Forty-Nine
Three days later
The bronze statue of Prometheus, reclining in the fountains of the sunken plaza of Rockefeller Center, stared over Lucy’s shoulder. “It’s not every day we get treated to lunch by an off-Broadway playwright. I could get used to this.” She grinned into the July sunshine, fanning herself with a Rock Center Cafe menu.
“To Alex’s first New York production!” Harry raised his sweaty beer, inviting his friends to join his toast.
“London’s loss is New York’s gain!” Freddie clinked glasses with Simon, Lucy, and Alex. “I’m gonna miss you, darling.” He raised his voice, competing with the strong lungs of a crying baby two tables away.
Alex sipped her cola. “I’m not moving permanently. I’m just staying a bit longer for pre-production. Most stuff will be taken care of during the next two months while I’m here, and then I’ll come back next year, a month before Thirteen is staged, to help with the rest.”
Harry leaned across the table. “Lex, Dad says the loft’s vacant until November, so don’t rush back—”
“Don’t say that.” Freddie stuck out his bottom lip. “She’ll never come home.”
“I will.” She elbowed Freddie. “London will just have to wait a little longer!” She turned to Harry. “I’ll have to find something special for Budgie to thank him.” She put on her sunglasses. “So, guys, how did your meetings go?”
Simon grinned. “They loved my designs—they ordered two of the five dresses I presented.”
“Oh, Si!” Alex squeezed his arm.
“Mine went brilliantly, too,” said Harry.
“Sorry—what?” Freddie squinted, cocking an ear towards Harry. He side-eyed the baby.
Harry raised his voice. “The property at West 11th and Greenwich has good bones, the potential for a rooftop terrace. I think Bespoke 2.0 has found its American home—”
The table erupted with a chorus of “That’s amazing, Si!” “Congrats, Harry!”
Alex smiled, happy that her friends had such amazing news to share, too.
The baby’s wailing grew louder. “Please!” Freddie threw his hands in the air. “Would someone give that kid a boob…”
“Someone’s hangry, and I don’t mean that table’s baby.” Lucy snickered.
The exhausted-looking hipster parents paid their bill and whisked away their red-faced infant. They passed two servers, carrying enough food to feed Alex’s group twice over.
“These portions!” Freddie’s eyes bulged as his meal was placed in front of him. “They’re a gift from God—God bless America!” Freddie swiveled this plate, stacked high with a Black Angus short rib burger dressed with sharp cheddar and smoked bacon. It was kept company by a silver cup overflowing with golden French fries.
“Thank goodness we’re flying to Montréal tomorrow.” Simon stared at his fiancé’s plate. “Freddie’s forgotten what a vegetable looks like.” He glanced across the table. “And no, Lucy, ketchup is not a vegetable.”
She curled her lip, unscrewed the ketchup, and smacked a massive blob on her fries.
Freddie pointed a fry at no one in particular. “I tried being veggie.” He looked at Simon. “I did—for you, for over a year—but given the choice between meat sweats or veggie shits, I’m picking food with a face every time. I gotta be me, Si.” His eyes slid sideways to Alex’s plate. “That penne pasta looks amazing, Lex. I’d Instagram it immediately if I were you.”
“No, you go for it, Freds. It will look better on your feed.”
“So, what happens to your spot in that TV development scheme back home?” asked Harry.
“I had to drop out.” She leaned out of Freddie’s way so he could photograph her lunch. “It’s happening in two weeks.”
“Too many writing commitments…nice problem to have.” Harry bit into his Italian panino.
“Don’t I know it.”
“Suffragettes back home, Thirteen off-Broadway—I told you, didn’t I?” Lucy’s lips hovered over a forkful of fries. “I knew it would be just a matter of time, and that silly quote, you can’t make a living in the theatre, or whatever the fuck it was—that Robert whatshisname can bite me. He never met my bezzie mate.”
Alex swallowed a mouthful of tomato-y pasta. “I’ve got a long way to go before I can diss Robert Anderson. Think about it: I’m still bunking at Tom and Naomi’s, and relying on Budgie’s kindness over here, but yeah, at least people are returning my calls again. It’s a good feeling, but you know what I want to do more than anything else?”
Lucy shook her head, her mouth full of ketchup-drenched fries.
Freddie rolled his eyes. “Please don’t say a musical.”
Alex smiled. “Finish our graphic novel. A few more all-day sessions and I think it will be ready to shop around.”
“Watch out, world! Lex and Lucy are takin’ over!” Lucy’s raised cocktail was met by clinking glasses around the table.