It took me about three minutes into drinks with Casey to remember why we’d never really hung out past Girl Scouts.
I couldn’t freaking stand her.
We’d agreed to meet at this place in the East Village, near Alphabet City.
“Wait, is Alphabet City the name of the restaurant?” I’d murmured to myself as I put the address in my phone before leaving the apartment. In my mind, they probably served a lot of soup.
“It’s the name of the neighborhood,” Allison said from the couch. She was simultaneously reading a book and watching something about insect mating habits on the Discovery Channel, but managed to tear her eyes away long enough to roll them at me with pity. “You know, because the avenues aren’t numbers there, they’re letters?”
“Oh,” I replied. “Got it. Do you know the best way to get there? I’m meeting a friend from high school.”
“Planning on a late night, huh?” She flashed me the exact same smile that I’d seen from her before.
“Probably not, but I don’t know.”
“Well, try not to get into any trouble. Jane would have my head if anything happened on my watch.” Her smile didn’t budge. “Or, if you do, just . . . keep it out of the apartment. The less I know the better.”
“Sure,” I murmured, turning toward the door again.
“Oh! Um, did you bring anything less . . . princessy with you?” I frowned as Allison looked over my outfit. I wasn’t even wearing sparkles. “I think you look impeccably . . . cute, but New Yorkers can smell an out-of-towner a mile away. Better if you can blend in a little bit.” She laughed, and I wasn’t sure why.
I nervously smoothed out the blue dress I was wearing. “This is Jane’s dress,” I said. “I stole it from her closet.”
Allison’s head cocked to the side. “Jane’s in fashion,” she said by way of explanation.
I don’t know what she meant by that, but I ducked back into Jane’s room and grabbed a cardigan before I finally made for the door.
“Lydia,” a voice emerged from the shadowed room of Shea. She blinked into the outside light. “Take the G train to the L, it’ll drop you off on First and Fourteenth. The G and L suck, but that’s the closest stop.”
“Thanks,” I said, surprised. But I don’t know if she heard me because she re-turtled herself back into her darkened room-shell.
That was enough of the roommates, I thought, as I made for the train.
I got to the restaurant where I’d agreed to meet Casey ten minutes early, but the waiter refused to seat me until my “whole party arrived,” so I sat down on a bench outside and resisted the urge to play battery-sucking games on my almost fully charged phone, instead imagining what Casey’s deliciously vague freelance job description meant.
Freelance what? Freelance writer? Freelance designer? Freelance assassin?
“Lydia?”
I recognized Casey approaching me, though if we hadn’t planned this and I’d just seen her on the street, I may not have. Gone were the spaghetti-strap tops and brightly colored jeans, traded in for a decidedly more New York wardrobe of slim clothes in dark colors.
“Hey! It’s so good to see you,” I said, doing my best Jane impersonation as I got up for the obligatory greeting-hug.
“Look at you!” she squealed. “I can’t wait to catch up, come on!”
This was a level of enthusiasm I was unprepared for.
She pulled open the restaurant door and we walked in, ready to actually get a table this time around, thank you, Mr. Waiter.
It was a trendy place with dim lighting and lots of artwork that was clearly done by locals on the walls. Everything in the East Village seemed a little grungy, but expensive grungy. We passed the bar at the front and ended up at a small booth in the center of the restaurant. Everyone was a little crammed in, so close you could easily touch fingertips with the people across the aisle, but nobody seemed bothered by it.
“So how have you been?” Casey asked as the waiter dropped off two glasses of iceless water. “You said your sister’s living here now?”
“Jane,” I replied. “She moved here for work a few months ago. Fashion stuff.”
“That’s a tough industry, but hey, she’s trying.”
“She’s doing pretty well,” I said.
“A lot of dreams don’t go anywhere.” She sighed.
“Anyway, what about you?” I continued, dodging the original question. “I saw on Facebook you’re freelancing . . . ?”
“Yeah, just, whatever, here and there, you know,” she replied dismissively.
“Must be some impressive ‘here and there’ if it’s enough to live in the city,” I said, determined to coax my potential future out of her.
She shrugged. “Last job I had was PAing on a reality show. That was almost three months ago. I’ll have to get another one when my funemployment runs out.”
“So you . . . work in TV?” I said.
“Sometimes. I thought I’d be an actor but . . . it’s a lot of work, you know?”
“And you can be a PA without a college degree?”
“A PA just stands around all day with a walkie telling people where to go. The day you have to go to college for that? Although . . .” She leaned in super close to me, excited to share a secret. “Don’t tell my résumé, okay? It thinks I graduated early from Georgetown.”
Wow. Okay, not the glamorous freelance life I had pictured. Or the glamorous TV life. Or the . . . anything.
Casey’s life seemed to be put together piecemeal. And the work she was doing, she was super down on. Yeah, there was a time that “funemployment” might have put dollar signs in Lydia Bennet’s eyes, but now . . . to work just long enough to collect on it seemed weirdly hollow.
