AUDREY
I DECIDE TO WALK TO E ZRA ’ S THAT NIGHT . I T ’ S NOT TOO COLD OUT and I’m wearing my bomber jacket over a cute velvet top that Marika lent me, albeit reluctantly. She doesn’t think I should go out tonight – she’s convinced I’m getting sick, which makes sense seeing as I spent all of yesterday in bed, mumbling something about a headache when she tried to drag me out on a jog. It wasn’t true, of course, but I couldn’t face getting up. Couldn’t face dealing with the balled-up silk camisole beneath the bed, crumpled in the dust.
Julian insisted that I keep it, smiling as he spoke, and I think I might have somehow returned that smile as I stuffed my bra and T-shirt into my bag, buttoning my jacket to my throat. After that, things are blurry. I took a cab home, but I don’t remember much between leaving the studio and letting myself into the apartment. I know that I held myself together, because it wasn’t until the very second that I was alone in the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind me, that I felt my face crumble like wet sand. I practically fought my way out of my jacket, tearing off the camisole and hurling it away before crawling into bed. Then I cried, and I cried, and eventually, I slept.
I slept most of yesterday, too. Today, I woke to a message from Ezra, and Marika’s watchful gaze. I told her I was feeling better and got into the shower in the hopes of making it true, only to stand there until the water ran cold, forcing myself to recall every single second of what happened in Julian’s studio. That was when I realised that I never told him to stop. That I never said no, or tried to leave. I just stood there. I let it happen.
I attempted to try and justify it, then. Posing topless is relatively common in fashion. I’ve seen countless adverts and editorials where girls are hugging their naked torsos just like I did, lips pouted, eyes soft and coy. Maybe that’s what Julian had in mind.
Later, when we were both getting ready to go out, I asked Marika how her photoshoot had gone, watching closely to try and gauge her reaction.
‘It was fine,’ she said absently, sitting cross-legged in front of the mirror applying eyeliner. I was perched on the bed, still in my towel. ‘A little static, I guess.’
‘Static?’ I said – too quickly. ‘What does that mean?’
‘He gave me zero direction – didn’t ask me to try anything on, either, when there was that big rail of clothes just sitting there.’
‘Right.’ I said, stomach turning at the thought of the camisole, lying in the darkness just a few feet away. ‘Me neither.’
‘He’s obviously not that experienced. But he must have been hired for a reason, so …’
She trailed off, shrugging, and that was the end of the conversation. It helped, though. Julian’s inexperienced, and that’s probably why he did what he did. He was likely so focused on the shot he wanted that he didn’t stop to consider that I’m inexperienced too – that I’ve never done anything like that before. And – and it took me by surprise, is all. He’d probably be horrified, if he knew how he’d made me feel.
Afterwards, I replied to Ezra’s message about his party and told him that I’d be there.
By the time I’m at Ezra’s door I’m lightly sticky, face warm from having climbed all those stairs. I knock hard – the music is louder than last time, and I’m wondering if maybe I should text to let him know I’ve arrived when he throws back the door. He’s smiling, a shiny party hat atop his unruly hair, and for no apparent reason I’m struck by a big, stupid urge to throw my arms around him. But then his smile falters –
‘Audrey,’ he says, and it sounds more like a question than a greeting. I realise why, and my hand instinctively flies to my head.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Um – right. I’m blonde now.’
‘Yeah,’ he says, staring. ‘I noticed that.’
‘Right – I guess I should have mentioned it—’
‘No, no, it’s not a big deal!’ he says quickly. ‘Just – I wasn’t expecting it, is all. But it looks good! Not that it didn’t before, but – did you want to come in?’
I smile, stepping inside. Ezra shuts the door behind me, looking distinctly flustered.
‘It really does,’ he continues. ‘Look good, I mean. There was just that moment of cognitive dissonance—’
‘I know.’ I nod, hoping so badly that he’s not just being polite. ‘I get it every time I look in a mirror.’
‘Just woke up feeling like a change, or … ?’
‘Maybe,’ I reply, not wanting to get into the actual reason. ‘Or maybe I knew you’d be wearing a super cool hat and wanted to upstage you.’
I reach up to lightly ping the elastic string beneath his chin, and he laughs.
