CHAPTER THREE
When Manda and Sierra were small, they had looked so much alike that Myrna used to dress them up in matching clothes, and people had thought they were twins. Then at age thirteen, Manda started to sprout upwards, leaving Sierra behind at 5’4”; but Sierra had been busy sprouting outwards, growing breasts and round little hips that made men think she was older than fourteen. Myrna once said if her daughters had been trees, Manda would have been the palm, tall and straight up and down, with a big head of hair that flopped over her small face. Sierra, on the other hand, was like a baobab tree, curvy, with ample hips, and a way of posing that drew all the attention away from everything around her.
Sierra reveled in attention. She gloried in it. She had always needed to be the brown girl in the ring. That was why she tended to gravitate to careers where she could be seen and heard, but she had never stayed in one profession for very long. For three years, she had found moderate success as a print model, then she dropped modeling for stage acting, and from there she decided to try her hand at singing. She was lucky enough to land a job as a backup singer for a rising band, but then soon dropped it to pursue a career as a dancer. Right before she left England, she had won a part in a musical, but hadn’t stayed to see it through.
Sierra was one of those people who approached life like a child in an amusement park, running from one colorful ride to the next, addicted to the head rush, the screaming, dizzying, heart-pounding thrill of risk. Manda on the other hand, normally approached life like a road trip, with a map beside her that outlined in black marker the route she planned to take, and a big bag in the back seat, full of emergency supplies that she might need for the journey. Her latest bag was like a red leather house, with a million compartments for all sorts of things one might need should they ever find themselves washed up on a desert island – things like a mini medical kit, a sewing kit, a tiny hammer and screwdrivers, umbrella, flashlight, toiletries and snacks. She always tried to be prepared.
Unlike Sierra. Why was she always late? Nearly an hour had passed since Manda had gotten off her flight at LaGuardia, and Sierra was still nowhere in sight. Manda searched the area in front of Virgin Airlines, and even took a look outside before dropping into a seat to wait. When she rang Sierra’s phone, the voice mail came on. Manda grunted. She was still feeling the sleepy after-effects of the travel sickness tablet she had taken right before boarding the flight. She reached into her bag and took out the bottle of water and biscuits the air stewards had handed out on the plane. She ate the biscuits and tried to make herself comfortable in the uncomfortable seat. People passed back and forth before her, but none of them was Sierra. Manda was just nodding off in her seat, when she was jolted awake by someone calling out her name. She opened her eyes to see a woman standing near a set of glass doors, waving her arms like she was trying to flag down a rescue plane.
“Manda,” the woman called out again. She was dressed in low-waisted white leather pants, a frilly black blouse that left her toned mid-riff showing, and black stiletto boots. On her head was a white cowboy hat with a rhinestone star on the front. She looked like someone who was used to having an entourage.
Was that Sierra? It didn’t quite look like her, but blimey, it was. Manda staggered to her feet as her sister approached her. She had changed a lot in two years. Sierra’s hair, once black and curly, was now a coppery color and hung straight down her back. She had also lost a bit of weight, and looked younger than ever as she strutted towards Manda.
“Manda, darling.” Sierra greeted her now with a big hug, and an “I Love New York” button that she deftly pinned to Manda’s jacket.
“Just to get you into the spirit of things,” she said, giving Manda a sparkling grin. Her teeth were different. They had been whitened, and the tiny space she used to have between the two front ones was gone. “You look…had a rough flight, did you? I forgot you hate flying. That’s all right, love, you’re on the ground now. I love your hair, of course. It’s cute, in a Side Show Bob sort of way. Do you know who that is? You do? I’m just joking, love. Oh, I’m so happy to see you.” Sierra alternately spun her, hugged her, and squeezed her in places as she spoke.
“I’m happy to see you too,” Manda said. She had managed to bind herself together quite well since Daniel’s departure two weeks earlier, what with all the rush and confusion of preparing for a long trip. All the packing and shopping, the storing of furniture, and the million little things a person had to do when putting their life on temporary hold. But now, with Sierra’s comforting, perfumed and jeweled arms around her, all the binding dropped off and a wave of emotions came over Manda. She fell apart in soggy, sobbing bits.
