AUDREY
I T SOUNDS SO NA?VE , IN HINDSIGHT , BUT FOR A LITTLE WHILE IT actually seemed like I might have a nice time tonight.
Most of the crew went straight to the bar after the shoot, but Marika lied and claimed we’d left our purses at our apartment, stealing us a brief reprieve. We used it to make dinner, a hasty concoction of peanut butter and noodles, which we ate on the floor of our bedroom in full glam, glancing up at each other every so often and giggling hysterically, giddy with exhaustion. It was nice – like we were roommates at uni or something. Marika even lent me another one of her dresses to wear, a floral mini with frilled sleeves, and by the time we were clambering into yet another taxi I was feeling almost cheerful. There was no guarantee that we’d even get into the bar we were heading to, and if we were turned away for not having ID then we’d have an airtight excuse to leave. Maybe we could do something together, I’d figured, Marika and Nicole and Ezra and I.
‘Imogene just messaged,’ Marika said, frowning at her phone. ‘The bar’s a bust – too many people. ‘
‘Imogene’s there?’
‘I guess it’s spun into something bigger than drinks. Julian’s offered to host at his apartment. They’re all heading there now.’
I felt myself go cold.
‘Oh,’ I managed.
‘Don’t worry,’ Marika said easily, tapping at her screen. ‘No one’ll notice a few late stragglers. Just send Ezra the address. I’m messaging Nicole now.’
And Marika was right, of course. Julian’s large, tastefully minimalist apartment is heaving with people, most in an advanced state of inebriation. People including Ezra, who arrived looking disarmingly cool in a snug, high-necked charcoal jumper and black trousers. He smiled when he saw me and told me I looked nice. I don’t remember what I said in reply.
That was about an hour ago. Right now, I’m standing at the periphery of a conversation between him and a few guys from the crew. I’m not entirely sure what they’re talking about – I’ve been drifting in and out of other people’s discussions all night, laughing when it’s appropriate to laugh, answering questions when they’re asked. Waiting to leave.
I look up at Ezra, then, watching the tendons in his neck move as he talks. I’m not sure if I regret asking him to come tonight. Marika has been busy networking, and I’m grateful to have had someone by my side. I don’t like him being here , though, in this space. I don’t want these two worlds to bleed together.
He’s looking back at me, I realise absently.
‘Sorry?’ I say, noticing too late that he’s asked me a question.
‘I asked if you wanted a drink.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, glancing over at the kitchen to check that Julian’s nowhere near it. ‘Okay.’
We peel away from the group, me trailing Ezra as he steers us through the crowds. He stops dead the second we’re in a quieter corner, though, turning to face me.
‘Sorry, um – can we just talk for a moment?’ he says stiltedly.
‘Sure,’ I reply, like my stomach hasn’t just dropped to the floor. ‘What’s up?’
‘I guess that’s kind of what I’m asking you,’ Ezra says quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose like he has a headache. ‘I mean – you’ve barely said two words all night, and I genuinely can’t tell if you don’t want to be here or if you don’t want me here.’
‘ No ,’ I say quickly. ‘No, I do. Really, Ezra – I’m so glad you came.’
‘So … the first one?’
‘Definitely the first,’ I say firmly. ‘Today was long and crazy – I just want it to be over with, really. I’m sorry.’
‘Is that it, though?’ Ezra presses. ‘I mean – is that all of it?’
I meet his gaze, startled by the question. Even more startling are his eyes – they look molten, suddenly, almost liquid with empathy. My mouth goes dry.
‘Yeah,’ I say, voice wavering slightly. ‘That’s it.’
His features shift, then, eyes dimming. He knows I’m lying.
‘Okay,’ he says, drawing away. ‘Well …’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, impulsively reaching out to take his hand. It only takes me a second to realise how weird and stupid that is, but when I move to pull away he stops me, threading his fingers through mine. His hand, in mine. Mine in his, and his gaze has dropped to my lips. The noise of the party recedes into nothing, suddenly, and blood rushes to my head as I watch his throat bob, lips parting—
‘Audrey!’
I drop his hand, whirling around to see Imogene. She’s wearing a black wrap dress and tortoiseshell earrings, beaming and beautiful and so not who I want to be looking at right now.
‘Imogene.’ I smile, face hot. ‘Hi.’
‘ Hi. How are we doing?’
‘Good. Uh – this is Ezra. Ezra, Imogene. She’s my agent.’
‘It’s nice to meet you! Are you a part of the crew?’
‘Ezra’s a photographer,’ I say quickly. ‘Among other things.’
‘Oh, great! I’m so sorry to be interrupting but can I steal Audrey for a sec? I promise to bring her back!’
‘No worries,’ Ezra says, voice throatier than usual. ‘I’ll be around.’
And then I’m being guided away, still reeling. I glance back over my shoulder – Ezra looks similarly dazed, but then he’s gone from sight and I find myself standing in front of a woman that I’ve never seen before. And Julian. Julian is standing beside her.
