EZRA
‘ D O YOU THINK WE GOT TOO MUCH FOOD ?’ A UDREY ASKS , DIPPING a breadstick into hummus.
‘No such thing,’ I reply, producing my hip flask. ‘ Whisky?’
‘I’m good.’ She smiles, and I add a pour to my can of ginger beer, hoping that it’ll make me feel less violently self-conscious about the fact that this is a date in everything but name. I was trying to deliver something low-key, even a little touristy. But factor in one spectacular sunset and suddenly it’s the most romantic outing imaginable. The Pond is shimmering in the near distance and you can even see its storybook-looking bridge from here, the ends gently sloping into clusters of shrubbery – it’s almost sickeningly picturesque. And then there’s Audrey herself, who’s just so endlessly endearing. The gruff old guy behind the counter in the bodega was so thoroughly charmed by her that he gave us both a free cup of coffee, and she even managed to look all glowy and fresh under those harsh fluorescent lights, the kind that make normal people look like zombies.
I’m aware that it’s pathetic to be veering towards full-blown infatuation already, especially seeing as Audrey’s made it all too clear she won’t be sticking around much longer. I shouldn’t get attached , she said – about herself, but she may as well have been warning me off. All this supposes that she’s even attracted to me in the first place, though, a significant if—
‘Where do you get alcohol?’ she asks then, watching as I sip my drink. ‘You’re not old enough to buy it, right?’
‘Or cigarettes,’ I say, pausing to clear my throat. ‘But some places are a little less bothered about ID than others.’
‘You have to be twenty-one to buy cigarettes here?’
‘Yeah. You didn’t know that?’
‘Well, I don’t smoke, so …’
‘Right. Not unless I’m around to corrupt you.’
She smiles. ‘My lungs are in bad enough shape already. I went jogging with my roommate the other day and it almost killed me.’
‘Oh, I can’t even manage the stairwell in my building without getting wheezy. It’s a genuine problem – what if I have to do a big rom-com-style chase-down someday? I’ll be fucked.’
‘I’m sorry, rom-com chase-down ?’
‘Yeah – the thing in romantic comedies where the main character runs to find the other main character and tell them that they love them.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever watched a film where that happened.’
‘Oh, come on! When Harry Met Sally ? The Graduate ? No? The Apartment ?’
She shakes her head, apparently mystified.
‘ 13 Going On 30 ? The Holiday – God, I’m really exposing myself here.’
She’s looking at me blankly and I can’t help but grimace.
‘What?’ She laughs. ‘What’s that face for?’
‘I’m suddenly scared that you don’t care about movies,’ I confess. ‘I mean, it’s fine if you don’t. I think we can get past it. Probably.’
‘I like movies! Just not as much as you, clearly.’
‘Can we watch one together? Would you want to do that?’
‘Sure. Just don’t stare at me the whole time. I hate when people do that.’
‘Oh, to gauge your reaction? Or because you’re pretty?’
It just slips out – I barely realise what I’ve said until she chokes on a mouthful of kombucha, cheeks flooding with colour.
‘The first one, obviously,’ she manages, voice throaty. ‘Do you think I’m really full of myself or something?’
‘No, no!’ I say hastily. ‘Just – you are. Pretty, that is. You’re a model, so …’
‘For now.’ She nods, face pink. ‘It’s not – it’s not really about pretty, though. And it has an expiration date, so … that.’
‘Right. Because eighteen is practically decrepit.’
‘You’d be surprised.’ She smiles, gaze lowered. ‘Where are we watching this movie, then?’
‘Wherever.’ I grin, relieved I haven’t blown this just yet. ‘There was this retro cinema in the Village that showed old movies when I was a kid – I think it’s still open.’
‘That sounds cute. Did you go with your family?’
‘My mum. It was our thing.’
‘Not any more?’
‘No. She died a few years ago. It’s okay.’
I always say that last part reflexively. It’s not okay, but it’s okay that it has to come up in conversation sometimes. Audrey looks stricken all the same, dark eyes shining with pity.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, and I offer an approximation of a smile, bracing myself for follow-up questions.
‘And – your sisters,’ she says instead. ‘They’re both older?’
‘Uh – yeah. You don’t have any siblings, right?’
‘No. I wish I did, though.’
‘Right. I think you mentioned that moving around so much was lonely,’ I venture.
Audrey nods, then seems to falter for a moment.
‘I don’t actually get as lonely as I probably should.’ She says haltingly. ‘Maybe it’s subjective – everyone has a threshold and mine is higher than most.’
