Bits of trash stuck to the filthy red carpet slapped down at its entrance.
She was dressed, Orla knew, like she was hoping to be invited inside later.
Horn-rimmed Glasses shrieked as if he had just caught fire.
Credit: Courtesy Megan Angelo
Hilaria Dahl was a judge on a reality show that pitted cancer survivors against each other in baking contests.
She smacked her lips together.
she squealed, her long earrings jangling at either side of her jaw.
Graydon House
Orla nodded and stretched her face into a smile.
So, dog clothes!
What inspired this project?
Hilaria shifted in her heels.
Well, its really close to my heart.
AIDS, Hilaria answered.
Orla looked to Hilarias publicist, a black-clad woman in a headset.
Ten percent of the proceeds from the line benefits AIDS, the publicist snapped.
And I love animals, Hilaria added.
Next to Orla, the waif was nodding fiercely, a hand pressed over her heart.
Were just targeting dogs right now, Hilaria went on.
But Im also really passionate about cats.
So were looking to expand into the cat market as well.
Orla couldnt stop herself.
Couldnt cats just wear the clothes you make now?
Hilaria looked at her publicist.
I guess cats could wear the small ones, right?
Like the alpaca cowl-neck?
Cats could wear the small ones, the publicist confirmed, glaring.
And every piece is one hundred percent vegan!
Didnt you just say somethings alpaca?
An alpaca is an animal.
Its kind of like a llama.
She looked back at Orla.
Fuck you, she said plainly.
Not you, she added, into the headset.
But maybe you, soon, if you dont find out where Isabelle went.
There was a lull in the arrivals.
Orla perked up and craned her neck toward the SUV that had just pulled up.
Hilarias publicist had likely emailed Ingrid already, demanding that Orla apologize.
Maybe Orla could redeem herself with a quote from whoever was making Horn-rimmed Glasses clap tiny, overjoyed claps.
Flashbulbs popped so brightly that Orla had to look down.
Then she could only see the pair of legs coming toward them, oiled and deliberate.
Next to her, the waif leaned forward and said breathlessly, Floss, its like the hugest honor.
Orla stared at her from the side.
She was closer to Florence now than she had ever been in their apartment.
Florences eyes, dark and liquid, blinked slowly, sleepily, beneath the weight of her thousand-legger eyelashes.
But Florence wasnt wearing anything over them.
Then, suddenly, Florence was air-kissing the waif goodbye and stepping into Orlas little space.
Hi, Florence trilled.
Orla startled at the sound of her public voice.
It came from somewhere high in her nose.
Oh, Florence went on, I love Lady-ish.
Florence, Orla said.
She pulled all of her hair over one shoulder and stroked it like a pet.
As Orla tried to decide what to say next, Flosss publicistshe had apublicist!jumped in.
Jordie from Liberty PR, he said.
You of course know Floss Natuzzi from the reality competitionWho Wants to Work at a Surf Shack.
Orla could envision the half-finished law school software on his desk at home.
The Athens fashion scene?
Jordie shot Floss a look, then laughed and threw his hands up.
Yes, Akron, he said wearily.
Its mostly, ah, underground.
He trailed off purposefully.
It wasnt a lie; he had merely said the words LeBron James.
He would do well at law school.
She looked at Floss, who seemed not to be listening.
She was peering down at the printout Orla was standing on, then back up at Orlas face.
As Jordie tugged her toward the next reporter, Floss seemed to realize something.
Wait, she said, blinking, looking back.
Orla waved at her stupidly.
Come inside then, Floss called over her shoulder.
I want to talk to you.
She tottered off on her heels.
Orla watched as Jordie stepped forward to pull something off Flosss wrist.
It was Orlas own yellow hair elastic.
She had left it on the sink that morning.
What, you know her?
Orla heard the waif say, sullenly.
Out of some instinct, Orla didnt respond.
Orla didnt have to talk to the waif anymore.
*
The girl at the door with the list was unimpressed.
Im a personal guest of Floss Natuzzis, Orla said again.
Shell be so upset to hear about this.
The girl just looked behind her, waving someone forward.
Orla stepped back to let an Afghan hound in a beret and its handler walk through.
Orla put her face to the bars and hissed into the party.
She turned away from the man while he was still midsentence and came trotting over to Orla.
