by Andrea Bartz
She hurried across the street and gave me a quick hug, then patted her pockets. “I either left my hat at home or on the subway.”
“That tracks,” I teased.
She shrugged and pointed to the massive snowflake strung over Fifty-seventh Street. “How big do you think it is?” As I reached for my phone to find the answer, she spoke again: “We have to guess! Price Is Right rules.”
She waited for me to go first (“eighteen feet across”) and then guessed nineteen, a very Katie thing to do, then hopped in excitement as I dramatically read out the actual dimensions: twenty-eight feet tall and twenty-three feet wide.
She whistled, turning back to its twinkling lights. “I wouldn’t want to drive a convertible under that.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Hey, do you know Eleanor’s friend Ted?”
I frowned. “Yeah, he’s an old family friend of hers. Why do you ask?”
“I met him yesterday. He came in to fix the Wi-Fi.”
I nodded. She dipped her head and looked up at me, catching my downturned eyes.
“What’s his deal?” she asked.
“Oh, he’s fine. He went to BU and sometimes he’d come to parties with us and stuff.” I shrugged. “He’s just…I could never figure him out.”
We’d reached Bergdorf Goodman, where clusters of bundled-up people peered into the windows. This year’s theme was the Gilded Age, and this display showed a miniature Gatsby mansion during a winter soiree, with fat red sashes and intricate wreaths hanging from its facade. Katie stepped closer and spread her gloved hands against the glass.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I sidled up next to her.
“Gorgeous. I always loved this book. Hey, remember my friend Holly Janssen? From growing up? She just moved into a house like that in East Grand Rapids.” She nodded toward the window. “Her husband’s family owns a bunch of breweries or something. All my friends from high school are, like, buying McMansions and having babies.”
Much to my relief, she’d dropped the topic of Ted. Katie’s observant, good at sensing signs of tension.
“That’s the great thing about New York—if you get pregnant, you’re the weird one.” I stopped in front of the next display. It had something to do with the transcontinental railroad: small train cars cruising down a track, the sides cut open to reveal elegant interiors.
“Is it weird that Eleanor’s married?” Katie asked. A gaggle of teenagers arrived, reaching over us to photograph the window. “Do you feel less close?”
“She’s pretty good about making time for her friends. It helps that she’s my client.”
Katie’s eyes trailed the miniature train. “And Daniel doesn’t have any cool friends to set you up with?”
Dating, relationships, marriage—always a delicate topic for Katie and me. Though she was currently single, I knew it wouldn’t be long before that changed; Katie attracted men everywhere she went, dudes delighted by her brash tongue and delicate features. Meanwhile, I’d been cycling on and off of dating sites for the better part of a decade. “Intimidating” was the word guys often used—each time a small corkscrew to the heart, screwed further in as I scrambled to make myself softer, kinder, more feminine and palatable. Although some found another fun way to make me not a real person: “You’re so exotic-looking,” or “What’s your background?” or “No, I mean where are you from?” or the real kayo: “What are you?”
“Sadly, no,” I said. “Like every other straight male I know, Daniel says that all his friends are either married or ‘jackasses.’ His word.”
“Nine million New Yorkers and not one worth dating.”
She said it playfully, but I groaned. “If you go on the apps, you’ll see how much time and labor it takes to go on a single date—it’s just not where I’m focusing my energy.”
“You know I don’t care at all whether you’re seeing someone or not.” She squeezed my shoulder and we moved on to the next window. “More sister time for me.”
It was a sore spot: A few weeks back, when Mikki and I were chasing Mocktails with cocktails at a happy hour down the street, Mikki had tipsily admitted that Eleanor had remarked that I was single simply because I was too picky. But I defended you! I said you’re just waiting for the right guy! Mikki had burbled, slurping the last of her third margarita. I’d changed the subject, but her words stung.
