with my Amex so I can get the points. Does everyone want to just Venmo me?”
Imogen handed over the bill. “Do I want to what? I have cash. I’ll give you a hundred.”
“It would be so much easier if you could Venmo me,” Perry insisted. Not for the first time that day, Imogen didn’t understand the verb coming out of someone’s mouth. She worried for a moment that she was acquiring a rare neurological disease, the kind that made you forget the meanings of simple things you had known for years.
“It’s an app,” Perry said. “Venmo. It transfers the money right from your bank account to my bank account.”
“But I could also just give you money,” Imogen said plainly. Perry looked at the hundred-dollar bill like it had a disease.
“I hate carrying cash. This is soooooo much easier.”
“It really does seem easier if I just hand you actual money,” Imogen said, too tired to argue with the girl, practically forcing the hundred-dollar bill into her hand.
Ashley grabbed the hundred from Imogen and gave Perry a look. “I’ll Venmo from my account. It can be glitchy sometimes. Share a cab with me?”
They were finally able to hail a taxi after walking a block over toMadison Avenue. “Do you mind just dropping me on the east side?” Ashley smiled generously before she began furiously moving her thumbs on the keyboard of her iPhone. Imogen nodded and turned her eyes to her own device as the cabbie clicked the meter on. Alex relieved Tilly, the nanny, an hour ago and was waiting in bed for her; his emails had a tinge of attitude about her not being home when he had obviously made an effort to see her before going to sleep.
Imogen felt uncomfortable sitting in silence. “What are you working on?” she asked Ashley.
She was startled by the small talk. “Oh, I’m not working now. I’ll work more when I get home, of course. I was just doing Seamless to make sure my Thai food arrives right when I walk in the door.” Imogen nodded.
Perhaps it was the wine that made Imogen more curious about the persistent typing.
“Are you still ordering food?”
Ashley laughed. “No. Now I am ordering men. I’m on my Fixd.”
“Your what?”
“Fixd. It takes your Facebook and Twitter and Instagram friends and then matches you up with the hottest ones based on location and key words in your captions, tweets and profiles to find men you would be compatible with who are within a one-mile radius.
“I mean, I’m not looking for one right now.” Ashley blushed. “I’m not that kind of Fixd person. I don’t order men to my door. I’m just kind of looking for someone to maybe hang out with this weekend.”
“Well, that seems convenient” was all Imogen could think to say. Ashley shrugged as the cab pulled to a stop to let her out. “You go on a lot of dates…but you know it really weighs on the soul when you have to, like, break up with one or two guys via text every week.” They awkwardly exchanged a fashionable kiss on each cheek as Ashley got out of the taxi to the promise of pad Thai and perhaps a weekend date.
Imogen was no stranger to late nights. Her and Alex’s busy professional lives demanded they attend a certain number of social events a week, from cocktail parties to benefits to impromptu dinners with investors and advertisers on her end and attorneys and politicians onAlex’s. But somehow this evening exhausted her. The girls from the office had this limitless energy, fueled no doubt partly by the slim blue tablets of Adderall many of them had on hand.
Her stomach tightened and from Forty-Second Street to Fourteenth she allowed herself twenty-eight blocks of self-pity. What the hell was she doing? As if he knew she was burrowing into a den of despair, the only person she wanted to talk to at that very moment rang her cell phone.
“Ciao, bella.”
“Ciao, bello.”
Four years ago, Massimo Frazzano, then a fashion editor at
Moda
magazine and one of Imogen’s former interns, had just
Imogen handed over the bill. “Do I want to what? I have cash. I’ll give you a hundred.”
“It would be so much easier if you could Venmo me,” Perry insisted. Not for the first time that day, Imogen didn’t understand the verb coming out of someone’s mouth. She worried for a moment that she was acquiring a rare neurological disease, the kind that made you forget the meanings of simple things you had known for years.
“It’s an app,” Perry said. “Venmo. It transfers the money right from your bank account to my bank account.”
“But I could also just give you money,” Imogen said plainly. Perry looked at the hundred-dollar bill like it had a disease.
“I hate carrying cash. This is soooooo much easier.”
“It really does seem easier if I just hand you actual money,” Imogen said, too tired to argue with the girl, practically forcing the hundred-dollar bill into her hand.
Ashley grabbed the hundred from Imogen and gave Perry a look. “I’ll Venmo from my account. It can be glitchy sometimes. Share a cab with me?”
They were finally able to hail a taxi after walking a block over toMadison Avenue. “Do you mind just dropping me on the east side?” Ashley smiled generously before she began furiously moving her thumbs on the keyboard of her iPhone. Imogen nodded and turned her eyes to her own device as the cabbie clicked the meter on. Alex relieved Tilly, the nanny, an hour ago and was waiting in bed for her; his emails had a tinge of attitude about her not being home when he had obviously made an effort to see her before going to sleep.
Imogen felt uncomfortable sitting in silence. “What are you working on?” she asked Ashley.
She was startled by the small talk. “Oh, I’m not working now. I’ll work more when I get home, of course. I was just doing Seamless to make sure my Thai food arrives right when I walk in the door.” Imogen nodded.
Perhaps it was the wine that made Imogen more curious about the persistent typing.
“Are you still ordering food?”
Ashley laughed. “No. Now I am ordering men. I’m on my Fixd.”
“Your what?”
“Fixd. It takes your Facebook and Twitter and Instagram friends and then matches you up with the hottest ones based on location and key words in your captions, tweets and profiles to find men you would be compatible with who are within a one-mile radius.
“I mean, I’m not looking for one right now.” Ashley blushed. “I’m not that kind of Fixd person. I don’t order men to my door. I’m just kind of looking for someone to maybe hang out with this weekend.”
“Well, that seems convenient” was all Imogen could think to say. Ashley shrugged as the cab pulled to a stop to let her out. “You go on a lot of dates…but you know it really weighs on the soul when you have to, like, break up with one or two guys via text every week.” They awkwardly exchanged a fashionable kiss on each cheek as Ashley got out of the taxi to the promise of pad Thai and perhaps a weekend date.
Imogen was no stranger to late nights. Her and Alex’s busy professional lives demanded they attend a certain number of social events a week, from cocktail parties to benefits to impromptu dinners with investors and advertisers on her end and attorneys and politicians onAlex’s. But somehow this evening exhausted her. The girls from the office had this limitless energy, fueled no doubt partly by the slim blue tablets of Adderall many of them had on hand.
Her stomach tightened and from Forty-Second Street to Fourteenth she allowed herself twenty-eight blocks of self-pity. What the hell was she doing? As if he knew she was burrowing into a den of despair, the only person she wanted to talk to at that very moment rang her cell phone.
“Ciao, bella.”
“Ciao, bello.”
Four years ago, Massimo Frazzano, then a fashion editor at
Moda
magazine and one of Imogen’s former interns, had just
Similar Books
