Being Audrey Hepburn

“Why, there’s nothing to say, darling. I’m just a free spirit.”

“Even a free spirit has to come from somewhere.” ZK smiled. I could see he was going to be persistent.

“I’d much rather hear about you,” I insisted, oddly at ease. Somehow Being Audrey made it easier for me to talk to someone like ZK, while I was so apprehensive trying to be myself around Jake.

“What’s left to say that hasn’t been said already? I’m a Northcott.” He laughed. “There’s probably not a single person in this room that doesn’t know my entire family history, good, bad, and wretched.”

“And is your personal history wretched as well?” I asked. He laughed.

“Well let’s just say I’ve been notoriously thrown out of a variety of elite high schools and Ivy League colleges for various instances of inappropriate and lewd behavior, a tradition of my own making, which I hope to continue into the future and bequeath to my children.”

“Impressive,” I said. “And is that all there is to ZK Northcott?”

“Pretty much. You might say I was born with a silver spoon up my ass and I’ve never gotten over it.”

“That must be a painful burden to bear,” I said as deadpan as possible.

“Yes, very.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a fine job of handling it,” I said, and we both cracked up. The waiter arrived with our greyhounds, which tasted pretty much like a screwdriver with some supertart grapefruit juice instead of the usual Tropicana I was used to. Freshly squeezed, I assumed.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s quite tedious, dear.”

“Bore me.”

I’d decided that staying close to the truth would be the easiest way to keep myself out of trouble. I had enough difficulty remembering my new pretend last name without adding any fake relatives or pets into the mix.

“Well, I have an ailing mother who travels a lot and is never at home, a wildly irresponsible sister I never see, and a brother who is always in trouble.”

“Ah, your brother sounds like a man after my own heart.”

“Yes, I’m sure you could tutor him in the finer points. And then there’s my dear Nan who drinks champagne and eats cheesecake all day. See? Nothing quite as exciting as your life.”

“There must be more. Is that all you’ll tell me?” he teased.

“For now.”

“You are very … intriguing,” he said as he put his arm across the back of my chair and leaned in closer. Glasses of grapefruit juice and vodka were arriving and disappearing quickly, and I swear it seemed as if we were flirting. How I could be chatting up one of the most handsome eligible men in New York City was astonishing. But I was determined to keep my wits about me.

“I’m delighted that you wanted to meet for drinks, ZK,” I said, “but I’m a little curious as to the reason. Truthfully, we’ve barely met.” The last thing I wanted to do was to kill the vibe, but ZK was moving too fast. I needed to have some understanding of what he had in mind and why he texted me.

ZK sat back in his chair, unbuttoning his jacket, and turned thoughtfully, thinking for a moment. “Beyond the fact that you’re absolutely lovely?” he asked.

I smiled, taking in his amused eyes. He seemed so boyish at times.

“I’ve been trying to help Tabitha out. The girl is such a mess and there are so many poseurs and hangers-on in the music business.”

Tell me about it. I knew a little something about that subject.

“I want to make sure she doesn’t get hurt,” he added.

“That’s kind,” I said.

“Tabby’s had an especially hard time. I’m sure you know about her mother…? Tragic woman, actually, incapable of handling her own affairs or Tabitha’s from the time Tabby was a toddler. Very little stability in her life, I’m afraid. Someone had to step in. Lots of men coming and going—lots of stepfathers. Her mother has been in rehab so often that she met two of her last husbands there. One was the manager of Blondie, the Cars, and all of those seventies groups. Then there was an Italian duke who actually had a fiefdom in some remote corner of Italy—Bomarzo, I think. And last year her mother married this new quite wealthy but seriously ill fellow. Who knows how long that might last; he happens to be a founder of Soho House. Or the So-So House as we call it. This place is so over, isn’t it?”

Really? I’d just gotten here and it was already out of fashion?

“Tabby and I grew up together, the same schools with the same friends. We’ve all known each other for so long that it’s like a club—which makes everyone extremely tedious, by the way. I feel like I’m playing te

I nodded, as though I understood perfectly.

“You’re a mystery girl.”

“But isn’t every girl?”

“Not to me,” he said, never taking his eyes off mine. “New York is just a tiny bubble, all the same people everywhere you go. You, Lisbeth Dulac, are a red gown at a black-and-white ball.”

I felt like we had somehow moved even closer to each other, kissing distance. I felt little sparks flying between us, as ZK’s eyes met mine, and I wondered if it was unmistakable to him as well or if I was just crushing. I could have sat there gazing at him forever.

“Which black-and-white ball?” interrupted a slender blonde approaching at my side. I immediately recognized Dahlia Rothenberg. ZK and I instinctively pulled away from each other.

She was gorgeous. Opulent. Oh, and of course ZK’s date at the Met that night. Where had she come from? Had she been listening to us joking and laughing?

Surprise barely registered in ZK’s face, and he smoothly rose to kiss her on each cheek. “Dahlia, you’re looking radiant.”

It was true, she did. Radiant was the perfect word. Like the sun. It must have been exhilarating to be the center of the solar system. She wore an elegant, buttery strapless gown, her pale skin shimmery and translucent. I couldn’t help but wonder how she got it that way. Probably diamond-dust facials or snacking on the stem cells of small children.

“Where’s Tabitha? Vomiting in a corner somewhere?” Dahlia asked and put her arm in ZK’s as if she were staking a claim.

“Don’t be so harsh,” said ZK. “You know she’s under a lot of pressure.”

“Yes,” she said. “It must be emotionally taxing to be a singer when you can’t actually sing.” I felt a sudden urge to defend Tabitha, her music was totally Top 40. Besides, weren’t they all old friends?

“I think she has a wonderful voice,” I said. ZK and Dahlia smiled conspiratorially. Dahlia seemed to suppress an urge to laugh.

“Well, that’s one word for it,” she replied. A squeal rose up from behind me, and I turned.

“Lisbeth, you made it!” Tabitha Eden jumped up and down excitedly in her sky-high stilettos, like a sorority girl hopped up on strawberry daiquiris.

“Ah, our little Tabby has arrived,” Dahlia said, her voice dripping with feigned enthusiasm.

Tabitha rushed over and hugged me tightly, as though she was my oldest best friend. And in a way she was; I had been thinking about her for what seemed like an eternity.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she squealed. She was polished and perfect, every inch the celebrity in her pale-blue minidress.

“Darling, I’d never miss it!” I said.

“Love your dress,” Tabitha gushed.

“Thank you, you look gorgeous,” I said.

“Come with me.” Tabitha linked her arm in mine, pulling me along, nodding to ZK but barely trading glances with Dahlia.

My head spun with the thrill of it all—the glamour of the party, my new bestie pop princess, my blog fan downstairs, laughing with ZK, the fact that the chic city life I’d always aspired to was actually happening all around me in vivid, panoramic color. If Jess were there, I’d have asked her to pinch me.