She turned to Milo, who was kissing a woman on both cheeks. ‘Hello, gorgeous!’ beamed the woman, who was dressed head-to-toe in fuchsia leather. It was either a dress or a matching top and skirt; it was hard to tell. Her forehead was immaculately smooth, make-up professionally applied. She could have been twenty-three or forty-three. Rose stood awkwardly by Milo’s side as this woman proceeded to talk about her friend’s fashion brand and how she was just dying to get Milo into her designs and would he please wear something to one of his red carpet events even if it was just a pair of socks. Milo smiled and said ‘Sure’ in the way someone does when a distant relative asks you to get their daughter work experience. Then she started asking him about someone called Lila. This woman’s eyes were fixed on him, not flinching onto Rose once. Milo didn’t introduce her.
Just as they were getting onto talking about Lila’s latest stint in rehab, another person bounded up to Milo.
‘All right, mate?!’ belched this man in his mid-forties, hitting Milo on his back in a way that made his body jolt forward a little.
This would be a good time to check out the cheese, Rose decided, walking away from the group around Milo that was gradually increasing in numbers.
The display went from one end of the room to the other and was piled up high with Brie, Camembert, Gouda and other trimmings you’d find at a Christmas buffet: grapes, crackers with rosemary and lots of the little posh breadsticks they serve in restaurants. Everything was meticulously placed, arranged to be photographed rather than consumed. Slowly, Rose cut a very small piece off each cheese and deposited it on a plate, turning around after every slice to see if she was being watched. She wasn’t.
Milo, who had not seemed to realise Rose had left his side – or if he had, didn’t seem to care – was now flanked by several people. It was tempting to leave. But then she’d have come here for nothing. There had to be some sort of story from tonight to relay to Luce or Minnie, even if it was just ‘I went to a party and saw a few drunk actors from afar’. The story could not be: ‘I went to a party, ate some free cheese that may or may not have been display-only, and then went home and finished Season 5 of America’s Next Top Model.’
Once she’d consumed all the cheese on her plate, Rose looked around, looking for somewhere to put herself. Everyone seemed engaged in their own conversations; to interject would be to intrude. It was a good moment to find a bathroom. The ladies’ toilet was tucked behind a crimson velvet curtain in one corner of the room. Unveiling the curtain revealed a small queue, including a famous model now standing right in front of Rose, leaning on the door into the actual bathroom, staring at her phone and tapping it quickly with one finger. She was wearing a purple sequin strapless gown that hugged her narrow hips; her hair was glossy. She looked much thinner than in any of the editorials Rose had seen in MODE. A younger-looking woman stumbled out of the toilet, knocking into the model. ‘Oh m-my gosh, I’m so sorry,’ she slurred in a Sloaney accent, looking up at the model. ‘Hi! Oh, goodness, I’m such a fan,’ she said, curling her hair around her ears, eyes wide.
‘Thank you, that’s kind,’ the model replied in an American accent, eyes still glued to her screen. The drunk girl ignored the cue and went on talking. She was here tonight with a family friend who works at MODE and had just broken up with her boyfriend. She had never been to anything like this before because she was an accountant and my God wasn’t it cool because she got to meet people like her and could she tell her a secret? Without waiting for a response, the girl leaned over to whisper something. The model laughed. ‘Well, he sounds like an ass,’ she said, eyes returning to her phone.
Delighted, the girl launched into a diatribe against men in general, repeating the words ‘trash’ and ‘sociopathic’ at least twice. ‘Honestly, it’s just such a relief to talk to someone who really gets it because I feel like all my friends are coupled off and I just really need more people like you in my life, so I’m just really relieved we met. I’m a Leo and I know you’re an Aries so we’re very compatible. What’s your moon and rising?’
The model, who had managed to look up from her phone just once without the girl noticing, finally rolled her eyes and said: ‘Look, babe, I’m really sorry about the break-up. Don’t get back with your ex. I have to use the toilet now. Best of luck with everything.’
The girl smiled. ‘Okay! Thanks so much!’ she said, waving. As the bathroom door closed, the girl turned to Rose: ‘What a bitch, right?’ she said. ‘I hate it when celebrities are so entitled.’
Rose smiled politely and watched as the drunk girl tottered off into the night to find another audience.
