makes women go nuts?’
‘It’s a girl thing, Steinmann. You’re not invited,’ Marnie grinned.
‘So, how come you’re skiving off early?’ I asked him.
Ed lifted his chin and attempted to look aloof, the success of this severely compromised by the mischief dancing in his blue eyes. ‘Can’t tell you. It’s a boy thing, Duncan.’
‘So what’s her name?’
Sly humour began to pull up one corner of his mouth. ‘Carly, if you must know.’
‘Hang on, isn’t this the same Carly you saw last Saturday night?’
Ed looked decidedly sheepish. ‘It might be.’
Marnie’s eyes widened. ‘Wait—you saw Carly on Wednesday as well, didn’t you?’
A scarlet blush slowly creeping up Ed’s neck was giving the game away. ‘It’s…possible…’
I whistled. ‘Three dates with the same girl?’
Ed rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. ‘Four, actually.’
Marnie let out a squeak and flung her arms around Ed’s waist. ‘It’s serious ! Oh, Eddie, I’m so pleased for you!’
Ed wrestled himself free of her limpet-like embrace. ‘It is not serious. She happens to have tickets to a show tonight that I quite like the idea of seeing.’
‘Is he talking about the show or Carly?’ I smirked at Marnie.
‘You like her…’ Marnie said, singsong style, poking a finger in his ribs.
‘Stop it.’
‘Four dates with the same girl? That’s practically an engagement,’ I laughed. ‘Should we buy our hats now? I can recommend a great florist for the ceremony.’
Ed let out a groan and grabbed his jacket from behind the workroom door. ‘Whatever. You two have a great time tonight doing your girl stuff, OK?’
He left, shaking his head, as Marnie began singing a gutsy rendition of Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’.
It was only when Marnie and I were browsing Victoria’s Vintage in SoHo later that afternoon, that I realised how much I neededa ‘girly’ evening. Work had been pretty intense at Kowalski’s lately, with an unexpected rush of small orders that all seemed to be needed on the same days and I had become so wrapped up in the sheer volume of day-to-day stuff at the store that I had neglected my own free time.
‘Isn’t this fun?’ Marnie said, appearing from behind a crowded clothes-rail with a vivid sixties tie-dyed T-shirt.
‘It’s bright,’ I smiled.
‘I don’t mean this,’ Marnie frowned, waving the garment dismissively, ‘although it is rather fabulous. I mean us hanging out.’
‘Yes, it’s great. Just what I needed. So are you buying that?’
Marnie checked the price tag and her face fell. ‘I would be if I didn’t have to pay my rent this month,’ she replied, hanging the T-shirt back on the rail and stroking it wistfully. ‘Shall we go and get something to eat?’
I nodded. ‘There’s a Biba blouse I liked over there I think I’m going to buy. I’ll meet you outside, OK?’
Five minutes later we had crossed the street to Ellen’s, a small cosy restaurant much beloved by the local art fraternity. More a laid-back, all-hours coffee shop than a highclass eaterie, Ellen’s was a lazy hum of activity; its expansive, well-worn couches littered with chatting, colourfully-attired customers making the interior look as if a shabby rainbow had exploded and strewn its fragments haphazardly across the room. It was no wonder this was one of Marnie’s favourite haunts—there weren’t many places in New York where she could ‘blend in’, but Ellen’s was a notable exception. Surreal and abstract paintings on huge canvases adorned the bare brick walls and a jazz trio nodded sleepily in one corner. We found a table with mismatched dark wood chairs by the window and sat down.
‘I love it here,’ said Marnie as we perused the hand-drawn menu. ‘My art class used to come here all the time last semester.’
‘I like it,’ I smiled. ‘I wonder how Ed’s getting on.’
Marnie surveyed me quizzically. ‘Now why in the world would you say
‘It’s a girl thing, Steinmann. You’re not invited,’ Marnie grinned.
‘So, how come you’re skiving off early?’ I asked him.
Ed lifted his chin and attempted to look aloof, the success of this severely compromised by the mischief dancing in his blue eyes. ‘Can’t tell you. It’s a boy thing, Duncan.’
‘So what’s her name?’
Sly humour began to pull up one corner of his mouth. ‘Carly, if you must know.’
‘Hang on, isn’t this the same Carly you saw last Saturday night?’
Ed looked decidedly sheepish. ‘It might be.’
Marnie’s eyes widened. ‘Wait—you saw Carly on Wednesday as well, didn’t you?’
A scarlet blush slowly creeping up Ed’s neck was giving the game away. ‘It’s…possible…’
I whistled. ‘Three dates with the same girl?’
Ed rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. ‘Four, actually.’
Marnie let out a squeak and flung her arms around Ed’s waist. ‘It’s serious ! Oh, Eddie, I’m so pleased for you!’
Ed wrestled himself free of her limpet-like embrace. ‘It is not serious. She happens to have tickets to a show tonight that I quite like the idea of seeing.’
‘Is he talking about the show or Carly?’ I smirked at Marnie.
‘You like her…’ Marnie said, singsong style, poking a finger in his ribs.
‘Stop it.’
‘Four dates with the same girl? That’s practically an engagement,’ I laughed. ‘Should we buy our hats now? I can recommend a great florist for the ceremony.’
Ed let out a groan and grabbed his jacket from behind the workroom door. ‘Whatever. You two have a great time tonight doing your girl stuff, OK?’
He left, shaking his head, as Marnie began singing a gutsy rendition of Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’.
It was only when Marnie and I were browsing Victoria’s Vintage in SoHo later that afternoon, that I realised how much I neededa ‘girly’ evening. Work had been pretty intense at Kowalski’s lately, with an unexpected rush of small orders that all seemed to be needed on the same days and I had become so wrapped up in the sheer volume of day-to-day stuff at the store that I had neglected my own free time.
‘Isn’t this fun?’ Marnie said, appearing from behind a crowded clothes-rail with a vivid sixties tie-dyed T-shirt.
‘It’s bright,’ I smiled.
‘I don’t mean this,’ Marnie frowned, waving the garment dismissively, ‘although it is rather fabulous. I mean us hanging out.’
‘Yes, it’s great. Just what I needed. So are you buying that?’
Marnie checked the price tag and her face fell. ‘I would be if I didn’t have to pay my rent this month,’ she replied, hanging the T-shirt back on the rail and stroking it wistfully. ‘Shall we go and get something to eat?’
I nodded. ‘There’s a Biba blouse I liked over there I think I’m going to buy. I’ll meet you outside, OK?’
Five minutes later we had crossed the street to Ellen’s, a small cosy restaurant much beloved by the local art fraternity. More a laid-back, all-hours coffee shop than a highclass eaterie, Ellen’s was a lazy hum of activity; its expansive, well-worn couches littered with chatting, colourfully-attired customers making the interior look as if a shabby rainbow had exploded and strewn its fragments haphazardly across the room. It was no wonder this was one of Marnie’s favourite haunts—there weren’t many places in New York where she could ‘blend in’, but Ellen’s was a notable exception. Surreal and abstract paintings on huge canvases adorned the bare brick walls and a jazz trio nodded sleepily in one corner. We found a table with mismatched dark wood chairs by the window and sat down.
‘I love it here,’ said Marnie as we perused the hand-drawn menu. ‘My art class used to come here all the time last semester.’
‘I like it,’ I smiled. ‘I wonder how Ed’s getting on.’
Marnie surveyed me quizzically. ‘Now why in the world would you say
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