‘Maybe the red’s a bit dated – what do you think? Time for a refurb?’ she asked him.
She’d been impressed with Max’s three clubs in London; they were classy.
Max.
No. She wasn’t going to think about him.
Sonny puffed out his cheeks. He was a tall thin man with a bald dome of a head, thick glasses and eyes that twinkled through them as he spoke. He folded his arms and gave it some thought.
‘Mm, dunno. I’m still liking the red.’
‘Maybe alter the italics on the lettering? What about Gothic?’
‘Nah, too Interview with a Vampire. You read that?’
‘No.’ Annie never had time to read. Layla loved books; she didn’t.
She thought of Layla, who’d said she was going shopping today. All in all, she thought that Layla was coping with her anguish over Alberto. She was covering it up well, anyway.
‘I thought maybe the background would be better dark blue, or burgundy?’ she suggested.
‘Hm. Not sure.’
Annie turned to Sonny in mild exasperation. He had this whole place running like a Swiss watch and he didn’t like changes. But fuck it, she was the owner.
‘I’ll get some design people in, put some ideas together,’ she said.
‘Yeah, fine. You’re the boss.’
Oh am I? For a second there, I thought you were.
Sonny went back into the club. Annie hailed a cab, and returned to her apartment.
Layla had been shopping in Bloomingdales on 59th and Lexington. She came out of the store laden with bags, and into the gusty air. People poured along the busy sidewalks, yellow taxis moved in droves through the multi-laned street. The sheer activity in New York had come as a shock to her: she hadn’t visited since she was a child.
She was on her way to meet her mother at the apartment overlooking Central Park, and looking forward to it in a way that she never would have guessed at a year ago. Annie had become her friend as well as her mum now. Since that business with Orla Delaney and Rufus Malone, Layla had come to treasure her.
She was, she supposed, fairly happy. Mum was keeping busy, but then Mum usually did. And she… well, she shopped. She hadn’t thought about finding another job, not yet, she was just keeping Mum company, looking at possible venues for the new club.
She was happy enough.
As long as she didn’t think about him.
Then she didn’t feel happy at all.
So she shopped, and lunched and… she caught a glimpse of herself in one of Bloomingdales’ exquisitely dressed shop windows, and paused. She was elegantly groomed now – as Precious had taught her to be. She was wearing a black cashmere coat with a thick faux-fur collar. Black leather boots. Her hair was loose, glossy: her Gucci shades were big and dark.