Lilah's List. Robyn Amos
adventure.”
Lilah gasped. That was a low blow. And it hit its mark. She’d been a good girl. She’d played by the rules. It hadn’t made her happy.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been utterly content. Her wedding day? College? She’d gotten so used to the status quo that she didn’t even challenge herself anymore.
Her gaze fell back on The List. Maybe she needed to practice a random act of kindness. Maybe she needed to drink champagne straight from the bottle. She definitely needed to climb to the top of the Statue of Liberty and ice skate in Rockefeller Center. She’d promised her best friend that they’d do those things together.
“Okay, I’m in.”
Over the next week Angie and Lilah talked nearly every day working out the arrangements for her visit. Lilah ended up taking off the entire two weeks before her birthday. After all, she was overdue for a vacation, and she’d need all the time she could get to work her way through The List. She’d booked a first-class flight—scratch that off The List—from D.C. to New York Friday morning.
Angie tapped into the grapevine and discovered that Reggie did, in fact, live in Manhattan. According to Reggie’s bass player’s wife’s hairdresser, he was attending a private party in the Flatiron District Friday night.
“The party’s at some trendy club called Duvet,” Angie informed her the night before. “I ran a Google search and apparently they serve you food and cocktails on these enormous cushion-lined beds.”
“Let’s see—private party, Friday night, trendy club. Sounds like it’ll be hard to get into. We could be waiting outside in the cold for hours—if they let us in at all.”
“Oh, we’ll get in. We have to.”
“And why is that?”
“Because crash a party is on your list.”
Chapter 2
Lilah’s List Blog Entry
October 27, 2007
I made out with a stranger last night. Yes, me, the girl who wears rubber gloves to carry trash cans to the curb, had my lips and tongue completely interlocked with a man I barely know. It’s true, I’ve been in New York one day, and I’ve already succumbed to the debauchery. I wasn’t fazed by the white-knuckle flight, the cab driver with a death wish or the cranky Jamaican bouncer. But put me in a crowded room with a bed that sleeps sixteen and a hot guy, and I completely lose my cool. But before you book me a ticket on the next train to Skankytown, let me explain.
When she’d boarded the plane for New York that morning, Lilah had felt daring. Her blood had pumped with excitement. Whether or not she returned with a tattoo, a designer dress or a date with a celebrity didn’t matter. For two weeks she was going to have fun, spend some much-needed time with her best friend, and live on the edge.
She’d headed for her first-class window seat only to find a gentleman already occupying it. Eventually the stewardess was able to sort out the mixup, but that didn’t keep Lilah from feeling conspicuously like a fraud.
To make matters worse, the plane sat on the tarmac for forty-five minutes while some unexplained mechanical trouble was investigated. Thank goodness the flight was only an hour long, because Lilah white-knuckled it the entire way. So much for first-class—it was lost in a blur of fear and mimosas.
After struggling with her bags and arguing with the taxi driver for trying to make a daring pass into oncoming traffic that had nearly killed them, Lilah finally arrived at the Casablanca Hotel. It was a self-proclaimed oasis in the heart of Times Square. She chose the place because Casablanca was one of her favorite movies. And watching it was one of the first things she was able to cross off The List.
She’d had romantic fantasies of sitting in front of the fireplace in Rick’s Café and listening to “As Time Goes By” on her iPod. Unfortunately she didn’t even take the time to soak in the vibrantly colored Moroccan decor. Instead she flopped down on the king-size bed and slept like the dead all afternoon.
Lilah was just returning to a groggy consciousness when Angie began pounding on her door early that evening. “Take it easy,” Lilah said, opening the door, heedless of her nap-mussed hair and wrinkled T-shirt and jeans.
Angie stood in the doorway, hand on hip, as she looked Lilah up and down. She clicked her tongue. “It’s just as I suspected. So much to do and so little time.”
Lilah blinked at her friend. “I love you, too.”
Then she was swept off her feet as the taller woman lifted her into a bear hug. “I’m so happy you’re finally here. We’re going to have so much fun.”
Angie reached into the hallway for the suitcase she’d brought along, and bounded into the room, filling it with her energy. But Lilah was feeling the opposite of energetic. Her days of staying up late and going out were long in her past. If the truth were told, she could get much more excited about room service and a movie rental than the agenda Angie was laying out for them.
“We have to get to Duvet early, otherwise we’ll never get past the door. But don’t worry, I have a fool-proof plan to get us in.”
“Great,” Lilah said, falling back on the tousled bed sheets.
“Have you been sleeping all day?” It was an accusation.
“Yup,” she answered without remorse. “I could barely sleep last night thinking about this trip. You know, the more I think about The List, the more impossible it seems.”
Angie stopped rummaging through the closet to stare at her. “Since when do we let the impossible stand in our way? Two days before senior prom, when we were doomed to being each other’s dates, it was your idea to storm the University of Maryland campus and ask every cute guy we saw to the prom. You had every girl at Richard Montgomery High School wondering how two nobodies scored dates with hot college boys.”
“Yeah,” Lilah said absently.
“You used to be fearless, remember? You could talk anyone into anything. What happened to you?”
When Lilah looked back on some of the stunts she and Angie had pulled in their youth, it blew her mind. She couldn’t imagine approaching situations with the same reckless abandon she’d once had.
Lilah looked at Angie and shrugged. “What happened to me? I grew up.”
After a few moments of awkward silence, Angie turned her attention back to Lilah’s closet and began throwing her clothes around the room.
“None of these clothes are acceptable for tonight’s activities, and there’s no time for shopping.” Angie walked over to her suitcase and opened it up. “Fortunately for you, I came prepared. It’s an original creation and it will look stunning on you.”
It was a burnt-orange swirly-print cocktail dress with a complicated weaving of spaghetti straps across the back. It stopped just above Lilah’s knees with dainty flair. Lilah studied herself in the mirror. The dress was beautiful, if a bit bold for her taste.
“Good Lord, are those the only shoes you have?” Angie turned up her nose at Lilah’s functional, decidedly nondesigner black pumps.
“I’m afraid so, unless you think my pink Timberlands would work with this look.”
“I guess the pumps are going to have to do. I don’t know how you balance on those tiny pin-pricks you call feet, anyway,” she said with a comical glare that had the two of them bursting into giggles. Angie’s feet were two sizes bigger than Lilah’s—and Angie all but hated her for it.
Lilah piled her light brown hair atop her head in one of those sloppy knots she’d seen in magazines. She was going for an air of elegant maturity. She silently prayed she didn’t look the way she felt—like a little girl playing dress-up.
Physically, Lilah hadn’t