An Anonymous Girl(9)

“I was in Washington Square Park—Wait, are you drinking a vodka-cran-soda? I’ll have one too, Sanjay, and how’s that hot boyfriend of yours? Anyway, Jess, where was I? Oh, the bunny. It was just right there in the middle of the path, blinking up at me.”

“A bunny? Like Thumper?”

Lizzie nods. “He’s precious! He’s got these long ears and the tiniest pink nose. I think someone must have lost him. He’s totally tame.”

“He’s in your apartment right now, isn’t he?”

“Only because it’s so cold out!” Lizzie says. “I’m going to call around to all the local schools on Monday to see if any of them wants a classroom pet.”

Sanjay slides Lizzie’s drink over and she takes a sip. “What about you? Anything interesting?”

For once, I had a day that could rival hers, but when I start to speak, the words on the laptop screen float before my eyes: By entering this study, you are agreeing to be bound by confidentiality.

“Just the usual,” I say, looking down as I stir my drink. Then I dig into my bag for a few quarters and jump up. “I’m going to pick out some tunes. Any requests?”

“Rolling Stones,” she says.

I punch in “Honky Tonk Women” for Lizzie, then I lean against the jukebox, flipping through the choices.

Lizzie and I met shortly after I moved here, when we both worked backstage at the same of-of-Broadway play, me as a makeup artist and her as part of the costume crew. The production closed after two nights, but by then we’d become friends. I’m closer to her than just about anyone. I went home with her for a long weekend and met her family, and she hung out with my parents and Becky when they visited New York a few years ago. She always gives me the pickle from her plate when we eat at our favorite deli because she knows how much I love them, just as I know that when a new Karin Slaughter book comes out she won’t leave her apartment until she’s finished it.

Although she certainly doesn’t know everything about me, it still feels strange to not be able to share today’s experience with her.

A guy approaches and stands next to me, looking down at the song titles.

Lizzie’s song begins to play.

“Stones fan, huh?”

I turn to look at him. He’s a B-school grad for sure, I think. I see his type every day on the subway. He’s got the Wall Street vibe, with his crewneck sweater and jeans that are a bit too crisp. His dark hair is short, and his stubble looks more like genuine five o’clock shadow than some sort of facial hair artistic expression. His watch is a giveaway, too. It’s a Rolex, but not an antique that would signal old family money. It’s a newer model that he probably bought himself, maybe with his first end-of-year bonus.

Too preppy for me.

“They’re my boyfriend’s favorite,” I say.

“Lucky guy.”

I smile at him to soften my rejection. “Thanks.” I select “Purple Rain,” then walk back to my stool.

“You have Flopsy in your bathroom?” Sanjay is asking.

“I put down newspapers,” Lizzie explains. “My roommate’s not that happy about it, though.”

Sanjay winks at me. “Another round?”

Lizzie pulls out her phone and holds it up to show me and Sanjay. “You guys want to see a picture of him?”

“Adorable,” I say.

“Ooh, I just got a text,” Lizzie says, staring down at her phone. “Remember Katrina? She’s having people over for drinks. Wanna go?”

Katrina is an actress who is working with Lizzie on the new production. I haven’t seen Katrina in a while, since she and I worked on a play together just before I left theater. She reached out to me over the summer, saying she wanted to get together and talk. But I never responded.

“Tonight?” I ask, stalling.

“Yeah,” Lizzie says. “I think Annabelle’s going, and maybe Cathleen.”

I like Annabelle and Cathleen. But other theater people will probably be invited. And there’s one I’d prefer not to see ever again.

“Gene won’t be there, don’t worry,” Lizzie says, like she can read my mind.

I can tell Lizzie wants to join them. These are still her friends. Plus, she’s building her résumé. New York theater is a tight-knit community, and the best way to get hired is to network. She’ll feel badly about going without me, though.

It’s like I can hear Dr. Shields’s deep, soothing voice in my head again: Could you tell a lie without feeling guilt?

Yes, I answer him.

I say to Lizzie: “Oh, it’s not that, I’m just really tired. And I have to get up early tomorrow.”

Then I signal to Sanjay. “Let’s have one more quick drink and then I need to get to bed. But you should go, Lizzie.”


Twenty minutes later, Lizzie and I walk out the door. We’re heading in opposite directions, so we hug good-bye on the sidewalk. She smells like orange blossoms; I remember helping her pick out the scent.

I watch as she turns the corner, heading toward the party.

Lizzie had said Gene French wouldn’t be there, but it’s not just him I’m avoiding. I’m not eager to reconnect with anyone from that phase of my life, even though it consumed me for the first seven years after I moved to New York.