Now That I've Found You Page 8

  Candice smiles at me. “You ready?”

  I nod, starting to feel a little nervous. Gigi gives me an encouraging push, and Candice instructs me to stand in the middle of the backdrop.

  “Okay, let’s start with a few poses,” Candice says. “Do whatever you want.”

  I stand there awkwardly, placing my hand on my hip like I’ve seen other girls my age do in magazines. It feels forced. Candice snaps a few photos and lowers her camera.

  “Act a little more natural,” she says. “Have some fun with it.”

  I shoot an anxious look at Gigi, and she saunters over to stand beside me. “Let’s take a few together—how’s that sound?”

  “Okay,” I say, relieved.

  She puts her arm around me and smiles confidently at the camera, and when she starts swaying her hips along to the music, I copy her. Suddenly, we’re dancing together and smiling at each other.

  “Great!” Candice says. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

  After the song ends, Gigi wraps her arms around me and holds me close. She smells like Chanel No. 5.

  “Happy birthday, Evie Marie,” she says.

  I look up at my grandmother, who is so regal and wise and beautiful.

  “I want to be just like you when I grow up, Gigi,” I say.

  She’s silent for a long moment, and I can’t place her expression. Finally, she says, “You’ll be better than me, surely.”

  “I’m heading out!” Milo shouts from the hallway.

  I jump, coming back to reality. “Bye,” I call over my shoulder.

  I wait until I hear him jog down the steps and shut the door before I walk deeper into Gigi’s closet. I find what I’m looking for all the way in the back. The brown leather high-waisted miniskirt and mustard-yellow turtleneck that Diane Tyler wore in Every Time We Meet. Part of me wants to try on the skirt now to see if it fits, but it doesn’t feel the same without Gigi here, and I can’t show her whether or not my hips actually grew into it.

  But I do need to choose something to wear to the gala. Gigi never minded when I played dress-up in her clothes when I was younger, but I wonder how she’ll feel when she sees me tonight, wearing one of her dresses without permission.

  I run my fingers over the fabric of a short gold lamé dress. I love it, but it’s definitely not right for tonight. Neither is the deep green strapless Alaïa. But I pause on a long black sleeveless silk Valentino gown with clusters of tiny pearls sewn into the bodice. A white faux-fur shawl is wrapped around the hanger. This is tonight’s outfit.

  I will find Gigi at the gala, and soon this nightmare will be over.

  Chapter Eight

  I step outside at seven thirty on the dot. While I was getting dressed, Milo shouted that he needed gum and ran around the corner to the bodega. That was ten minutes ago. How long does it take to grab gum from the corner store?

  Eleven minutes, apparently, because a minute later, he’s jogging down the street toward me … but he’s not wearing a tuxedo.

  He reaches the stoop, and I look at him, horrified, absorbing the fact that he’s wearing a baggy brown suit. I’m so thrown by this, I don’t even realize he’s been staring at me with an appreciative smile on his face.

  “Wow. Um, wow,” he says. “You look great.”

  “Thank you.” Gigi’s black silk gown fits like a glove. I guess my hips did grow into something. I slowly walk down the steps and pause once I’m in front of him. “Milo … why are you wearing that?”

  “This?” He casts a confused look down at his outfit. “It’s for the event.”

  I shake my head. “You’re supposed to be wearing a tuxedo. That’s not a tuxedo.” I bite my lip. “And I’m sorry, but it’s also not very flattering.”

  “You don’t think so?” he asks. “I wore it to all of my job interviews this summer. I got a compliment or two.”

  I find that a little hard to believe, but I keep from saying so. Sighing, I pull out my phone to call a car. “Thank you for trying to help tonight, but I’ll have to go without you.”

  “What?” he says, blinking. “Why?”

  “The event is black tie! Look at what you’re wearing!”

  He smooths a hand over his lapels and shakes his head. “What are you talking about? I like this suit.”

  “That’s the problem,” I point out. “It’s a suit and not a tux.”

  “Well, you’re wearing a wig. Why do you get to wear a wig, but I can’t wear my suit?”

