Being Audrey Hepburn

Well, given a chance, I would raise my hand to be a member of the club that would never let him go.

“I’m so sick of living here. This city is old news,” he said. “I had an offer to move to L.A. I should have taken it.”

“Really? You’d leave everyone you know in New York?” I asked.

“Lisbeth, I live in a tiny fishbowl where everybody knows everything about my family, my love life, my net worth. You’ve managed to stay off the radar. I envy you.” Try living most of your life in South End.

“So, Dahlia is a more formidable ‘force of nature’ than you expected?”

“I’m sorry I thought I could handle her,” he said. “The problem is Dahlia thinks like a man. She thinks she can have whoever she wants whenever she wants.” ZK exhaled, exasperated, and I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before.

There was a haunted aspect to his eyes that struck me as lonely. Could the most dashing and sought-after bachelor in Manhattan feel that alone? On the couch, our fingertips made the briefest of contact, and flickers of warmth sparked beneath my skin. Startled, I drew away. ZK’s pleading eyes met mine. We both felt it. That much was clear. But I also felt wary and over my head.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to put yourself through this for me.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, looking orphaned. I moved my hand toward his, and he held it gently. His soft hands felt warm; I sighed, hoping it wasn’t noticeable.

“You know what’s fu

“Nothing appears fu

“The fu

“Really? Has he been vicariously living off your love life?” ZK gave me the most confused expression. “I was just making a joke,” I said biting my lip, “maybe not a good one.”

“If you knew my father, you’d know how utterly serious and demanding he is. My father expected a bit more of me.”

“Expectations are overwhelming,” I said. “I had a mother like that.” Oh great, now I was speaking about my mother in the past tense. I must have become light-headed with all the stress.

For a moment, he became extraordinarily serious, as if he were calculating something in his head. I thought he might be tempted to tell me the secret I already knew, about his family’s recent troubles. I couldn’t imagine the shame he felt in being the son of the man who squandered one of America’s greatest family fortunes. But I assumed it hung over his head the way my mom’s drinking and South End hung over mine.

My mother had expected me to become a nurse-practitioner; ZK’s family tasked him to restore the billions his father lost in a Ponzi scheme. Not the same but similar.

His eyes dropped down to our hands, our fingers entwined, and the seriousness lifted. He noticed Nan’s bracelet pooled at my wrist.

“What an interesting bracelet,” he remarked. “May I?”

“I suppose,” I said, then slipped it off and handed it to him, feeling inexplicably naked.

“Tuam tutam tenebo,” he read. Jeez, of course he could read Latin.

God, I hope he doesn’t ask me what it means, I’ll look like an idiot, I thought, realizing I never asked Nan what the inscription meant.

“‘I will keep you safe,’ but who is Sammy G?”

“A rap star?” I said, making another joke. “It was my Nan’s. I see your Latin isn’t rusty,” I added, hoping to cover for my abject ignorance.

“My Latin teacher literally beat us with a ruler until we learned every word of our lessons,” he said and returned my bracelet. I slipped it back over my wrist. I was surprised at how exposed I felt without it.

ZK rose from the love seat. “My apologies, Lisbeth, for a night of drama. You’re more than generous not to be screaming at me right now,” he said. “Allow me to get you a drink and we can discuss more pressing issues, like why El Schnabel hasn’t made an appearance at his own opening party in his own penthouse. People must be having fun somewhere … let’s find them.”

I rose to go with him but thought better of it.

“I’d love to, ZK, but I think I better go home,” I said, not believing my own words.

“Ah, now I’m really flying solo. Can’t I convince you otherwise?”

There really wasn’t a choice.

“Well, at least allow me to arrange a taxi for you.”

We silently walked to the elevator and rode down to the first floor. Outside, standing at the curb, he didn’t seem to know whether to hold my hand or not. I didn’t know what I wanted either.

A cab stopped at the curb, and at the last second ZK turned to me, my face gazing up into his golden-flecked eyes. He gently brushed an eyelash from my face and, catching me unprepared, kissed me, our lips pressing together, his arm sweeping around me, pulling me in with sudden urgency, making me want to open my mouth and close my eyes, my whole body molded around him. His kiss was so focused and intense that my fingers clutched for something to hold on to—his jacket, his hands holding my face, his hair.

“Hey buddy,” the cab driver said, “why don’t you guys put it in the cab. So I can finish my shift.” We were still on the street.

ZK released me, but he held my hand tightly, preventing me from entering the cab.

“You’re certain I can’t rescue this night and charm you endlessly?”

“You already have,” I said, catching my breath, “but I have to go.” I stepped inside the taxi, gathering myself, still tasting him on my lips.

After all, I thought as the taxi pulled away, I have a super-rat to meet tomorrow.

39

What do you wear to a meeting with a super-rat?

I couldn’t help but go all out with a scarf over my head, some giant sunglasses, and Jess’s redux of a vintage Burberry trench we had snagged at St. A

When I woke up at Jess’s Chinatown flat that morning, Jess helped me put the whole look together. The trench coat didn’t come with a belt, which is why it was so cheap. Jess shortened the coat a bit and made a new belt out of this very cool pink fabric that she had lying around, and I was ready for my rendezvous.

*   *   *

Coming up the stairs of the subway exit, I made my way through the people on the crowded uptown sidewalk, clutching my purse, aware of how much my trench coat with the bright pink sash stood out from the army of New Yorkers wearing shades of black and gray.

I had two more voice mail messages from my mother, and I was pla

“I NEED YOU HOME NOW!” As I read those words, my urge to call vanished. She would have to wait.

Tabitha had sent me simple instructions where to go.

“St. Regis Hotel King Cole Bar ;) 11:30.”

As I reached the red-carpeted stairs at the entrance of the St. Regis, I didn’t know how well I would fare with Robert Francis, but I did know my look was a hit. Two women had stopped me in the subway station and on the street to tell me how much they loved my coat. I felt as if I should have started taking orders for the Designer X line.

The exceedingly polite doorman told me where to find the King Cole Bar and motioned me inside. Crossing the lobby, with its frescoed ceiling and elaborate marble staircase, gold-framed mirrors, and stu

Drawing my trench coat tightly around me, hugging my purse, I entered the King Cole Bar. A fairy-tale mural of King Cole, serenaded by three fiddlers, covered an entire wall behind the bar.