Page 57 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Not well. Your queen is vulnerable.’

‘Bummer.’

‘Mm. You can pull it back, though.’

The park is the third stop of the day – early this morning we were at an empty cinema in Times Square, wearing velvet suits and metallic platform boots. We held popcorn and propped our feet up on the chairs in front, while trailers played in total silence to make sure that the light on our faces was just so. Then we were sitting in a red vinyl booth at a tired-looking diner, drowning in huge, fluffy tulle dresses with stacks of food piled up in front of us. Pancakes and waffles, burgers and fries – two assistants tore into it beforehand to make it look like Marika and I had demolished it between us. No one actually swallowed a single bite, though – it was spat out, scraped away. Wasted.

‘Hold on,’ Julian says, frowning at his phone. ‘I need to take this – let’s break, yeah?’

‘Five-minute break!’ one of the crew members yells as people start to disperse. ‘Models, stay where you are.’

‘Stay where you are, model,’ Marika murmurs, meeting my eye. I smile, wishing I could tell her how glad I am that she’s here today. I honestly don’t think that I could have faced any of this without her.

I only managed a few snatches of sleep last night. I spent most of my waking hours staring at the slats of Marika’s bunk above me, my mind racing. I finally gave up when the first light of dawn began to creep through the window, throwing a sweatshirt over my pyjamas and grabbing my jacket. I walkedaround aimlessly for what felt like hours, eventually stopping for an egg and bacon sandwich from the bodega that Ezra took me to. The same guy was behind the counter, and he gave me another free coffee, this time with a big, lopsided smiley face drawn on the cup with red marker. I almost wept.

We got to the first location a little after seven. Julian was already there, and I was scared that I might have this big, involuntary reaction to seeing him again. But no – he was just … there, and Marika and I were hustled into hair and make-up after exchanging the necessary pleasantries, my expression carefully fixed in a small, stiff smile throughout. He’s been too harried to pay either of us any particular attention since then.

I glance over at where he’s pacing circles on a patch of grass, phone wedged under his chin, arms folded against his chest. Seeing him in the light of day is enough to make my memories of the studio seem murky and disjointed. Too strange to be true, almost. But then I remember his breath on my neck, his fingers brushing my skin …

‘How do you think it’s going?’ Marika asks. I look at her – she’s still moving the pieces, playing a game against herself.

‘Um – okay, right? What do you think?’

‘I think it’s going well. The looks are good.’

‘What about Julian?’ I venture.

Her gaze cuts upwards and I immediately regret asking. ‘That’s a loaded question.’

‘I just meant – I remember you saying before that you didn’t think he was very experienced,’ I bluster.

‘Yeah – he’s not. He’s a total nepo baby.’

‘What?’

‘He’s Miranda’s nephew,’ she says, arching a manicured brow. ‘His real name is Jonah Browning.’

‘You’re kidding,’ I say, stunned. ‘How do you even know that?’

‘The Internet is a wonderful tool.’

‘… He changed his name so people wouldn’t know?’

‘No, I’m sure that most people know. But this way he gets topretendthat he made it on the strength of his work alone.’

‘What do you think of Miranda?’ I ask impulsively, suddenly remembering being backstage together at that first show – hearing Marika scoff while Miranda was taking.

‘Hard to say without meeting her,’ Marika says evenly. ‘I’m sure she’s nice or whatever, but that Fashion Week speech was bullshit. The whole “every woman deserves to feel brave and beautiful and that’s why I do this” lecture? When her prices start at ninety dollars for a keyring, and she doesn’t make clothes bigger than a size fourteen? Yeah, okay.’

‘You’re totally right,’ I realise. ‘God – that didn’t even occur to me.’

‘Why should it? It’s not your problem.’

‘Hopefully because I’m not totally self-involved?’ I frown.

‘It’s a fucked-up industry.’ She shrugs. ‘We could wring our hands about it all day long but it’s not productive. Not while we’re still on the bottom rung of the ladder. And how I feel about Miranda as a person is irrelevant, honestly. If she shows up tonight, then I’m going to fawn accordingly.’

‘Tonight?’

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