‘Audrey, I’d like you to meet Sasha.’ Imogene smiles.
‘Hey there,’ the woman – Sasha – says, reaching out to shake my hand. Her fingers are covered in chunky rings and her hair is short and pink, cut bluntly and tucked behind her ears. ‘Cute dress.’
‘Oh – thank you,’ I bluster. ‘It’s really nice to meet you.’
‘Sasha works in casting,’ Imogene tells me. ‘Julian’s been showing her some of the pictures from today.’
‘He did.’ Sasha nods. ‘And I think you might be perfect for an editorial a friend of mine is putting together.’
‘Oh! Um – wow. I wish I had my comp cards on me.’
‘I’ve got Imogene’s details.’ Sasha smiles. ‘Don’t worry about all that.’
‘Audrey,’ Julian says suddenly. ‘You don’t have a drink. Am I failing in my hosting duties?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say quietly, unease coiling in my stomach. I don’t like hearing him say my name.
‘I’ll take another seltzer if you’re offering,’ Imogene interjects, smiling. ‘Sasha?’
‘A beer, if you’ve got it. Thanks.’
‘Sure,’ he says, looking back to me. ‘Give me a hand?’
I freeze, my mind clawing at the air for an excuse – a reason why I need to leave, actually, need to get out of here immediately .
Nothing comes, though.
Imogene and Sasha are already chatting about something else, totally oblivious. So – I go. I follow him through the room, towards the kitchen, desperately casting my eyes around in the hopes of locking eyes with a stranger. The kitchen is an open space, at least – we’re not alone. He won’t do anything.
‘Sasha’s great, right?’ Julian says then, placing two heavy-bottomed glasses on the countertop. ‘She’s got a lot of pull in this industry.’
‘She seems really cool,’ I say, furtively eyeing the distance between us – I’m standing about as far away as I can without it looking conspicuous, though if he’s noticed he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
‘She is.’ He nods, picking up an oblong-shaped decanter. ‘And she has a real eye for talent. Something we have in common.’
He’s pouring two measures of what I assume is whisky, pushing one towards me. I don’t want it, but I pick it up anyway and take a sip, freeing myself from the obligation of a reply. It tastes awful and I swallow quickly – he sees me wince and laughs.
‘Not a bourbon drinker, then.’
‘Not a drinker at all,’ I reply pointedly. I can’t believe that he doesn’t already know my age, but it won’t hurt to remind him. He just nods again, picking up his own glass and swirling the contents in the palm of his hand.
‘Your hair really does look great,’ he says then, smiling. ‘The blonde.’
‘Yeah, uh – it’s a big change,’ I reply, discomfited. His whole body is turned towards me, now, and I’m focusing my line of sight on his left eyebrow so I don’t have to meet his gaze.
‘Uh-huh. It was my idea, you know.’
‘… What was?’
‘The blonde,’ he says, setting down his glass. ‘You were too “girl next door” before, so I suggested it to Imogene.’
I feel heat rush to my face like I’ve been slapped. He’s still smiling – grinning, really – and I want so badly for him to stop.
‘Right,’ I manage. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘You’re welcome. And I agree with Sasha, by the way. You look cute in this dress.’
And before I can point out that I didn’t thank him, or that that’s not what Sasha said, he’s reached out to touch it. I stiffen, feeling every bit as trapped as I did in his studio as he moves closer and gathers the hem in his hand. Then he slips his hand beneath the fabric, splaying his fingers across my thigh – I stiffen, revulsed.
‘There’s people,’ I hear myself whisper.
‘I know,’ he murmurs back, voice low and conspiratorial. ‘Anyone could see.’
Something snaps, then – I jerk backwards but he moves too, gripping me now – I’m dimly aware that there’s pain but I can’t feel it, not really. Just the pressure, the insistence of his grasp. Fingers in flesh.
‘Please let go,’ I choke out, expecting to see his smile disappear. But if anything, it softens. It’s as though I’ve just said something very sweet.
‘Only because you asked so nicely,’ he replies, and his hand goes slack. White spots appear in front of my eyes, and I realise then that I haven’t breathed since he touched me.
‘Finish your drink,’ he says. ‘Your friends are probably missing you.’
My hands are shaking as I raise the glass to my lips again. I barely taste it this time, and he watches as I swallow.
‘Good girl,’ he says, then turns towards the fridge. I’m breathing hard, vision clearing, but when I look around, I see that no one is looking back. No one is looking. No one saw. Julian takes two cans from the fridge, shutting it with a snap and flashing me one last smile.
‘Enjoy your night, yeah?’ he says pleasantly, and then he’s gone but the impression remains, the sear of his handprint against my skin. I’m still holding the glass, I realise, and set it down with a shaking hand, wondering too late what would happen if I started to scream.
If I’d ever be able to stop.