by Staci Hart
“So long as we keep getting invitations, none of us are asking any questions. You’d be wise to follow the lead.” She gave me a look, touched with amusement. “Don’t blow it, Jepsen.”
I schooled a flinch at the use of my fake name and pulled her into my side so she couldn’t see my face. How I was supposed to lie to her for the rest of the parties for the articles was beyond me. And the icy cool I’d once prided myself on melted just from proximity to her.
You can’t have the story and the girl, I reminded myself with a slash of pain through my chest.
I pressed a kiss into her hair, wishing I knew what she would say if I told her. When I told her. The longer this went on, the worse it would be. Even though I was leaving, even though I couldn’t keep her, I cared too much about her, and I knew she cared about me too, more than either of us wanted to admit.
Maybe Yara would understand. Maybe I could hold out for a little while. Collect my experiences and write them up without turning them in, stall until it was through. It would buy me some time. Time to break it to Stella. Let her read what I wrote. Try to convince her I was on her side, like I’d been advocating for my anonymous other self.
Maybe she’d even believe me.
Either that or she’d never want to see me again.
“God, you should see Z,” Stella said, pulling off a chunk of Danish and handing it to me. “She went full-blown Givenchy. Black dress, updo, tiara, an opera-length cigarette holder.”
“None of that surprises me.” I popped the bite in my mouth. “Did she bring a plus-one?”
“Nah. Z and Betty have an arrangement—no plus-ones for a year, but I suspect it’ll only last until Z’s over Roman.”
“Fuck that guy.”
“Amen.” She let me go in order to veer toward a trash can, dumping the rest of her breakfast and dusting off her hands.
“How long were they together?”
“About a year,” she answered quietly. “Roman’s always been … well, he’s Roman. Shiny and spectacular and a conniving bitch. I’m not surprised he fucked around and lied to Zeke. I’ve never liked him. But I’d really hoped he’d rise to the occasion. I’m not always the best judge of character, but I could smell Roman a mile away.”
Another flinch of my heart. “What do you mean, not the best judge of character?”
“Well, Dex, for example. I feel like that’s pretty self-explanatory,” she said on a laugh. “I’ve trusted a few friends I shouldn’t have. One in particular was one of our best friends. But … it’s hard to explain without sounding shitty.”
“Then be shitty,” I said, giving her the allowance she’d given me once before.
“So you know how we have those moments … Betty and I call it forty-five seconds of petty. Everyone’s allowed forty-five seconds of petty every once in a while, in a safe space. Things you’d never say to anyone else, things you get mad about for no reason. Well, she got my forty-five seconds of petty often enough and remembered every word I’d said. Then went around and talked about me like that was who I was, some bitter, petty slag.”
“Who?” I asked, instantly angry. “She’s not in the group, is she?”
“No, not anymore. She showed her spots and alienated herself. I also have a terrible track record with men, dating back to sophomore year in high school. In fact, you’re the first nice guy I’ve dated.”
My throat clamped shut. “And you’re sure about me?”
She smiled up at me and bumped my hip. “Dead certain.”
You’re a fucking charlatan, Levi Hunt. I swallowed the stone in my throat and only managed to sink it an inch.
She sighed. “Anyway, good riddance to all of them, especially Roman. I think Z and Betty are ahead of us somewhere. Joss is with them. All three of them went the black dress route, but nobody looks as good as Z, guaranteed. Maybe on the planet.”
“I’d do her.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that or she’ll take you up on it.”
I laughed, peeling off my suit coat before I sweat through it. I slung it over my forearm, wishing with quiet desperation that I could roll up my sleeves and get my neck free of this tie. “How’d you meet Z?”
“We have a friend in costume design who was working with drag show, and Z was the headliner. I think it took all of five seconds for the three of us to become best friends. Betty and I have basically lived together since we were ten, but the addition of Z went down in history as the day we went from being a line to a triangle.”
I paused, processing what she’d just said. “You lived with Betty when you were a kid?”
“Sort of. Our parents were always gone, so I spent most of my time over at her place. That way we weren’t alone.”
I thought back to my childhood, to long days spent with nothing but the television to keep me company. To nights spent listening to the noise of the city and listening for the sound of my parents. “I wish I’d had a friend like that. A place to go.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I wish you’d had a place to go too.”
“Billy was enough. All I really wanted was somebody who gave a shit if I’d eaten. But Billy gave me more than that. He gave me a home, taught me how to live. How to love. Plenty of kids have it worse—I was one of the lucky ones. But I was real happy the last party funded foster support.” A smile tugged at my lips. “Betty told me about your donation.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Ugh, damn her.”
“Why curse Betty? It might have been the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”
“Hotter than riding on the back of your bike without panties on?”
“All right, maybe not that. But it’s up there.”
She chuckled. “Well, I have plenty of disposable income to work with—I live on the interest from my trust.”
I blinked. “Jesus. Must be some trust.”
“Pretty sure it had more to do with my dad screwing over my mother than his desire to be a stand-up guy. But anyway, I have a good chunk per year allocated to charity, so it was no big deal.”
“I think the kids it’ll help would beg to differ.”