“Oh, Sierra, it was horrible, he just ran out the door and I tried to chase him in the car, but he…he got away from me, and now I’m all alone and hate him for what he did, but I want him back because it wasn’t his fault really…it was fate, see, so I know he still loves me, doesn’t he? Nobody can…” Her chest heaved. She could hardly breathe. “Love you one minute and not the next. Can they? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I know, I know, it was awful,” Sierra said soothingly. “But Manda get a hold of yourself. It’ll be all right, you’ll see. Forget about that awful Daniel. He’s not worth it.”
“No, that’s the problem,” Manda tried to explain. “He was worth it. He wasn’t like the other blokes. This was different. He was different.”
“Manda, he was typical,” Sierra said. “Or he’d still be with you, wouldn’t he? That’s what I tell my listeners. If you were meant for each other, you wouldn’t be calling in to ask why he left you.”
“But that’s just it, he didn’t really want to leave. I could see it in his eyes. Ouch,” Manda said, as she felt something tug her hair from behind. She put a hand to the back of her head and felt warm fingers and the hard plastic of a comb.
“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to untangle herself from Sierra’s grip.
“Sorry, love,” Sierra said, letting go of the comb. “Your hair’s all flattened down in the back. I was just trying to fluff it up a bit.”
Manda tugged at the comb, but it had gotten tangled in her hair and she had to work it out with her fingers. “Sierra, for goodness sake…” She handed the comb to Sierra and wiped her eyes. The airport’s harsh overhead lights were beginning to burn her eyes, and the cold air conditioning chilled her skin.
“Aw, look at you, you’re a right mess,” Sierra said. “Come on, love, let’s get you home and get you some tea. Or coffee if you’d rather. Everybody drinks coffee here. Joe, they call it, although no one seems to know why.”
Sierra grabbed a suitcase and wheeled it away, and Manda followed along quietly. Outside, Sierra waved to one of the black cars parked along the sidewalk nearby, and it moved forward and pulled up beside them. The driver put the suitcases in the trunk, as they climbed into the car. The air smelled of stale cigarettes that seemed to pre-date the no smoking sign stuck to the back of the driver’s seat.
“Don’t worry, New York will be good for you, I promise,” Sierra said when they had settled into the back seat. “By next week, we’ll have your spirits up and your knickers down.”
Manda smiled. Like Aunt Beryl, Sierra thought a good shag was the cure for the common heartache.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.” Sierra squeezed her arm.
“Me too,” Manda said, sniffling. She watched Sierra apply more lipstick and face powder to her already made-up face. Sierra had never worn that much makeup in England.
“Where did you get that hat?” Manda asked her.
“This?” Sierra pulled off the hat and held it out proudly. “It’s my Sistah Britain hat. I always wear it when I do my show.”
Since moving to New York, Sierra had built herself a moderately successful career in radio, and she already had her own show on FM-102 called Sistah Britain Speaks. It used to be a source of worry for their parents that Sierra never stuck to one thing for long. But so far she seemed to love this job.
They joined what seemed like a highway death race speeding towards Manhattan. At one point, they came so close to smashing into the back of a yellow taxi that had suddenly darted in front of them, Manda yelped.
“You’ll get used to it,” Sierra said. She hadn’t even flinched.
“I think I bruised my liver,” Manda said.
Sierra chattered on and on excitedly about New York and life in her East Village neighborhood. The clutter of Indian restaurants around 6th Street where suited-up waiters stood outside to ambush you as you passed; the pierced and tattooed crowd on St. Mark’s Place; and the NYU students who swarmed around nearby Union Square and made Sierra wish she had come to college in New York like she had originally planned, before their mother put her foot down.
