Prologue REPUTATIONS CAN BE a nightmare to maintain. New York''s inhabitants should know. For decades, they had lived in a city that supposedly never slept, an expectation that requires perpetual exhaustion. Not every neighborhood complied in upholding this image. On a Wednesday night just past two a.m., the Upper West Side residents along a stretch of Amsterdam Avenue were all deep into their Ambien dreams. A plant shop and a Thai joint and a liquor store were unlit.
The bright pink neon sign for a dive bar was the only marker of the city''s wired status. Though no traditionalist, Lily was as wide awake as she had ever been. She stood across from a church on Amsterdam Avenue and stared resolutely at her phone''s screen. She willed the rideshare car she had requested to move a little bit faster. Lily hadn''t planned to leave the apart ment at this hour; she should have been in bed like her fellow Upper West Siders. Tomorrow was an important day. But an overwhelming restlessness had built in the pit of her stomach for weeks, months; if she was honest, for over a year. This desire-- this need-- had compelled her out of her pajamas and into a pair of jeans, a camisole, dirty white sneakers, and a hooded parka to shield her from the November cold.
This need had wrested control of her fingers, tapped out the address into the rideshare phone app. And it had instructed her to slip down the many flights of stairs to her building''s front door. Never before had Lily been so excited to dress for an evening out. This was the night that would mark Lily''s future days as indelibly After. Hours earlier, Lily had sat, cocooned in a blanket in the armpit of her sofa, and contemplated her notepad, cluttered with story pitches, display copy ideas, and content rubrics. Her pen had hovered over the page, waiting for another spark. Her eyes had drifted over to her laptop screen, to the pages and pages of text she had dreamed up from the raw material of her imagination. This was where her mind yearned to be.
Lily had shoved the pen and notepad aside and drawn her laptop in closer. Its keys had click clacked with the vigor of her efforts. She had unwrapped herself from the confines of her blanket and tossed that out of the way, too. For months, Lily had subjugated her instincts to B''s directives. Lily had shushed her intrinsic reticence, the better to manifest B''s signature self assertion. She had done all that B had commanded. In the process, Lily had watched the pointer of her inner compass spin frantically, as though possessed, until it threatened to snap off in the whirling vortex of B''s special storm. After so many sacrifices in the name of s elf actualization, Lily had finally reached a decision.
Her next chapter was six miles of dark streets away. She knew the exact words that would usher in the life that was hers to make. Lily''s fingers had flown across her keyboard. The page count on the document had grown and grown. With each additional paragraph, Lily''s posture had lengthened. A brisk energy had coursed through her arms and legs. When she had determined that she was finished, via an inner mechanism whose logic made sense only to her, she had closed her laptop and bounded toward her closet. Outside, the dark night beckoned her to a pivotal choice.
A tremor ran down Lily''s torso as a black car approached her street corner. The license plate matched the one listed in the app, so she opened the door and leaned in. "Who are you picking up?" she asked the young guy--the app claimed his name was Chad-- seated behind the wheel. "Lily," he replied, and she got in. The car reeked of lemonscented disinfectant; the leather seats were immaculate. A warmth spread through Lily''s chest and her pulse quick ened in the curve of her neck. "Mind if I open the window?" she asked. "Go for it," Chad replied.
Lily stared out the window as the car sped toward its downtown destination, few obstacles in its path on the gaping streets. Chad headed along NinetySixth Street to the West Side Highway, a clogged artery during the daytime. Now theirs was an unobstructed vehicular endeavor, as though the barriers to Lily''s future happiness had parted with the tap of a finger. The Hudson River and New Jersey''s shore rushed by in a blur. A tingling buzz filled Lily''s stomach and lungs and head. She un crossed her legs and planted her feet firmly on the car''s carpeted floor. The mere possibility that B had sensed her movement through some telepathic intervention nudged Lily to check her silent phone, in the pocket of her parka, for any notifications. Lily ignored this impulse.
