Being Audrey Hepburn

There were basic skills a girl learned in every high school in the state of New Jersey. Springing a shitfaced friend from the ladies’ room just happened to be at the top of that list. I’d even done it in the high school bathroom. Since I’d always been a supporting player in life, I was really good at it.

“You have a very interesting accent,” she said. “Where are you from?”

Audreyville? I wanted to say. But I just avoided the question.

“Come now, enough about me. Mocha is probably waiting at the freight landing right now.” I steered her to the door, hoping I could keep up my act.

She leaned heavily on me, wobbling scarily on her stilettos as we headed toward the main gallery. Thank God mine were stuffed with toilet paper, or we’d both be on the floor after the first two steps.

“We can do this,” I whispered.

Arm in arm, we left the bathroom and walked down the empty hallway, giggling loudly and laughing our way into the crowd. Absolutely everyone was watching us. We were acting so completely entertained by each other’s presence that we couldn’t stop to look at anyone because we were actually really laughing about our fake laughter.

Me? I had to use every bit of my self-control not to stop in the middle of the gallery floor just to gawk at the gazillionaire boys and girls and scream! But I had a mission to fulfill. And my mind was already floating back toward Jess, wondering if she was trying to find me.

We made sure not to make eye contact, no matter who waved in our direction, stopping for no one until we reached the hallway that took us to the freight entrance and Tabitha’s getaway. I was keenly aware of the distinguished man with the graying temples I had seen before talking on his cell phone. He did his best to shadow us as far as he could but became distracted by an attractive young ingenue who pulled at his sleeve and demanded his attention.

I pushed open the unalarmed heavy metal side door, hypercareful of the Givenchy, and dragged a metal stanchion over to hold it as I helped Tabitha down the concrete steps to the car. I looked up for a second, unfortunately staring straight into a security camera. I turned away quickly, praying that Joe was still on his rounds.

As promised, her driver was waiting. When I saw Mocha, it was really tough to keep from dropping my act and talking the way I usually talk. He was the first person I’d seen that night who was like any of the guys I knew—a totally Jersey City, old-school Italian juicehead. He even looked familiar, like a bouncer my sister used to hang out with at one of the clubs Jess and I avoid in Jersey City. Miraculously, there wasn’t a photographer in sight.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Tabitha said. Neither could I, actually. “How on earth did you know where this back entrance was?”

“Oh, you know, a girl always has to know how to make an exit.” Was that a line I copped from Sabrina or another movie?

Mocha and I helped Tabitha into the car. As I was about to close her door, she grabbed my hand and pulled it to her face.

“You’ve been so unbelievably cool tonight. Most people would have just fed me more drinks and pushed me in front of the cameras. Those people in there are total liars.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said, though I felt like the worst liar of all. I wondered if she was right about the people upstairs. I bet it was hard to know who to trust in her position. So many hangers-on, you’d never really know who your true friends were. I said silent thanks, lucky to have a friend like Jess.

Crap, Jess! She was probably so mad.

“It is true,” she said. “I can’t trust anybody anymore.” She seemed sad and introspective. “Hey, there’s an Island Records party next weekend. Are you going?” She brightened. Oh yeah, sure. I went to parties with rock stars all the time. Excuse me while I check my calendar.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You have to come! It’s for my new release,” she said. “I’ll put you on the list. What’s your cell? I’ll text you right now.” Can you imagine?

As I gave her my number, I winced. She looked at me quizzically, and I was certain this was the end of my charade.

“Is that a Manhattan number?” she asked. Even in her condition, she knew.

“No. It’s a secret number just between us. I like to keep a low profile.”

“Smart girl.”

She pulled me toward her awkwardly for a drunken hug, which was a tough maneuver not only because she was sitting in the back of a limo but also because I was wearing a fitted floor-length dress, which made it impossible to squat, turn, or bend at the waist. I twisted as gracefully to the side as I could, which sort of crushed my kidney, hoping I didn’t burst out of the dress.

We hugged so long, I worried she would pass out on me in that position. But finally, she let me go. It was good to breathe again.

“I really should go back inside,” I said. Jess would have blown a gasket if she’d known I’d worn the Givenchy outside the museum with a paparazzi-plagued teen phenom. It was totally, completely, awesomely insane.

“See you next weekend!” she said. She gave me the biggest grin, like a little kid who’d found a new friend. Mocha winked at me and swiftly closed Tabitha’s car door. I moved back up the steps and yanked the metal stanchion out of the way, hoping I didn’t split a seam. As the doors closed, the limousine took off and rounded the corner, out of sight.

Audrey would have been proud.

9

Now the guilt came flooding in. Here I was helping a drug-addled pop singer who had everything, instead of doing what my best friend had asked me to do in her hour of need. I headed for the quickest, surest path back up the stairs. I pla

I walked as gracefully as I could, but the toilet paper had compacted so much that Jess’s shoes were sliding off my feet again. A group of twentyish girls walked by, including two actresses I swear I knew from CSI: NY. They checked me out, nodding and smiling as though they knew me.

“Stu

“Do you know her?” another asked.

Each step was like an up-close and personal tour through the lives of the rich and famous. Trying to keep my composure, I counted each breath as I walked until I felt a firm grip on the back of my arm. I tried to move away, and it tightened. I inhaled as much spiritual Audrey as I could and turned.

It was the swanky old guy from the hallway who had been talking on the phone. Why did he keep popping up?

“So, I assume Tabitha made it to her car?” he asked. I eyed him warily. Just the tone of the question was enough to make me wonder. Who was this guy? He was old enough to be Tabitha’s father. He leaned in closer and slipped his arm around my waist and whispered in my ear.

“Tabby needs good friends like you,” he said. Okay, I was totally creeped out. “She was absolutely wasted. Lucky for her, I don’t think anyone noticed.” He was so smooth that I felt completely trapped. He had his arm wrapped around me without expecting the slightest resistance. I tried to shift away, but he held me firmly by the waist, his arm around me and the dress. I smiled demurely but didn’t say anything.

“The poor girl has been through enough,” he added, finally letting me go and lighting a cigarette. He seemed to be thinking about something. “What did she tell you? Has she changed her plans?” he asked.

I didn’t answer.

“Typical Tabitha, no idea when it comes to realities. Do remind her. There’s a price to pay for this kind of thing. I am just trying to help her, really.”