Manda wondered, was it her imagination or had Sierra’s speaking voice vaulted up whole volumes? She had never been this loud in England. At times she was practically shouting, and Manda had to pull back to avoid going deaf. Her whole manner of speaking was different…Americanisms thrown in, and sometimes she would switch to an imitation New York accent.
“Girl, tomorrow’s gonna be very busy for you,” Sierra said. “First, I want you to come visit the radio station - do you see the Empire State Building?” She pointed out the taxi’s window. “The station’s just a few blocks from there. And afterwards, we’re going to a barbecue party on the Upper West Side. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”
Manda listened and actually felt herself cheering up and liking the New York City Sierra described. Sierra wrapped her love around the city like a proud mother, and Manda had to admit that she did look happier than she ever had in England.
“We’re going to have so much fun together,” Sierra said. “And you watch. By the time your six weeks are up, you won’t even remember your old life.”
“That’s not possible,” Manda said. But she was looking forward to spending time with Sierra again, in spite of the reason why she had come to New York. They had always been close. Before Sierra left London, Friday night had been their night, and they used to get together in Soho at Kettners where they would sit at the champagne bar drinking cocktails and commiserating about their lives. Sometimes Sierra would bring along the entertainment magazine from the Evening Standard and they would go through it, looking for something fun to do. Manda didn’t care much for Soho, with its crowds of people dropping food in the streets and spilling beer on the ground, and with all that vomit-dodging. You could see the entire Liverpool diet on the sidewalks. But Sierra was adventurous and social, and going anywhere with her was always good for a laugh. When she left for New York, Manda felt like she had lost her best friend.
Sierra lived in a pretty three-story building on 5th Street in the East Village. The building was salmon-colored, with white trim around the windows and front door and white cherub faces embedded in the wall below each window. Daniel would have liked it. He was always pointing out the gargoyles and statues on the faces of buildings and explaining their significance, like which ones were meant to ward off evil spirits, and which ones had a story behind them. Before him, Manda had never noticed those things. Just looking at the building made her miss him.
Sierra’s flat was on the third floor, and by the time they dragged the heavy suitcases all the way up three flights, Manda was exhausted and Sierra was complaining about a broken nail, and having to re-do her manicure. When they had entered the flat, Sierra pulled off her hat and hung it on a hook near the door. She went straight into the kitchen to fix them both some tea. Manda looked around her. Sierra’s living room was painted a mustard yellow, and the sofa and loveseat were beige. A large, gold-gilded mirror hung on the wall behind the sofa, which reflected back the living room and made it look bigger than it was. In a corner of the couch sat a boy doll with black shoulder-length hair that had been combed back, and dark sunglasses over its eyes. This had to be Nik. Manda recognized him from a picture Sierra had emailed to her. She picked up the doll. It smelled of cologne.
There were dolls everywhere, a whole United Nations of them. Manda wondered around the room, looking at them. Some were dressed in beautiful lace, satin or velvet dresses, with ribbons in their hair. There was a Japanese doll in a red kimono, an African doll wearing a head-wrap and a green and orange dress, and a Scottish boy doll dressed in a kilt and playing the bagpipes. Sierra had always loved dolls, and in England she had kept a few of them scattered around her flat. But this was something else. It was as if New York had pulled the stopper out of Sierra, and she had exploded into the world. Manda barely recognized this sister-stranger. She couldn’t help feeling a little unnerved.
“Sierra, where did you get so many dolls?” Manda called out to her.
“Do you like them?” Sierra said. “I order them from a company in Kansas. All you have to do is send them a picture and a description of someone you know, and they’ll make a doll to look just like the person. Isn’t that clever?”
“All of these dolls are of people you know?”
“Yes, every single one of them. Sometimes I give them as gifts, but I usually just keep them. Did you like the dolls I sent-?” Sierra stopped herself.
“It’s alright, Sierra. I won’t break if you mention Daniel,” Manda told her. “Yes, the dolls were adorable. Especially Daniel’s.”