“It feels good, right? Being back in the same city,” I said. We approached the corner, where a woman shook a bell over a Salvation Army bucket. “I mean, I missed you when I was in L.A. and you were at NYU. But with you in Michigan this past year—it made me realize how much more fun New York is with you here.”
“I still don’t understand why you moved to L.A.” She dug in her bag and dropped a few coins into the pail. “When you graduated and I was about to move here. I feel like I ask you this every few years and I still don’t get it. Eleanor and Mikki were here, too, and it seemed all set. And then out of nowhere, at the last minute…”
This was not where I wanted the conversation to go. The night I never talked about—the one I flew three thousand miles to get away from, because I couldn’t travel back in time, couldn’t undo what I’d done. My heart sped and I shook my head. “I didn’t think I was ready for New York. I had more growing to do. But hey, we’re both here now.”
“I know, and now I can basically be your annoying coworker who talks to you all day.” She drummed her fingers together like a self-satisfied villain. “I can’t wait until I’m a real member without my weekly guest pass.”
I looked down. Eleanor hadn’t mentioned the status of Katie’s application since her weird ambush on Monday, but she had given me an odd look when I’d asked how the investigation into the defacement was going: The police said whomever sent the photos might be accustomed to working with the press. That time I couldn’t hide my eye roll; unless Katie had pilfered Eleanor’s phone, determined to screw over her powerful friend and ruin the best thing she had going for her, she wasn’t the anonymous tipster. Obviously.
“I can’t wait until they make it official either!” I said. “I’m sure it’ll happen soon. Eleanor’s just busy getting ready for Tuesday.”
“She said the same thing last night.” She held her phone out and gestured for me to join her for a selfie; we beamed at the screen. “Hey, do you know what Tuesday’s announcement is gonna be?”
“I can’t say. What’s the rumor mill reporting?”
“Just speculation. A big new partnership or something. Opening a location abroad, like the Cave just did. Aurelia said The Gaze is getting an exclusive?”
“It’s true! Not my first choice, but.” I fished a water bottle out of my bag and unscrewed the cap.
“So why them?”
I took a long sip, buying time. “Eleanor’s friends with a reporter there,” I said. “Joanna Chen. She just wanted it to be there.” I sniffed the air. “Ooh, I smell a Nuts 4 Nuts cart. Should we get some?”
She shook her head. “They smell better than they taste. You said it’s Joanna Chen?” She paused, like she was committing it to memory. “I’m gonna ask Eleanor about it on Monday. That just seems so strange.” I peered at her, frowning, and she spoke quickly: “Since The Gaze is kinda mean. But also I’ve been meaning to make a contact there. So maybe if they’re friends, she can introduce me at the event.” She threw a sideways glance at me. “What?”
We paused in front of Tiffany’s, the diamonds in the window twinkling like stars. “Katie, just be careful.”
She shook her head. “I thought networking was, like, a huge part of the Herd experience.”
“It is, and that’s great.” Suddenly the holiday lights clinging to the building lit up, blinking through tall ovals and then outward in graceful arcs. “It’s just not a great time to give Eleanor the impression you’re looking for a scoop or whatever. She’s sort of…private, as
much as she can be.”
“We call that media-unfriendly,” she said. We moseyed over toward the next display. “That’s why I was curious about the Gaze exclusive. That’s all.”
“You’re not going to try to write about anything that happens at the Herd, are you?”
She didn’t stop walking, but I thought I saw her shoulders hike up. We have some extremely…high-profile members here, Eleanor had said, clearing her throat.
“What are you talking about?” Katie said finally.
“It would just be…weird. A conflict of interest. I tell you stuff in confidence, and I’m their freaking publicist. You don’t want to jeopardize anything.”
“I know that. I’m not stupid, Hana.” She leaned toward a window. Her annoyance alarmed me. I’d expected surprise, shock at the whole idea, that literally didn’t even cross my mind. Yet here we were, speaking tensely over $26,000 sapphire-studded Tiffany watches.
