“What?” she asks a little distractedly, having dug out her Sidekick, into which she is tapping with some urgency.
“What, exactly, did I just promise to do for you?”
“You’re letting me stay at your place, of course,” Ava says with some surprise, not even looking up from the screen.
I stare at her. “My place? You mean… in my apartment?”
“Well, I can’t stay at my place,” Ava says, finally looking up. Ava’s condo, which is on East End Avenue near the mayor’s house, Gracie Mansion, is within easy walking distance of mine (not that Ava ever walks). Ava chose to move to the Upper East Side—to the consternation of many a poodle-toting matron there—because that’s where she happened to find the only condo that met her exacting standards (the aforementioned four bedrooms, three baths, and an eat-in kitchen with at least two thousand square feet of outdoor terrace and full southern exposure).
But she’d also fallen in love with the nearby Carl Schurz Park, which is right by the river, and includes a dog run built especially for small dogs.
“My place is crawling with paparazzi,” she goes on. “Word’s already getting out that I left Alek at the altar. They’ve got all the hotels staked out too, and my parents’ and friends’ places, as well. You’re my only hope, Lizzie. I figured you could just stay at Luke’s.”
I’m shaking my head before the words are fully out of her mouth. “No,” I say. “No, I can’t stay at Luke’s.” The thought fills me with panic. I don’t want to see Luke. I… I can’t see Luke. Not again. Not this soon.
“Well,” Ava says, looking slightly annoyed. “Fine. Then I’ll stay at Luke’s, and he can stay with you.”
“No,” I say, still shaking my head. “You can’t stay at Luke’s either. Because Luke and I are… we’re… we’re in a fight. Remember? Remember how he came running out of the restaurant after me just now, and I was like, Drive? Please drive? Remember that?” My eyes fill with tears again at the memory. Oh God. What’s happening to me?
Little Joey says, from the front seat, “She did say that.”
Ava screws up her face, trying to remember. “Oh yeah,” she says. “Well. Can’t I just stay at your apartment with you, then? It’ll just be for a few days. Until all this blows over. You’ll hardly know I’m there. Snow White and I don’t take up much room.”
I glance at Little Joey. Ava, noticing the direction of my gaze, laughs.
“Oh, don’t worry about him,” she says. “He won’t be staying there. He has his own place in Queens.”
I want to suggest that Joey’s place in Queens might be the ideal hideout for Ava. The paparazzi would never think to look for her there.
But then I remember what she said, about all of this being my fault. And so instead, I say, “Ava, my place… it’s just a one bedroom. There’s only one bathroom. And it doesn’t have southern exposure. Believe me, it’s not luxurious—”
“I don’t mind, I’m used to roughing it. I served forty-eight hours at CRDF, you know,” Ava assures me, referring to the Century Regional Detention Facility in Los Angeles, which housed her when she did her time for driving under the influence.
“My place isn’t as bad as prison,” I say, slightly annoyed.
“Oh, I knew you’d say yes,” Ava says, throwing her spindly arms around me and giving me a hug, and partially suffocating Snow White in the process. “This is gonna be so fun! Like camping out or something! We’ll order in, and do our nails, and watch me on TV, and stay up all night talking bad about our boyfriends. Your having a fight with Luke makes it just perfect!”
I say in a strangled voice, since her deathlike grip is cutting off my oxygen, “I can’t stay up all night, Ava. I have gowns I have to get finished.”
“That’s even better!” Ava cries, releasing me suddenly. “I can help!”
“Okay,” I say. I massage my neck where she’s squeezed it. I can’t believe this is happening. “I guess.”
“I’m so excited,” Ava declares. “Vincent, make the turn onto Seventy-eighth. We’re getting out there!”
Sooner than I could have imagined possible, Ava Geck, her Chihuahua, and seven of her suitcases are in my apartment, and her bodyguard is saying good night, while assuring me he’ll be by at nine tomorrow morning to pick Ava up to take her to the New York Health and Racquet Club to meet her trainer for her workout. She’s on my couch—though we’ve already established that she’ll be sleeping in my bed, and I’ll be on the couch, thanks to her sciatica—flipping channels with the remote, trying to see if news of her broken-off royal wedding is on E! yet. I’m supposed to be ordering dinner—moo shu chicken is out. Ava wants a Caesar salad and fettuccine Alfredo from Sistina, which is a four-star Italian restaurant on Second Avenue that doesn’t deliver… except apparently for Ava.
I’m on the phone with the restaurant’s maître d’ when the buzzer to my apartment goes off, causing Snow White to burst into a cacophony of yips and Ava to squeal excitedly, “The food’s here!”
“The food can’t be here,” I say. “I’m still on hold with Guiseppe.”
Ava throws me a panicked look. She’s changed from her rubber lederhosen into a pink velour sweatsuit. Although she has the word “Juicy” written across her rear end, I find this preferable to her many outfits that actually reveal her rear end, or at least the brown-cheeked moons of it. And so I am allowing her to wear it. But only indoors.
“It’s the paparazzi!” she cries. “They’ve found me! Already!”
“It can’t be the paparazzi,” I say. “Unless you told someone you’re here.”
“Only my mom,” Ava says. “And Tippy. And he wouldn’t tell anyone. He knows what it’s like to be hounded mercilessly by the press.”
I still don’t have the slightest idea who DJ Tippycat is, but I take her word for it that he wouldn’t rat her out. I hand her the phone and go to the wall intercom and push the TALK button. “Who is it?” I ask in my meanest voice, which I reserve only for answering the intercom.
“Lizzie, it’s me,” Luke says. “Can I come up?”
I stare at the intercom as if live snakes have suddenly come bursting out of it. Luke? In all the excitement with Ava, I’d completely forgotten about my fight with him.
Ava hasn’t, however. She bolts upright. “Is that Luke?” she asks, her bright eyes wide. “Are you gonna buzz him in? I can totally make myself scarce. You won’t even know I’m here. I’ll hide in the bathroom.”
I continue to stare at the intercom, uncertain what to do. On the one hand, I’m still really, really mad at him. On the other hand… it’s Luke. I love him.
At least… I think I do.
And yet… could he have been a bigger jerk?
“Unless you want me to pour water on his head,” Ava offers generously. She’s gotten up from the couch and gone to the window, where you can look down and see whoever is standing in the doorway—providing they aren’t hiding beneath the awning, as the UPS man is wont to do when it’s raining. “Because I could totally do that for you, if you want me to. Or pee. I could pour pee on him. I haven’t gone yet. I could go in a cup and dump it—”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “I–I’ll just go talk to him outside. You go ahead and order. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Ava looks dubious. “Are you sure? Because I’ve been holding it all day—”
“I’m sure,” I say. “And you really shouldn’t hold it, Ava. You could give yourself a urinary tract infection that way. I’ll be right back.”
I grab my keys and hurry out of the apartment and down the stairs, a little leery of leaving Ava to her own devices in my place… but also a little relieved to have a moment to myself. Even if, the next minute, I know I’m going to have to be dealing with Luke.
Who says, “Oh,” when I undo the many locks to the outside door and step onto the stoop into the warm evening air beside him. “I thought… I thought you might buzz me up.”
“I can’t,” I say unsmilingly. “I have company.”
Luke looks surprised. I’m pleased to see he isn’t smiling, either. At least he’s taking this thing seriously. So often, when we argue, he seems to think my anger is amusing, as if I’m a kitten who’s upset about someone hiding her catnip mouse. I’m not a kitten.