My face scrunches up. “I didn’t do anything stupid last night, did I?”

“You mean other than getting totally shitfaced?”

“How did Jimmy Stallworth end up here?”

“Well, that I’m not surprised you don’t remember. By the time we left the club you couldn’t even walk, Chrissie. Jimmy had to practically carry you to the car. We put you in the car. David brought you home and put you to bed, and we went to a party and ended up here.”

Now I’m alarmed and furious. “You left me and let David put me to bed? How could you do that, Rene?”

Rene shakes her head in aggravation. “Well, you were pretty much done for the night, Chrissie.”

“I can’t believe you did that.”

Rene springs from the bed. “Don’t blame me. You were the one who was the downer. I’ve got to go get rid of Jimmy. He’s a total bore.”

Rene slams the bedroom door behind her. Between the hangover, Alan, and the paper, I feel completely deflated. My emotions cascade over me in relentless waves, like the nausea that never quite makes me vomit.

According to Rene, Alan ignored me last night. I’m glad I don’t remember, it would hurt even more than it already does if I remembered it with clarity. Why do I even care? He’s a total asshole sometimes, like how he treats Rene, and last night pretending he doesn’t know us. Maybe he’s already forgotten about me.

God, I made a fool of myself and the only saving grace is that I don’t remember.

I need to forget about Alan Manzone and focus on why I am in New York. I roll over in bed, agitated in my flesh. You don’t really want him, Chrissie. It’s not like there could ever be a relationship. With a guy like Alan Manzone it would just be a fuck and a goodbye. Nothing more.

I close my eyes and begin to drift. Yes, sleep will be good. Very, very good.

* * *

I jerk awake to the sound of the phone ringing. I open my eyes. Crap, its morning. I’ve slept an entire day away. And how is it possible I still feel lousy? What day is it?

I grab the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey baby girl, I wanted to wish you luck before your audition.”

Crap, it’s Jack! Crap, it’s Monday! I haven’t practiced once since arriving in New York. And I have an audition—I check the clock—in an hour.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

I remember the New York Post. I tense wondering if Jack has seen it.

“So how is it going? You girls keeping busy in the Big Apple without the old man?”

I laugh at the comment “old man.” I wonder if he’s fishing and what he knows. I can’t tell.

“Not too busy. I slept most of yesterday. Jet lag I think.”

“Well, I don’t want to hold you up. You are going to be magnificent, Chrissie.”

He doesn’t wait for my response. The phone clicks. I spring from the bed and dart into the kitchen. Rene is sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I exclaim, grabbing a bowl and filling it with Corn Flakes.

“You were dead asleep. I thought it better to let you sleep.”

“I have my audition in less than an hour.”

Rene frowns. “Is that today?”

I stare and I know. “You went out last night, didn’t you? You just left me here and went out.”

I think she flushes, but I can’t tell for certain.

“I just went to a party with Jimmy Stallworth. It wasn’t your kind of scene, Chrissie. I thought it better not to wake you to ask if you wanted to go with us.”

I grab a cup of coffee. “Well, don’t do it again. I hate it when you ditch me.”

My hands are shaking as I try to add cream to the coffee.

“Jeez, Chrissie, we’re not in eighth grade. We don’t have to do everything together. Next year we’ll be at different schools. I’ve got to get used to not having you around.”

I slam down the creamer. I really didn’t want to think about that today and I hate that it all seems no big deal for Rene.

Rene sits back in her chair. “Chrissie, are you OK?”

I sink at the table and attack my bowl. “I’m just stressed. You know how I am when I have to perform.”

“It’s just an audition.”

“It’s Juilliard.”

“So?”

So? So! How could Rene not get this? I hate how self-absorbed she is at times. “The committee will all know Jack. They will all know my mother. Every time I perform I am measured against them. And it’s Juilliard, so I don’t want to suck.”

Rene takes my face in her hands. “No one measures you against them except you, Chrissie.” She drops my cheeks and goes back to her cereal. “So stop worrying. You’re in. The audition is just a formality.”

I laugh in frustration. “God, I hate you at times.”

Rene smiles. “I know. That’s why we are friends. You better hurry and shower. You smell like booze.”

I take a whiff of my arm. Is that what that hideous odor is? Booze seeping from my pores?

I dart into the bathroom and turn on the shower. The warm streams of water feel good. I wish I could just stand here all day. I quickly lather my body with Chanel No.5 body wash. As I wash my face, I remember Alan kissing me on the forehead, a kiss for luck. Such a bit of drama, and yet sweet. He said it wasn’t what he intended. What did he intend? He said he wanted to meet me. Why? I still don’t know why. And it’s driving me crazy.

Stop thinking about Alan Manzone.You need to focus. You’ll never see him again. I switch off the shower. I dust my skin with the matching Chanel powder wondering if I still carry the smell of booze on my skin.

Once I’m done brushing my teeth, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Jeez, I look awful today and that’s after twenty hours straight of sleep. Angry at myself, I twist my hair into a tight ponytail and then tuck it into a neat French twist. A little mascara. A touch of lip gloss. Nothing more.

I go back into the kitchen, cello case in hand. “I shouldn’t be more than two hours. Don’t take off, please. I want you here when I get back.”

Rene nods. She crosses her heart. “I’ll be right here waiting. You’re not wearing that, are you?”

“Why?”

“Too California. Shouldn’t you wear something black? Something elegant. Something New York?”

“I feel comfortable in this. I play better when I feel comfortable.”

“Suit yourself.” She puts the bowl in the sink. “Besides you are already in. It’s just a formality.”

Why does she do this? Why build me up then shake me down? Then tell me not to worry about it. Why?

“I have to run. Maybe we can go out for lunch when I get back.”

“Sure, Chrissie. Whatever you want.” She points. “You stay sweet.”

I point back. “You stay cute.”

“And don’t fall on your ass. It’s just Juilliard.”

I drop the extra elevator key on the entry hall table. “I’m leaving the extra key, but don’t go anywhere.”

“Yes, Mother!” I hear from the kitchen before the elevator doors close.

I lean against the cool, polished walls, struggling to calm my breathing. I need to stop rushing. Rushing will only make me more nervous. I stare at my reflection in the doors, the distorted shape of my features caused by the reflecting metal and the strange glow from by the dim, orangey light of the elevator. I study my simple blue sundress and flip-flops. Rene is right. This is all wrong. I make a face at myself. Welcome to Juilliard, Miss Parker.

I dash out of the elevator and Elliot the doorman takes my cello case. “Do you want me to ring for a car, Miss Parker?”

Damn. A car. I should have arranged for a car yesterday. I always forget the entire world is not Santa Barbara. You don’t get from one edge of town to the other in five minutes in New York.

“No, I’m running late. Just hail me a cab, please.”

He gives me a dubious look. He steps out to the curb, holds out his hand and blows a whistle. He opens the door for me, and then puts my cello in the trunk.

The driver asks: “Where to?”

“Juilliard.”