Being Audrey Hepburn (17 page)

He regarded me with those amused eyes of his, and I smiled back. If I wasn’t standing right there, just a few inches away, I’d swear that no guy this flawless actually existed outside of an Abercrombie catalog. And yet there he was. No backlighting or airbrushing or hair-blowing fan necessary.

“I feel like we see each other everywhere, but we never get to talk,” he said, moving a little closer, his head tilted down, without breaking eye contact.

It struck me as a funny thing to say since we’d only just met once, a little over a week ago. But my heart thumped wildly anyway.

“Who knows?” I laughed. “Maybe we would have nothing to say.”

“That can’t possibly be true,” he said. “Tabitha talks about you nonstop. You’ve made quite an impression on her, and I’m dying to know more about you.”

“Why, there’s nothing to say, darling. I’m just a free spirit.”

“Even a free spirit has to come from somewhere.” ZK smiled. I could see he was going to be persistent.

“I’d much rather hear about you,” I insisted, oddly at ease. Somehow Being Audrey made it easier for me to talk to someone like ZK, while I was so apprehensive trying to be myself around Jake.

“What’s left to say that hasn’t been said already? I’m a Northcott.” He laughed. “There’s probably not a single person in this room that doesn’t know my entire family history, good, bad, and wretched.”

“And is your
personal
history wretched as well?” I asked. He laughed.

“Well let’s just say I’ve been notoriously thrown out of a variety of elite high schools and Ivy League colleges for various instances of inappropriate and lewd behavior, a tradition of my own making, which I hope to continue into the future and bequeath to my children.”

“Impressive,” I said. “And is that all there is to ZK Northcott?”

“Pretty much. You might say I was born with a silver spoon up my ass and I’ve never gotten over it.”

“That must be a painful burden to bear,” I said as deadpan as possible.

“Yes, very.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a fine job of handling it,” I said, and we both cracked up. The waiter arrived with our greyhounds, which tasted pretty much like a screwdriver with some supertart grapefruit juice instead of the usual Tropicana I was used to. Freshly squeezed, I assumed.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s quite tedious, dear.”

“Bore me.”

I’d decided that staying close to the truth would be the easiest way to keep myself out of trouble. I had enough difficulty remembering my new pretend last name without adding any fake relatives or pets into the mix.

“Well, I have an ailing mother who travels a lot and is never at home, a wildly irresponsible sister I never see, and a brother who is
always
in trouble.”

“Ah, your brother sounds like a man after my own heart.”

“Yes, I’m sure you could tutor him in the finer points. And then there’s my dear Nan who drinks champagne and eats cheesecake all day. See? Nothing quite as exciting as your life.”

“There must be more. Is that all you’ll tell me?” he teased.

“For now.”

“You are very … intriguing,” he said as he put his arm across the back of my chair and leaned in closer. Glasses of grapefruit juice and vodka were arriving and disappearing quickly, and I swear it seemed as if we were flirting. How I could be chatting up one of the most handsome eligible men in New York City was astonishing. But I was determined to keep my wits about me.

“I’m delighted that you wanted to meet for drinks, ZK,” I said, “but I’m a little curious as to the reason. Truthfully, we’ve barely met.” The last thing I wanted to do was to kill the vibe, but ZK was moving too fast. I needed to have some understanding of what he had in mind and why he texted me.

ZK sat back in his chair, unbuttoning his jacket and turned thoughtfully, thinking for a moment. “Beyond the fact that you’re absolutely lovely?” he asked.

I smiled, taking in his amused eyes. He seemed so boyish at times.

“I’ve been trying to help Tabitha out. The girl is such a mess and there are so many poseurs and hangers-on in the music business.”

Tell me about it. I knew a little something about that subject.

“I want to make sure she doesn’t get hurt,” he added.

“That’s kind,” I said.

“Tabby’s had an especially hard time. I’m sure you know about her mother…? Tragic woman, actually, incapable of handling her own affairs or Tabitha’s from the time Tabby was a toddler. Very little stability in her life, I’m afraid. Someone had to step in. Lots of men coming and going—lots of stepfathers. Her mother has been in rehab so often that she met two of her last husbands there. One was the manager of Blondie, the Cars, and all of those seventies groups. Then there was an Italian duke who actually had a fiefdom in some remote corner of Italy—Bomarzo, I think. And last year her mother married this new quite wealthy but seriously ill fellow. Who knows how long that might last; he happens to be a founder of Soho House. Or the So-So House as we call it. This place is so over, isn’t it?”

