Chapter 3 Zoe had snagged a table for two on the rooftop of Fischer, conveniently located down the street from Holland’s apartment. She would usually never wait in line, but Holland had suggested it. And, since her iPhone was dead as per usual, there was no way of changing venues. When she finally arrived off the rickety elevator to the top of the building, Zoe breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully it lived up to the hype, with its abundant greenery intertwined into the building’s old, brick facade. The entrance was a grand terrace standing on a herringbone wood deck; with ivy hanging so thick you could only guess what was beyond the threshold. Zoe was impressed, and that in itself was an accomplishment. Sadly it was only a matter of time before the restaurant was featured on reality shows about entitled, Upper East Side housewives and tiny taxi screens. The hostess stood with a huge guest book in front of her, its scale fit for a royal wedding. She smiled with an obvious pot induced grin, and welcomed her in a slow, mellow tone, “Hey, how many in your party?” She was dressed in the standard careless stoner uniform, ripped black acid washed shorts, loose tee and minimal gold jewelry. Of course she was unbelievably pretty and undone in a way only waify, model types could pull off. Zoe wondered what it would be like to be blissfully happy with a restaurant job and a beauty routine consisting of only dry shampoo. While she tended to resort to a version of this over the weekend, she could never show up at her esteemed gallery job in such a state. Like many twenty something’s, Zoe was mildly addicted to her chaotic 16-hour days, though she would never admit it. It was really the only way she had ever been. She was an overachiever driven by her infamously successful older sister, who was flying through her last year of residency at the country’s best med program. Their parents had never pushed them, yet she only expected perfection out of herself, and others, for that matter. Frustration was her middle name when it came to useless art interns looking for their big break. In her mind, hard work and incomparable credentials were the only way to success. It was no secret though, that her stunning almond shaped eyes played a part in convincing young and eligible billionaires to invest in priceless artifacts. And for that, the other gallery girls had to work that much harder to grow their own private client list. Once seated, she looked around and scoped out the crowd. There was the usual plaid clad NYU students, the black-on-black art dealers, the put together fashionistas and a small table of eclectic women in their seventies, all resembling versions of Iris Apfel. In fact, it wouldn’t be a surprise if one of them were her. She could also spot the tourists who clearly had a friend who knew a friend that had come here before. They were either dressed like frat boys or carrying shopping bags from their day of indulgence in Soho. In her own mind, she was allowed to feel possessive of her go-to spots, as she was a true New Yorker through and through. Growing up in Brooklyn gave her a bit of an edge, and Zoe had a soft spot for the blistering winter months and scarring experiences on the subway. New York just simply felt like home.
Their waiter came over to her, dressed in a white shirt and crisp black pants. The get up was unusually formal for the location, and his golden hair stood out in a perfectly disheveled way. “Will you be dining alone tonight, or are you waiting for another?” he asked in a raspy southern drawl. As loyal as she was to her own state, she could appreciate Alabama, Oklahoma, or wherever this angel was from. Batting her long eyelashes, she notified him she was waiting for someone. “Could I get you a drink while you wait?” he asked. “What do you recommend?” she quickly responded, feeling a bit buzzed already, despite being stone sober. He hooked onto her apparent flirting and responded with a devilish smile, “I’ll make you one of my favourites.” In a moment of clarity she added, “Make that two!” She guessed Holland needed a stiff drink after the mysteriously dramatic texts she was sending all afternoon. Zoe could only guess what the news was. Holland had a habit of making a trip to the grocery store seem like a night with Ryan Gosling. Just as she was fondly thinking of her best friend’s quirks, Holland rushed in, a bit frazzled. Looking exactly like the tourists Zoe loved to hate with a cumbersome Saks bag, she flew into the seat across the table. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me what’s in the bag,” Zoe joked. Holland flopped down, “three pairs of flats. -black, tan, pink. Sorry I’m late” she added. “Is that any different than the usual?” Zoe asked rhetorically. Holland pleaded, “Please tell me drinks are coming.” Just as she finished the question, the southern charmer returned with two glasses filled with fizzing pink liquid. They were garnished with a sugared lemon slice on their golden rims. “Two elderflower pink lemonades,” he presented proudly. “Is there anything else I can get you two?” his eyes still intensely on Zoe. “I’m sure we’ll need more of these in a little bit,” she cooed with a bit of a giggle. “Alright then, I’ll let you enjoy. Let me know how you like them.” With a wink, he walked away to serve the next table. “Alright,” Zoe started, “tell me what all this fuss is about!” Holland took a sip of her drink and sat back to take a breath, preparing herself for the breakdown of her eventful day. “So, you know that event your parents were at with their publicist?” she asked. “Yeah, Denise right?” Holland nodded, “Well, she also represents Sydney Beckwith – you know, the designer?” “Mmmhmmm,” Zoe hummed, awaiting the big news. Holland tucked her long dark hair behind her ear, “So I had an interview today with the firm and I got the job!” “That’s awesome Holl! Congratulations!” Zoe was always a genuine cheerleader, and her eyes sparkled with delighted pride. She knew how hard Holland had worked for this. Thinking back to when they were roommates during their college years, she felt
