The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen

She smiles at me, uncertain, holding the dress in her lap. Then she gives in.

“Okay, fine,” she says. “I’m going to sweat all over it, though. And you have to step out.”

“I’m gone,” I say, backing away with my hands raised to show I’m unarmed.

I duck out through the curtain and mosey up to where Eastlin’s standing behind the counter at the front, fiddling on an iPad. A flute of champagne fizzes enticingly at his elbow. I can’t even wrap my mind around shopping in a store so expensive that they give you champagne while you shop. For free.

Without looking up, he says, “You are not having sex with that goth chick in my dressing room. FYI.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassure him.

“I’m not worried,” he says, eyes still on the iPad. “You and I both know that, if necessary, I could beat you to death with your own arm. I have nothing to worry about.”

He gives me a challenging look and holds it for a long minute. For a split second I can’t tell if he’s kidding.

Then we both burst out laughing.

“I should start going to the gym,” I muse.

“You really should,” Eastlin says with pity.

“Listen,” I say, leaning my elbows on the counter and craning my neck to look at the iPad. “I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

“Oh, goody!” He gives me a wicked look.

“Sorry.” I smile and shake my head. “Not that.”

“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it,” he says drily. “So what’s the favor?”

“Do you think you could try looking up that girl I told you about?” I say. “The one who shops here.”

Eastlin glances at the dressing room across the store.

“That’s not her?” he asks.

“No, that’s someone else.”

“I knew that wasn’t her.” He shakes his head. “I’d remember. God, I’m so over that nineties’ torn-fishnets look.” He pauses for a moment to regret the rest of the world’s bad taste. “All right, fine. What’s her name?”

“Annie,” I say.

Saying her name out loud makes me light-headed enough that I’m actually glad I’m leaning on the counter. Annie. The word feels beautiful in my mouth. As soon as I think that, though, I get embarrassed, like Eastlin might have heard me think it. Is it lame, to look up one girl while waiting for another? It is, isn’t it. But it’s for Tyler’s release, anyway. It’s not like I’m trying to find her because I want to hook up with her or anything.

Do I?

“Annie what?” He’s poking at the iPad screen.

“I don’t know.”

Eastlin sighs heavily and rolls his head back on his shoulders. “Wes. Come on.”

“What? I didn’t ask.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“She had to leave in a hurry. I didn’t have time to ask her last name.”

“Wesley Eugene Auckerman—” he starts.

“My middle name’s not Eugene,” I interrupt.

“—need I point out to you that in a mere five weeks of roommating I have been laid eleven times, and you have been laid exactly zero?” To emphasize the zero, he holds his finger and thumb in an O shape, looking through it at me.

“Thank you,” I say with mock earnestness. “Thank you for pointing that out.”

“Anytime.” He turns the iPad to face me. “These are all our Annies and Annes. But none of them is her.”

“How do you know?” I ask, looking curiously at the list of names and addresses.

“Well, this one’s on the board at MoMA, and this one is a director at Goldman Sachs. This one just landed a walk-on in that new paranormal witch movie, and this one . . .” He ticks them off one at a time.

“All right, all right. I get it,” I groan. I bring my hands up to my face and rub my eyes with my fingertips.

He turns the iPad back to face him.

“The way I see it is, you have two options,” Eastlin tells me. “I suggest the second, which is giving up.”

“I can’t,” I say, and it comes out sounding sort of strangled and desperate, which is not what I intended. “Not possible.”

“All right,” Eastlin says, eyeing me. “Then we go with option one.”