Cleo relented and offered her the pack.
“They’re so skinny,” Zoe said, lighting one with feigned casualness. She was not really a smoker; she just hated to be left out.
“Cleo’s too chic to smoke anything but slims,” said Audrey.
“Chic as can be,” deadpanned Cleo. “That’s me.”
“Where’s my brother anyway?” asked Zoe.
“Overnight shoot,” said Cleo. “He works so hard.”
“Well, someone’s gotta,” said Zoe before she could stop herself.
She saw Cleo flinch, ever so slightly, then set her face back in a mask of calm.
“Oh god, hide me,” said Audrey suddenly, pulling Zoe in front of her. “It’s that guy from the restaurant.”
“The one with the nipple thing?” asked Cleo, craning around. “What happened to him?”
“He just left, phew.” Audrey unclasped Zoe. “First of all, he couldn’t make me come.”
Zoe was amazed to hear anyone talk so freely about this, but she tried not to show it.
“Also,” continued Audrey, “he called me sexy.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” asked Zoe.
“Not as an adjective, as a proper noun. As in ‘Sit tight, sexy,’ or ‘What are you ordering, sexy?’”
“Got it,” said Zoe. “Gross.”
“Plus, he’s hunted actual animals,” Audrey continued. “And had shoe trees in all his shoes, even the sneakers. Like a psychopath.”
“Shoe trees?” gasped Cleo. “And they let him work around food?”
“Stop laughing at me,” said Audrey. “That is definitely an undiagnosed symptom of mental illness.”
Zoe, who was always game for this tenor of conversation, gave Audrey a look of collusion.
“It’s definitely psychotic,” she said. “You’re lucky he didn’t murder you.”
“Right?” said Audrey, grabbing Zoe’s arm. “You’re fun. Cleo, she’s fun. How old are you again?”
“Nineteen,” said Zoe. “And a half,” she added quickly.
“Oh my god I hate you,” said Audrey. “Come on, let’s go fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“I stand at one end of the bar and Cley stands at the other, and we both look sort of dopey and lost until some guy offers to buy one of us a drink. We order two, letting him think one’s for him, then hightail it out of there and drink both ourselves.”
“Truly the only sport we’re good at.” Cleo laughed.
“Except we’ve stopped playing since you met Frank,” shot Audrey.
“Because he pays for our drinks,” replied Cleo.
“That’s true,” demurred Audrey. She nudged Zoe’s shoulder. “You have one generous brother, girl.”
Zoe thought with a pang about the medical bill. Not quite generous enough, she thought. “You know what?” she said. “I’m gonna head out. It’s late, and … Yeah, I’m gonna go.”
She dropped the cigarette to the sidewalk and stomped the embers out with the heel of her high-tops. When she looked up, she found a look of genuine disappointment on Cleo’s face.
“Oh, don’t go,” said Cleo. “I never get to see you without Frank. And I was hoping—”
“I’m out,” Zoe interrupted with a shrug. “Good luck with the fishing.”
She walked away without letting Cleo finish. It was rude, she knew, and probably undeserved, but the thought of her overdrawn bank balance had sapped her of the energy to play nice. She strode back past the bar entrance and felt a pull on the back of her dress. She expected to turn to see Cleo, but instead found the door guy towering over her. This close, she could see the blocked pores on the end of his nose, the film of sweat covering his forehead.
“Heading home already?” he asked
Zoe yanked down the hem of her dress, which had ridden up when he tugged it.
“Yup,” she said.
“I know you ain’t gonna do me like that after I let you in with that dodgy ID.”
Zoe gave him a tight-lipped smile and shrugged to indicate she had nothing to say to this. She turned to carry on walking.
“At least give me your number,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” she said over her shoulder.
He walked in step with her as she continued down the block. She would have dashed across the street away from him, but they were blocked in by traffic.