The Address(36)

The Limelight. Bailey’s jaw tightened and her heart raced. Like Pavlov’s dog, she only needed to hear one word. The many nights they’d spent dancing and drinking and doing coke until dawn had imprinted themselves on her.

She’d hit an AA meeting at a small church on Sixty-Ninth Street a few nights ago. The place had been packed and the coffee strong. She listened to the stories and nodded encouragement, but felt like a fraud, like an actor in a movie about recovery. Playing the role of the penitent sinner. Until one woman brought her to tears with her story about waking up in an apartment in the Bronx, beaten and sore, not remembering how she’d ended up there. The bruise around her eye had faded to a shadow, but her words and anguish were still raw. So many nights, especially during the last year, Bailey hadn’t been sure how she’d gotten herself home. She’d dodged a bullet. Maybe a whole cartridge of bullets.

As she’d turned to leave, she spotted Renzo standing in the very back. He disappeared in a flash, but she was sure it was him. It made her feel defenseless and small, knowing that he had stared at the back of her head the past hour. Knowing that he knew.

A couple of days later, when she’d been showing Kenneth the wallpaper choices for his bathroom, Renzo stopped by to inspect the work the plumber was doing. She tried to shape her expression into a smile that meant Your secret’s safe with me, but he had barely made eye contact. Maybe none of the other tenants knew he had a problem, and he wanted to keep it that way. That was fine with her. Still, he could have been nicer.

Melinda picked up her Birkin and brushed imaginary dust from her denim culottes. “You should come with us tonight, Bails. It’ll be like old times.”

“Are you kidding? I just got back from rehab. The Limelight is the last place I need to be.”

“Fine, then come to dinner with us beforehand at the Odeon. You don’t need to drink and it’ll be better than sitting in this tomb. You look so pale; have you had any fun since you’ve been back?”

“I don’t have the funds for fun right now.”

“It’s on me and Tony tonight. Okay? Our treat.”

If Bailey had another slice of pizza for dinner, she’d lose her mind. The thought of a real meal, with cloth napkins and waiters, seemed like an exotic expedition. She could use the change of scenery.

“What time?”

“Nine o’clock.”

So late. “I’m not sure. There’s no way I can go back to partying like I used to.”

Melinda punched her playfully on the arm. “I know. I don’t mean to push you. I just want to get you back in my life. I’ve missed you.”

“You have me. I’m not going anywhere. Unlike your contractor.”

“And I’m so happy about that, and I want you to join us. Okay?”

Bailey agreed, touched by Melinda’s insistence.

Her choice of clothing for the evening was limited. She had some indigo jeans and a pair of high heels, but the only “nice” item for going out to dinner was a sequined top that tied around her neck and exposed much of her shoulders. She found it wedged into a corner of her suitcase, underneath the sensible T-shirts she’d brought with her to rehab. It was risqué for the Dakota, but not for Odeon.

Of course Renzo was in the porter’s office as she passed through the porte cochere. She looked like she was heading out for a good time, and it put a lump of guilt in her belly.

He waved at her from the window, and she waved back without smiling. What business was it of his where she was going or what she looked like? Who was he to judge? The man was the super of a building in New York City, not a potential client or friend. The need to please him pissed her off, and the feeling didn’t go away until she was in a subway car hurtling downtown.

Tony stood and pulled out a chair for her as Bailey entered the restaurant. The room was loud and crowded, and a couple of men’s heads turned as she walked by. It was nice to know she wasn’t all washed up. The liquor bottles behind the bar glittered like jewels as Prince sang about raspberry berets from the speakers.

She ached for a drink. If she wanted to stay in New York, she’d have to learn to manage temptation, and tonight was her first real test. Her hand fluttered to her throat—it was all she could do not to claw at it—as she ordered a seltzer with lime, before thanking Tony for letting her be a third wheel.

“Not at all. We missed you terribly.”

His accent was so posh, the fact that most of what he said was gossip and self-congratulation tended to be forgotten by his listeners. Including Melinda, who doted on the man. The few times Bailey had asked Tony what exactly he did for a living, he’d brushed her off with tales of dashing around Ibiza with his university chums. He had an air of wealth, which meant the other details didn’t matter.

Although, to be fair, Tony had stuck by Melinda and was basically supporting her lavish lifestyle these days, at least until the trust fund kicked in. A good boyfriend to have. He had widely spaced eyes, sparse eyelashes, and a jet-black, gelled mane that shot out of his hairline like the edge of a well-manicured lawn. He’d gone to either Oxford or Cambridge, and Bailey knew better than to ask again and risk his derision for failing to remember the correct answer.

Tony ordered another round of drinks. Bailey got the steak frites and dove into the bread basket as soon as it arrived.

“Take it easy, tiger,” said Melinda. “It’s like you haven’t eaten in days.”