a nostalgic pang. The two of them would pull all nighters, visiting each other in their respective rooms for gossip breaks and Thai food. Holland had done up the place with vintage finds and hand me downs in a way that only a designer could cook up. She, of course, provided the artwork to adorn the old apartment’s walls. Living with one of her favorite people in such a magical city was an experience she could never forget; even if it was admittedly close quarters. As Holland recounted her bizarre experience with Jonathan Collins, her helpful new colleague Kendall and the beautiful interior of the office, Zoe’s phone dinged with a new incoming text. Her home screen flashed with the name Cooper B. The look of flushed excitement spread across her face. Working at the gallery, she was used to a lot of clients having interest in works but rarely pulling the trigger on major purchases. However, Cooper was an up and coming actor who undoubtedly had a face for the big screen and a wild appreciation for fine art. Zoe had become secretly enthralled with him, but was smart enough to stay away from the Hollywood types. Then again, having his personal cell number at her fingertips begged for some resistance, especially when alcohol entered her system. “Who is that?” Holland taunted, recognizing the signs of a potential love interest written all over Zoe’s face. “Just a client, “ she downplayed, “he’s interested in a 1.4 million dollar piece and I would love for it to go through. I just need to work him a bit more.” Holland gave her a knowing look, “you need to work him, do you?” Zoe laughed, “stop it! You know what I mean,” trying to hide her crush. As close as they were, Zoe was still much more private than Holland in her exploits. Holland could get the information out of her eventually, but she had to pry ever so carefully to get the whole story. “Well who exactly is this mystery client that personally texts you?” Holland asked, knowing full well she was entering full on interrogation mode. “Cooper Bosworth, you know he was in that movie last summer?” Zoe replied nonchalantly. “Cooper Bosworth?!” Holland exclaimed, “the Cooper Bosworth?” This was just the type of thing Zoe would keep to herself, as she was without a doubt, a realist when it came to romance. She immediately regretted bringing Holland into the loop because she was already facing the idea with a closed mind. In no way was she going to let some playboy actor get the best of her, especially when he was her biggest client thus far. In a dreamy state, she recalled his stinging, light blue eyes and his endearing love for James Turrell. “Hello, earth to Zoe!” Holland called with a snap of her fingers. Zoe blinked back to reality, “hi, yes. Cooper – cute, rich and my next paycheque.” “O.K., well you can’t just drop that bomb on me! How do you even keep yourself straight when you see him? I would literally faint, come back to life and then faint again,” she joked, “no art would be sold. I would be fired immediately.”
Zoe laughed, “he is pretty cute, but you know what it’s like with all of these famous types Holl, they just prove to be entitled brats time and time again,” she explained. Getting up from her chair, she announced “I’m gonna go to the ladies room!” “Leave your phone so I can memorize his number!” Holland called, half jokingly. As Zoe sauntered away, Holland ran her fingers along the waterfall Calcutta edge of their table. She was in such a hurry that she didn’t have time to take in the smorgasbord of finishes at Fischer. The tables were already forming an interesting patina, while the outdoor chairs were the perfect blend of mid century lines and classic, neutral fabric. Oversized custom lighting danced above them, their clusters resembling intricate webs. The cutlery was dipped in an of-the-moment brass, carefully laid out in the way she had learned at cotillion. To any designer that knew the bigwigs of the business, it was obvious that this was the work of Hillary Jones. Holland’s experience with Hillary was a great start to her design career. She had been just as excited to land the internship as her most recent interview with Jonathan. The perks included some great friends along the way, and it gave some informative insight into the business. But, as hard of a decision it was to leave prematurely, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity Denise Lane had so easily handed to her. While she didn’t get to work with Hillary due to being so low on the totem pole, her former boss may be annoyed that Holland had moved on to her arch nemesis. And, for that, unwelcomed anxiety had started to set in. Zoe came back, their waiter observably checking her out as she elegantly sat back down. Her long legs crossed back into their original ladylike position. “So, what’s next on the agenda? I’ve got until 8 p.m. before I need to rush home and work on this proposal for an art fair in Basel. Larisa was supposed to do it, but of course I’m stuck with the brunt of it,” she complained. “I really don’t know how the gallery can hire such useless people.” “Well, I did want to stop by this industry party over at the Glandorf Hotel, some of the girls from Hillary’s said they’d be there. Care to join for cocktails we don’t have to pay for?” she offered. “Sounds like a plan,” she waived their server over once more and asked for the bill. “Leaving already?” he asked with hidden disappointment. “We’ve got places to go and people to see!” Zoe retorted back. “Alright, I’ll bring it right over.” “Zo, do you not see how gorgeous he is? He’s obviously into you - and that accent!” Zoe rolled her eyes, Holland just needed one guy in New York to break her heart and she would be jaded like the rest of the city’s female population. Thankfully, yet unfortunately that hadn’t happened yet. The server placed the bill, folded perfectly in the centre like a miniature tent. Zoe flipped it over to check out the damage and saw the scrawling note intended especially for her, “Jason, 646-992-8316.” This came with a juvenile happy face that made Zoe gag. Her elderflower lemonade burned in her throat as she signed the bill. “Zo, no!” Holland argued.
“I’ve got this – you can pay when you’re the next famous HGTV star,” she smiled. Holland rolled her eyes. They gathered their things, including the terrible shopping bag. It hit a table of tourists by accident as Holland made her way out. Zoe quietly giggled inside; maybe those boxes were good for something after all.