“But have you ever worked as a barista before?”
The college-age girl with pink hair squinted at Carina from behind the counter, her pierced eyebrow already raised in serious doubt. Behind her, Carina could feel the line of customers getting restless.
“Well, not exactly,” Carina finally said. “But I think watching you guys counts, and I have lots of experience doing that. And I’m sure once I actually got behind the counter I’d just pick it right up.”
The pink-haired girl looked at the tattooed guy hovering over the milk steamer and sighed.
“Hold on,” she said, utterly defeated. “I’ll get the manager.” Then she leaned past Carina to address the next person in line. “Can I get something started for you?”
Carina stepped out of the way and positioned herself near a display of chocolate-covered espresso beans. Her feet were killing her, the tip of her nose was still numb from the cold, and her stomach was growling. So far her job search had been a complete bust. First she’d tried a tiny bookstore on the corner of Seventy-fifth and Lexington, where the manager had laughed in her face when she’d asked whether he was hiring. Then she’d tried a clothing boutique across the street, where the woman at the register just shook her head and went back to talking on her cell phone. Lastly, she’d wandered into a toy store, where the hordes of screaming kids and their miserable-looking parents had made her run right back onto the street.
Java Mama didn’t look so promising, either. The pink-haired girl seemed worn out and harried, and the tattooed guy with the perma-frown seemed to take milk steaming very, very seriously. And just looking at the line of tense yoga moms attached to gigantic strollers and ordering half-caf skinny lattes made her tired. Almost every woman had a designer-made leather diaper bag hanging from her shoulder. How did everyone afford this stuff? And why had she never noticed how wealthy everyone was in this neighborhood?
After a few more minutes of watching the pink-haired girl continue to ring people up, she decided that she’d done enough job searching for one day. Her dad’s couch was calling her name, and so was his fridge.
She’d barely reached the door when a girl her age barged inside and almost knocked her down with the help of three enormous shopping bags from Scoop. As soon as Carina saw the auburn curls, the silver Searle Postcard coat, and the knit cap with devil horns, her mood sank even lower. It was Ava.
“Oh, sorry!” Ava said, gathering her bags. When she saw who she’d bumped into, her smile faded. “Oh, hi,” she said coldly, straightening her hat. “Sorry ’bout that. What’s up?”
“Not much. How’s everything going with the event?” Carina stepped closer to Ava to make room for a mom with a stroller, and almost choked on Daisy perfume.
“Great,” Ava replied. “We just had one of our committee meetings. It was sooo fun,” she said pointedly. “It’s too bad you didn’t want to join.” She took off her devil cap and shook out her lush curls with a dramatic, shampoo-commercial toss of the head. “So aren’t you getting something?”
“What?” Carina asked.
“To drink,” Ava said.
“Hey!”
Carina whipped around to see the pink-haired girl at the counter, standing with a stocky, balding man wearing a smock.
“Did you still want to speak to the manager?” she asked, jerking a thumb in his direction.
“No, that’s okay!” Carina yelled back.
“What’d you need to speak to the manager about?” Ava prodded. “Did they mess up your order?” She lifted one hand to play with her diamond A necklace, showing off her immaculate, black-and-white zebra-striped manicure.
“Actually, I was just here for my dad,” Carina said. “He’s hosting a tea for some media people at our house and I just came in to see if they’d cater it for us.” She couldn’t believe she’d just thought of that off the top of her head.
Ava narrowed her eyes. “Really?”
“Uh-huh, but now that I think about it, this isn’t really our speed,” Carina said grandly, looking around. “I should probably go to Serendipity. Or Sant Ambroeus. Someplace a little more high-end.”
“So you help your dad plan parties?” Ava asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“Oh yeah, all the time,” she said. “I mean, I’ve been watching his people do it for years so I’ve really picked it up by now.” She snuck a quick peek over her shoulder. The manager was still standing at the counter. She turned back around.
“You must have a lot of connections, then,” Ava said, turning the A on her necklace backward and forward. “Like, with the best chefs, the best florists, the best DJs, right?”
“Pretty much. My dad and I only like to work with the best. You know how it is.”
Ava folded her arms and leaned back on her heels. Carina half expected her to burst out laughing, but her expression was deadly serious. “How’d you like to plan my event?” she asked.
“What?” Carina wasn’t sure whether she’d heard Ava correctly over the din of crying babies. “You mean the Silver Snowflake dance? Aren’t you doing that?”
“Oh God no, I’m just dealing with the guest list.” She sighed, pulling out a leather-covered notebook from her black Hervé Chapelier bag. “This is everyone who goes to school in the city and at boarding school, and of course I have to figure out who’s actually cool enough to invite, you know what I mean?” She opened it to reveal a single-spaced list of names on the first page, and then clapped it shut. “So I’ve got my hands full with that. All that other stuff—the DJ, the food, the decor—someone needs to handle that. And maybe it could be you.”
Carina quickly mulled this over. This could be a job. If she could get Ava to pay her. “Well, I’m sort of busy with stuff for my dad right now,” Carina said. “But if I were going to be paid for it, then that would be a different story.” She held her breath and waited.
Ava didn’t blink. “How much?”
“Food, DJ, decor, basically overseeing the entire thing…” Carina gazed into the middle distance, pretending to think. “A thousand dollars.”
Ava’s left eyebrow shot up. “A thousand dollars?” she asked.
Carina swallowed. “Uh-huh.”
Ava’s pearly white front teeth chewed her bottom lip. “Well, the charity people said they had a little money in the budget. And if we hired you for a party planner, it would totally be worth it. With your connections and everything.” She paused. “Okay. I think we could do that.”
“Then what about the retainer fee?” Carina asked before she could chicken out.
“What’s that?” Ava asked, suspicious now.
“That’s how it works. You give the party planner a chunk of the money up-front to secure their services. I think the going rate is twenty percent of the total charge. In this case, two hundred dollars.” She had no idea whether any of this was true, but it was worth a shot. She needed some quick cash for that lift ticket.
Ava shrugged. “Fine, I’ll have it for you on Monday.”
“Okay, great,” Carina said, trying not to look shocked.
“Cool,” Ava said breezily, pushing past her toward the counter. “I think together you and I could make this party totally Times-worthy. See you Monday.”
Ava stepped onto the coffee line, and Carina did a discreet victory jig as she walked out the door. She’d done it! She’d gotten a job! And not only was this going to be the easiest money she’d ever made in her life—well, the first money she’d ever made in her life—she’d get to go on the Carter trip after all! Of course, she didn’t have any experience, but she’d learn. All she needed to do was sit down with a professional and get some pointers. And she already knew the perfect person to call: Roberta Baron was her dad’s go-to woman for all his events, and the most sought-after party planner in New York. Roberta had done so many of the Jurg’s parties that she was practically family. She’d be only too happy to answer her questions. And from what she’d seen of Roberta in action, party planning seemed pretty simple: telling the flower people where to put the arrangements, screaming at the caterers, making sure the band didn’t play any Earth, Wind & Fire. How hard could that be?
She took out her cell phone and tried to ignore the crawling panda as she dialed information. She would have just Googled her, but the Jurg wanted her to live in the Stone Age. “Roberta Baron, please,” she said. “Of Roberta’s Rare Events.” As she walked back onto the street she didn’t even notice the cold wind that blew through her hair and burned her cheeks.
I’m back, she thought as she headed toward the subway. I am so very, very back.