Chapter 31
The New York skyline is aggressively, unapologetically tall, that’s my first impression.
The sunlight is hard and bright and futuristic in a way the New Orleans light could never duplicate because it’s too busy being sultry.
New York is more steel than gold, and all the buildings catch the chrome glow of the low sun as we turn and begin to descend.
I can admit it’s impressive. Gotham-like. You can tell it considers itself the center of the universe by the way it stands there, so upright and sure of its own importance, flanked by its shiny blue rivers.
Sadie’s eyes are bright. “It’s a seething behemoth, Ami, positively teeming with opportunities.”
I guess that’s one way of looking at it.
As always, I’m reminded to take a page out of Sadie Fabienne Bellamy’s book.
She always looks on the bright side. And so do I.
My burning embers—the red one and the blue one—sometimes catch me off guard with the scorching hotel-logo-shaped brands they like to scald my heart with every now and then, that’s all.
But she’s right.
I’m in Dallas Wilder’s private jet and we’re about to land in New York City. The day we’re having has turned into the week we’re having and there’s no way I’m coming out the other side of it unchanged. My butterfly wings are wide open. Now all I need to learn to do is to fly.
Our landing is so smooth that if you didn’t know you were in a giant tube of metal that just transported you across half of the continental United States, you’d never even suspect it.
In the three minutes it takes us to walk from the plane’s stairs to the understated (at least compared to the white limo) but extremely luxurious car waiting for us, I notice that the air is much colder and crisper than New Orleans air, completely devoid of warmth or scents, aside from a note of jet fuel.
The environment here is obviously too frigid and metallic for the particular brand of floral, salty decay I’m used to.
Sadie continues to regale us with elaborate descriptions of the dance company she’s about to audition for and she makes Dallas close his eyes as she changes into her outfit in the car.
As we enter Manhattan, she’s quieter, both of us just taking in the enormity of the place.
“I love it already,” she murmurs soulfully.
For me, love might be overstating it, but I can admit that there’s an energy to the place you can immediately feel.
It’s buzzing, like there’s a hum going on underneath it all and you have no choice but to ride it.
The buildings are immense up close—not just tall but present, occupying the sky in a way that changes the air between them, the light arriving on the street in dramatic angled shafts that transport you into all the New York movies you grew up watching and shaped who you became.
My city feels like a warm arm, wrapping itself around you. This city feels like a busy highway with no off-ramps. You get the feeling that if you stopped moving, you’d notice too late that you’ve been coldheartedly left behind.
We pull up to a building that has the word DANCE UTOPIA etched in steel above its glass doors. Sadie grabs her bag. “This is it. Okay. Okay. I can do this. I’ve totally got this. How do I look?”
“Like their next superstar,” I tell her. “Good luck, Sadie. You’re going to blow them away.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” But she’s smiling, the big one, the one that means she’s so excited she can’t possibly tone it down.
She opens the door and then turns back and hugs me, hard.
“You have no excuse not to keep in constant touch with me now that you’ve got your new hardware.
” She knows I’m staying with Dallas tonight, and for a few nights.
We said we’d keep in close contact. To Dallas: “Thanks for the lift, Daddy Warbucks. Take good care of her while I’m gone.
” There’s the usual Sadie spice, but also real feeling behind it that makes me love her more than ever. “Later, kids.”
Then she’s out of the car and running through the doors of the dance studio like she’s finally home.
Sadie fills up every space she occupies so insistently she acts as a buffer between me and everything else.
Now, it’s just me and Dallas alone together again and I’m reminded that I’m no longer in my world, I’m in his.
I’m relying on him to guide me. I need him.
It’s a feeling that makes all my old scars burn.
Every single time I’ve needed someone, they’ve bailed on me and left my life in a literal shambles.
Maybe it’s Sadie’s voice in my head, or my own, it’s hard to tell.
Wrong, girlfriend. You’d be here with or without him.
He could kick you out of his Maybach or whatever it is and you’d be okay.
You could walk into any bar in Manhattan and get a job by the end of the day.
You’re strong. You’ve survived worse. You don’t need anyone, just that old grit that’s kept you alive.
Dallas seems to read my thoughts. There’s sympathy in his smile as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you. And it’s not fair that I’ve had to stare at Amelie Thibodeaux for four hours straight and not ravage her.
Which I plan on doing as soon as I get you home.
But the surprise I have for you has already started and it’s not far from here.
We’ll be there soon. What do you think of New York so far? ”
“It’s big.” My heart is beating fast for so many reasons, but his hot kindness does that thing again where it rains down onto the parched earth of my jaded soul and I’m a little alarmed to find that a few desert flowers have taken root.
They love his assurances. They were fucking waiting for them.
Practically expecting them, the little bastards.
Almost like I’m getting used to being cared for.
Which is terrifying. “You know how I feel about surprises, Wilder.”
“You have no choice but to trust me.”
Help.
But we’re slowing to a stop now and I look out the tinted windows to see a crowd of extremely fashionably dressed people heading toward a marble building.
“Where are we going?”
“Lila Bailey’s show.”
“Show?”
“It’s a fashion show, Boo. Consider it a shopping spree.”
“What?”
“No protesting. Just stick with me and enjoy yourself. You’re in New York now.”