The only dolls Sierra didn’t have were of her real family. These empty-headed replicas of people she now knew, it seemed they had become her real family. But at least these dolls would never disappoint or hurt her, like real people could. She could love them unconditionally, and they would never make her regret it. Manda guessed that was why she loved her dolls so much.
“Listen, the first room on the right is yours,” Sierra said from the kitchen. “I usually use it as a home office, but Nik and I fixed it all up for you.”
Manda wheeled her luggage to the room. It was tiny, but comfortable enough for a short visit. There was a red futon against one wall, and a computer sat on a desk across from it. Manda closed the door behind her. She hoisted the larger of the suitcases onto the futon and unzipped it. She reached under her clothes and pulled out the Daniel doll. When she was packing for New York, on impulse she had grabbed the doll and shoved it down into her suitcase. She couldn’t bear to leave it behind. The other doll, the one of herself in the nurse’s outfit, she had put it away in a box like a piece of her own soul awaiting her return home. Now she sat down on the futon, the Daniel doll propped on her lap.
“Well, here we are,” she said softly to it. “I’ll bet you’re quite glad, after being cooped up in that suitcase all this time.”
Lately, she had developed a habit of conversing with the doll, the way she used to do with Daniel. It felt oddly comforting, as if in some sense the real Daniel was connected in spirit to his doll-self, hearing her in some sixth-sense sort of way. She had also started doing other things, like sleeping with the doll clutched against her, its cool plastic face smothered in the space between her breasts.
“But Daniel, I’m not here to muck around,” Manda said, wagging her finger at the doll. “This isn’t a pleasure trip. It’s going to take a lot of work, but I’ve got to set things right for Sierra. And for us.”
“Hey, Manda,” Sierra called out from the living room. “Have you seen my bedroom? How do you like it?”
Manda quickly pushed the doll back into her suitcase and zipped it up. If Sierra saw she had brought the doll with her, she might think Manda was a pathetic example of a bride who had lost her mind when she lost her fiancé. Like the old woman in Great Expectations, who wouldn’t take off her rotted wedding dress years after she had been jilted.
Sierra’s bedroom looked like the inside of a jewelry box, from the blue satin bedspread to the matching curtains at the windows, and all the pretty, glittering trinkets that lined her dressing table. There were dolls here too. Sitting proudly on top of Sierra’s dresser was a doll whose little round face was a replica of Sierra’s. She was wearing a sleeveless blue satin dress and patent black shoes. Beside the doll, there was a large photograph of Sierra and Nik, hugging each other at a restaurant table. Manda picked it up. Her going-away present to Sierra had been a family photo, taken when she and Sierra were in their early teens, and their parents were still together. She had gotten the photo enlarged, put it in a silver frame and given it to Sierra to take with her to New York. Now the silver frame contained the picture of Sierra and Nik, and the original photo was gone.
Manda put down the photo and left the room. She wanted to ask Sierra what happened to the original photo. Had she tossed it out? As she came back down the hall, she caught the sound of whispering coming from the living room. Sierra was talking to someone, and at first Manda thought she was on the telephone, until she heard the low pitch sound of a man’s voice.
“Sierra-.”
“Nik, please. Don’t mention it,” she heard Sierra say. “She’s got enough on her mind as it is.”
“Don’t mention what?” Manda asked, stepping into the room.
Sierra stood before a man, frowning up at him. They both turned and gave Manda a startled look. The man ran his fingers through a heap of black shoulder-length hair that framed his wide forehead and curled up slightly at the ends. His restless brown eyes settled on Manda for a moment, then jumped back to Sierra, and over to Manda again.
“Don’t mention what?” Manda repeated.
Sierra smiled. “Nothing. We were just talking about Nik’s mother, weren’t we? The poor woman’s had a lot to deal with lately. She’s being forced to retire, and I was asking Nik not to mention it when he talks to her.”
