Page 7 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Or earlier, if you can manage,’ Romy continues. ‘It’s Fashion Week so we’re slammed with reservations. I’m actually kind of desperate, so …’

‘Yeah, I mean – I’d love to help out. Really. It’s just – I think I’m coming down with something,’ I tell her, clearing my throat. ‘I woke up feeling like hell.’

‘Poor baby. Have you taken any Advil? Always works for me when I’m hungover.’

I huff and flop back on to the mattress, defeated. She knows me too well, unfortunately.

‘What about food?’ I sigh. ‘I’ll be hungry by the time I get there.’

‘There’ll be food, Your Highness. It’s a restaurant.’

‘Hm. Am I getting paid?’

‘That’s kind of the point of a job, yeah. Listen – I have to go butthank you, Ezra. Really.’

‘Thank Caroline,’ I retort, but she’s already hung up. I drop my phone and shut my eyes, wondering if puking mid-shift is a sackable offence.

The extent of the damage becomes apparent as soon as I’m vertical. I almost pass out in the shower and have to sit down, hot water raining against my sore shoulders as I rest my head on my knees. I have no idea how many glasses of champagne I knocked back at Maggie’s party before slipping out and taking the subway downtown. There’s a place in Chelsea that’s lax aboutIDand always has movies showing on theTVbehind the bar. It wasJawslast night, and by the time they blew up the shark it was just me, the bartender and some old guy with a yellow beard wearing a cap that saidRETIREDANDLOVINGIT!

I don’t really remember what time I got back here. It doesn’t normally matter – my go-to hangover cure is sleeping for as long as I want, then heading down to the Korean restaurant on the corner to try and fill the void inside of me with tea and dumplings. But now I’ve got to get my life together and get to Chelsea within the hour, lest Romy murder me with one of her fancy knives. She mightlooklike sunshine, all freckled and smiley and California-blonde, but she didn’t get to be head chef in a fancy Manhattan restaurant by virtue of being adorable.She’s fully capable of fucking me up if I leave her in the lurch today.

I roughly towel myself off, ruffling my hair as I scrutinise my reflection in the fogged-up mirror. It’s getting long again. It grows fast – so fast that I used to have to cut it myself when I was at school. The results were reliably awful until Edie eventually offered to give it a go, and she was actually pretty good at it. Then again, Edie was good at everything.

I get dressed quickly and gulp down some water before heading out. It’s a clear, cold day – the kind of weather I’d enjoy if it didn’t hurt to be alive right now. I decide to take the subway instead of walking, if only to take advantage of the lack of natural light. I might be on time, actually, which is a novelty. I haven’t needed to be punctual in months.

Well. I probably should have shown up to Maggie’s party a little earlier, now I think of it. I just didn’t figure that she cared too much about me coming, though that’s not to imply that she doesn’t care aboutme. She’s a great sister. Better than great. Like, when we were younger and Mum and Dad worked all the time, Maggie was always the one who walked me home after school. Only in hindsight did I realise what a boring chore that was to saddle a teenager with – I know that I wouldn’t have put up with it, but Maggie did. She helped me with my homework, too. She did hers at the same time, sitting opposite me at the kitchen table. It used to drive me nuts when she told me off for slouching or reached over to check my answers without me even asking, but they’re good memories. Caroline might have been more of an ally, but I missed Maggie just as much while I was away.

She was at college when I was packed off to boarding school, supplementing straight As with a string of summer internships. By the time she graduated she’d already been deluged with job offers, and now she works at a fancyPRagency, getting paid acomical amount of money to – to do whatever it is that she does, I suppose. Precocious, sure, but no one’s surprised. Maggie’s had her shit together since before she could walk.

Anyway. I’m at the station, now – it’s quiet, so I glide straight through the barriers. The train I need is grinding to a halt just as I reach the platform, which feels like a good omen. There’re plenty of seats, too, and someone’s left a book on the one next to mine. I glance around the carriage to see if anyone looks like they’re going to claim it, but apparently not. I pick it up, turn it over in my hand.The Lonely City– bleakly appropriate – so I wedge it into my coat pocket. I’ll give it a good home.

I lean back, stretching my legs slightly. I should probably be nervous – I’ve never had a job before, so I don’t know what to expect. Maybe it’ll imbue me with a newfound sense of purpose and the rest of my life will automatically fall into perfect order. More likely, I’ll be so useless that Romy fires me within the week, but either way it’s something to do.

Something that I hope Caroline tells Dad about before I have to.

AUDREY

‘HEY THERE!’OUR SERVER CHIRPS,PONYTAIL BOBBING AS SHEbounces up to our table. ‘How are we all doing?’

‘Oh, just great!’ Imogene beams, leaning towards her. ‘Could we get these plates cleared?’

‘Sure thing! Was everything okay?’

‘Amazing,’ Imogene enthuses, tossing her honey-coloured hair over her shoulder. ‘And can we get some more water for the table?’

I stifle a yawn and glance away. It’s gone ten but this place is still brimming with people, all apparently very happy to be eating this late at night. The food is great, admittedly, and the restaurant itself is beautiful: raw plaster walls softened by hanging greenery and pendulous golden lights.

‘Audrey, sweetheart,’ Imogene says, resting a cool hand on my arm. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Oh, fine,’ I manage. ‘Just zoned out for a moment.’

Probably because I’ve been awake for eighteen hours and on my feet for most of them. No need to point that out to Imogene, though. She’s my agent in New York, and pretty much every aspect of my life here is guided by her perfectly manicured hand. What I wear, where I go, who I see; I live in anticipation of her instructions. Not that I resent it. Everyone she’s ever introduced me to has gushed about how lucky I am to have her – aside from being amazing at her job, she also happens to be gorgeous, stylish and a beacon of relentless positivity. Imagine a Disney princess in a leather trench coat, drafting an email on her phonewhile hailing a cab to the opening of an organic wine bar –that’sImogene.

‘Are you sure?’ she presses, voice low. ‘You’ve been quiet all night.’

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ I tell her, abruptly chastened. Imogene used to model herself, and not that long ago – she knows so many important people in this industry, and a lot of them are currently sitting around this table. It’s an incredible opportunity to network and I’m totally squandering it.

‘No, don’t be sorry!’ Imogene says emphatically, eyes wide. ‘I’m worried, is all.’

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