“I know you’re not. And you should think of me as a resource as you’re getting your freelance stuff back off the ground. I know a lot of people.” It had begun to snow, tiny flakes swirling like dandelion fluff. We’d picked the last warmish day for our excursion; tomorrow, temperatures were expected to plummet and stay in the single digits for a week or more. “You don’t have to be, you know…too proud to ask for help.”
“Oh my God, Hana. When did this become the Katie Bradley intervention special?” She turned on her heels and headed down the street.
“I’m sorry. Let’s drop it. I know you’re doing great.” We walked in silence for a while, then approached a bulge of people in front of Radio City Music Hall; the marquee promised the Rockettes’ Christmas Spectacular, long lines of perfect legs kicking in heels. Katie curled around a corner and the sidewalk opened up.
I cleared my throat. “Look, I’m sorry. I know you’d never sell secrets to Page Six or whatever. I’m just being a paranoid publicist.” I saw my out: “Because of the big announcement.”
“I get it. No worries.” She steered us over to a cart and ordered two hot chocolates. “For everything you’ve done for me,” she said, tapping her Styrofoam cup against mine. We crossed the last block between us and the Rockefeller Tree. It was outrageously tall, and together we stood looking up at it, flanked by other people, feeling big and alone and surrounded and small.
* * *
—
The room felt crackly and bright. There was the buzz of any Herd event: all these smart, ambitious women milling about in stylish outfits, forgoing the four million other things New York had to offer that Tuesday evening. They loved the Herd, detected its specialness, tweeted things like, “If you think it’s not for you bc it’s too bougie/white/annoying/whatever, please come be my plus-one and see for yourself how inclusive and supportive and wonderful it really is.”
The crowd was mostly media plus a few VIPs, and they churned around the space: a private room at Hielo, a tapas restaurant off the lobby of a hotel. It was early; the announcement was scheduled for 8 p.m. and the Gaze interview with Joanna was at 7:30, but already, a little after 7, people were filing in, photographers checking the light and staking out the best vantage points. I hadn’t seen Eleanor all day, which just added to the mystery. Yesterday she’d warned she’d probably work from home ahead of the event—likely so she could get a blowout and makeup application at her leisure—but I was eager for her to sashay in.
“Are you close?” I texted. I’d emailed her this morning with a room reservation for her interview, and she’d responded with a thumbs-up. Nothing since, though I imagined she was busy with last-minute preparations.
I spotted Mikki making her way toward me in a peacock-print jumpsuit with billowing sleeves; a photographer stopped her by the door, and she cocked her hip and grinned. Her smile crumpled as she rushed over.
“You look great,” I told her. “Everything okay?”
“Have you seen Eleanor?”
I shook my head. “I take it you haven’t either?”
“Ted told her to get here by six forty-five for the sound check. He just texted to ask if I’d seen her, but nobody has.”
“Did you call her?” I lifted my phone to my ear.
“Obviously.”
“She was home today. I’m sure she’s just stuck in traffic.” I turned a bit as Eleanor’s voice kicked in, but it was just her voicemail.
A petite woman with swingy black hair tapped me on the shoulder. “Hana, right?”
I recognized her from my earlier Googling. “Joanna. So great to meet you.”
She shook my hand limply. “I thought I’d see Eleanor out working the crowd. Are you keeping her tucked away before our chat?”
I smiled and checked my phone again; less than twenty minutes until their scheduled interview.
“I’ll escort you upstairs in just a few. I got us a conference room. Have you met Mikki? She’s responsible for the Herd’s aesthetic.”
I excused myself, dialing the Herd’s front desk. “She didn’t come in today,” the girl said, confused. “Wasn’t she working from home?”
I bit my lip. “Can you find the name of her usual hair and makeup person? It’s Annika or Anya or something. Check if she saw her today.”
