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“That’s great,” I say, chastised.
“I know,” she agrees. “I kind of miss him.” She looks at her watch. “Do you mind if I call him? He’s probably back from the beach by now.”
“Go ahead.” I hand her the phone. “I’m going to take a shower.”
I head to the bathroom while I inform her of our itinerary: “Tonight we’re going to meet Bernard for a drink at Peartree’s, which is this fancy bar near the United Nations. And maybe this afternoon we can go to the White Horse Tavern for lunch. It’s where all these famous writers hang out. And in between, we can go to Saks. I’d love you to meet my friend Miranda.”
“Sure,” she says, as if she’s barely heard a word. Her concentration is focused entirely on the phone as she dials her boyfriend’s—or should I say “lover’s”—number.
Ryan and Capote Duncan are at the White Horse Tavern, seated at a table on the sidewalk. There’s a pot of coffee in front them, and they look rough, like they went to bed late and just got up. Ryan’s eyes are puffy and Capote is unshaven, his hair still damp from a shower.
“Hey,” I say. They’re next to the entrance, making it impossible to avoid them.
“Oh. Hi,” Cap
ote says wearily.
“This is my friend Maggie.”
Ryan immediately perks up at the sight of Maggie’s fresh-faced, all-American prettiness. “What are you girls up to?” he asks flirtatiously, which seems to be his default mode with women. “Do you want to join us?”
Capote gives him a frustrated look, but Maggie sits down before either one of us can object. She probably thinks Ryan is cute.
“Where are you from, Maggie?” Ryan asks.
“Castlebury. Carrie and I are best friends.”
“Really?” Ryan asks, as if this is supremely interesting.
“Ryan and Capote are in my writing class,” I explain.
“I still can’t believe Carrie got into that class. And actually came to New York and everything.”
Capote raises his eyebrows.
“What do you mean?” I ask, slightly annoyed.
“Well, no one ever really thought you’d become a writer.” Maggie laughs.
“That’s crazy. I always said I wanted to be a writer.”
“But you didn’t really write. Until senior year. Carrie worked on the school newspaper,” she says to Ryan. She turns back to me. “But even then you didn’t actually write for the newspaper, did you?”
I roll my eyes. Maggie never figured out I was writing all those stories for the newspaper under a pen name. And I’m not about to tell her now. On the other hand, she’s making me sound like a dilettante in front of Capote. Who already seems to believe I don’t belong in the class.
Fantastic. Maggie’s just added fuel to his fire.
“I’ve always written a lot. I just didn’t show you.”
“Sure,” Maggie says, grinning as if it’s a joke. I sigh. Can’t she see how much I’ve changed? Perhaps it’s because she hasn’t changed at all. She’s the same old Maggie, so she probably assumes I’m the same as well.
“How was the fashion show?” I ask, diverting the conversation away from my supposed lack of writing.
“Great,” Capote says listlessly.
“As you can tell, Capote is a man who knows nothing about fashion. He does, on the other hand, know quite a bit about models,” Ryan says.
“Aren’t models really stupid?” Maggie asks.
