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I shake my head. “My dress?”
“The beautiful wedding dress you designed for me,” Ava says.
“Oh,” I say, laughing. “Don’t worry about that! I’m sure I’ll find someone else to buy it. Ava Geck’s wedding dress? Are you kidding? I’ll probably be able to sell it for a fortune on eBay.”
Ava pouts at me. “I’m not giving it back,” she says. “That thing is mine. I was thinking maybe you could make it shorter, dye it purple, slap some sequins on it, and I could wear it to the MTV Video Music Awards in September. That way tons of people will see it, and you’ll still get the exposure you deserve. I should get lots of airtime, because I’m giving out the Viewer’s Choice VMA. And Tippy asked me to go with him ’cause he’s still got that restraining order out on his wife. That was going to be a problem before—you know, being his escort if I was married to Alek—but now that I’m not, it should be all good.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Um… sure. I could do that. No problem.”
“Awesome.” Ava looks a lot happier. The limo has made its way uptown via Sixth Avenue, and now we’re snaking our way through Central Park, one of my favorite drives in Manhattan—which I certainly never thought I’d be making via limo. We’re gliding past couples taking romantic horse and carriage rides, and less romantic pedicab rides. I wonder if they’re looking at the smoked-glass windows of the limo and trying to guess who the celebrity is inside.
I’m betting none of them is guessing Ava Geck and her wedding gown designer.
“So what are you going to do now?” I ask, conscious that my stomach is growling a little. There’s nothing in it but white wine. I’m hoping Ava’s going to say that she’s dropping me off at home so I can get something to eat… or at the very least, that she’s going to suggest the two of us grab something somewhere. I don’t know how much longer I can go without sustenance of the nonalcoholic variety. Ava may be able to go for hours on just a PowerBar, but I’m not that kind of girl.
“Um,” Ava says. “Yeah. That’s why I was trying to reach you.”
I perk up. “You want to grab some di
“Not exactly,” Ava says. “I mean, we can totally get something to eat if you want. But I actually need a favor.”
“Oh sure,” I say. “Anything you want.”
“Oh goody,” Ava says, gri
Little Joey, I realize belatedly, is sitting in the front seat beside the driver, half hidden by the privacy screen, which Ava lowers to deliver this news.
“Oh, hey, Lizzie,” he calls to me from the vast expanse of leather seats and twinkling halogen lights in the ceiling between us. “How you doing?”
“Hi, Joey,” I call back a bit hesitantly, since I’m suddenly realizing I have no idea what I’ve just agreed to. “I’m good. Um, Ava?”
“What?” she asks a little distractedly, having dug out her Sidekick, into which she is tapping with some urgency.
“What, exactly, did I just promise to do for you?”
“You’re letting me stay at your place, of course,” Ava says with some surprise, not even looking up from the screen.
I stare at her. “My place? You mean… in my apartment?”
“Well, I can’t stay at my place,” Ava says, finally looking up. Ava’s condo, which is on East End Avenue near the mayor’s house, Gracie Mansion, is within easy walking distance of mine (not that Ava ever walks). Ava chose to move to the Upper East Side—to the consternation of many a poodle-toting matron there—because that’s where she happened to find the only condo that met her exacting standards (the aforementioned four bedrooms, three baths, and an eat-in kitchen with at least two thousand square feet of outdoor terrace and full southern exposure).
But she’d also fallen in love with the nearby Carl Schurz Park, which is right by the river, and includes a dog run built especially for small dogs.
“My place is crawling with paparazzi,” she goes on. “Word’s already getting out that I left Alek at the altar. They’ve got all the hotels staked out too, and my parents’ and friends’ places, as well. You’re my only hope, Lizzie. I figured you could just stay at Luke’s.”
I’m shaking my head before the words are fully out of her mouth. “No,” I say. “No, I can’t stay at Luke’s.” The thought fills me with panic. I don’t want to see Luke. I… I can’t see Luke. Not again. Not this soon.
“Well,” Ava says, looking slightly a
“No,” I say, still shaking my head. “You can’t stay at Luke’s either. Because Luke and I are… we’re… we’re in a fight. Remember? Remember how he came ru
Little Joey says, from the front seat, “She did say that.”
Ava screws up her face, trying to remember. “Oh yeah,” she says. “Well. Can’t I just stay at your apartment with you, then? It’ll just be for a few days. Until all this blows over. You’ll hardly know I’m there. Snow White and I don’t take up much room.”
I glance at Little Joey. Ava, noticing the direction of my gaze, laughs.
“Oh, don’t worry about him,” she says. “He won’t be staying there. He has his own place in Queens.”
I want to suggest that Joey’s place in Queens might be the ideal hideout for Ava. The paparazzi would never think to look for her there.
But then I remember what she said, about all of this being my fault. And so instead, I say, “Ava, my place… it’s just a one bedroom. There’s only one bathroom. And it doesn’t have southern exposure. Believe me, it’s not luxurious—”
“I don’t mind, I’m used to roughing it. I served forty-eight hours at CRDF, you know,” Ava assures me, referring to the Century Regional Detention Facility in Los Angeles, which housed her when she did her time for driving under the influence.
“My place isn’t as bad as prison,” I say, slightly a
“Oh, I knew you’d say yes,” Ava says, throwing her spindly arms around me and giving me a hug, and partially suffocating Snow White in the process. “This is go
I say in a strangled voice, since her deathlike grip is cutting off my oxygen, “I can’t stay up all night, Ava. I have gowns I have to get finished.”
“That’s even better!” Ava cries, releasing me suddenly. “I can help!”
“Okay,” I say. I massage my neck where she’s squeezed it. I can’t believe this is happening. “I guess.”
“I’m so excited,” Ava declares. “Vincent, make the turn onto Seventy-eighth. We’re getting out there!”
Sooner than I could have imagined possible, Ava Geck, her Chihuahua, and seven of her suitcases are in my apartment, and her bodyguard is saying good night, while assuring me he’ll be by at nine tomorrow morning to pick Ava up to take her to the New York Health and Racquet Club to meet her trainer for her workout. She’s on my couch—though we’ve already established that she’ll be sleeping in my bed, and I’ll be on the couch, thanks to her sciatica—flipping cha