Eleanor was inconsistent about that kind of thing, sometimes hiring professionals, sometimes prettifying herself—she was, after all, a beauty tycoon. And she’d chosen not to have an assistant, someone tasked with handling her calendar, with knowing her whereabouts. It was one of her Eleanorian quirks.
I looked around; Ted was fumbling with a tripod as the crowd swirled around him. I texted Katie and then saw her making her way over from the bar, clutching a glass of red wine. I pulled Mikki away again and shuffled us into a small hallway meant for servers.
“Has anybody heard from Eleanor?”
Everyone looked at one another.
“She must be on her way here, right?” Katie finished her glass of wine.
“Has anyone talked to her?” I pressed.
Katie made a combo laugh-scoff. “Breathe, Hana. If everyone reacted this way every time I was twenty minutes late…”
“It’s just not like her. Who heard from her last?”
“I think I got an email from her this morning,” Mikki offered, pulling out her phone. One by one, we all checked. “An email at ten fifty-four. She just said, ‘Let’s discuss tomorrow.’ ”
“She texted me right before one. Just said, ‘Okay,’ ” I added.
“I haven’t heard from her, but”—Katie shrugged—“she was busy preparing for tonight, right?”
“What do you think happened? Was she in an accident?” Mikki said what I’d been thinking, the only reasonable explanation I could come up with. Why hadn’t anyone contacted one of us? Didn’t she have ID on her? Had it just happened—oh God, was she mangled, critical, barely recognizable as Eleanor?
My phone rang and I almost laughed at my histrionics—that had to be Eleanor, sprinting down Sixth Avenue after getting caught in traffic…
But it was the Herd’s front desk. “I just talked to Aria. Eleanor had a four o’clock appointment but didn’t show. Didn’t cancel it either.”
“Okay. Where was it supposed to be? The appointment?”
“Eleanor’s apartment. Aria said it’s happened a couple times before, where Eleanor changes her plans and forgets to cancel, and she still pays the full amount plus the cancellation fee, so Aria wasn’t too concerned.”
“So she rang the doorbell and no one answered?”
“Right, that’s what she said.”
I thanked her and relayed the update. Again, my mind whipped up an image: Eleanor’s body crumpled on her kitchen floor, blue from choking on a grape or bloodied from a sudden fall or perfect-looking, normal, the outside hiding the hemorrhage streaking blood across her brain…
“Okay, so
she said Eleanor’s been flaky before.” Katie crossed her arms, still determinedly unconcerned.
“Who has Daniel’s number?” Mikki asked.
I whipped up a finger, then turned on the speaker as I dialed.
“Hello? Hana?”
“Daniel, I’m with Mikki. Is Eleanor with you?”
“What? No, I’m on my way to Hielo right now. From work.” A siren wailed in the background. “It hasn’t started yet, has it?”
“Did you talk to Eleanor today?” Katie broke in. Silence, so she added, “This is Katie.”
“No, I was planning to see her at the event.”
“Do you know where she is?” I said.
“She isn’t with you?” Like it was dawning on him: “Wait, where is she then?”
“Daniel, can you track her phone?” Katie asked. “Like, with location services?”
“That won’t work,” I cut in. “She told me last week she wasn’t going to turn on location services on her new one. Better to maintain her privacy, and she pointed out that it didn’t do her any good with the last phone.”
Katie looked confused and Mikki said, “Huh?” right as Daniel said, “How do we find her then?”
Shoot—Katie and Mikki hadn’t heard about the stolen phone and subsequent photo debacle. I pretended I hadn’t heard them. “Have the cab take you home—see if she’s left a note or anything. Let us know.”
I could feel the night careening out of my control, black ice beneath the tires. I kept seeing it: Eleanor’s body by the side of the road. “Her Gaze interview is supposed to start, like, now,” I announced.
Mikki frowned. “We should cancel it, right?”
I squeezed my eyes closed. What Would Eleanor Do? “The timing is—we need to make the announcement now because we’re already so close to the end of the year. Something with stocks, the trading calendar.”
