Chapter Two: Lizzie

MIA, my roommate and best friend in the world, pulls a shapeless gray dress off the rack at the Salvation Army on West Forty-sixth.

“No way,” I say. “I’m trying to appease her, not mock her.”

“Come on. She’ll see you’re trying,” she says. “This is what she wants. She wants for you to become invisible.”

I groan and take the dress.

Mia gives me a really serious look. “This is a code red alarm. We need serious ugly firepower to hide your hotness.”

I snort. Did I say she was my best friend in the world? Then she holds out Crocs and a fanny pack.

“I’m going for invisible, not, ‘Look at me! I’m having a psychotic break!’”

“Do you want to keep the job or not? Go try it on.”

I grab the stuff and head into the dressing room. I catch one last glimpse of her before I close the door. She has her phone out. “I better not see this on Instagram,” I say.

“Are you kidding? This is why they invented Instagram.”

I take off my short sweater dress and my leggings and boots and pull the sack dress over my head. It’s linen with delicate white lace around the collar and sleeve cuffs. I can see how somebody thought it was nice, in an Amish sort of way. I think if you were standing on the prairie with the wind blowing, it might look okay.

I put on the Crocs and fanny pack, even though I think Mia was just joking about those. I walk out with a dorky expression.

“Oh my god!” Mia collapses in a chair, covering her face. “It’s perfect. So sad.”

“You’re such a good friend to me.”

She snorts and comes to me, turns me around.

“I’m not walking into a Manhattan office building wearing Crocs. It’s not happening.”

“Fine. Don’t wear them.” She arranges my hair in a ponytail at the nape of my neck, then turns me around. “You look like you’re in a religious survivalist sect or something.”

“Yay?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “There’s still your face to contend with,” she says. “Your face is still a problem.”

“I already don’t like where this is going.”

“Nah, you just need a little acting instruction,” she says. “Think of your favorite snack…”

“Cookies that I frost,” I say sadly. “That’s my favorite snack.”

“No, no, a different snack. Cookies remind you of the bakery and the bakery makes you sad. You like every kind of candy. How about gummy bears? You love those.”

I nod. I always get gummy bears when we go out to movies.

“I want you to picture gummy bears. Show on your face how you feel about gummy bears. Right now.”

I smile and widen my eyes.

“Okay, pull it back a little. You don’t love them that much.”

I pull it back.

“There! Now I want you to add something,” she says. “Think of gummy bears while looking at my nose. Never my eyes, just my nose. It’ll make you seem distant and a little stupid.”

“Wow, Mia, if you decide to quit your day gig, you could try for a career as a makeover expert.” Mia holds down different jobs during the day, but by night she’s an actress. Her career hasn’t really gone anywhere, but it’s just a matter of time. I think she’s amazing.

“It’s totally effective. Check it out.” She puts on a pleasant face and talks to my nose. “Don’t I seem dull now? Who even does this?”

“Oh my god! It’s like you’re barely there!”

I practice talking to her nose. We talk to each other’s noses and laugh in the store. Then Mia gets really serious. “You must avoid looking into his eyes at all times, just in case your pupils grow large and Sasha picks up on it as a sign of sexual attraction. Or worse, if Mr. Drummond does.”

“I am not and will not be attracted to that asshole,” I say.

“You did say he was gorgeous.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m sexually attracted to him. I think the Taj Mahal is gorgeous, but I’m not going to stand in front of a picture of it and masturbate.”

“Okay, now, that’s just disturbing.”

“I’m seriously not attracted to him,” I say, even as my traitorous mind conjures up his pillowy bad-boy lips. “I’m off guys, and if for some bizarre reason I wanted a new relationship, it would not be with somebody who’s more of a controlling asshole than Mason ever was. And what a jerk! Keep your eyes to yourself, jackass!”

We buy three sack-like dresses and head up 46th Street. It’s a bright, springy March day, so everybody has emerged from their hovels, walking and lingering. It’s the lingering that sets people apart; the natives linger in the zones behind fire hydrants and trees so as not to block the sidewalk, while the tourists plant themselves wherever.

“From now on, if you ever have contact with Mr. Drummond, you must do the opposite of what you did before. For example, you guys had that conflict about photos and you told him why he was wrong, right? You challenged him.”

“Yeah, but I was nice about it,” I grumble. “Unlike him.”

“Still, you challenged him, and a guy like that isn’t used to being challenged, so it made you stand out, because clearly everyone there kisses his ass. So if you interact with him again, you have to act impressed. Like he’s so amazing.”

I groan.

“Hold up.” Mia slows in front of a street corner vendor selling knock-off Chanel stuff. “I know it’s hard for you,” she says, kneeling to examine a bag. She holds up a black quilted purse for me to inspect. “You like?”

“Way too Kate Middleton,” I say.

She puts it back and picks up a huge red one.

“Kylie Jenner. No, no, no.” I make her put it down and drag her away. “I don’t know if I have it in me to kiss Mr. Drummond’s ass. It’s a lot harder than wearing an ugly dress. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I know, but just remind yourself he’s not Mason. He’s controlling and jerky like Mason, but he is not Mason, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You will act impressed and amazed whenever he comes around. You just have to last tomorrow, you get the weekend to rest, and then it’s one more week. You can do it.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can.” She pulls me to the curb to avoid a guy with a pastry cart. “We’re in this together.”

I squeeze her arm. “It hugely helps that you would say that.”

“I’m always with you. Even when you move back to Fargo. I’ll be the devil on your shoulder telling you to have that extra dessert.”

I sigh.

“But I think you won’t move,” she continues. “I think you’ll find a gorgeous, dirt-cheap space to rent for your new bakery that you can’t pass up.”

I look at her sadly. “A gorgeous, dirt-cheap place that they are dying to rent to me with my shitty credit.”

“There are still lucky finds out there.”

“Not in this city,” I say.

She’s silent. She knows it’s true. Moving out of the city and back with my parents in Fargo is the fastest way to deal with my Mason debt. I could live there rent-free, renegotiate my credit card debt, and run catering out of our family pizzeria for a year and a half. I’d save money like a boss. Come back to the city with the funds to rebuild.

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll get you such a good subletter,” I say. “I’m going to find somebody with a boyfriend or girlfriend who has their own place. And eighteen months later, boo-yah.”

“Friends don’t let friends say boo-yah,” she says.

I give her a fake frown.

“I wonder what Mr. Drummond’s like in bed,” she muses. “Is he just as much of a control freak in bed?”

“Oh my god! Is this a good question to be asking me? Is this what I want in my mind as I struggle to gaze at his nose while channeling my love of gummy bears?”

“You know you’ve been wondering it.”

“He’s probably a deadbeat. His most effusive praise is a grunt,” I say. “What does that tell you?”

She gives me a long, hard look. Solemnly, she whispers, “It tells me, caveman.”

“Fuck the fuck off! Seriously? That’s what you put in my head?” I say. “How can I control my pupils now?”

But control my pupils I must.

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