‘That’s not what you said in Paris,’ Justin reminded me.
‘Um,’ I said, keeping my still throbby mouth carefully averted from his in case he tried to persuade me some more. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never been to Paris. Please let go —’
A second later, much to my surprise, he did let go. But not because I’d asked him to. He’d let go because Gabriel Luna, of all people, appeared as if from nowhere and yanked him forcefully off me.
‘I believe the young lady asked you to release her,’ Gabriel said to Justin in his crisp British accent.
Whoa! This was getting more and more like one of Frida’s romance novels every minute! In a totally excellent way.
‘Who the hell,’ Justin asked, checking his leather jacket for dents where Gabriel had manhandled it, ‘do you think you are?’
‘A friend of Nikki’s,’ Gabriel said woodenly in response. An FON! Gabriel Luna had just called himself an FON!
To me, Gabriel asked, in a much warmer, concerned tone, ‘Are you all right, Nikki?’
I nodded, absently stroking Cosabella, who hadn’t taken too kindly to being squashed against me, and was growling at Justin with all the ferocity of a nine-pound Rottweiler.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Just worried about — you know. Who might have seen us.’
I meant Christopher — and Lulu — of course. But this caused Justin to look all around quickly, as if realizing for the first time that we were actually standing on a fairly busy street corner. Not once did he glance in the direction of the wide floor-to-ceiling windows above us, though. The cad! Or was scoundrel the right word? I’d have to check one of Frida’s books.
‘That’s right,’ Gabriel said mildly, noticing Justin’s sudden alarm.
‘Paparazzi could show up any minute. I thought I saw some around the corner actually, on my way over.’
And that was all it took to cause Justin to say, ‘I’ll call you later, babe,’ to me before flipping up the collar of his leather jacket and hurrying away.
I couldn’t believe it! Lulu, his alleged girlfriend, he didn’t give a second thought to. But paparazzi scared him so badly he took off like a shot! What a jerk. Or rake. Or whatever.
Gabriel looked at me and asked, ‘Are you really all right, Nikki?’
I blinked at him… then glanced over at Karl, who was staring at both of us with his mouth hanging open a little, his fingers on his cellphone, as if he’d just been about to call nine-one-one. Noticing the direction of my stare, he hastily tucked the phone away.
‘I’m fine,’ I said to Gabriel. ‘Really I just… I need to go. Back to the hospital. I… I wasn’t supposed to be let out this early and… I just need to get back.’
‘I know,’ Gabriel said in the same calm voice in which he mentioned the paparazzi. ‘I’ve just come from there. I stopped by to see how you were doing, and I found the place in an uproar because you were gone. Snuck out for a bit of fun last night, did you?’
I stared at him, not understanding what he meant at first. Snuck out for a bit of fun? No, actually, I was kidnapped by two FFBFs dressed as surgeons.
But then I realized what he must have walked up and seen — me in front of my (well, Nikki Howard’s) apartment building making out with Justin Bay — and how that had to have looked.
And I felt myself blush to my hairline.
‘N-no,’ I stammered. ‘No, it wasn’t like that! Not at all. There was a misunderstanding. It was Lulu! Lulu Collins and Brandon Stark —’
I broke off. I could tell by his expression that I was only making things worse.
‘Look, I just need to get back,’ I said, unable to meet his gaze, I was so mortified. ‘I’ll… I’ll see you later.’
And I turned, Cosabella still in my arms, and headed for Center Street.
His voice stopped me before I’d gone a single step.
‘I wouldn’t bother. There are no taxis.’
‘Hardly ever are, this time of day,’ Karl, who appeared to be an unapologetic eavesdropper, called from over by the door. ‘Everyone’s heading uptown to work. Give it an hour.’
An hour! I didn’t have an hour! I had to get back to the hospital! Especially if what Gabriel had said was true, and the place was ‘in an uproar’. Why had I stopped to check my email upstairs on Nikki’s completely compromised computer? I should have looked for a cellphone so I could call my parents and tell them not to worry. Maybe Karl would let me borrow his… oh, whatever, I just needed to get uptown…
‘That’s OK,’ I said in a voice gone suddenly shaky. ‘I’ll just take the subway.’
‘You can’t take the subway,’ Gabriel said simply.
‘It’ll be fine,’ I said, turning to head in the opposite direction, towards Broome Street. This was my neighbourhood, after all. I knew exactly where I was. I didn’t really think it was going to be fine, but what else could I do? ‘I can just grab the Six over by Bleecker and take it to Fourteenth Street and walk the rest of the way. It’s not far.’
Then, as I reached into my pocket for my wallet and MetroCard, I realized it wasn’t actually my pocket at all, but Nikki Howard’s pocket.
And it was empty.
‘Oh no,’ I said with a groan. I didn’t have my wallet. Or my MetroCard. Great. Just great.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Gabriel said in the same calm voice. ‘Because you can’t take the subway anyway.’
I started to say that of course I could — why couldn’t I?
But no sooner was the first word out of my mouth than my arm was grabbed. Thinking it was Justin Bay (again), I whipped around fast, expecting to have to fend off another knee-melting French kiss.
But instead I saw a group of elementary school girls in plaid skirts and maroon sweaters, who all started screaming the minute they saw my face.
‘I told you, Tiffany!’ shrieked the one who had hold of my arm, an adorably freckled nine-year-old in braids. ‘It’s her! See!’
And Braidy pointed past my face to a four-storey-high mural painted on the side of a nearby building — a mural which just happened to be of Nikki Howard in a bikini, urging viewers to come to the new Stark Megastore in SoHo.
‘See? I told you! It’s her!’ Braidy screamed, practically yanking my arm out of its socket. ‘Nikki, Nikki, can I have your autograph?’
‘I want it too, Nikki!’ Tiffany shrieked, shoving a pen and a French notebook in my face. ‘Sign mine, oh, please!’
‘I’m not Nikki,’ I cried. I tried to get away from them without outright smacking any of them. ‘Seriously you guys, I’m not—’
‘Girls!’ A nearby nun, who was clearly supposed to be in control of the group, but who had vastly underestimated the power of a supermodel over her young charges, called vainly for order. ‘Stop this! Stop this at once! Leave the young lady alone!’
But they wouldn’t leave me alone. They didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t Nikki Howard.
And why should they, when the proof that I was Nikki Howard was spray-painted as big as a building just a street away?
They were pulling at my jacket, threatening to tumble Cosabella out from under it. Who knows what they would have done, if Gabriel and Karl the doorman hadn’t waded in and rescued me? One minute I was being mauled by a pack of screaming schoolgirls, and the next, Karl was holding them off while Gabriel was steering me bodily away from them, one arm around my shoulders, saying in a wry voice, ‘Now do you see why you can’t take the subway? At least, not unless you’re wearing a hat.’
It was a joke. Well, sort of.
Except that the situation wasn’t actually all that funny. Because in a way, he was right. I was never going to be able to ride the subway again as an anonymous New York City citizen. From now on, I’d be riding the subway as Nikki Howard, supermodel. Unless I carried around a giant sign that said, I’m not really her. Don’t bother asking for my autograph.
I must have looked really crushed or something, since a second later, Gabriel gave me a little hug with the arm he’d put around me, and said with a sigh, ‘Never mind. I’ll give you a ride.’