‘Oh, this old thing. You like it?’
‘What’s not to like?’
‘Then here,’ he says, pulling it from his head to place it atop mine, fingers brushing my jaw as he gently fastens it.
‘There.’ He grins. ‘I’m nothing if not a generous host. Speaking of, want a drink?’
‘Sure.’ I smile, trailing him towards the kitchen – my skin feels hot where he touched it, embarrassingly, and I watch as he slaps two cups down on to the marble island.
‘Sorry – no Prosecco, this time. Anything else you like?’
‘Um – what are you having?’
‘Whisky soda, which is disgusting. Whisky and lemonade?’
‘Sounds good,’ I say, watching him pour. The measure he allots for himself is considerably heavier, I notice, and he takes a brief sip before he adds any mixer, a movement so fluid that I wonder if he’s even registered it. I’m suddenly reminded of that evening in the park – his hip flask, and how casually he emptied its contents.
‘Here,’ he says, sliding my drink towards me before hoisting himself up on to the counter. I try to join him but even with my arms braced behind me, I can’t quite manage it until he jumps down and puts his hands on my hips, lifting me in a single motion and depositing me as casually as a bag of groceries. Then he hops back up just as easily, reaching for his cup.
‘Thank you,’ I manage, attempting to pretend that my brain isn’t short-circuiting from how effortlessly he just did that.
‘Thank you ,’ he replies. ‘I’m glad you came tonight. Kept me in suspense for a while, but …’
‘Sorry about that,’ I say quickly. ‘Is it someone’s birthday?’
‘Uh-huh. Mine.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope. Nineteen today. Entirely decrepit.’
‘You should have told me!’ I exclaim, horrified. ‘I would have gotten you something!’
‘Which is exactly why I didn’t.’ He laughs. ‘Honestly, it’s no big deal.’
‘Has it been a good day, at least? Did you see your family?’
‘Uh-huh. Did the mandatory sit-down dinner.’
‘Oh, that’s nice.’
‘Yep. How about you? How’s your week been?’
‘Um – fine,’ I say. ‘Busy.’
A beat of silence, then – I’m sensing that Ezra’s as unwilling to talk about his family as I am my week, hence the conversational lull.
‘Sorry Marika couldn’t make it tonight,’ I say hastily, figuring it’s as good a pivot as any. ‘Is Mac disappointed?’
‘He’ll live,’ Ezra says mildly. ‘He was in charge of the guest list, so he’ll have made sure there’re other romantic prospects on offer.’
‘Oh,’ I say, surprised. ‘Did you – do you think Marika was interested in him like that?’
‘Well, you know her better than I do. I just figured, seeing as everyone else seems to be.’
‘Everyone? Not everyone, surely.’
‘No? Not you?’
‘No.’ I laugh. ‘Of course not.’
‘ “Of course not”?’ he echoes, grinning.
‘Yeah. I mean – it’s just not like that,’ I say, flustered, turning from Ezra’s gaze – it’s too intent, and suddenly I’m scared that he’s about to look right through me. ‘Mac’s great, obviously, but …’
I never finish that sentence, though. Whatever I was about to say, the words fall away as my eyes alight on a figure by the far window with mussed, pale brown hair, back turned as he talks to a girl in a ruffled dress. But it can’t be him. The odds that Mac or Ezra would know Julian, let alone invite him to a party …
‘You okay?’ Ezra asks, nudging me slightly. I nod, not trusting myself to speak, unable to tear my eyes away. The guy turns then, gesturing at something. It’s not him, and the relief that washes over me is so intense that I feel dizzy.
‘Sure?’ Ezra asks, frowning.
‘Yeah,’ I manage. ‘Sorry. I spaced out for a sec – I’m good.’
I raise my cup to my lips, drinking down the sickly sweet contents as if it’ll dislodge that initial panic, still wedged between my ribs. It feels physical, constricting my lungs.
‘Okay,’ Ezra says, sounding doubtful. ‘Uh – do you want another drink? Or we could get some air?’
‘Another drink would be great,’ I say, slightly breathless. ‘Thank you.’
‘But … you’re sure you’re all right?’
‘I’m sure,’ I say firmly, forcing a smile. ‘I’m good.’
If I say it enough times, then eventually it’ll be true.