She threaded her arm through mine and leaned into me, smiling at the sidewalk.
“So the library’s next. What’s after that?” I asked.
“Nobody knows until we get there. Old Cecelia loves to string us along.”
A pause. “You really don’t know who she is?”
“I really don’t,” she answered. “It seems like a hard thing for you to believe.”
“I guess I just figure somebody has to know.”
“I’m sure. But I’m not one of those somebodies. Bet they’d like to know too.” She jerked her chin at the cops standing against a wrought iron fence bordering a park.
Their eyes found us and tracked our approach. Silently, we stared back. Four faces swiveled to keep track, and as we passed, they pushed themselves off the fence and followed us. One tilted his head to say something into the radio on his shoulder.
Stella stiffened dramatically, making a show of looking “normal.” We picked up our pace, and they picked up theirs.
“Excuse me,” one of the cops said. “You there.”
We jumped, glancing behind us to find they were, in fact, speaking to us. I noted they were neither young nor fit—their paunches had just enough overhang to cover their belt buckles. My eyes met Stella’s, striking a silent accord.
“Run!” she called, grinning.
We took off through the park, hand in hand and laughing like mad as we burst through to the next block and crossed the street.
“Hey!” one of the cops called, but we’d ducked into an alley by the time they made it out.
Panting, I held Stella behind me, but her hands were on my arm so she could peek around the brick corner.
They looked around, and one of them pointed the opposite direction. They split up and took off as quick as they could, which wasn’t very.
When they were out of eyesight, we sagged against the br
ick wall, laughing.
Goddamn, she was a thrill, and I loved a good thrill. Free and open and giving of every bit of her. What I saw of her was exactly what I got. And I was the thief, stealing what by right shouldn’t be mine and hiding all that I was.
“Jesus, since when is it a crime to walk around New York?” she asked. “Warren must have caught wind of the party. Maybe they really do have a mole. Maybe it’s the same person writing the articles. Is it wrong that I hope they are? Because the thought of two people sneaking in makes me feel sick.”
I avoided answering, saying instead, “I’ll bet it’s on Instagram. There’s no way people haven’t posted pictures of themselves in costume. All he’d have to do is follow the hashtag and he’d know enough to warn the beat cops to look out.”
“We’re not even drinking!” she huffed. “God, what a bunch of assholes. They must hate fun. I bet they sit around all night and read Mein Kampf and take notes in a Lisa Frank notebook.” A scoff. “At least no new articles have come out. Maybe the reporter couldn’t get back in. We can hope, right?” she said on a little laugh.
“I think the coast is clear,” I dodged, not wanting to lie any more than I already had. “Come on, let’s get back on Fifth and hope they don’t get wise.”
“All right,” she said, smiling as she took my hand. “Let’s go.”
So we did.
Over the next few hours, we ran around Midtown following clues to each location. We walked through the library, wandered around the Rose Room, found one of their many copies of the book, and opened it to initial the inside with a tiny, eraserless pencil we’d snagged from the front desk. There were at least twenty initials on the page, and for a moment, I marveled over the movement itself. With any normal group of young people, there was always at least one who didn’t follow or respect the rules. There was always the one who would steal the book so no one else could sign or get the next clue. The one who would pull the cling off the window just to fuck everybody’s good time. But not the Bright Young Things. They seemed to have a silent pact to uphold the virtue of the thing and to do all they did in the spirit of fun and companionship. They wouldn’t break the rules—they wanted everyone to share their good time.
It was remarkable, really. The purest form of camaraderie I’d witnessed firsthand.
The clue in the book read: Cat is lost! Head to 32nd and 6th and check the alleys for your next clue.
So down Fifth we went, past the Empire State Building and into Koreatown, searching the alleys for Cat until we finally found it. On one of the brick walls, a life-size mural of the final scene of the movie had been painted—Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard kissing in the rain with Cat smushed between them. It was a perfect rendition, even down to the angle of her body as she leaned into him with rivers of rain on their coats, so perfect that I hated that it was hidden back in this alley where no one could admire it but us. Painted next to them was the next clue.
Things we’ve never done: steal the cheapest thing you can find from a tourist shop.
“Are you sure this is smart, what with the cops out to get us and all?” I asked as we approached a string of tourist shops.
She shrugged. “Can they take us to jail for stealing something that small?”
“Normally I’d say no, but after the cops chasing us, I wouldn’t be surprised if they arrested us and slapped us with misdemeanors.”
With a laugh, she pulled me toward one of the open stalls. “Come on. Unless you’re chicken?”
One of my brows rose.
“Ever steal anything before?” she asked.
“Sure, when I was a kid, mostly just for kicks.”
“I haven’t,” she said, her eyes bright. “Not gonna lie, I’m a little scared.”
“Good. That’ll make it that much more fun.”
Then it was me pulling her into the bedlam of the shop. Really, this place must have gotten ripped off daily—there was barely any room to walk between racks and shelves of snow globes and bottle openers and I heart New York tees. Shot glasses and magnets abounded, the goods practically spilling off the shelves. Behind the counter sat a kid who I was pretty sure wasn’t old enough to work, flipping through a comic book and looking remarkably bored. He didn’t even glance up when we entered.