  Frowning, I finger-comb my bangs. “I’m wearing this because I’m not supposed to be seen in public, and I don’t want to be recognized. I told you that.” Wait, why am I explaining myself to him? “I’m calling a car. You can’t come with me. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb. I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, wait,” Milo says, covering my phone with his hand. “Vinny has a tux that he wears for school concerts. I’ll ask if I can borrow it.”

  He starts texting at rapid speed, biting his lip as his fingers move. My eyes are drawn to his mouth and his gold nose ring. When he looks up, my cheeks get hot and I avert my gaze.

  “Vinny said I can borrow his tux. We just need to go to my apartment so that I can change.”

  I start to protest, but Milo insists that it won’t set us behind schedule because he doesn’t live too far from the Brooklyn Museum.

  “Okay,” I finally say, remembering that two people looking for Gigi is better than one. “But I’m not taking the subway in six-inch heels.”

  On the ride to Crown Heights, Milo tells me that he, Ben, and Raf moved in together after they graduated from Brooklyn Tech last year and that Vinny stays with them on weekends when he wants space from his parents.

  They live in a walk-up that’s four stories high. I feel the burn in my thighs after climbing four flights of stairs, and I’m practically wheezing when we stop in front of his apartment door. I hear Bruno Mars’s “24K Magic” blasting on the other side.

  “Are they having a party?” I ask.

  Milo shakes his head and winces a little. “Um, I apologize in advance for what you’ll most likely witness once I open this door.”

  I raise an eyebrow, intrigued.

  Milo turns the knob and pushes the door open. Raf is standing in the middle of the living room, watching the “24K Magic” video on a small flat-screen TV, trying to replicate Bruno Mars’s moves. The music is so loud he doesn’t even hear us come inside.

  The apartment is a small one-bedroom. The living room and tiny kitchen area are connected, and a short hallway to the right of the front door leads to a bathroom and a bedroom. A drum set is in the far right corner, taking up most of the available space. Clothes litter the couch, and a pile of dirty dishes sits untouched in the kitchen sink. No wonder Milo prefers staying at Gigi’s. This place is a pigsty, and it’s not nearly big enough for three people, let alone a fourth occasional roommate.

  “Hi, Evie,” Ben shouts over the music. He’s sitting at the foldout kitchen table in the corner near the drums, holding the same thick dragon book from last night. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says GREENLIGHT BOOKSTORE. I guess that must be where he works. I don’t know how he can read with all this noise.

  Raf spins around to face us and pauses the music video. Sweaty and out of breath, he says, “Evie Jones! Again! In our fucking apartment! I don’t believe it.”

  “Shut up,” Milo hisses. “Do you want the whole building to know she’s here?”

  “Yes, I actually do. Imagine how much clout that would give us.”

  “Who cares about clout in this building?” Ben asks. “Mrs. Carson next door, who sits inside and sews all day, or the tech bros below us, who stay up all night playing video games?”

  Raf rolls his eyes. “I don’t remember asking your opinion, Benjamin.”

  “Hi,” I finally say, in hopes that they will stop talking about me as if I’m not standing here.

  “So this is the apartment,” Milo says to me, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s usually a
little cleaner.”

  “How would you know?” Raf says. “You’re never here to clean. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here now, because I’ve decided to call a last-minute meeting before tonight’s show.”

  Ben puts down his paperback and groans.

  “Sorry, I don’t have time,” Milo says. “Where’s Vinny? He said he’d meet me here.”

  “What do you mean you don’t have time?” Raf asks, incredulous.

  “He’s in the room,” Ben says. “Why do you need his performance suit?”

  “Performance suit?” I repeat, turning to Milo. “I thought you said it was a tux?”

  Milo looks like he might pull his dreads clean out of his head. “It is a tux—just wait here, okay?”

  He spins on his heels and walks down the short hallway into the bedroom. Vinny pops his head out of the room, waves at me, and then closes the door behind them.

  Raf glances at Ben. “Why does Milo need Vinny’s tux?”

