Hallie found herself dialing, the number she knew by heart. “Hey, it’s me. Hallie. I, umm, just wanted to let you know, we’re here. In New York. You can reach me at the Waldorf-Astoria, or on my cell, like usual. . . .”
As she rattled off the details, Hallie tried not to think of how many messages had gone unanswered; how many calls he’d just ignored. Dakota must have a good reason for being so busy these last weeks. Maybe he’d lost his phone, months ago, and had no idea she was in town. Maybe he was on some no-technology detox and hadn’t checked his e-mail. Maybe . . .
Before she knew it, it was nine p.m., and Amber and Grace bustled in, toting armfuls of crisp paper shopping bags and the dogs in their carry case.
“Sweetie, how are you feeling?” Amber asked, dropping her bags in a heap. She collapsed onto the couch, unzipped her boots, and gave an ecstatic sigh. “Lord, that’s better.” She looked over at Hallie. “You missed a hell of a show. And dinner . . . The maître d’ looked just like an elf. A little, snooty, French elf!”
“She’s right.” Grace joined her in the lounge area, setting a takeout container down. “He kept looking down his nose at us, so Amber ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu. And then she only drank half a glass!”
“Carbs.” Amber nodded. “Alcohol calories are empty calories!”
Hallie didn’t respond. Grace’s expression changed. “No word from Dakota?”
Hallie paused, reluctant, then slowly shook her head.
There was silence for a moment. “Well, we can’t just sit around!” Amber declared brightly, getting to her feet. “Go get changed, we’re going to hit the town.”
“It’s OK.” Hallie sighed. More pity was the last thing she needed, but Amber was not to be dissuaded.
“No way.” Amber crossed to the window and tugged Hallie to her feet. “There’s a whole city just waiting for us. Drinks and dessert, and then some dancing!”
Grace coughed. “Umm, we’re underage.”
“Oh.” Amber paused. “Well, how about just the dessert?”
Hallie considered. If she kept her cell phone on, with the ringer set to LOUD . . .
“OK,” she agreed, sending Amber skipping with delight. “But only to the hotel restaurant, so they can come get me, if anyone calls.” Hallie caught Grace’s look, and bridled. “He will call,” she said, for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I know he will.”
It didn’t take Hallie long to realize: if Dakota couldn’t come to her, she would just have to go to Dakota.
“This is a bad idea.” Grace trudged along the Brooklyn sidewalk beside her, bundled in a coat and earmuffs and a scarf wound so tightly that it took a moment for Hallie to decipher what she was saying. “Please, Hallie, let’s just go back to Manhattan and meet Amber. She wants to go ice-skating, and to that Serendipity café they used in the movie.”
“No!” Hallie strode on, trying to ignore the bitter winds numbing her legs. She was determined that the first time Dakota saw her again, she would look fabulous: no thermal underwear or ugly parkas, no, she was wearing the dress he’d always said made her look like a 1940s movie star, and the borrowed leather jacket she hadn’t had the heart to send back to him.
Perfect. If her limbs didn’t drop off from hypothermia before she reached him.
“But Hallie —”
Hallie cut her off. “You didn’t have to come! I didn’t ask you to, so stop complaining.” She checked the cross street. The band had updated their blog with news about the recording studios, so it had been easy for Hallie to track the address down. “Ooh, we’re here!”
She looked up at the ugly industrial building and tried to quell her nerves. It would be OK. Whatever his reasons for not calling her back, they were nothing compared to love. One look in her eyes and he’d realize what he might have lost. He’d never risk that again.
“I wasn’t complaining,” Grace said quietly. “I just don’t want to see you get any more hurt.”
Hallie ignored her and hit the studio buzzer. A moment later, the door clicked open. She turned back to Grace. “Are you going to keep whining, or are you going to come inside?”
Grace rolled her eyes, but followed her in out of the cold, and up to the second floor, where a bored-looking boy with a blue Mohawk was chewing gum behind a vast desk; exposed brick walls covered with mounted CDs.
“Hey.” Hallie breezed up to the reception desk. “I’m here with Take Fountain. Which studio are they in. . . . ?”
He raised one pierced eyebrow. “You’re with them?”
“Yup!” Hallie’s smile didn’t slip. “Just got in from L.A. They’re through here, right?” She gestured down the nearest hallway.
“They were.” Mohawk guy spun idly on his chair. “They wrapped recording last week.”
Hallie’s heart sank, but she tried to seem unaffected. “Oh, shoot. I have a bunch of papers from their manager. Can I get a forwarding address . . . ?” She trailed off hopefully.
Mohawk guy just shrugged. “Sorry. They come, they go.”
“But you must have something.” Hallie clenched her fists with frustration. “The place they’re staying? A number, to check-in?”
Another shrug.
There was a sudden burst of noise. One of the far doors opened, and a group of guys emerged from a studio: low-slung jeans and backward caps, their necks heavy with bling.
“Hallie . . .” Grace tugged her sleeve. Hallie ignored her, focusing all her attention on the desk guy, who was, for some unfathomable reason, standing between her and a reunion with Dakota.
“You don’t understand, I need to see them!” Her voice rose. “It’s important!” The guy’s expression changed — disdain skittering across his face. “They’re my friends,” she insisted quickly. “Dakota is expecting to see me!”
“So call him.” Mohawk guy snapped his gum and smirked. “If he’s such a good friend.”
“But it’s a surprise!” Hallie’s lip began to quiver, and tears rose, hot behind her eyes. Why was he being like this? “You don’t understand,” she yelled. “We came all the way from L.A. I have to see him!”
There was laughter behind her. “Someone better call the cops,” one of the rappers cracked. “Superfan’s gone crazy!”