We wandered around the shop picking things up and putting them down. She couldn’t decide, her face quirked in determination before finding a foam Statue of Liberty crown. When she checked the price, she smiled before handing me one.
She gestured for me to put it on, moving her eye mask so it hung around her neck. With a quick look over her shoulder, she confirmed the kid gave no shits and was paying zero attention, so she put hers on too and took my arm. We strolled toward the exit just like Holly and Paul did, though we weren’t anywhere near as conspicuous in green foam hats as they were in their cat and dog masks, and with a final look to make sure we were clear, we took off running.
We stopped in the mouth of an alley down the street, ducking behind the corner just in case the kid had chased us out. I couldn’t stop laughing, not only from the adrenaline but the sight of Stella in that stupid hat. I probably looked the dumbest, which might have been why she couldn’t stop laughing either.
I didn’t know what caught us in the moment—the rush, the breathlessness, or just the nature of her and me—but before either of us decided to, we were kissing, my hand on her face and hers resting on my chest. I wanted to kiss her like this forever.
I wanted to feel this way forever.
She broke away to smile up at me, but her smile opened up into laughter when she saw me. “That hat.”
“You’re one to talk.” I pulled her closer, wanting to kiss her again. Wanting to stop the clock so we could just be here, right now, when things were simple. When we were the people we’d have been if I wasn’t lying.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, her smile fading and brows drawing with worry.
“I … I need to tell you something.”
She stilled, though her face didn’t change. “All right, then. Tell me,” she said gently.
My mouth was dry as sun-bleached bone. I forced a sticky swallow.
Looked into her eyes.
Took a heavy breath.
And lied.
“I think my grandma is a better thief than you,” I said with a lordly smile that I didn’t feel, unable to do it here, now, wishing I didn’t have to do it ever.
But Stella laughed before stretching up onto her tiptoes to kiss me.
“Where to next?” I asked when my lying lips were free.
“Oh!” She took a step back and held out her hand. “Phone, please.”
I retrieved her phone from my pocket and waited while she opened it up to her camera.
“Come here.” She stepped in front of me and slanted into my chest, holding out her phone for a selfie. At the last moment, I kissed her cheek, wanting to surprise her.
And I did. The photo was candid, her eyes closed and smiling as she leaned into my lips. And while she messed around on her phone for a second, her cheeks were flushed and high.
I rested against the wall, a crook and a liar, wishing for a smoke.
Might as well disavow all my integrity while I’m at it.
I had to tell her, and I had to tell her soon, just as soon as I figured out what I could get away with at work. Because I couldn’t keep this up.
She didn’t deserve this.
“Aha! There we go,” she said. “Just had to text a picture to the number on the invite, and here’s the address. You ready?”
“Probably not,” I answered her and me both.
And with one more kiss, we were off again.
The address was in Chelsea, and by the time we got there, the sun had begun to dip toward the horizon. The building had an uncanny resemblance to the one in the movie, and up we went to the second floor, following the sounds of pandemonium. She knocked. The door opened. And a chorus of people cheered when they saw her.
&
nbsp; It was wall-to-wall bodies, the furniture and decor decidedly mid-century and with the quirks one would expect. They’d even found a couch made out of a clawfoot tub, and just outside the window was a fire escape that’d be just perfect for a cigarette and a song. The record was playing jazz, and the tempo slowed.
Stella pulled me into the throng and looped her arms around my neck, looking up at me with trust and confidence I didn’t deserve.
And I kissed her so she wouldn’t see her mistake.
14
Since You Asked
STELLA
The threshold of my front door bit at my back, but I didn’t care. Because Levi was kissing me, and when Levi kissed me, it was hard to consider anything else.
He broke the kiss by a millimeter. “I’m gonna be late.” The words bounced off my lips.
“Then go.”
Instead of answering, he closed the gap to kiss me again. But when he closed his lips and stepped back, that was that.
He watched me with dark eyes and that ever-present sidelong smile. “I’ve got some things to handle today, but can I see you tonight? I need to talk to you about something.”
“Sounds ominous,” I teased, belying the shock of fear in me.
Levi huffed a little laugh through his nose and moved on. “I’ll text you when I’m free, and we’ll play it by ear.”
“Deal.”
He paused, his smile falling as a crease in his brow appeared. Something in his eyes kept that fear afloat, bobbing along the surface like a buoy. A warning.
But then it was gone.
“See you tonight,” he said, leaving me with one last kiss before turning to go.
I watched him until he was in the elevator, waving once more as he disappeared. And with a sigh, I closed my door and wandered into the kitchen without purpose.
He’s leaving. It’s probably about that. Checking in to make sure we haven’t caught feelings. Wonder if he’d lie about it.
Because I would.
Pretending I didn’t like him was a fool’s game, one I wasn’t even good at. But I maintained my expectations without faltering—he was leaving, and I knew it. Why not lean into it? Feel what I feel and then let him go? Have a great story for my grandkids about a summer fling that ended with a what if?