‘I’m guessing there’re other downsides, though.’
‘Oh, sure. Like – most people take a childhood home for granted. I know it’s a really privileged thing to complain about, but …’
‘No, I get it,’ I tell her. ‘Home for me was a brownstone in Greenwich Village. Dad sold it after I left for school – no one told me until I was heading back to New York for Christmas.’
‘ No. ’ She gasps, looking horrified. ‘You didn’t even get to say goodbye?’
‘Well – no, but I didn’t mean to hijack your story.’
‘That’s awful . What happened to all your stuff?’
‘Oh, I have a room at my Dad’s apartment. Or had, maybe – I don’t know if it’s still there. It’s not really the same, though.’
‘Exactly.’ She sighs. ‘My parents are so on at me about coming home and I just want to say, what home? Because it’s always just the latest house, which – that makes me sound like a total brat, actually. Sorry.’
‘Yes, you’re clearly very spoilt,’ I say wryly. She looks at me sideways, half-smiling.
‘I guess it’s not all bad,’ she says. ‘It’s prepared me for all this, in a way. This lifestyle.’
‘Living out of a case, you mean?’
‘Uh-huh. I always think I’d do well in an apocalyptic scenario. Fitting my worldly possessions into a trolley and all that.’
‘Like The Road. You’ve seen that one?’
‘Read it.’
‘Oh, she’s an intellectual.’
‘Mm-hm. I can write my own name, too. Count to ten and everything.’
I laugh, but there’s a note of panic in it that I hope she doesn’t detect. It’s weirdly thrilling when she teases me, but it also makes me worry that she sees more of me than she’s letting on. I honestly don’t know what I’d prefer – for her to think I’m this great guy or to know that I’m flimsy and pretentious but be here anyway.
‘I used to read a lot,’ she adds, meeting my eye. ‘Mainly because I spent so much time in libraries. With all the schools they were the one constant, you know?’
‘Sure, yeah. I used to hide out in the art rooms, so – similar.’
‘Oh, you do art?’
‘Uh, no. I take pictures – I did, at least,’ I say, slightly distracted by the sudden proximity of my hand to hers. She’s shifted to sit with her arms braced behind her, fingers splayed across the blanket, inches from mine.
‘That’s so cool. What’s your stuff like?’
‘Uh – I like … colour,’ I manage. ‘Black and white doesn’t really do it for me. And portraits. I take portraits. I’m into people like Nan Goldin … Saul Leiter and Joel Meyerowitz, although I guess they’re really better known for their street photography.’
God, I sound like such a prick. Wrap it up, Ezra.
‘Anyway,’ I say abruptly. ‘If you need new headshots, I offer mates’ rates.’
‘Good to know.’ She laughs, turning towards the water. It’s glowing in the fading light, silhouetting her profile – suddenly I’m wishing I had my camera with me, but even if I could take a picture, she’d probably be gone by the time I got it developed. It’s a sobering thought.
‘I never thought I’d get to do anything like this,’ she says then, a half-smile playing on her lips. ‘I never thought I’d be in New York this long.’
‘I’m glad you are,’ I say, and she looks back at me, sunlight edging her pale skin like gold-rimmed porcelain. Her dark hair is catching in the breeze, and—
‘Oh, you’ve got …’ I reach out without thinking, only to withdraw my hand immediately. ‘Uh – bug in your hair,’ I conclude, embarrassed. ‘Not a big one.’
‘Oh,’ she says, her own hand hovering upwards. ‘Um – can you get it?’
‘Sure,’ I say, moving closer. It’s a tiny little greenfly, and I lightly take a strand of Audrey’s hair in my hand to try and comb it out without crushing it. She holds herself perfectly still with her eyes cast down, lashes fringed against her freckled cheek-
‘Got it,’ I hear myself say, proffering my finger for her inspection – there the bug sits, intact and alive and definitely real. I worry she might think I just wanted an excuse to be nearer, otherwise.
‘Make a wish,’ I add and she laughs, leaning forward – her breath is cool as she gently blows it away.
‘Now you have to tell me what you wished for,’ I say, knowing she won’t.
‘No I don’t.’ She smiles. ‘If I tell you then it won’t come true.’
‘Not unless it’s something I can help with. Is it?’
She seems to falter at that, opening and closing her mouth in rapid succession.
‘Nope,’ she says finally, but her cheeks are flushed – there’s a very real chance that she’s lying, I realise, and a grin splits my face.
Suddenly, I can’t remember why any of this is supposed to be a bad idea. What’s more, I don’t want to.