Really? I’d just gotten here and it was already out of fashion?

“Tabby and I grew up together, the same schools with the same friends. We’ve all known each other for so long that it’s like a club—which makes everyone extremely tedious, by the way. I feel like I’m playing tennis with the same people over and over again.” He laughed and I did, too, although I didn’t have a clue what it was like playing tennis with anyone. “But, curiously, none of us knows you.”

I nodded, as though I understood perfectly.

“You’re a mystery girl.”

“But isn’t every girl?”

“Not to me,” he said, never taking his eyes off mine. “New York is just a tiny bubble, all the same people everywhere you go. You, Lisbeth Dulac, are a red gown at a black-and-white ball.”

I felt like we had somehow moved even closer to each other, kissing distance. I felt little sparks flying between us, as ZK’s eyes met mine, and I wondered if it was unmistakable to him as well or if I was just crushing. I could have sat there gazing at him forever.

“Which black-and-white ball?” interrupted a slender blonde approaching at my side. I immediately recognized Dahlia Rothenberg. ZK and I instinctively pulled away from each other.

She was gorgeous. Opulent. Oh, and of course ZK’s date at the Met that night. Where had she come from? Had she been listening to us joking and laughing?

Surprise barely registered in ZK’s face, and he smoothly rose to kiss her on each cheek. “Dahlia, you’re looking radiant.”

It was true, she did. Radiant was the perfect word. Like the sun. It must have been exhilarating to be the center of the solar system. She wore an elegant, buttery strapless gown, her pale skin shimmery and translucent. I couldn’t help but wonder how she got it that way. Probably diamond-dust facials or snacking on the stem cells of small children.

“Where’s Tabitha? Vomiting in a corner somewhere?” Dahlia asked and put her arm in ZK’s as if she were staking a claim.

“Don’t be so harsh,” said ZK. “You know she’s under a lot of pressure.”

“Yes,” she said. “It must be emotionally taxing to be a singer when you can’t actually sing.” I felt a sudden urge to defend Tabitha, her music was totally Top 40. Besides, weren’t they all old friends?

“I think she has a wonderful voice,” I said. ZK and Dahlia smiled conspiratorially. Dahlia seemed to suppress an urge to laugh.

“Well, that’s one word for it,” she replied. A squeal rose up from behind me, and I turned.

“Lisbeth, you made it!” Tabitha Eden jumped up and down excitedly in her sky-high stilettos, like a sorority girl hopped up on strawberry daiquiris.

“Ah, our little Tabby has arrived,” Dahlia said, her voice dripping with feigned enthusiasm.

Tabitha rushed over and hugged me tightly, as though she was my oldest best friend. And in a way she was, I had been thinking about her for what seemed like an eternity.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she squealed. She was polished and perfect, every inch the celebrity in her pale-blue minidress.

“Darling, I’d never miss it!” I said.

“Love your dress,” Tabitha gushed.

“Thank you, you look gorgeous,” I said.

“Come with me.” Tabitha linked her arm in mine, pulling me along, nodding to ZK but barely trading glances with Dahlia.

My head spun with the thrill of it all—the glamour of the party, my new bestie pop princess, my blog fan downstairs, laughing with ZK, the fact that the chic city life I’d always aspired to was actually happening all around me in vivid, panoramic color. If Jess were there, I’d have asked her to pinch me.

I tried to catch ZK’s eye as I was swept away, wondering if he’d felt the little sparks I had. But he was otherwise occupied, engrossed in an intense conversation with la Rothenberg.

25

The elevator doors opened right out onto the famous Soho House rooftop, and Tabitha was greeted with a roar of recognition from the hordes of party people there to celebrate her new release.

What a scene! The pool, in the center of the rooftop, was small, but it seemed like the clubbers didn’t mind—nobody was swimming laps anyway. A DJ was spinning; cigarette smoke and probably lots of other kinds of smoke swirled around us. The sounds of laughter and revelry spilled off the rooftop into the New York City night. The beat was irresistible and unrelenting. Two watermelon-ginger cocktails miraculously appeared in our hands, and the DJ high up on a platform at the far end of the pool nodded to Tabitha and began his rap in a melodious Jamaican lilt.

