“Hello?”
Alice finally broke out of her shock and, taking a deep breath, began to speak. “Hi.” She swallowed, still fixated on that tiny negative sign next to her balance. “I think we’ve got a problem…”
***
“Shred everything!” Ella declared that evening, the minute Alice explained what had happened. “They have gangs out there now fishing through the trash for all your old statements and stuff—it’s awful.” She plucked two glasses of wine from a passing waiter and steered them through the throngs milling around in the cinema lobby. Outside, Alice could hear faint cries from the fans lining the red carpet, waving their banners with glee, but inside, there was a different kind of chaos as the industry insiders made their rounds, whipping through the crowd and calling out to old acquaintances across the room.
Ella located a free sofa in the corner and gracefully sprawled onto the overstuffed cushions. “I’m serious. Get one of those machines from an office-supply place and just destroy everything.”
“I will.” Alice sunk down beside her. “At least they only got access to that one account”—she tried to look on the bright side. “I checked my savings and credit card—they’re all fine.”
“Thank goodness.” Ella’s hair was falling out of a neat French braid, light brown tendrils catching in her gold filigree earrings. She reached up absently to tug them free. “Well, here’s to catching the bastards.”
“Amen.” They clinked glasses.
Alice tried to relax, soaking up the bustle of excitement as the room began to fill. Premieres and launch parties were a perk of the job—when the other agents didn’t snatch up the invites, that is—but Alice didn’t just love them for the star spotting. A-listers tended to lose their impact after prolonged exposure; watching a screen god pick his teeth or that doyenne of British cinema forget to wash her hands in the bathroom tended to drain their mystery. No, Alice liked to watch everyone else: the people who were clearly reveling in the achievement of all their dreams. The writers, the directors, the debut performers still breathless from their big break—there was something wonderful about playing her part in that, however small.
“Any sign of the man himself yet?” Ella scanned the room, excited.
“Chris Carmel?” Alice looked for the broad shoulders and blond, chiseled looks of the latest Hollywood god. “I thought he was g*y now.”
“No! Really? God, soon there won’t be anyone left to fantasize about during mediocre sex.”
Alice laughed for what felt like the first time all day. “Never mind. There’s always George. Or Brad. Or Jake. Or Clive…”
Ella grinned. “Ah, the trusty backups. Ooh, what’s this?” She reached for the glossy estate agent’s folder spilling out of Alice’s bag. “Looking at flats? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to take the plunge and buy.”
“I think so.” Alice nodded. “I can’t be like Julian and put things off forever. Besides, I’ve got the deposit lined up, and my landlord is being a pain again. He sent me a note, warning me about noise after you came over for dinner last week. Apparently, the sound of our heels on the floor kept him up past ten.”
“What!” Ella exclaimed. “We were watching Empire Records, not doing the bloody flamenco!”
Alice shrugged. “I suppose he’s got superhuman hearing. I’m on probation now.”
“Bastard.” Ella flipped through the brochure. “So let me guess, you’re dreaming of your perfect little bijou flat, with bay windows and a balcony?”
“Not quite.” The estate agent had pointed her toward a new development in a gated area set back from Stoke Newington High Street.
Ella frowned at the photos. “This? It’s kind of soulless. I suppose I pictured you somewhere with, I don’t know, character.”
“Character costs,” Alice told her, a little wistful. The red-brick and white, boxy rooms may not look impressive, but on a single income, she was lucky to find anything reasonable at all. “This place is a solid investment.”
“If you say…” Ella put the brochure aside. “I’m sure it’s great in person.” She looked around. “Come on, let’s make a dash for the loos before this thing starts. I heard it goes on for hours.”
***
They took turns maneuvering in the tiny bathroom, freshening their lipstick while the other stall remained locked and suspiciously silent—save the odd shuffle and sniffing noise.
“Lily Larton,” Ella said, the moment they left the room. She tapped her nose meaningfully. “I heard they dragged her out of rehab to do the promo circuit for this.”
“How do you even know this stuff?” Alice asked, laughing.
“Never underestimate the PR people. We have eyes everywhere!” Ella gave a mysterious look. They took up position on the edge of the room. “So how was the party? Did Flora smother you with cupcakes and bonbons?”
Alice felt herself blush.
“Aha!” Ella exclaimed. “You have gossip!”
“It’s nothing,” Alice protested, self-conscious. “I just…There was a man,” she admitted. “And he sort of…propositioned me.”
“Alice! Was he hot?”
Alice exhaled, remembering Nathan and their curious conversation. “Yes. Kind of…rugged? And charming too. But what was I supposed to do?” she protested. “Leave with a complete stranger? I’d probably have wound up dead in an alleyway somewhere.”
“Or enjoying a hot, sweaty marathon of mind-blowing sex.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “Right. Because that happens. Anyway, there’s no point—he hasn’t called.”
“Uh, you could have given him a chance—”
“Ella! You know, that’s just not me.”
“Well, maybe it should be.”
Alice was just about to launch a defense of staying safe and well, without her limbs hacked off, when they were interrupted by a high-pitched voice, cutting through the noise of the crowd.
“Alice! Sweetie!”
Heads turned to watch the angular woman sashay toward them, dropping air kisses on both of Alice’s cheeks. “Look at you!” The woman cried, eyes bright beneath a black, blunt-cut fringe. “It’s been forever!”
“Since last month, you mean.” Alice laughed. She turned to Ella. “I forget, have you met Cassie?”