between her palms. “It was . . . complicated.”
“Who ended it?” Evie asked.
“Hm?” Velma said, even though Evie was sure she’d heard her.
“Who ended it?”
Velma held Evie’s gaze.
A male voice boomed, “Velma fucking Wolff!”
A barrel-chested man with a scruffy beard was grinning at Velma, arms flung wide.
“Theo!” Velma exclaimed. She rose in one quick, graceful motion. “I thought you were still in Tokyo!”
Theo was an extreme food writer who’d turned his blog, Dare Me to Eat It, into a book of the same name. He’d been kicked out of Japan for overstaying his visa, a fact cheerily relayed from his position sandwiched between Velma and Evie.
More guests arrived. Soon the half-empty room was full.
Being Velma’s date was a stamp of instant cool. Evie could feel people wanting her attention, her approval, almost as much as they wanted Velma’s. And it felt great. Because if a special person had chosen you to give their attention to, that made you just as special.
She also felt good about how she’d handled finding out about Karyn, particularly the instinct to get up and leave when Velma was withholding the truth. Velma liked this, she realized. She liked it when Evie was tough and witty. And while this girl—the ballsy, beautiful girl who teased Velma and didn’t mind being teased herself—seemed to entice Velma, she wasn’t as neat a fit for Evie. Evie wanted to be able to cuddle up to Velma, to have Velma baby her for a minute. But Velma didn’t seem very interested in that. Because you’re her date, Evie reminded herself. Not her girlfriend.
As the hour crept closer to midnight, Evie and Velma drifted apart. As a longtime singleton, Evie knew how to take care of herself while flying solo. But after getting stuck in a bad conversation with an investment banker, Evie realized it’d been over an hour since they’d checked in. “You have to start saving for retirement right now,” the banker was saying to her. His dark hair was set like concrete with too much gel. “Are you an actress?”
Evie glanced over his shoulder, looking for Velma. “Sort of.”
“I thought so.” He smiled smugly. “Women like you assume you can monetize your looks forever, but you can’t. You need a financial strategy to deal with what happens when you’re forty.”
Finally, she spotted Velma, talking with Karyn on the other side of the room, all but hidden by an enormous potted palm. Karyn had her arms crossed across her chest. The conversation looked intense.
“Do you have that?” the banker asked.
Evie willed Velma to look over. “Have what?”
The banker’s eyes dropped unsubtly to Evie’s cleavage before fixing on her again. “A financial strategy.”
I’ll tell you what my strategy for right now involves, Evie thought. An untraceable bullet and a body bag.
Velma’s head lifted. Her eyes swept the room. They landed on Evie. Evie widened her eyes and made a save me face. Velma ducked her head back to Karyn and placed a hand on her shoulder, murmuring something. Karyn laughed and pushed Velma lightly, which made Velma chuckle. But she made no move to leave. Evie stiffened.
The banker inched closer. She could smell his sweat. “The thing about women like you is—”
“The thing about women like me is they know when to walk away from creeps like you.” Fuck this. She was out. She pushed past him, intending to grab her purse.
“Chloe, is it?” Mitch, Karyn’s fiancé, stepped into her path.
“Um, yes. Hi.” Evie tried to gather herself. “Congratulations . . . Wedding.”
Mitch blinked glassily. He looked equally intent and drunk. “I was wondering if you could get your girlfriend to leave now.”
“My what?”
Mitch waved his hands in the air. “I know everyone’s fucking so impressed that the famous Velma Wolff is here, but this is my engagement party.” He slapped himself on the chest. “This is about me, and my wife, soon-to-be wife, and I just think showing up with a perfect fucking ten”—Mitch gestured at Evie to indicate she was the ten in question—“it’s just not that classy, you know? It took Karyn a long time to get over her and all the bullshit she put her through. I would just prefer if she would kindly get the fuck out of here.”
Evie stared at Mitch dumbly. Mitch nodded, his gaze shifting past Evie. He clamped an unsteady hand on her shoulder and lurched toward the bar.
Velma was still in the corner with Karyn. As Evie watched, Velma lifted one hand and lightly touched Karyn’s cheek. Karyn’s face broke into a smile.
Evie felt like she’d been socked in the stomach. Velma didn’t care about her. Chloe was a pawn; a prop. She snatched at her purse and cut through the dance floor, unable to leave the whole mess fast enough.
Down on the street, she searched desperately for a cab. How stupid to assume Velma actually liked her! She was stupid, she made terrible choices all the time, and this was just one of what would surely be a lifetime o
f—
“Chloe!” It was Velma.
Evie ignored her. A cab with its light on appeared at the end of the street. Evie signaled for it.
“Chloe, wait!” Velma jogged toward her. “Where are you going?”
“I wanted to give you and Karyn some space,” Evie replied. “That’s who you were really here for, right?”
“What? No!” Velma ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “I mean, yes, she’s my friend, so—”
“She’s your ex.” Evie spat the word. “But it looks like you’d prefer her to be something else.” The cab pulled to a stop. Evie opened the door. Velma placed one hand on it gently before she could get in.
“Karyn is getting married,” Velma said. “To a man. End of story.” She sucked in a breath. “Did I want to smooth things over between us tonight? Yes. I did. I like being friends with all of my exes.”
Evie shot her a snarky look. “Must be nice, being so popular.”
The cabdriver called, “You getting in?”
“You brought me here tonight to make her jealous,” Evie continued hotly. “You barely said two words to me all night!”
“I know, and I’m sorry. There were a lot of people there I hadn’t seen in a while. You said this was the only night you had free, and I wanted to see you. It wasn’t how I wanted our second date to go.”
“Miss?” The cabdriver revved the engine impatiently.
“Just a minute,” Evie told him, still holding the door open. She eyed Velma uncertainly. “How did you want our second date to go?”
Velma’s face softened into a smile. Cautiously, she moved her hand from the cab door to rest on Evie’s shoulder. “I wanted to cook you dinner. Three courses. Open a bottle of something special. Candles. My grandmother’s china. I wanted,” she continued, “to woo you, Chloe Fontaine. Because you’re a woman who deserves to be wooed.”
Evie felt herself melting. That just sounded so . . . nice. Sophisticated. Sexy.
Velma gazed at Evie intensely. “Let me drop you home. Please. Let’s not end our night like this.”
Evie glanced between the open cab door and the woman in front of her. She didn’t want the night to end with a solo cab ride home either. Just once, just for once, didn’t she deserve to be dropped home, like a woman who deserved to be wooed?
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