I sigh into the receiver. “You know you can just come visit. You don’t have to use furniture shopping as an excuse.”
The day after the finale, I called Erica to apologize, and slowly over the last few weeks she’s warmed back up to me. It doesn’t hurt that the show has been the talk of the town since that night, but we’re still trying to find out how our relationship functions postBefore Midnight. She was also impressed to know that I’d run away from home for the sake of a job interview.
Erica is silent for a moment. “Thank you. Noted.”
“How is—”
“Have you heard from him?” she asks, interrupting me.
“No,” I say glumly as I step out of the elevator. “Any word on your end?”
“Only from his lawyers,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Is the network really that upset about him disappearing that they need to involve legal? It’s probably some of the best ratings they’ve ever seen.”
“You’re not wrong,” she whispers as though someone is spying on her in her own car. “To be honest, it’s the highest finale numbers we’ve seen since the first season.”
“How’s Beck recovering from her prime-time debut?” I ask.
“Well, Mallory taught me how to send GIFs over text message, and apparently Twitter deemed the death stare Beck gave Chad highly GIFable, so I’ve found a great deal of pleasure in communicating via GIF only.”
“I’m sure Beck is really enjoying that. Hey, I’ve got to check out. Can I call you when I get to the airport later tonight?” I ask.
“Yes, please. The kids are dying to talk.”
“It’s a date,” I say.
After we hang up, I head to the reception desk, and Lydia, the manager, comes around to give me a hug and wish me good luck. She’d watched the show and even asked me to sign her eleven-year-old daughter’s autograph book.
There have been a few moments like that. Getting recognized on the subway or in line for coffee or in the hotel lobby. But for the most part, New York is a good place to disappear. Recent fashion school grad turned reality television star is just another square on someone’s NYC bingo card.
On my way to Gossamer, I make a quick stop. Unlike the first time I visited LuMac, there are no paparazzi or producers or film crew. The storefront has been converted back from a runway to its usual flagship layout.
When I knock on the glass door, the tall, slender salesclerk who definitely overslept this morning ignores me. I try again, rapping my fist a little harder. This time, she looks up and rolls her eyes before marching to the door and pointing at the store hours.
I glance at my phone. It’s only nine o’clock, and they don’t open until ten, but there’s no way I’ll be able to make it across town on my lunch hour.
“I need to speak with Jay!” I yell through the glass. “I’m a friend.” Then more quietly, I add, “Sort of.”
The girl points to her ear and mouths,I can’t hear you, even though she so obviously can.
“I said”—yelling even louder and feeling like an absolute lunatic—“I’m a friend of Jay’s.”
She holds her hands up and shrugs before walking away.
“Hello, friend.”
I spin on my heel. “Jay!”
“I hear we’re friends,” Jay says playfully. Today they wear a blue-and-white seersucker romper with a pair of Gucci sneakers. It’s the perfect summer-in-NYC outfit.
“I think I scared your store manager.”
They shiver. “Nothing could scare that troll. You know she once told Lucy herself that she couldn’t take more than six pieces into the fitting room.”
My eyes widen. “And she still works here?”
“Would you believe that Lucy thought she was kidding and gave her a bonus for her dry sense of humor?”