Patiently, she waited for the real deal. Lily could remember a time before B, a time when a phone was a means of communication instead of a chasm of unreciprocated attention. When a dinner with a friend was a chance to catch up, not a dis traction from the endless wait for a reply. When her waking hours were for charting her future course, not for plotting ways to follow someone else''s path. B had been in charge all along. And she had no compunctions about keeping Lily at arm''s length, to a degree that made Lily question why B bothered with her at all. In fact, B had informed Lily, early in their text correspondence, of the motive behind her digital outreach. "I love to mentor young women," she had typed, after doling out a nugget of empowering advice.
"It''s a passion." Which, of course, had made Lily wonder how many other young women B was simultaneously mentoring. How widespread her self described passion ran. And then a few months of tough l ove pep talks had swept away these concerns before Lily pondered, again, why a woman of B''s stature would have chosen Lily as a receptacle for her wis dom. Squeeze and release. Squeeze and release. The pressure valve turns of their rapport could have put a metronome out of business. Lily had tried to explain her strange pull toward B to her best friends and even to herself.
Everyone else saw B''s poise and power. They watched her navigate boardrooms and public appearances with preternatural ease. They charted her ascension to the highest ranks of corporate America as an organic progression. Lily snuck a peek behind the velvet curtain. She had unfettered access to someone most people could only reach through a magazine or a screen. Well, to be fair, Lily went through a screen, too, but her screen was different; her screen was more trans parent than everyone else''s. Her view was closer. And tonight, she was going to break down any remaining walls.
Chad exited the West Side Highway at Canal Street and headed southeast toward Tribeca. He made a few circuitous turns around the neighborhood''s uninhabited streets before he stopped on Duane Street in front of an industrial building with a castiron façade. "This is you," he said. "Thanks," said Lily. "You take care," said Chad. "Yeah, be well," said Lily, and shut the door behind her. She examined the illuminated panel of buzzers for each of the building''s apartments. Lily pressed the bell for the penthouse and stepped back a few feet.
If she stood too close it would telegraph her overeagerness. "Hello?" came a voice from the buzzer''s speaker. "Who''s there?" "It''s me. Lily," said Lily. "Lily?" came the voice. "What the fuck are you doing here? Are you crazy?" "Maybe. I don''t know. Are you really that surprised?" A pause.
Lily waited for B to say something. She could feel B plot her next move. Lily wasn''t a natural gambler; she had never had a taste for putting it all on the line. She was always methodical in her quest for what she wanted. She believed in legwork and progressions, not divine windfalls. But it was no longer good enough to wish for an ideal hand and let the cards steer her in whichever direction they chose. She had waited for the perfect moment to place her bet, to unleash the full force of her ideas and desires on the right person, the right job, the right circumstances for success. She had bided her time, so as not to go bankrupt for the wrong opportunity.
But stasis carried its own set of risks. And now her stores of skills and experiences were on the verge of becoming meaning less, her coffers devalued by a change in currency. Whatever amount she had left demanded to be used. Go big or go home. Except home just wasn''t an option. The door buzzed. Lily pushed it in quickly. Once inside the elevator, she headed up to the penthouse.
Like many loft residences, B''s building had one apartment per floor. The elevator reached the penthouse and the door opened into B''s foyer. B loomed a few feet from the door, where she blocked most of the entrance. She wore loose men''s style pajama bottoms and a white Tshirt; her shoulderlength brown hair streaked with gray highlights was wrapped in a haphazard half loop. Her brow was furrowed. "I still don''t know what the fuck you''re doing here," she said by way of greeting. Lily stepped into the room. "I have something I need to tell you," she said.
"And you couldn''t just send me a text?" B asked. "It needs to happen in person," Lily said. B stared at her intently. The corners of her mouth tugged outward, in a grimace or a smile, it wasn''t clear. She moved to the side. "Come in." CHAPTER ONE One year and eight months earlier LILY AVOIDED HER own reflection in her office''s smudged bathroom mirror. No amount of artful eyeliner or strategic concealer or shim mery hig.