Page 33 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Do you do this at home?’ I ask, hoping that she’ll slow down if we’re talking. Mercifully, she does.

‘At a gym, yeah. There’s nowhere like this where I live. I’d just be breathing in exhaust fumes.’

‘In London, right?’

‘Uh-huh. With my parents.’

‘Oh,’ I say, surprised. ‘I’d figured you lived with other models.’

‘Nope. No sense renting unless I have to. Not like here.’

‘… Here as in New York? Are you planning on staying longer?’

‘Maybe, maybe not. But we’ve only been here two weeks and we’ve booked a major campaign. You do the maths.’

‘But – it’s a whole other country.’

‘That’s not necessarily a negative. Besides, I’m sure you could come up with a few good reasons to stay. One in particular, maybe. A tall one.’

I blink at her.

‘With a crooked nose,’ she adds, smiling slightly as she jogs on.

‘His nose is not that crooked,’ I splutter, flustered. ‘And whatever you’re insinuating – it’s not like that.’

‘Mm-hm,’ she says, and I can tell that she doesn’t believe me. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have told her the story of how Ezra and I first met, or the series of events that led to us meeting again. It turned out to be really difficult to explain and I ended up rambling on about him for absolutely ages in the cab on our way back from the party. No wonder she read into it.

‘Besides,’ I add, attempting to sound self-righteous, ‘I thought you didn’t like him.’

‘Says who?’

‘Well, there was the Patrick Bateman reference.’

‘That was really more about his apartment. You have to admit, it’s weirdly bare.’

‘Only because he hasn’t been in the city long.’

‘Or it’s usually covered in plastic sheeting …’

‘… You’re not really bolstering your argument here.’

‘It’s a joke.’ She smiles, nudging me slightly. ‘I don’t actually think he’s a serial killer.’

‘You told me that pepper spray is legal here.Twice.’

‘Well, that’s just worth knowing,’ she says airily. ‘Safety first and all that.’

‘What about you?’ I counter hastily, suddenly eager to move the conversation along. ‘You’ve made friends over here, right?’

She must have. She’s taken to disappearing for hours at a time with zero explanation, and always in a very cute outfit. Then again, Marika could make tracksuit bottoms and a flannel shirt look like haute couture.

‘Nice change of subject,’ she replies dryly.

‘I don’t have anything else to say about him! We’re hanging out. It’s nice. He’s nice.’

‘Were you with him yesterday?’

‘Yeah. I mean – we got breakfast, but I had to bail early for the meeting with Imogene. I haven’t heard from him since.’

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