“My parents keep threatening to cut me off, because they don’t get how much work it is to make it in this city. But soon, I’m not going to have to worry about all that, because I have the perfect gig coming up!”
I perked up. “Really?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “I met this guy, he’s an animal wrangler. And it seems like the easiest job, because he just has a lizard. Put the lizard in a tank in the background and he gets paid for it. So I’ve started training my two rats—”
“Rats?”
“I figure every movie shot in the city needs a rat or two to run down the street, for grittiness? And I won’t have to do anything, the rats do all the work.”
“Wow, that’s . . . something.”
“Would you like to meet them?”
“Your . . . rats?”
“We can head there after dinner.”
“Um, I don’t think—”
“Or tomorrow?” Casey said, hope drenching every syllable. “What are you doing the rest of the week?”
Not meeting your rats, I thought.
“Just, things . . . Do you keep up with anyone from our class?” I asked.
“Not really,” Casey said, grimacing. “People sort of fall away, you know? It’s why I was soooo glad you reached out on Facebook. There’s a ton of people in New York, but so few of them seem worth knowing. So, tomorrow? There’s this spoken-word poetry thing at the bar next door, it could be fun. . . .”
I wish I could tell you how the rest of the conversation went, but I was mostly zoning in and out after that, considering the possibility of a future featuring me, two rats, and spoken-word poetry. Oh, and no plan for my life beyond freelancing and lying on my résumé.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, standing up suddenly and taking off for the restroom without waiting for a response.
If the restaurant was tiny, the bathroom was even more cramped, featuring only one stall and a sink/counter combo that took up half the space on its own. The stall was occupado, but at least I had the sink area where I could shuffle/pace, wondering how my trip had become such a bust so quickly.
The way I see it, I have two options. I can suck it up and listen to Casey talk about trying to get a book deal from training rats to do tricks on camera while contemplating the likelihood of a depressing and unfulfilling future. Or I can come up with an “emergency” and go watch insect documentaries with Allison. While contemplating the likelihood of a depressing and unfulfilling future.
At least that one includes TV.
I heard the toilet flush and I turned toward the mirror, pretending to check my reflection so it didn’t look like I was just casually hanging out in a bathroom. Which, of course, was exactly what I was doing.
A girl maybe a little bit younger than me with super on-point dark curly hair walked out, and I jumped back toward the wall to avoid getting hit by the stall door.
She moved to the sink, forcing me to squish up against the corner. When she saw I didn’t move to take the stall, she glanced at my face and smirked.
“Avoiding someone?”
Guess I was pretty obvious.
“Old high school friend. Who I no longer have anything in common with. And who doesn’t seem to realize that.”
“Sounds like a good time.”
“So good I could cry,” I monotoned. “Hey, how well do you think ‘Shit, I totally forgot I have this other random vague engagement right this second’ holds up as an excuse to bail?”
She snorted and slowly shook her head. “That one’s pretty hit-and-miss.”
I groaned.
“It really that bad?”
“Yes. No. This is just . . . not turning out to be the awesome first trip to New York I had hoped it would be. Sorry, I’m compounding various disappointments. And venting to a stranger in a tiny bathroom.”
“What are tiny bathrooms for?”
I tried half a smile, but it probably came out as more of a grimace.
“Guess I should go test my excuse in the real world,” I said, pushing myself off the wall. “Wish me luck.”
A minute later, I was back at the table with Casey, who immediately picked up her story where she left off.
“So, where was I? Oh, yeah, I had one audition for a commercial, and I thought, I don’t want to be in commercials, I want to be on the stage. I walked out before I even read—”
“I’m so sorry,” I interrupted. “I totally forgot I’d made plans with a friend who’s in town. She leaves first thing tomorrow, otherwise I’d reschedule, but . . .” I trailed off, hoping she got the point.
“Oh. What time are you meeting her?”
Dammit, I had no clue what time it was, and pulling out my phone to check would be too obvious. Let’s see . . . I met Casey at seven thirty, it definitely has to have been almost two hours at this point, so maybe . . .
“Ten?”
Casey pressed a button on her phone and my heart sank as it lit up on the table in front of us.
“Perfect!” she said, smiling. “It’s only eight fifteen. We’ve got time for at least another drink.”
“Actually—” I rushed, as she started to stand. “I’m meeting her back in Brooklyn.” What parts of Brooklyn are far away? Think, Lydia! Stupid city I don’t know well. “Um, like pretty far away . . . in Brooklyn—”
“Sorry I’m late.” It took me a second to realize the voice that spoke was both nearby and connected to a body that had stopped right next to our table. And that it sounded familiar.
I looked up to find myself staring at the face of the guy from the park.
The one with the upside-down bridge.
