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She swiveled to her right. Ohmagod! She blinked several times. Rupert Grint. Crouching down beside her, holding her coat check button. First Emma Watson and now…this…a verifiable Harry Potter-palooza.
“Yes, thank you.” Alex accepted the silver disc from Rupert’s hand. She stared at the ginger-haired actor as he lifted her up.
“Happy to help.” He smiled and rejoined his friends, who were discarding their jackets.
She caught her breath and slid the button towards the woman behind the counter. At any other time, she’d be buzzing like a fangirl over Rupert, but Mark mattered more.
Coat in hand, she hobbled through the scrum at the front door, desperate to get back to Winston’s to catch Mark.
“No, no, no. Please be there.”
In her haste, several fleshy blisters pinched their dissatisfaction, each step like a sharp pencil piercing her toes and heels. She took a peek. Great. Splotches of blood had soaked into the lining. Screw elegance. She ripped off her heels and ran barefoot along the damp sidewalk, juggling both shoes and her clutch. The doorman at Winston’s glowered at her dirty bare feet. He made no attempt to open the door for her.
“H-h-hello. I was part of the Manville private party earlier. I forgot something inside. Could I please see the hostess?”
He pursed his lips and yanked open the heavy door just as raindrops began to speckle her coat. Alex stumbled towards the hostess desk and a blonde woman wearing a striking form-fitting grey dress.
“Good evening. I was here with Harry Manville’s party an hour ago. I need to speak to one of the servers who waited on our group, Mark Keegan. Is he here?” She held her breath, her heart pounding. One of her heels slipped from her hands and bounced on the floor.
The hostess blinked her smoky eyes a few times and shot a look over her shoulder. “Mark? He’s…left for the evening. I’m afraid you’ve missed him.”
Alex exhaled and tapped her fingers on the edge of the desk. “Shoot, okay…okay…right. Is he working tomorrow?”
The employee swallowed and fussed with papers on the desk. “Actually…as of tonight he’s no longer employed by Winston’s.”
The pinball machine in Alex’s stomach crashed into a game-changing tilt.
Alex’s other shoe dropped, landing on her blistered bare toes. The sharp pain in her feet tingled, dissolving into a creeping numbness that swallowed her quivering legs like quicksand. “What?! Shit, Olivi—”
She caught herself. “Sorry…okay, thanks for letting me know.”
Stepping carefully into her shoes, she pulled her coat closed. Out in the street, the doorman held a large golf umbrella over her head. “Taxi, miss?”
She shook her head, ducking away from its refuge. Rain beat down without mercy, her trench coat unable to keep up with the wet onslaught. Alex didn’t feel a drop as she limped into the road.
He’d been fired. It was all her fault.
A honking taxi burst her foggy bubble. She staggered back onto the curb towards an antiques store, its wide green awning offering a dry sanctuary to text. Her shaky fingers fought with the autocorrect:
‘Mark, are you okay?’
She shivered in the chilly rain, waiting for an answer.
Five minutes passed…nothing. Time for another text:
‘Freddie, have you heard from Mark? x’
Several cars splashed by, fogged up with Saturday night pleasure seekers. Drunken patrons from a nearby bar staggered past. Alex opened Facebook on her phone, and with a few swipes and taps, unfriended Olivia. She blocked her from both Twitter and Instagram, too. The rain eased into a sporadic trickle, so she slouched off towards the nearest Tube station. Her phone finally pinged.
‘Mark’s here. Meet us at The Cut, the bar in the Young Vic Theatre. Southwark Tube. F xo’
• • •
Alex pulled open the door to The Cut, unleashing a lively roar that spilled onto the wet South Bank street. She ignored the busy stairway leading to the upper level and scanned the packed ground floor. Thirsty patrons three deep jostled by the bar. The rest of the space boasted scattered tables and chairs—every seat taken.
Lucy spotted her from a table tucked beside the window in the far left corner. She waved her hand, catching Alex’s attention.
“Party over already?” Freddie smirked as he stood up to squeeze Alex. “What are you drinking?”
