“You’re not from here, are you?” she asked, turning toward me. Her eyes pierced deeply into mine as if she could see everything inside of me, a sharpness to her voice I hadn’t heard before. “Why did you have to be the girl in the bathroom who found me? You don’t know. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
Fearful I might reveal something unconsciously, with my eyes or my face, I turned away.
“You should leave,” she said and tapped her cup with her stirring spoon. Zoya appeared instantly.
“More coffee.”
62
The taxi smelled of cigarettes and mildew as I watched the dunes and scrub pines whizz by. The Hamptons sky was clouding up. A light rain was falling, or was it just fog? I opened all the windows. It felt good on my face.
I checked the Jitney schedule and realized there were only two buses left that could take me back to the city in time for Jess’s show. Four days ago I thought the Jitney was special; now they were just buses, glorified Greyhounds.
Too much had happened that I couldn’t understand, that I couldn’t twist into part of my Being Audrey game. Everything had turned too serious for that.
I arrived at the Jitney stop, and there were dozens of people waiting to get on, part of the mass exodus that happened every weekend in the Hamptons. You could almost hear the sucking sound of people leaving the eastern end of the island. I didn’t have a chance. I’d have to wait for the next bus.
My phone buzzed, and I dreaded to check it.
“WHERE R U ?!” It was Jess of course. The little creature inside my stomach woke up, very unhappy.
“We go on at 7 PM!!”
I was trying to calculate how long it would take to get from the tip of Long Island to Chelsea on the west side of New York City and if it was even possible in the Hamptons’ summer traffic. I began writing a text, but before I could finish …
“R yur ppl coming?”
I deleted my text to begin writing an explanation, trying to find some way to justify myself and why I was late, when I received another text.
“R u comin ?!”
I had to stop and take a breath.
“Yes :)” I thumbed as quickly as I could.
☺ She texted in return.
I sighed, physically and emotionally exhausted, meditating on the smiley face.
On my phone I blogged a new Limelight entry as if I had no worries in the world. I figured it was my one last-minute shot at making Jess’s show a success, even if I couldn’t be there.
Tonight is the Night! The Designer X Pop Up show only happens if you are there! Style mavens, cynical fashion hipsters, fashion addicts, runway fanatics, designer devotees, loyal followers. See her runway show in person. Show your designer devotion. Satisfy your need for immediate gratification. Come take your pictures. Post them everywhere. Rock your Instagram with pix of Designer X’s new looks. Only you can make it happen. #xbelowtheline2nite.
As the fully packed Jitney pulled away onto route 27, my last hope for arriving in time, I madly blasted everyone on my list of followers.
I called Isak, but there was no answer, so I texted him again.
“Designer X … Below the Line Gallery 7pm !! Please say you’re going !! :)” If Isak made it, I would be okay. I left messages at Flo’s office for her and Gabby to come.
I squinted down the street, but the next Jitney was nowhere in sight.
I sat on my roller with my garment bag in my lap and worried. I had to be realistic and think of what I could do other than just break down and sob because that’s the only thing I felt like doing. Undone by ZK, I had left everything unfinished. Because I was unhappy, I guaranteed that no one would be happy with me.
I wondered how Jess could forgive me. My Audrey project was coming to an unfavorable end, letting down my best friend, losing ZK, Tabitha, and Jake without a clue what I would do with the rest of my life.
“Hey Lisbeth!” a familiar voice called out. “Need a ride?”
I turned to see Chase in his white van. “I thought I’d drive by just in case. Just a wild hunch, figured I might find you here.”
“Tell me you’re not some weird stalker?” I asked. Chase laughed, getting out of his van, embarrassed in front of all the other people waiting for the Jitney.
“No. Okay. Yes. I told you I’ve had you on my radar for a while. Just saw your blog entry, and I figure you needed someone to shoot that fashion show of yours. Am I right?”
I was speechless.
“Well, I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, grabbing my suitcase and putting it in the back of his van. “Let’s hurry. I’ve got to do some tricky driving while I pull together a crew if we’re going to make this happen.”
63
There was a succession of texts as Chase madly wove his van through the expressway traffic taking access roads and conduits that I thought for sure would wind up at a dead end.
“It’s 6:30 and NOBODY’S HERE :/”
“You promised … :*(”
I decided not to respond. We were either a half hour away or going to be stuck in traffic forever. I would be there or not.
I had to do a quick inventory of what we needed. Like music. We hadn’t even considered that. I figured I might know one person who would be willing to show up at the last second and sent a text. While I was texting, my phone buzzed again.
“We are supposed to start in TEN MINUTES !!”
“Tell her to stall.” Chase insisted, looking over my shoulder as we zipped around the line of cars exiting the Midtown Tunnel.
“Will be there soon :)” I texted back. I saw the three dots that meant she was responding when my phone died. I plugged it into Chase’s car charger and waited.
“Are we going to make it?” I asked.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Do you want to change?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Designer X—don’t you have something of hers to wear?” He was eyeing my garment bag. At Tabitha’s I hadn’t been able to bring myself to put on Jess’s dress.
“I’m supposed to change here in front of you?”
“No!” he said, looking mortified. “Back there, behind the equipment crates.”
I crawled my way to the back of the van, out of Chase’s line of sight, as it bounced around, and stripped down to my underwear, pulling out Designer X’s exquisite signature creation. In the bumpy minivan I stared at it, afraid to put it on.
Slipping on the tight nude satin underskirt, I felt the familiar hug of it and pulled up the rest of the dress, the overskirt and the blouse. It made me feel exactly as it had when I tried it on the first time.
“This is your signature dress,” I remembered saying to Jess. “Isak will love it. Everyone will.”
It’s something every woman can tell you—there’s one pair of shoes or a sexy bra that makes you feel beautiful and strong in those gut-wrenching moments—like going to a wedding after breaking up with your boyfriend or to some terrible high school reunion.
I guess guys have their lucky underwear or shirts, like Jake and his flannels. Jess’s dress gave me that sensation. It communicated through the fabric, cut, and texture. The van came to a stop.
As I put on my heels, I peered out the tiny dirty window in the back of the van. I could make out two other vans that seemed as though it might be Chase’s crew already unpacking. I saw Sarrah and a man I assumed was the gallery owner on the street screaming at each other. That couldn’t be good. Squinting, I could see Jess on the sidewalk, totally stressed, surrounded by her models sitting on fire hydrants, leaning against streetlights, sitting on flattened cardboard boxes on the curb in her finest designs.
I tried to open the van door from the inside but it wouldn’t budge, so I pounded on the window. When the door opened I almost fell on my face.