He recognized me, but recovered more quickly than I did.
“I’m Milo,” he said, extending his hand toward Casey. “Lydia’s boyfriend.”
Lydia’s what?
“Um . . .” I started. “This is Casey, Milo.”
“I wanted to let you guys finish chatting,” Milo(?) said. “But Kat swears we’ll be late if we don’t leave now.” He jerked his head toward the bar, and I swiveled around in my chair to see the girl with the dark curly hair from the bathroom waving at us.
“Oh . . .” I said, finally catching on. “Right! She’s right. We were just having such a good time, I was hoping we could get in just one more drink. But she’s definitely right. Darn.”
I stood up, fishing my wallet out of my purse and pulling out enough money to cover my half.
“No, no, no,” Casey protested. “My treat. Or my parents’.”
“No, that’s really—” I started.
“Nice of you,” Milo cut me off. “And it was very nice to meet you, Casey.” He slid his arm around my waist, barely touching, and started to guide me down the walkway away from the table.
“Okay?” Casey replied, a touch of confusion still lingering. “Maybe I’ll see you again before you go home?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty busy with Jane, but we’ll talk on Facebook!” I called back as I followed Milo’s lead. I think she said something else, but we were already at the door.
Milo dropped his arm as Kat joined us.
“You looked like you needed some help with that,” she whispered to me.
“Thanks.”
I stepped out onto the sidewalk and paused, trying to reconcile my surroundings with my memory of getting here.
“You taking the subway?” Kat asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said.
“Lexington line is this way.” Milo nodded toward the direction I’m pretty sure I didn’t come from, but the subway’s all connected somehow, right?
“Do you just go around pretending to be random pseudo-strangers’ boyfriend often?” I asked, quickening my pace to keep up with them.
“Yes, actually,” Milo said.
I opened my mouth to start to pry further, but changed direction. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t like questions.”
“It’s not that I don’t like questions, just that I like bridges more,” he said.
“Am I missing something?” Kat asked, peering around Milo to glance back and forth between us.
“Your latest rescue was watching me sketch in the park the other day.”
“I wasn’t watching you—you sat down right in front of me. I tried to be polite and make conversation.”
“Well, we’re making conversation now, aren’t we?”
“I didn’t mean for you to track me down and pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“Hey, that was Kat’s idea.”
“Not that I’m ungrateful for the out, but this is starting to feel more and more like some bizarre con-artist situation,” I pointed out, quietly feeling alongside the top of my bag to see if it was zipped.
“It’s just something we do sometimes,” Kat said. “Usually on the subway or something, when a guy is clearly bothering some girl, you go act like you know her so he’ll go away.”
“That’s . . . cool of you,” I said, thinking back over all the times that would have come in handy at Carter’s. Some drunk dudes cannot take disinterest at face value.
“There’s a lot of shitty people around. Gotta watch out for each other.”
“Well, Casey’s not shitty, just . . . boring.”
“I’m sorry, do you want to go back?” Milo teased, pointing back to where we came from.
“Only if you get me really drunk first,” I said, then realized how that sounded. “Not that I want you to get me drunk. Or that I want you to take me back. I’m good right here, and . . . sober.”
“If you say so,” Milo agreed.
We crossed the street and I realized we’d already made it to the subway station. I looked at the sign as I followed them down the steps.
“We’re headed south. You?” Kat asked.
“North, I think,” I said, knowing that much even if I was a little iffy on the rest. I’d figure it out. Hopefully. “Thanks again for the save.”
“No problem,” she said.
“And good luck with your bridges,” I told Milo.
He nodded. “Tell Jane I said hello.” Wow, good memory for names.
“She had to go out of town for work,” I replied before wondering why I felt the need to tell him that.
“While you’re visiting?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Yeah, spur-of-the-moment thing.”
We stood there for a second, and Kat’s eyes moved from Milo to me.
“You know,” Kat started, “we’re going to a party. Nothing crazy, but it sounds like your bar for fun in New York is pretty low right now. Wanna come?”
I know I kind of swore off partying for a while after the whole Cody thing, even if not in quite so many words. And running off with strangers while alone in a big city probably isn’t the most advisable thing. Especially after that documentary. But my other options at the moment suck, and it’s not like we’re in the middle of a dark forest where it would be super easy to chop me up into little pieces and go all cannibal on me or anything. Right?
“Um, okay. Hold on.” I held my phone up and clicked a quick photo of them. “Collateral,” I explained, typing out my email address and sending a copy of the picture to myself. “If I go missing, the police will hack into my email and see that you guys were the last people to see me.”
Kat laughed. “Can’t argue with that.”
“Well, there goes our brilliant kidnapping scheme,” Milo said, and Kat smacked him in the arm. He winked at me as he swiped his MetroCard and walked backward through the turnstile.
It took me the entire subway ride to remember I’m not supposed to like winky faces.