What the fuck justhappened?
I realise I’m gripping onto something extra tightly. I open my fist to see the little golden park key sittingthere.
Oh my god, I just stoleakey!
My stomach churns. What if the police are hunting for merightnow!
I tuck the key into a little coin pouch and shove it into the secret pocket of the bumbag next to Birdie’sletter.
Jeeeeeez.
I shake my head in disbelief as the subway whizzes away from the scene of mycrime.
I’m not having the best luckat alltoday. I need to get this letter to Chuck as soon as possible before it gets anyworse.
I take out my phone, open up my apps and plan a new travelroute.
Next stop: WallStreet.
* * *
My runof bad luck is not over yet. Because it turns out that not only is Chimes Investment closed on a Sunday, but pretty much the entirety of Wall Street. Of course. It’sSunday. Duh. Obviously I should have thought of that, but with a random socialite doing my hair in return for Chuck intel, being accused of public indecency and stealing a key from the most horrid woman in NYC, my head is a teensybitfull.
A doorman at Chuck’s company tells me that the stock market is strictly a 9-5 Monday to Friday situation like I’m some sort of idiot, which, of course,Iam.
Out in the street, it seems oddly quiet and a little bit eerie. The buildings surrounding me are huge and beautiful, if a little intimidating. It’s nothing like the genteel beauty of Gramercy or the leafy family vibe of the Upper West Side. On the subway over here no one seemed to care about my weird hair. But in the financial district people very definitely notice it. One besuited gentleman actually does adoubletake.
I plonk down onto some steps opposite a bronze sculpture of an aggressive-looking bull and get out my phone, pressing the FaceTime option to call Birdie and update her on the situation regardingChuck.
When she answers, her lovely pixie face flashes up on the screen. She’s smiling but she looks bone-tired. My heart lurches a little. PoorBirdie.
No matter how awful my day has been and how knackered I feel right now, I’m lucky. I’m lucky not to be stuck in a hospital room, awaiting a surgery that might give me a little more time before theinevitable.
I shake away my self-pity and plaster a smile onmyface.
‘Heya!’ I say, full of enthusiasm. ‘I’m in Wall Street! Sitting next to a statue of a very hostile-lookingbull!’
Birdie stares at me for a moment and then her face crumples. At first I think she might be crying. But then I realise that she is laughing. She is cry-laughing.
And shewon’tstop.
She points at me as shelaughs.
Oh yes. My veryownhorn.
‘I know,’ I say, reaching up to feel the offending structure atop my head. ‘I’ve had the weirdestmorning!’
But Birdie can’t even respond, she’s laughing that hard. Tears stream out of her eyes, the phone camera shaking as she squeals withdelight.
‘All right. Calm down.’ I roll my eyes, although her laughter is making melaughtoo.
When she’s caught her breath, she wipes the tears away fromhereyes.
‘What the fuck happened?’ she eventuallygetsout.
‘You don’t think it suits me?’ I strike a pose, hand on hip, smiling into the mid-distance. ‘Unicornchic?’
‘You lookinsane.’
