“Of course! Come on up!” The buzzer sounded and Stevie pulled the door open. She led the way inside, up the elevator—and into the most incredible party I’d ever been at.
The huge open loft space was packed with people—all different ages, an eclectic mix—although it seemed pretty clear that Stevie and I were the youngest ones there. Well, unless you counted the baby that a very tall, glamorous woman had strapped to her in a sling.
It was also immediately apparent that it was not just the little get-together Stevie had been promised. There was a DJ spinning in the corner, a full bar, and huge windows that showed views of the city and the water and the snow. There was a piece of me that was desperate to have my phone so that I could have taken pictures and posted and documented everything. But there was another piece of me that actually didn’t mind just having this experience without having to box it up for other people to see and comment on.
As soon as we walked in, Stevie was tackle-hugged by a gorgeous girl in a flowing caftan who I guessed correctly was Margaux. And shortly after meeting her, I got to meet Matty, who also seemed thrilled that Stevie had shown up. I was introduced to Matty’s friends, who greeted Stevie like a long-lost pal. The British friend started telling me a story about how Stevie had been brilliant when she’d cried to scare a raptor—which I didn’t understand, but figured it might be some kind of British slang. I’d been about to ask him to clarify when something truly shocking happened. A tiny fluffy dog came barreling out of the hallway and jumped into Stevie’s arms.
And rather than running away, or extricating herself, Stevie pulled the dog close. And when she turned to me, her face alight, I saw that it was Brad. He didn’t seem quite as pleased to see me, or interested in leaving Stevie’s arms, but that was fine, because she didn’t seem particularly interested in giving him up.
Margaux clearly had a lot to do, and was being pulled in forty different directions, but she still took both of us in hand, linking her arms through ours as she gave us a quick tour of the party, pointing out the people she wanted us to be sure to meet: Jackson, her bagel man; Louisa, who owned a conceptual art gallery; James Domingos, who wrote the sudoku puzzles for the Times—we could recognize him because his shirt read Eat my Shortz.
“Now,” she said, pointing out a table with snacks, “please eat! Mingle! Passed apps coming around soon… and Stevie, come with me. I need you to meet Allison, and before all her terrible finance friends arrive and you get the wrong impression.”
She steered Stevie away, and I looked around to make sure Leo was okay, but it soon became very clear he didn’t need any help. He was in the corner with a bottle of water, talking to Kaya, a model I’d seen in countless ads.
I smiled and had just started to investigate my snack options when someone said quietly behind me, “Of all the lofts in all of Dumbo…”
I whirled around, not able to believe it—but there was Cary, dressed in a white shirt and black pants and a bow tie. He was holding a tray of canapés, and he was grinning at me. “What are you doing here?” I shrieked happily, not even bothering to mask my delight.
He gestured at his silver tray. “Sixth job!”
“Oh my god.” I started to laugh.
“So,” he said gravely, holding out the tray to me. “Miss, do you see anything you’d like?”
“Uh-huh,” I said, and I stepped forward and kissed him. He kissed me back, holding the tray deftly to the side and then dipping me backward slightly with one arm.
After that, what had been the best party of my life suddenly became even more fun. Cary had to work, of course—though maybe not for much longer if what Stevie had said in the car was true—but he always swung by me first with trays, lingering as long as he could, and he told me he was negotiating to try and be the first one cut.
Stevie and I navigated the party together, occasionally breaking apart to talk to people, but always finding our way back together again. Not because we couldn’t be apart—the night we’d had had proved that we could. But because we wanted to be together, which somehow made it that much better.
We even got to chat a little more with Amy, which, I decided, would never stop being amazing. She thanked me for the invite, and I just took a moment to relish it—the movie star thanking me for getting her into a party. “Lucien’s in heaven,” she said, pointing across the loft to where he was talking to an older woman, gesturing big as he talked. “That’s the head landscaper for the Botanical Garden—he’s been obsessed with her for years. I’m never getting him out of here.” Stevie and I took the opportunity to ask her all about acting, and her dogs, and what the supercute guy in the Ghost Robot movies was really like.
Matty wandered over at that point—he had big opinions on that franchise, it turned out. He started to ask Amy a question as a girl with a tray of champagne glasses approached. We all took one, and I was very grateful that nobody felt the need to point out that three of us were underage. If someone had, it might have broken the spell that seemed to have been conjured in the loft—where none of the normal lines that held people apart mattered. And maybe that was why Margaux had this party—and that was why everyone wanted to come.
“So what are you studying at Columbia?” Amy asked Matty once we’d moved on from haunted robots, and robot ghosts (both were present in the GR universe, and were almost always at odds). He reeled off a truly impressive course load, even if I couldn’t seem to figure out what any of the subjects had to do with each other, or what he was going to do with any of it. I was about to ask something along those lines when Amy sighed and took a sip of champagne. “God, that sounds fun,” she said, shaking her head. “School. I think it’s the reason Lucien has two master’s degrees. He says it’s just because he has an irrepressible love for binders, but…” She laughed.
“So how did you guys meet?” Matty asked, and Amy just smiled.
“That’s a whole other story,” she said. “We certainly don’t have time for it now. But I’ve gotta say, I think you’re doing college right. I went in LA, and so I was auditioning a lot when I was in school, really focused on the industry right out of the gate. I kind of wish I would have done what you’re doing—expanded things a little. Taken some chances.”
“I think it worked out okay,” Matty said, and Amy laughed.
Toward the end of the night, Stevie and I had found ourselves up by one of the windows, Brad curled, sleeping, in her arms, and snoring occasionally. Both of us were looking out at the lights of Manhattan across the water, at the snow that had almost totally stopped falling. “I’m really sorry about the subway,” I said, after a moment of comfortable silence, punctured only by Brad’s snuffling breath. Somehow, it was easier to say this without looking directly at Stevie, but knowing she was right there. “I did wait for a while, and then I just figured you weren’t coming back. I should have stayed—I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
“I’m sorry too,” Stevie said.
“It wasn’t your fault you got mugged!”
“But the phone was an accident. I knew you wouldn’t do that on purpose, and I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”