“I know, I agree. She’s unbearable.”
“Isn’t she? She’s so full of herself.”
“Just stick it out a little longer. She knows the right people.”
“You’re the first person who has told me to wait it out with Tracey. But you’re right—it’s the only sensible thing to do. Everyone is always saying I should ditch her.”
“I have your best interest in mind. I’m not always going to tell you what you want to hear.”
“I get that.” She leaned in and kissed me. “I like your honesty.” She reached behind me, and then with a grim look, she handed me a feather. “Another one.”
When I reached for it, it disintegrated.Jesus, really? This is how it’s gonna be?
“Why don’t you ride in the car with me?” she suggested, pulling me out of my head.
“Okay.”
On the way to work, I had to tell Evey to slow down twenty times. She drives like a maniac. That driving instructor she’d had when she was sixteen was terrible. If I hadn’t had intervened, she’d be dead by now.
“Don’t be a backseat driver,” she said.
“I taught you better than this.”
“You didn’t teach me; my dad taught me.”
“I became your driving instructor after the first lesson when I realized Mr. Willis didn’t know what he was doing. I became him for your behind-the-wheel lessons.”
“What?” She looked shocked. “You put your hand on my leg and squeezed it during the last session. I thought he was a total perv.”
“I did not!”
“You did too!” She looked at me pointedly.
“Eyes on the road, Evey.”
When we got to the warehouse, I said, “I’ll just sit in here and be invisible.”
“Won’t you be bored?”
I laughed hysterically. “This is what I’ve always done, and yeah, it’s boring as fuck.”
“Come in with me. Meet Tracey for real. She’ll love you. You have a perfect body for design.”
I frowned. “I’m not letting her dress me up.”
“Then let me.”
We walked in through the large roll-up door. There were tables and material scraps everywhere, and in the corner was a huge roll of denim. Tracey was talking to another assistant, who scurried away when Evey and I came in.
“Who’s this beautiful man?” Tracey said while she stared me up and down.
“This is my boyfriend, Lucian.”
“He’syourboyfriend?” she asked with more shock than spite.
“Yes,” Evey said, “he’smyboyfriend.”
Tracey wasn’t unlike Brooklyn in that she would probably be forever single, but she didn’t want to be. That was the difference. She was aging fast, approaching her mid-forties, and still had no serious male prospects. Part of the reason was that she emasculated and objectified men in a really disgusting way, much like she was doing to me presently.
