She holds out her hands and the sparkles on her dress reflect the light of the chandeliers. “He’s the FF right?”
“Who’s the FF?” Hannah asks as she joins us. She has a tall glass of juice, with slices of orange and strawberry on the rim. Her hair is in a braided coronet on top of her head and she’s wearing a beautiful flowy Grecian-style gown. Apparently, everyone had a fancy dress but me.
“Josh Lewenthal,” Brook says.
“Really?” Hannah asks. She turns to me with a look of surprise.
“I didn’t say he’s the FF,” I say.
They both stare at me, identical expressions of disbelief on their faces.
This is ridiculous. “Are you two serious? How do you even know him?”
Hannah gives me a surprised look. “What do you mean? He’s famous,” she says, like it’s obvious.
Brook gives me a funny look and says, “Duh.”
I look back at Josh, thirty feet away. He’s made it to the front of the line, he’s chatting up the bartender, and I can see his shoulders shaking in a laugh. I’m just making sure he’s still Josh because I don’t know if we’re talking about the same person.
“That Josh?” I point at him. The Josh that grew up down the street, took my virginity, is my brother’s best friend, and loves my mom’s pot roast…that Josh? “He’s not famous,” I say.
“If he’s not your FF, he should’ve been,” Brook says. Then she frowns. “Do you even know him? Are you here with him?”
“Yes, I know him,” I snap, suddenly feeling irritable and exasperated, because why is she looking at me like I don’t know him at all and why does that bother me so much?
“Maybe they just met,” Hannah says. “Have you seen his aura, all orange and yellow and full of creativity. Just like I thought it’d look.”
Brook gives me a hard stare and I imagine she’s cross-examining me in her head.
But before she can say anything, Josh walks up and moves in next to me. “Got you more, double limes.” He hands me the sparkling ice water. The outside of the glass is already dripping with condensation.
“Thanks,” I say slowly. I study him and try to see what the heck Brook and Hannah are talking about.
Josh gives me a funny look. “What? What is it?” He brushes at his cheek. “Something on my face?”
I shake my head and he gives me a smile.
He turns to Brook and Hannah. “Hi. I’m Josh.”
“We know,” Brook says. “You did a signing at my douche cousin’s shop. There was a line half a mile long. All those freaks in their costumes, waiting to get their comic books signed.”
Oh. Ohhhh. That’s how they know him. He did a comic book signing at Clive’s Comics. That makes sense. The world hasn’t been turned upside down and inside out. Josh is still Josh.
Even though I only learned recently how good he is at drawing, at least I knew this. That’s why they think he’s famous.
I look over at Josh to see if he’s taken offense at Brook’s description of his fans as freaks in costumes. He doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, I think he finds her funny.
“My husband and I love your work,” Hannah says. “Especially Grim. His unrequited love for Jewel, it’s amazing.” Hannah leans forward and I’m surprised at the hero-worship expression she has. “I know you probably can’t say, but will they ever get together? I mean, it’s been years.”
It looks like Hannah is holding her breath, and even Brook edges closer to hear the answer.
Josh gives them his devil-may-care, the-world’s-my-playground smile. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
“You don’t know,” Hannah says. It’s crazy, but she actually sounds upset. “I thought you knew what happens. It’s been so long.”
Josh shakes his head like he’s sorry to disappoint, then he glances at me, and for some reason the way he looks at me makes me feel as naked as the models in their sparkly gold paint.
I frown at him. “Don’t look at me, I don’t read your comic. I can’t tell you the ending. I don’t even like comics.”
Josh laughs. “Someday, Gemma. Someday you’ll read it.”
“And you’ll like it,” Hannah says. “Won’t she, Brook?”
But Brook is looking between Josh and me with narrowed eyes and a pucker between her eyebrows. Ugh. I don’t want to hear more about the FF.
“I’m going to go say hi to Carly and thank her for inviting me.” I turn to Josh. “Do you want to come?”
“Please don’t,” Hannah says, “I actually have more questions about Grim. And I was wondering about the upcoming civil war.”
I wave them off and head through the crowd toward the platform on the other side of the room. The music has shifted to a more raucous beat and the party is beginning to have even more of a bacchanalian feel. The contortionists are twisting their limbs together, there’s a trapeze artist twirling from the ceiling and I see that a few belly dancers are making their way through the crowd. A number of couples have settled down to lounge on the plush floor pillows. A woman in a gorgeous billowy black dress leans back on a pillow and sips from a glass of pink champagne. As I pass, she glances at me and quickly dismisses me as no one of importance. In fact, that’s the general impression I get here. The people see my pumpkin dress, and decide that I’m the pumpkin, not the carriage, and definitely not Cinderella.
But as Ian says, the surest way to be seen as beautiful is to make someone else laugh, make someone else smile, then no matter what you look like, you’ll always be beautiful.
I frown, because, come to think of it, that sounds like something Josh would say.
Weird.
I make it to the platform and catch Carly’s eye. When she sees me, she leans in to her husband and whispers something in his ear. He looks at her disapprovingly, then shrugs. She gives him a bland smile, lifts her skirts and steps down from the platform.
“You came,” Carly says. She kisses the air next to my cheeks. “Hello, darling. Let’s walk, I hate standing on that bloody platform.” Her British accent is more pronounced, and I think it’s because she’s upset.
She threads her arm through mine and we walk toward the stairwell and a relatively empty section of the room.