Wow. She was quick. Sierra had always been good at inventing lies on the spot, and sometimes Manda would even fall for them. But not this time. She could hear the nervous little catch in Sierra’s voice. She wondered what they had really been talking about. If it hadn’t been about her, then why would Sierra lie?
Sierra cleared her throat. “Manda, this is-.”
“Nik. I know,” Manda said, walking towards them. “You look just like your doll.”
“Nik wanted to meet you,” Sierra said. “I had told him you might be tired, but I see he couldn’t wait.”
Nik handed Sierra a white plastic bag he had been carrying. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt, and had a pair of designer sunglasses hooked into the opening of his shirt. An expensive-looking watch decorated one wrist, and he wore a silver ring on one thumb, with a snake etched into it. He looked…well, rich and handsome. Just the way Sierra liked her men.
“Good to finally meet you,” Nik said, reaching for Manda. He gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I brought you some dinner. Thought you might want some real food after consuming that airline crap.”
Manda glanced at the bag. It might have been only half past eight in New York, but it was after one in the morning London time. As much as she had prepared herself for the time change by eating and napping at the right times, her body couldn’t make up its mind whether or not it wanted food, sleep or both.
“What did you make?” Sierra asked, peering into the bag.
“Shepherd’s pie. I wanted your sister to feel right at home.”
“Nik’s a great cook,” Sierra said. “He can make just about anything.”
“What kind of food do you like?” Nik said, turning back to Manda. “I can cook for you. Whatever you want.”
“Thank you, that’s…nice,” Manda said.
“Manda loves cheese,” Sierra said. “She’ll eat cheese with anything. Once we were in an Italian restaurant, and she poured grated parmesian into her tea.”
“Sierra, you cow,” Manda said. “The place was dark. I thought it was milk.”
“Yup, I can see how milk and parmesian might look alike,” Nik said, grinning. “But if you love cheese that much, I make a wicked lasagna. I’ll bake you a dish. As I’m sure you already know, Sierra has no idea how to work an oven.”
“Nik, don’t exaggerate,” Sierra said, slapping him lightly on the arm.
Nik went into the kitchen and came back moments later with three dinner plates and some cutlery. Instead of putting them on the table, he set them down on the coffee table beside the tea things. Sierra sat down, with Nik and Manda on either side of her. Nik turned on the television and settled on a documentary about World War II. He said the History Channel was his favorite, the only one he liked to watch. He told them about some of the other documentaries he had seen. Some part of his body was always in motion, and as he spoke, he would tap his finger on something for emphasis, or pick up objects, squint at them and put them back down. He and Sierra were two of a kind, in that way. Two restless birds who could barely stay still for a moment. Watching them was like a workout for the eyes.
And Manda was knackered. But because Nik had made the pie especially for her, she spooned a square of it onto her plate and ate it slowly. It might have been the best shepherd’s pie she had ever tasted. He certainly could cook. Sierra said she had grabbed a bite on the way to the airport, and she didn’t want any of the pie. Nik complained to Manda about how hard it was to get Sierra to eat a proper meal. He worried that she might starve herself. He finally coaxed her into taking a slice, and then kissed her on the forehead when she did.
They were always kissing, slapping, grabbing and poking at each other. Right in front of Manda, Nik pushed his hand up under Sierra’s blouse and gave her breast a quick squeeze. Manda looked away. Daniel would never have done anything like that. While he often showered her with private displays of affection, he had insisted on remaining celibate until their wedding night. He said it was the proper thing for ministers to do. That was why Manda had wanted a short engagement, and he had kept her burning for him for more than nine months, only to run away the night before they were to marry. Now she felt the heat of rage rising in her, as she thought about what he had done.
“So, Sierra told me what your fiancé did to you,” Nik said suddenly, as if he had heard her thoughts. He leaned past Sierra and looked at Manda. “That’s tragic.”
Manda shot Sierra a look. Why had she told Nik her business?
Sierra gave her an apologetic smile. “Yes, it was tragic,” she said. “But it’s over now, and Manda wants to put it behind her. She’s here to forget about all of that.”