  Ben shrugs, nose deep in his book once again. “No clue.”

  Raf looks at me, slowly taking in my fancy gown. “Wait a minute. What’s going on here? Where are you taking Milo?”

  “I’m not taking him anywhere,” I say. “He insisted on coming with me.”

  “To where?”

  “A fundraiser.”

  “A fundraiser?” Raf glances at Ben again, who simply shrugs again. “What kind of fundraiser?”

  “A fundraiser gala.” I slowly make my way over to the black leather couch. “Okay if I sit down?”

  “Of course,” Ben says.

  I gently push someone’s sweatshirt aside and sit. Raf immediately slides next to me. “This is my bed. It pulls out into a king-size. Ben and Milo can have their little twins in their room. I’ve got all the space I need here.” He spreads his arms wide and winks at me.

  “Yeah, okay,” Ben says. “You hate sleeping out here during the winter when the heat starts acting up. Evie, can I get you anything to drink? Water? Soda?”

  “Oh shit. I just drank the last bit of soda,” Raf says.

  Ben frowns at him, and I quickly say, “I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

  “So is this fundraiser gala a date?” Raf asks.

  “No!”

  Like I said, I don’t have anything against musicians as people, but that doesn’t mean I want to date one, or anyone in the entertainment industry for that matter. I learned from Gigi and James’s three failed marriages that relationships between entertainers just don’t work. And I’ve learned from my own experience too. My first and only serious boyfriend was a boy named Devon, who I dated during my sophomore year at McKibben. That relationship lasted only two months. Turns out he just wanted to be introduced to Gigi and broke up with me once he found out she never visited.

  But that’s not any of Raf’s business.

  “Milo and I are not going on a date,” I state plainly.

  “Good.” Raf looks visibly relieved. “I think you’re great. I mean, truly, I do, but the band is about to take off, and we can’t afford to have Milo mixed up in any gossip before that happens.”

  I wince. Of course. They don’t want an attachment to my name bringing them down. “Got it,” I mumble.

  “Plus,” he continues, “it would be long-distance, and we all know that never works out. You’d break up, and he’d be stuck writing sad, mopey songs for weeks, just like the last time he was dumped. Took him forever to get over that girl. Remember, Ben?”

  Ben sighs and rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t that long ago. Of course I remember.”

  To me, Raf says, “So have fun with Milo, but don’t break his heart, okay? We’re all nineteen, but he just turned nineteen. He’s a whole baby. Our little church boy. We don’t want him to have any distractions.”

  I stare at him, blinking. I am truly at a loss for words.

  “You’ve got the wrong idea about Milo and me,” I say slowly. “We’re not going on a date tonight. We’re not romantically involved at all.”

  “Okay, sure.” He winks at me. Ben chuckles from behind his book.

  “I’m serious,” I say, frowning.

  I’m saved from having to defend myself further when Vinny and Milo finally walk into the living room. Milo looks much sleeker now in Vinny’s tux. It fits him nicely, except the pant legs stop at his ankles. I guess if anyone asks, we can just say he’s going for a hipster look.

  And fine, if I’m being honest, the first thing I notice is that he looks even more handsome, but I keep my expression neutral because Raf wolf-whistles and then glances at me to see my reaction.

  “Hi again, Evie,” Vinny says. “Milo, don’t get any food on this tux. It’s the only one I have, and my parents will kill me if it gets ruined.”

  “I promise I’ll take care of it,” Milo says, running his hands over the sleeves and picking a piece of lint off his shoulder. He looks at me, gaze direct and intent. “Is this okay?”

  For some reason, my stomach clenches. Maybe it’s because he actually seems concerned about what I think.

  I swallow. Get it together, Evie.

  “Better,” I say.

  “Cool.” He smiles, relieved. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” I quickly hop up, eager to finally get going. To his roommates/bandmates/friends, I say, “It was nice to see you again.”

  “Have fun on your fancy non-date,” Raf says as we leave. “Milo, try not to forget we have a show tonight.”

  Milo frowns at him. “You know I wouldn’t forget.”

