Page 18 of Underground Prince

I took the 6 to Spring Street and walked east, skirting New York City’s famous SoHo shops, boutiques, and restaurants, most decorated with the famous cast-iron designs this neighborhood was known for.

Verily and I never had to wander far for what we wanted, whether it be new sweaters, the best pastries, or the pretend-to-be-buying-but-really-just-ogling designer bags and shoes. Sometimes, we played Spot the Celebrity as we strolled arm in arm.

I dodged a miniature dachshund and a French bulldog on a leash, both bundled up for the September weather, as I twined through the street vendors with their tables of jewelry and pashmina scarves and turned onto Mercer, where just such a cast-iron building stood. It also happened to be my home.

While evasive about how deep her family’s pockets were, Verily was forced to admit that the monthly rent wasn’t a problem when she asked me to move in with her. She was so excited I was coming back that I had suspicions she was willing to say anything to get me to stay in the city.

“Hey, roomie,” she said after I unlocked our door. She was hunched over in the middle of our living room, fixing her sheer black tights by bunching them in her fingers and hiking them up inch by inch. “I hate tights,” she said, careful not to spear the delicate fabric with a red-manicured nail. “Ridiculous devices.”

“You’re doing a doubleheader?” I asked. I found a spot on the couch amidst her smattering of lace and neon. “Weren’t you at poker this morning, too?”

“Yeah,” she said, grunting after one last yank, then stretching high. Her three-tiered skirt rose with her, but stopped tastefully short. Her pink sleeveless shirt was surprisingly prude, its neckline ending at her collarbone. “Need to make some money after these past couple of nights studying.”

“Place to myself,” I said, crossing my legs on our coffee table. “Whatever will I do…?”

She unpinned her bright locks. “There’s a gorgeous nine dollar bottle of red in the kitchen with your name on it.”

“Yum.”

She swiped on another coat of cardinal red lipstick in the hall mirror. “I’ll be super late tonight. Perhaps you’ll have a bit of fun while I’m gone.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“You’re welcome to borrow this outfit next time Matt comes over.”

“Who says I haven’t already?” I said, and blew a kiss at her in good-bye.

She was still laughing when she left the apartment.

I wandered into our attached kitchen and pulled a soda from the fridge, avoiding the room temperature boxed wine for now. The crack and hiss of the can opening were my instrumentals down the hallway and to my room, where my laptop sat on the bed with a lime green post-it on the lid. It read, in scrawling black cursive: If you help me edit my essay I will heart the hell out of you!

I curled a leg under me and started up the computer. Verily’s email pinged into my inbox, her draft essay attached.

Resolving myself, I sipped my soda and began. Assisting Verily with draft edits seemed like a viable option to keep my mind flexible while I avoided dropping back in to college.

But she definitely wouldn’t like it. She wouldn’t stand for it.

Cassie.

The unbidden name squelched every other thought in my head, the words on the screen blurring into pixelated smears.

My fingers curled into my palms. I would not look left. I could not. The picture on my nightstand would remain flat, the resulting despair lidded and forgotten. It couldn’t affect me when faces were hidden.

Eyes hot, I pushed the laptop away.

I stood up and rushed into the main room to fumble through my purse. When I found what I was looking for, I held it up with trembling hands.

“Stop it,” I said to my fingers. “Please.”

They wouldn’t listen.

So with shaking thumbs, I texted Matt.

8

STAY COMFORTABLE

I was showered, perfumed, covered in lace, and lounging.

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