What are you doing?
I said to come inside.
They wouldnt let me, Orla said.
Can you get me in?
Floss looked down at Orlas scuffed ballet flats and murmured, Those, probably.
You cant the waitress began, and Floss fixed her with a cold smile.
Did they patch up the oyster situation yet?
she asked the waitress.
Would you kindly find Gus and find out?
The waitress scurried away.
The champagne glass felt so delicate in Orlas grasp, she had to focus on not crushing it.
Floss rolled her eyes.
She drained her champagne and motioned for Orla to drink hers down.
Wait there, she said.
Three minutes later, Floss was walking toward Orla, one arm in the air, hailing a cab.
He stuck his head through the window.
Where the hell are you going?
he said to Floss.
Do you know how I had to beg to get you into this party?
Youre nobody, honey.
Floss dabbed at the mark.
If you had to beg that hard, she said calmly, I guess youre nobody, too.
The light turned green.
As the cab pulled away, Orla glanced over her shoulder at Jordie.
She would never forget him.
Jordie was the very first to die in the Spill.
The story about his death didnt mention his working with Floss, which surprised Orla at first.
The reporter must have had to rely on word of mouth and yearbooks.
Jordies aunt was quoted as saying that he had just been accepted to law school.
One dollar, you know?
he said to Orla.
But he sounded scared, like he was only suggesting it.
Orla dropped the paper and kept walking, kept crying.
There were still jokes about the chaos on the late-night shows.
There were still late-night shows.
Orla hadnt been up on the roof since a few weeks after she moved to the city.
The roof was a disappointment.
There was nothing to see from the one bench rooted next to the cluster of air handlers.
A neighboring, newer building stood in the way of the view.
The one corner that escaped the adjacent buildings shadow was reserved for residents of the penthouse.
But Floss walked straight toward the gate to the penthouses private patio and rattled it open.
She stepped inside without looking back to see if Orla was following.
The patio had a modest outdoor dining table and a row of hostas in wooden planters.
Above the top of the patio fence, the view stretched, uninterrupted, toward New Jersey.
The sun was already gone, dragging the last of its light down over the Hudson.
Opposite it, a man leaned back on his couch.
His feet, in black socks, rested on the coffee table.
Without smiling, he raised his glass to Orla.
Jesus Christ, Orla hissed.
Floss, he sees us.
Floss took a sip of whiskey.
He lets me use the deck.
He really lives in Delaware.
She passed the bottle to Orla.
But… Orla looked at the toddler car, then back at the man in the penthouse.
He was still watching them.
Hes, like, Ukrainian.
They drank and talked, but did more of the former than the latter, the conversation stalling constantly.
Orla sensed that Floss wanted both of them drunker before she said what she wanted to say.
So, like, I know who you are, she said.
I mean, I know your name.
I just didnt know thatyouwere myroommate.
I decided it was Olga.
Floss spread her hands, swinging the whiskey by the neck.
And here, all along, you were Orla Cadden.
I know your work.
It seemed too grand a term for blogging.
Sage Sterling, she said.
Pretty sad, her dying and all.
It was sad, Orla agreed.
She actually, absurdly, did kind of miss Sage.
Orla could see her own name and head shot atop the list of headlines on the screen.
It was the best traffic anything on her ever did, Orla said.
Even better than when I wrote she died.
Um, Orla said.
I just called the salad place, and they told me what she got.
It was just a standard Cobb with edamame, if you think about it.
Floss took a swallow of whiskey and set the bottle on the edge of the roof.
Right, but then she started to act, Orla protested.
She got the Some Like It Hot remake pretty much right away
No.
Floss shook her head hard.
A segment of her fake hair was starting to come loose, its sticky root sagging into view.
No, she did not get it right away.
They Instagrammed it, and you did that post identifying everyone in the picture.
Orla had forgotten that that was how it started.
That, just that, was enough to get her a publicist, Floss went on.
And the publicist got someone to send her those boots, the white leather ones with the rainbow laces.
And she wore them, so the boot people sent the pictures to bloggers.
You remember getting those pictures?
The post she had turned them into was headlined Sage Sterlings Boots: Trippy Or Trippin?
I dont think we should say trippin, Orla had protested to Ingrid, before she hit Publish.
I think thats like a black thing?
