The Year of Living Famously by Laura Caldwell Page A

to his bike and was gone.
    I sat down on the front steps. A crisp wind whipped my hair. For some reason, my heart was pounding. I pulled the tab to open the envelope. Inside was a sheet of thick paper.Petal-soft yellow instead of age-old like those in Emmie’s candy tins.
    Kyra. The telegram is not dead. I thought you should have your own, just like Emmie.
    This is not a one-off. If you like, I will send you a telegram every week for the rest of time. But instead, why not come to L. A.? Our bed misses you and I am not the same anymore without you around. I’m not talking about a visit. Will you move in with me? I love you.
    Declan
    Margaux and I played phone tag for days. I couldn’t bear to break the news on voice mail.
    I did reach my model friend, Darcy. “You’re leaving the city?” she said incredulously, as if I were moving to one of the outer rings of Jupiter.
    I called Bobby, who whooped and yelled. “Finally!” he said. “You’re coming to the right coast. God, it’s going to be amazing!”
    When I did get ahold of Margaux, she had a coughing fit on the phone.
    â€œAre you smoking again?” I said.
    â€œAs if that’s important!” She choked some more. “L. A.? Are you fucking kidding me?”
    â€œYou know, I could use a little support here.”
    â€œ I’m the one who needs support. You’re leaving me alone with the mommies!”
    â€œYou’ll come visit me,” I said.
    I prayed she would. I prayed anyone would visit me. Emmie rarely left Manhattan anymore, except to go to her house in Nantucket, and so the possibility of getting her to travel to the West Coast was slim. It had been twenty-fourhours since I’d called Declan and sang, “Yes, yes, yes!” in a gleeful voice, but since that time, I’d been plagued by nagging thoughts—I would have no girlfriends, I would have no job, I didn’t even know how to drive.
    I reminded myself that most of the time I communicated with my friends by phone or e-mail, and that wouldn’t change. I had no real job in Manhattan that would make it hard to leave. I could continue working on my designs in L. A., and I could always look for freelance or temp jobs there. And Dec promised to teach me how to drive, although this thought irrationally terrified me. I was fine in the back of a cab, but operating an enormous vehicle (they all seemed enormous to me) was conceptually like manning an F-16 fighter jet.
    â€œI guess I do like L. A.,” Margaux said, “and I’m supposed to take a deposition there in six months or so. But hey, you’ll probably be back by then anyway.”
    â€œExcuse me?” I said. “Could you be less helpful?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Kyr, but you know…”
    â€œNo, I don’t know.”
    â€œIt’s just that you barely know the guy, and you’re moving across the country. It’s like when you had only known Steven for so long and then you were with him every second of the day.”
    â€œDeclan is not like Steven.”
    â€œOf course not.” She coughed again. “I’m sorry. I’m just being a bitch because I don’t want you to go. I can’t believe you’re leaving New York.”
    I looked out my window, at the cabs rumbling down 95 th . I thought of Central Park and Emmie’s salons. I thought of my spot in the Bryant Park Library where I liked to sketch. I thought of lunches with the girls in Gramercy Park and bottles of wine at 92, my favorite neighborhood place. I could barely believe I was leaving, either. But I knew Declan was different than my ex, Steven. I knew, somewhere deep inside, that Declan was the man. He was it. And so, if I had to spend my life in L. A. to be with him, if I had to leave New York, I would do it.
    Â 
    I took Emmie out to dinner to tell her I was moving. In the past, she’d always had a sprightly walk, a lively air about her, even