  “Are you coming tonight too, Evie?” Ben asks.

  He looks so hopeful, peeking out from behind his book. It hurts my heart a little when I say, “No. I don’t think I’ll be able to.” Tonight, I’ll have to do damage control with Gigi. Even if I wanted to go to their show, I won’t have time.

  “Ah, okay. I’m sure you have much better things to do.” But he doesn’t say it in a sarcastic way. He smiles at me. “Have fun at your gala.”

  “But not too much fun,” Raf whispers. “Remember what we talked about.”

  “What did you talk about?” Milo asks, still frowning at Raf. Is there a moment in time when someone isn’t frowning at Raf?

  “Nothing,” I say, pulling on his arm. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

  Once Milo closes the door and we walk down the steps, I whisper, “You didn’t tell your friends anything about what we’re doing, did you? About Gigi being gone?”

  “No, of course not.”

  I look at him sideways. Gigi trusts him. And now I have no choice but to trust him too. We’ll just have to put our differences aside and work together.

  Chapter Nine

  “Okay, so try not to talk to anyone if you can help it. But if for some reason you get tied up in conversation, just lie about who you are and why you’re here.”

  “What?” Milo says.

  We’re standing in line outside the Brooklyn Museum, waiting to be admitted into the gala.

  “Why can’t we just be ourselves?” he asks.

  I sigh. “Nobody is supposed to know that I’m here, remember? And do you actually plan on donating any money to this cause? Because if not, once Doves Have Pride blows up, you don’t want to be remembered as the musician who walked around Candice Tevin’s fundraiser and didn’t give a dime.”

  “Okay, fair. But your plan would actually make sense if I had a disguise,” he says, gesturing to me. “Unlike you, I’m not wearing a wig and sunglasses. People will remember my face.”

  I shrug. “That’s why I said don’t talk to anyone if you can help it.”

  “I’m not a good liar.” He pulls uncomfortably at his collar.

  “It’s not that hard. You’ll be fine.” I use my phone’s front-facing camera to check my smoky eye and red lip. I’m not the most skilled makeup artist, but I’ve learned a few simple tricks. Not that it matters, because I don’t really plan on letting anyone see me. I’m going to go straight to Candice Tevin and ask her about Gigi.

  “What
would you say if you were me?” Milo asks.

  “What?” I say. Are we still talking about lying? “Fine. You’re Michael Barclay and I’m Karolina Ainsley. We’re art collectors with a gallery adjoining my mansion on Long Island. The name of our gallery is Ainsley Barclay. Easy to remember, right? We particularly like to collect celebrity-themed art: statues, oil paintings, etc., and we’re ecstatic that we might be able to purchase one of Candice Tevin’s famous photographs. See? Easy.”

  We’re inching closer to the entrance, and I watch as ticket takers stand at the door. We don’t have tickets, but that’s okay; I have a plan.

  “Do I need an accent or something?” Milo asks, breaking my train of thought. “Michael Barclay sounds French.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know.” He pulls on his collar again, casting a nervous glance at his surroundings. “Are you sure about this? I think—”

  I firmly plant my hands on his shoulders. “Yes, I’m sure about this. Listen to me, Milo. You cannot blow this for me, okay? I need to find Gigi, and I could use your help to do that, but if you think you won’t be helpful, then you should go home right now and get ready for your show.”

  He stares wide-eyed, then shakes me away. “I’ve got this,” he says, nodding confidently. “Just tell me if I need an accent or not.”

  “No,” I sigh. “You don’t need an accent. Better yet, you don’t need to speak at all. I’ll do all the talking, okay?”

  It looks as if the time to do the talking has arrived, because we’re at the front of the line.

  “Good evening,” a polite girl with blue hair says to me. “Tickets, please.”

  Milo makes a face as if he just swallowed a jawbreaker.

  I lower my sunglasses just a teensy bit and flash a bright smile. “Yes, I have them, give me one second.” I start sifting through my clutch. “Oh no. They were just here. I just had them. Didn’t I, Michael, darling?”

  Milo blinks at me as if I just spoke to him in another language.