And we shouldnt appropriate it?
It might seem racist?
Ingrid had overruled her.
Youre the one being racist, trust me, she had said.
You called her a boot icon.
That got her to Fashion Week.
I liked that move.
It had grown dark.
A floodlight tacked up over the sliding doors went on.
It was too bright for the small space, meant to shine over someones endless suburban backyard.
She felt thirsty and picked up the whiskey, found it didnt help.
You put her in a roundup of Fashion Week It Girls, Floss went on.
9 INSANE Facts About Sage Sterling.
Never ten factsreaders hated the number ten.
It was too perfect, too choreographed.
Yeah, Orla said.
I thought they dated in high school.
Wasnt true, Floss said, but it didnt matter.
I bet you its still there now.
And the publicists were into it, so they went with it.
They made them date.
Floss hugged herself and shivered.
And then you really wrote, she said.
Sage and FinnUh, We Mean SINNStep Out Together for the First Time.
Every Sinn-gle Thing Sage Wore On Tour With Finns New Band.
Sinn Has a Sexy Hawaiian Veterans DayPics, Right This Way!
And then, Jesus Christ, Floss said.
She got that haircut, the grandma haircut with the platinum and the curlers.
Erm, Marilyn Monroe WHO?
Come See Sage Sterlings New Do.
Ingrid had added the erm after Orla left the office for the day.
Thatswhen she gotSome Like It Hot, Floss said bitterly.
She pointed at Orla.
After you said she looked like Marilyn Monroe.
She looked like a goddamn Golden Girl!
Floss sounded so upset that Orla almost apologized.
She got addicted to heroin anddied.
Floss waved it away.
Im not like that.
Orla stared at her.
This is the part, Floss said patiently, where you ask whats in it for you.
Orla shook her head.
What could possibly be in it for me?
Also, no offense, but youre a little old to start trying to be famous.
I mean, youre, what…?
Im twenty-eight, Floss said.
Just like you, right?
And youre just now getting into dog apparel parties, she said.
Floss smoothed her hair away from her face, flicked it over her shoulder.
At least Im not working at them.
The line was cruel, but Floss made it sound like a joke theyd had for years.
She said, Whats in it for me?
If we do this right, Floss answered, whatever you need.
Im sure you dont want to blog forever.
Im sure you have, what?
So you need an agent.
Orla thought of her laptop sitting closed and cool, untouched in the dark of her room.
I dont need your help with my book, she said.
I can get an agent on my own.
You better be sure.
Because look, Orla.
Its 10:45 on a Monday night, and everybody in that building has their lights on.
Theyre all still up.
Just like were still up.
What do you think theyre doing?
She aimed Orlas head, roughly, at another building beneath them, a low-rise in pinkish-gray brick.
More lights, she said.
Orla saw a girl in her sports bra bent over her computer, drumming her fingers on her chin.
Ive done the math, Floss said.
Ive done the actual math.
Were not all going to get it.
Its not enough to be talented, its not enough to work hard.
you better be disciplined, and you better be ruthless.
She released Orla with a little shove and put her hands on her hips.
Leave that shit to people in the Midwest.
They were quiet as the atmosphere sucked up her monologue.
Orla steadied herself and looked Floss over.
She would never make it as an actress, she thought.
She went a little too big, wanted a little too hard.
But Floss, it seemed, didnt want to be an actress.
She wanted to be what she already was, even if nobody knew it yet: a celebrity.
A person, exaggerated.
And her pointthe cold slap of the eight million dreams around themunhooked something in Orla.
I dont know, she said, shakily, finally.
That kind of sounds like bullshit to me.
She tried to hold back a burp and found that it wasnt a burp at all.
She leaned over and threw up on the deck.
The whiskey burned twice as hot coming back up.
Orla kicked her purse toward Floss.
Can you get me a tissue?
Floss dug through Orlas bag.
Ohhhh, she breathed after a moment, tugging something out.
The one Orla had found by the elevator.
Orla would never forget that: Floss standing there, grinning at her, flicking the card.
Floss put the card back in Orlas bag carefully, like she wanted it to be safe.
Inside, as they waited for the elevator, Floss grinned and put her face in Orlas hair.
I dont think it does sound like bullshit to you, she said into Orlas ear.
I think you are like me.
