Being Audrey Hepburn

“Come on, ZK,” he said, “she has to give us a chance to win our money back.”

“You should be glad she’s quitting now,” ZK said. “If she stays at the table, you might just leave here tonight in a different tax bracket.” He slid his arm around my waist, which sent a shiver down my back, and escorted me from the table.

46

We walked outside to the terrace and leaned on the marble banisters, glancing out over the city.

“Are you cold?” he asked, smoothly removing his jacket and placing it over my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I said.

“It almost goes with your dress.”

I laughed and slipped my hand into the crook of his arm.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” he asked.

“My Nan.” I smiled, thinking that she’d love to hear all about my poker-playing prowess. “She’s a debutante card shark. I’m just a good student.”

He slid out the wad of bills in his pocket and handed it to me.

“No, I couldn’t—it was your money,” I said, trying to be cool about it, although I hadn’t picked up a paycheck in weeks. Tabitha said he didn’t have any real money. So what kind of money did he have? Just a couple thousand in pocket change for poker?

“You should keep the wi

He peeled off a few hundred-dollar bills.

“This covers my stake; the rest is yours.”

“Thank you, but we did say fifty-fifty, right?” I cut the wad of money by half and handed it back. He hesitated for a second. “If you don’t take it, I won’t be your good-luck charm next time,” I added.

“Yeah, well, you’ve got way more than luck going on,” he said and pocketed the cash. I stuffed the remaining $8,500 in my tiny cocktail purse as though it was a common occurrence.

In that half-empty moment I secretly observed ZK. Although he was standing right beside me, a blank expression crossed his eyes, and he seemed like a forlorn little boy.

I thought back to all the times I had seen him since that evening at the Met when I was outside the fishbowl looking in, a mere onlooker. I remembered even then, there was a moment where he was alone and detached as the cameras flashed around him. I remembered other moments like that; those tiny instances where he let his guard down, where his fabulousness evaporated and he was more boy than man, as if he were just hoping to find a way from one empty moment to the next. I knew that feeling. His solitude made me want to hold him, care for him, and love him more.

We stood there, the city a twinkling galaxy of lights. Our legs touched i

“Come on, let’s toast your success,” ZK said.

“As long as it’s not a pink martini, you’re on,” I replied. He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, but I wondered if he was aware what went on in the penthouse upstairs.

We headed to the bar. ZK snatched a bottle of Macallan 18 and two glasses, ignoring the bartender’s a

“Here’s to the mysterious Lisbeth Dulac,” he said. “You know, I’ve never met a woman like you.” I felt suddenly shy as we clinked glasses.

“You’ll be coming to the Hamptons with Tabitha, won’t you?” he asked.

“It depends, I guess.” Apparently the Hamptons was on everyone’s agenda.

“Well, I’ll be there,” he said. “Somehow I can’t imagine not seeing you for the rest of the summer.”

The terrace was dotted with plants and small trees in terracotta containers. I dropped down onto the cushy outdoor sofa, sipping my whiskey, and ZK sat next to me, his knee touching mine. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap. I put my arms around his neck, aching for the warmth of his body, inhaling his scent, listening to the sound of his breathing. He gazed into my eyes, moving toward me a millimeter at a time until, at last, his lips, soft and strong, touched mine.

In that moment there was nothing but ZK and me, the lights of the city, and the dark abyss of the night. I couldn’t help thinking that this was where I was meant to be.

47

On the PATH train back to Jersey, I squeezed in among the shopping-bag-toting, Starbucks-sipping, iPod-listening masses, grateful for a little downtime.

Thumbing the keyboard on my phone, I lined up five new entries promoting Designer X’s new line of “secret dresses” and hinted at big news to come. I had downloaded the app that allowed me to post to my blog from anywhere, and now I could shoot pictures on the fly anytime I saw something I liked and post them immediately. When I logged on to my Tumblr, I was blown away that there were so many followers. I featured pictures of last night’s Designer X masterpiece on my blog, including close-ups of the lyrical embroidery. Isak commented almost immediately, raising the count of my followers numerically.

“When do we get to meet Designer X!” he demanded in a later comment, and literally 237 followers cheered him on in a chorus. “X! X! X! X! X! X! X!” one person chanted, and then others repeated and reblogged, driving up traffic on the Web site exponentially.

I hugged my pocketbook and vagabond bag close to me. I wasn’t about to let that $8,500 slip out of my grasp—$8,555 to be exact. I had big plans for that money, and I wanted to get started on them.

I guided the Purple Beast from the PATH station’s commuter parking lot directly home. I had a text from Courtney saying she was dropping out of school next semester. That bummed me out because I knew Ryan hadn’t finished his year of middle school. None of us were staying in school, which would definitely pain Mom if she knew.

I hadn’t heard much from Courtney about Mom’s condition for a while, so I was surprised when I walked in the screen door and saw Mom sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, and sorting through the bills just as before. I was relieved that things were back to normal until I realized it wasn’t Mom. It was Courtney.

Shoulders slumped, Courtney looked so much like Mom it was u

As I put down my bags, she gazed up at me, her face pained and worried, as if she knew what I was thinking. She still wore the sweatpants and oversize T tied at the waist. I don’t think she had changed in days. She tapped her cigarette in the ashtray the same way Mom used to and arranged the bills in rows as Mom used to do; Jersey Power and Light, Comcast Cable, Montclair Propane and Gas, and all the others.

Like a fly caught on flypaper whose fate was sealed, she seemed caught up in something bigger, unable to stop it all from happening.

“Do you know how many fucking bills we can’t afford to pay?” she asked.

Ryan was playing Warcrack in the living room, and I could hear the computer-generated cries of creatures being vaporized and destroyed. The place was a wreck. Some things never changed. I sat down beside her.

“I’m going to go back to work for Harris, at the bar,” she said, rearranging the bills on the table. “Luckily Mom’s got coverage at the hospital as long as they keep her there. But I don’t know how she’s going to make any money when she gets out.” She tilted back in the chair on just two chair legs just like Mom used to and gave me a helpless look.

“Mom just can’t take care of us anymore, Lizzy,” she said, tearing up as the chair legs came down again. “We’re on our own.” She was going to cry. Me too. We hugged.

“I’ve checked the bank accounts,” Courtney said through the tears. “There’s hardly any money for these bills. And if I start working at the bar again, what’s going to happen to Ryan?”

We looked across to the living room, both of us thinking about Ryan, even though he didn’t seem to notice or care.