Being Audrey Hepburn

“I was going to throw stones at your window, but I’ve got a mean fastball, ya know. Did I tell you I was the pitcher on the high school team?”

“I guess I missed that one in the Rocket Berns Wikipedia entry, but thanks for sharing.”

“Well, I just didn’t want to break your window.”

“Oh … kay. Well, thank you for not breaking my window.” It was pretty comical standing there, especially since we were still talking on our cell phones.

“So want to come out and get a cuppa coffee?” Jake asked.

“Are you kidding? It’s like five a.m.,” I looked back at my alarm clock. “Actually just turned five fifty-two, but who’s counting?”

“Best time for coffee, really, when you think about it,” he countered. “Besides, Lizzy, I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been up all night thinkin’ about you.”

I blinked a couple of times, unsure that I heard him correctly, and took a deep breath.

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to think about than me … are you high?”

“Come on, Lizzy, believe me. Look, I’m standing on my head!”

“Yeah, right.”

But sure enough, out there on the tiny front lawn of my house, none other than hot rocker Jake Berns was doing a pretty decent handstand, all the stuff in his pockets falling out. He fell down after a while and got back up again.

I put down my cell phone and opened my window.

“Okay. Stop that,” I whispered. “Somebody might see you. I’ll be down in a sec.”

Yanking on a pair of jeans under my oversized sleep shirt, I hunted around the room for a bra and slipped on a clean white T from my dresser. But I startled myself when I looked in the mirror.

Last night’s updo had turned my hair into a bird’s nest, and there were still traces of shimmer at the corners of my eyes from my eye shadow. I debated whether to wrestle my hair into a ponytail or go full-on Cosmo girl and just rock the bedhead. I opted for the latter. I wiped away as much shimmer as I could, swished my mouth with mouthwash, and snuck down the stairs, slipping through the front door and closing it quietly behind me.

We pulled away in Jake’s slightly beat-up 1976 BMW 2000, which was no ordinary rock and roller’s ride. Jake was a car freak; he always had five cars parked in front of his house in various stages of repair. There was the band van—the whole thing painted like the American flag, of course; an old military jeep that was always on cinder blocks; a ’61 Impala with holes in the floor where your feet were supposed to be, like a Fred Flintstone car; and his brother’s Saturn, which was always breaking down.

The BMW, a hipster mobile, was the only thing he loved as much as music. He rebuilt it from scratch, and I knew for a fact he never took it out unless he was trying to impress. I was impressed and nervous.

The streetlights were still on, even though the sun had come up, as Jake drove us through the still-empty streets of South End Montclair.

“Okay, so you were up all night doing what? Or should I ask?” I said.

“I told you,” he said with that sideways smile of his, “thinking of you.” Jake was wearing one of his vintage fla

“Okay, so what else were you doing?” I asked, trying to keep up the conversation, and abruptly moved my hand into my lap. After a moment, he put his hand back on the steering wheel. This was really strange. I wasn’t used to anyone paying this much attention to me, let alone a heartbreaker like Jake.

I’ve always had trouble even sitting next to a guy who liked me. Usually I’ve felt like I’m about six years old and that I’m going to throw up any second or say something stupid I’ll regret. I’m pathetic that way, which didn’t mean I wasn’t interested. I just never got past that unbearable feeling of terror when boys flirted with me, unless you counted that creep Maxwell Duryea, who was really more of a stalker, though I did go out with him once.

“The Rockets had a private gig in Tuxedo Park until three A.M., which we totally rocked. It was swank—you shoulda been there. Tons of managers, celebs, music folks. We just got back about an hour ago. Can you believe the effin’ van broke down twice!”

Jake drove up to Cupcakes Galore and More, the local pastry dive. We ordered two regulars and a bagel, and then Jake insisted on ordering an “everything cupcake” like it was his birthday or something, which was about the last thing I wanted to see this early in the morning. But he seemed pretty hungry.

“Didn’t eat much? Or is the rock ’n’ roll Romeo a little hungover?” I asked. His head shook slowly side to side as a wide grin came across his face. There was one thick strand of black hair that fell across his face that I adored.

“Naw, just hungry.” I took a napkin and wiped a little of the icing away from his cheek. “Okay, and a little hungover,” he said, laughing. “So what have you and Jess been up to? I haven’t seen you guys at work for days. Plotting to take over the world?”

I hoped so, but there was no way I could talk to Jake about it.

“No, our shift got changed.”

“That true?” he asked. No, but I wanted to change the subject. “And what was the deal with you hanging up on me last night?” he asked.

“Oh that was you?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer was, worried he’d get mad.

“And how come you didn’t call me back?”

“I’m sorry. Weren’t you playing last night?” I asked.

“Yeah, exactly…” Shit. I was supposed to be there, wasn’t I? He paused for a second. There was a serious expression on his face, and I started to worry what was coming next.

“Listen, Lisbeth, this is about the fifth time since we started, you know, hanging out … that I’ve asked you to come see my band, and you always seem to be busy. And see, I thought there was, you know, something good happening between us. But I guess … I could be wrong?”

There probably wasn’t another female in the entire Garden State who wouldn’t jump at a chance to go out with Jake Berns and see his band play. I’ll admit I was clueless the first couple of times—not playing hard to get—I just couldn’t believe it was true and knew I’d probably make a fool of myself. Nobody like Jake Berns ever noticed me before.

“I just … got tied up in this fashion project I’m doing with Jess.” God, I’d probably be screwing up my courage, dragging Jess to the front of the stage of every one of Jake’s gigs, if this conversation had happened before my week of Dior and Givenchy and Page Six. I just had to see how Being Audrey would go first.

“You know, I wanted to have coffee because I didn’t want you to think I was just some guy at the diner who kissed you next to the frozen peas.”

“They were french fries,” I said.

“So you remember?”

“The french fries? Yeah, they were freezing my butt.”

Jake smiled, and I wanted to kiss him right then and there in the middle of Cupcakes Galore with all the sleepy coffee drinkers sitting around. His eyes met mine, and I wondered if maybe he was thinking the same thing, too.

“So…” He slid his hand across the table to hold mine. His fingers intertwined with my fingers. I took a breath, struggling to handle the attention, trying not to run away. His hand was strong and a little calloused, probably because of the guitar playing. I locked my fingers around his. It would be so easy to get swept away.

“Lizzy, I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff happening to you. I’m sure everyone thinks you’re cool. I mean, you’re one of those girls who secretly keep the world from falling apart. Everybody knows that.”

“Oh really…” I said, rolling my eyes but thinking, Who could say lines like that? I knew he was a songwriter, but really? He said it in a way that was so understated, so Jake.

“You’re laying low now, but you’re go