Rose couldn’t find Milo when she came out of the bathroom. She half-recognised a singer in the corner whose music often played on the office radio. But she seemed to be deep in conversation with another musician Rose recognised from an indie band that Intel had recently profiled. She did a lap around the party, hoping to find someone at Firehouse or an approachable group to speak to. She found neither and headed to the bar.
In Rose’s head, a woman sitting alone at a bar was the start of something. An invitation even, for someone to start talking to her about something deeply meaningful, like the breakthroughs they’d had in therapy, or the foundations of Buddhism. It was a way of signalling your desire for human connection, even if there was really only one human you wanted to connect to. A way of telling the world you were confident and cool. That was the hope, anyway, as opposed to a clear sign you didn’t fit in and sought the solace of hard liquor.
The bar was busy enough that nobody seemed to notice Rose was on her own. It took three negronis for her to decide it was her favourite cocktail, a decision that made her feel suitably sophisticated. She had always wanted to be the kind of woman that had a go-to cocktail. At least she had achieved something that evening. Although, sitting there quietly swirling the bitter taste of Campari in her mouth and listening to the sounds of partygoers around her, she acquired enough material for at least three feature films. Everyone had a story to tell. And they were all telling it loudly and right next to Rose. There was an agent complaining about her client who was sleeping with the director of her latest film – and how it was very awkward because the director was actually married to the producer. There was the fashion designer asking her friend what people wear to pubs because she wanted to ‘seem relatively normal’ to the guy who had asked her on a date. Then there was the couple who famously starred together in a hit HBO TV show who were having an argument about which of them had broken the heating in the hot tub in their bedroom. Rose resolved it was him and not her because all she had done was use a sex toy in there while he had accidentally filled it with bleach on a recent acid trip. His excuse was that he thought it was a giant toilet that needed cleaning.
Rose ordered her fourth negroni when she noticed Polly Jenkins sidling up beside her, trying to get the barman’s attention. Rose silently observed her, hoping for a moment of eye contact that she could use to initiate conversation. Polly didn’t look at Rose. Instead, her eyes roved over and around her head in a way that seemed intentionally rude, as she waited for the barman to bring her the two glasses of champagne she’d asked for. Normally, Rose would have taken the hint and let it slide. But there’s only so many negronis you can drink until integrity goes out the window.
‘I love your dress,’ she said, looking directly at Polly’s eyes, which were flaked with white eyeshadow.
Polly remained in position, her eyes still roving. There was no way she hadn’t heard her.
‘I love your dress!’ Rose shouted.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Polly at no one in particular.
‘Sorry. Where’s it from?’
‘Prada.’
‘I love it. Really great choice. Are you having a fun night?’
Polly was actually looking at Rose now, her eyes scanning her scrupulously from the hair down. Rose tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled in the hope of unearthing some sort of humanity.
‘Do you have any gear?’ Polly asked her.
‘Oh, erm. No, I don’t. Sorry. I’m a big fan of your podcast.’
‘Thank you.’ Polly was fidgeting now, her fingers quickly climbing over one another as she looked around for something or someone. It struck Rose that she hadn’t seen any of the other ‘Its’ at the afterparty.
‘Who are you here with?’ she asked.
‘Just a few friends. Where’s my champagne?’ She was leaning over the bar now, trying to catch the barman’s eye to no avail.
‘Do you want this?’ Rose asked, sliding her negroni over to Polly.
‘No, thank you. Coloured alcohol makes me nauseous.’
‘Yeah, same. Gross,’ said Rose, feeling her face squint far more than was appropriate or necessary as she pulled her negroni back with such force it tumbled over, clattering into something behind the bar. ‘So, are you recording any new episodes soon?’
Polly ignored this as the barman returned with two glasses of champagne.
‘About time,’ she tutted.
‘Lovely to meet you!’ Rose attempted.
Polly looked at Rose and smiled. ‘How did you get in here?’
Rose said nothing and watched as Polly’s smile turned into a giggle as she turned and walked back into the party.
This was definitely the moment to leave. But the will to do so required energy that had begun to evaporate somewhere around her second negroni. She sunk deeper into the leather stool, her body feeling heavier by the minute.
It was not clear exactly when, but at some point she felt someone tap her on the shoulder.
‘Haven’t seen you all night,’ the voice said in her ear. This made her jump.
