Being Audrey Hepburn

I couldn’t help comparing everything to last night. God, I was go

“Are you three forming a social club or something?” yelled Buela. “We got customers. You too, lover boy.”

Hurrying up front, we saw there was only one guy sitting in the far booth by the window—typical Buela. We traded a

“Hey, you want a coffee?”

He silently nodded no. Couldn’t care less. No problem. So much for the lunch rush. It was going to be a very long day.

I was wrong. During the next five hours, we were hit by so many customers that I felt as if I’d fall over from exhaustion. Which was how I ended up dumping an entire deluxe chili con carne and egg special with homemade cornbread hash and salsa all over myself trying to serve an old truck driver named Buddy at table 6. He was a regular, so Buela was furious. Jake leapt across the diner in a flash, cleaning up my mess.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Super,” I said, shaking egg yolk and chunks of chili from my hair. “I’m good. Jake, you don’t have to do that.”

“No worries, I got this. Take a break.” Buela seemed anything but fine with that.

He winked at me and began wiping down the side of the booth, now speckled with hash browns.

“You’re the best,” I said. Really, I felt as if I was go

I grabbed a Coke in the back for the caffeine and sat down in Buela’s office, the only place I could sit down. I took a swig and figured I’d rest my eyes for a second and wished I could crawl into my closet and dream about being Audrey at the Met.

*   *   *

“Hey, I don’t think you want to sleep here forever,” I heard a voice say. “Buela might start deducting rent from your paycheck.”

I opened my eyes and there was Jake, gently shaking me by the shoulders, my head on Buela’s desk and a puddle of drool in the shape of a whale. So not cool. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then secretly dried the desk with my other sleeve, hoping Jake wouldn’t see. Classy, I know. Jake was smiling, wearing his “dress-up” blue fla

“God. You’ve changed your shirt. How long have I been sleeping for?” I was so screwed.

“Musta been a killer night,” Jake said. He laughed, tossed me a couple aspirins, and handed me a cup of water.

“Yeah, totally killer,” I said groggily and swallowed the aspirin.

Jake didn’t mind how Jersey he was. We had talked about it. He’d never leave. And me? I didn’t know why, but more than ever after last night, it seemed as if I had been dying to get out of there forever. What’s that expression about keeping them down on the farm after they’ve seen Paris? It was something like that.

Jake pulled up a chair and straddled it. “So Lizzy, there’s this band called Dalton that’s supposed to be total kick-ass playing at Hiram’s Junction. I’m checkin’ out the drummer for my band. It’s a couple miles away. You up for it?”

I gazed into his smoky eyes full of mischief and shook my head no. I didn’t even know why.

“Pillow, bed,” I mumbled. He leaned toward me. His fresh, clean shirt smelled so good.

“You sure?”

My body trembled a little bit. I knew where this was going. He moved closer and kissed me on the cheek, his lips slowly making a trail toward my mouth. I didn’t stop him. I kissed him back, closing my eyes, feeling his breath, the warmth radiating from his lips winding through my body, forgetting where we were until there was a bang on the door to the kitchen.

“Am I counting all these tips myself?” Jess called. “Because if I do, I’m taking the whole show. I can definitely use the cash.”

One last breathless kiss, and I pulled myself away from Jake.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I dragged myself out front. Jake trailed behind, gently pulling the tie on my apron until it fell off. I snatched it back.

“Behave yourself,” I whispered.

We settled up with Jess, and I offered my share to them. Jake, of course, refused to take it. I threw my pink apron into the locker and figured I’d better make the first move or it would look bad.

“G’night, I’m nowhere near cool enough to hang out with you two. Besides, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“You’re stickin’ with that line?” Jake asked with his sweet hangdog face.

“I gotta check to see if my mom called another hundred times.” They both laughed.

“Okay, then listen. There’s a gig the day after tomorrow that we’re playing and then next weekend—we’re rocking a big showcase for lots of A and R guys at Reilly’s that you’ve got to come to, deal?” he asked. He hesitated for a split second before he gave me a chuck on the shoulder. I wanted another kiss. From the look he gave me, he did, too.

“Okay rock ’n’ roll Romeo, deal.” I chucked him back on the shoulder, which was firm and strong, hard as a rock. As I dragged myself away to my overparked purple monster, I regretted my decision.

I heard Jess console him as they left. “Come on, stud bucket,” she said. “You can take me. Maybe we can both get lucky and pick up some chicks.” Hearing them laugh, I felt like an idiot. I guess there was no reliving my night of glory with Jess either. I hesitated for a second, but my brain was starting to go fuzzy from sleep deprivation. I checked my phone, just to see if Mom had really called.

Shit.

“Ms u bathroom buddy ! Let’s co

Ohmygod—I had a text from Tabitha Eden, the Princess of Pop. She was so wasted; I thought for sure she’d forget.

I imagined how incredible it would be to go to an Island Records release party, the entire industry of rock stars, fashionistas, trust funders, and me hanging with my BFF Tabitha Eden on her own turf. But there was no way I’d get close enough to pass the ropes.

And what if we had gotten busted at the Met? Jess fired. Both of us facing felony charges for hacking a million-dollar dress. Humiliation. Shame. Mug shots on the Internet. And though it ended up being, hands down, the greatest night of my entire life, I would have to be incredibly stupid and boneheaded to ever try and pull off another Audrey charade again, right?

12

Crap, crap, crap.

Rounding the corner in the Beast on the way home from work, there it was—red and blue lights flashing, a New Jersey State Trooper squad car in my driveway.

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.

My heart bashed at my rib cage. This was it. They’d come to arrest me. They knew about the dress. I tried to breathe, but my lungs felt as though they were being crushed. Stay calm, stay calm.

Okay, I didn’t actually steal it, right? I didn’t leave the premises. So that wasn’t stealing. It was borrowing. Not even. Really, I just relocated the dress from the archives to the main gallery and back again. Like a curator. Except not.

It’s not like I was a klepto, taking a five-finger discount at a jewelry store. Didn’t celebrities swipe stuff all the time? No, it wasn’t stealing. I didn’t steal the dress.

It was way worse. Fraud.

I pretended as if I were someone I’m not. I lied to everyone and let them believe I was somebody. I’d spent my whole life imagining what it would be like, full of magic and glamour and tuxedos and sparkle. That night, I’d gotten a taste of “sipping starlight,” as Nan called it, though it was for just an hour. It was flat-out glorious, and inevitably I had to pay for it.