A group of exquisitely dressed Italians were laughing so loudly that it even competed with the music.

I spun 360—listening to the body-shaking beats ricochet around the pool and off the buildings surrounding us, looking at all the beautiful people, and breathing in the sensuous summer night air. I wanted to let every single sensation sink into my skin. I couldn’t remember ever being as excited about anything as I was in that moment. It was hard to keep from shrieking and screaming for joy, but I figured that would have given me away as a total newb.

“That new single is going to be a smash, Tabby,” said a skinny British guy with jutting cheekbones and sparkling blue eyes. He had to practically shout even though we were all standing next to each other. “I didn’t realize you were such a brilliant composer,” he added with a broad grin.

“Oh Balty. You’re such a tool.” Tabitha laughed good-humoredly, but Balty (what kind of name was Balty?) wasn’t paying attention. He stared right at me, making it unequivocally clear what he had in mind.

“Ahem, Balty, the girl you’re undressing with your eyes is my friend and she has a name—Lisbeth. Lisbeth this is Balty Birkenhead. Don’t let him lay a hand on you.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” I said, smiling. “So nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine!” he said. “I confess, Lisbeth, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you from the second you walked in the door. That’s some dress.” Balty grinned mischievously.

“Stunning,” added a tiny intense woman behind him. She had close-cropped dark red hair and was wearing a simple black sheath.

“Why, thank you,” I said.

“Your name is so familiar. Have I met you before?” she asked.

“She’s the Shades of Limelight girl,” Tabitha volunteered. I was?

“Of course!” the redhead responded. “The girls on my staff read that blog all the time. It seems to have developed a following out of nowhere.” She thrust her hand out to shake mine. “Florence, but you can call me Flo.”

It was surprising how viral my blog had gone. I guess on the Internet, no one knew you were from Jersey.

“Please take my card,” she said, handing me a square red and black card that matched her hair and dress. “I specialize in fashion and Internet marketing. I’d love to work with you. I’m sure we could procure a number of key endorsements for you and solicit the best aggregators. Our ad placement is quite impressive, if I do say so myself.”

“Why, thank you,” I said. Aggregators? I didn’t have a clue, but I saved her card in my little clutch anyway.

“Tabby, she’s absolutely precious,” Flo remarked, as though I wasn’t there.

“Isn’t she?” Tabitha laughed. “Come on, Lisbeth, we have to keep moving or these two will start drooling over you. Ta-ta for now!”

Tabitha dragged me off through the crowd, turning to whisper in my ear. “Balty’s family owns half the newspapers in London, Murdoch’s biggest rival. The redhead is his sister; she runs the whole online operation, which has already surpassed the core business.”

Tabitha steered me in and out of conversations all over the rooftop, and I was impressed with how adept she was at working the crowd. I’d never seen anything like it. She was some kind of social savant, sharing little inside jokes or dishing about a friend in common or the best place to eat spaghettini alla vongole in Portofino. She managed to laugh at every lame joke, riding a wave of conviviality.

“Tabitha, a quick sound bite on the new album?” Tabitha and I turned to find Chase, the video guy. He gave me a snarky “told you so” smirk and lifted his camera. I moved to step away as the interview began, but Tabitha grabbed my hand and held tight.

“Sure!” Tabitha said, all sparkly and showbiz as she entered the spotlight, dragging me along. “I’m here with my best friend, Lisbeth Dulac, famous blogger and fashion critic…” I tried not to look astonished.

While the tape rolled, I realized I was uncomfortable being in Chase’s orbit. I had a bad feeling about him. I did my best not to make eye contact. Looking around through the lights, I was surprised to see ZK watching me. He raised his glass, toasting me from the other side of the pool, and I smiled back. Had he noticed that spark after all?

“… Is that true, Ms. Dulac?” Chase was asking. How many minutes had passed?

I felt Tabitha tug on my hand, dragging me out of my ZK-induced daze. I saw the camera and Chase’s face in front of me. Chase followed my gaze and saw ZK and gave me a knowing smirk.

“Yes,” I answered, bewildered, not having a clue what the question was. Chase terminated the interview. Tabitha giggled.