“You can’t forget something like that,” Nik said.
“Yes, you can if you make up your mind to do it,” she snapped back.
“Manda, for some of us, life is a series of worst-case scenarios,” Nik said. “You’ve just got to be tough. Did Sierra ever tell you my great-grandfather, Nicos, went down with the Titanic?”
“Really? No she didn’t.”
“No, Nik. I wanted you to have that pleasure,” Sierra said. She raised an eyebrow at Manda. “He tells everybody this story. That’s his claim to fame.”
“It’s my family’s history,” Nik said, putting his hand on top of Sierra’s head. “It’s what makes me the great guy I am today. The one you love.” He kissed her above one eye.
“Tell me about your grandfather,” Manda said.
“My great-grandfather. He was part of the peasant class. You know, the guys they put down below? Anyway, it was 1912, and he was traveling with my grandfather, Andreas, who was barely a teenager at the time. They had been living in Greece, but Nicos’ wife had died the year before, so Nicos decided to take Andreas to New York to start a new life. His brother – my great-uncle - was already living here. Anyway, Nicos had lost a leg during an accident, and he had been fitted with a wooden one. But when the ship started to go down and everybody was scrambling to get upstairs, Nicos got his wooden leg caught between some twisted metal. Andreas managed to pull off the leg for him, but he was just a skinny little runt and he couldn’t carry his dad after he fell over. So my great-grandfather made Andreas leave him behind.”
“That’s awful,” Manda said. She remembered how she and Daniel had gone to see Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio in a special re-playing of Titanic, and how excited she had been, since she had missed the original screening years before. And also because she and Daniel rarely went to the cinema. He didn’t approve of the content of most films. But when Leonardo slipped under the icy water near the end, and away from Kate, Daniel had wiped his eyes.
“Your poor grandfather,” Manda said to Nik. “Having to leave his dad behind like that.”
He nodded. “For the rest of his life he always felt guilty about that. And I don’t think he ever went near a boat again. He used to always say, “Nik, life is like a great big ship. Don’t let it suck you down.” Nik kissed the snake ring on his finger.
“That’s his good luck charm,” Sierra said, in answer to Manda’s puzzled stare. “He kisses it to ward off trouble.”
“Are you superstitious?” Manda asked him.
“Superstitious? You don’t know the half of it,” Sierra said, patting Nik’s shoulder. “He won’t leave his flat if it’s Friday the 13th. And he has the biggest collection of horror films I’ve ever seen. The only thing bigger is his collection of Titanic memorabilia.”
“You should come over sometime. I’ll give you a tour,” Nik said, his face glowing with pride.
“Do you plan to pass it all down to your kids one day?” Manda asked.
“Nah, I don’t plan to have kids,” Nik said. “Maybe I’ll donate it all to a museum.”
Sierra gave Manda a tight-lipped look, but then turned away.
“So, you believe in ghosts, curses, luck and all of that?” Manda said, changing the subject.
“Well, I don’t believe aliens go around snatching people out of their beds at night,” Nik said. “But, yeah. I believe in some of that stuff.”
Hmmm, Manda thought, studying him carefully. She wondered what he would say if she told him about her vision, and seeing a ghost, and about the real reason she had come to New York. He seemed awfully protective of Sierra, and she probably listened to him more than she did any one else. If Manda could get Nik on her side, he might do anything to help save Sierra. Wouldn’t he? She would have to find a way to talk to him alone.
“Do you want more pie?” Nik asked, holding out the container to her.
Manda shook her head and yawned. “No thanks, I’m knackered. I just want to sleep.” She stood up and stretched. Her back hurt. Her body had had enough for one day, what with the long bumpy flight that had kept her rigid in her seat for most of the way, and the sensory overload of New York City itself. Plus, if she was to somehow keep Sierra alive until her birthday, she would have a lot of work ahead of her. She bid Nik and Sierra goodnight.
“Goodnight, Manda,” Nik called out, as she headed for the bedroom that would be hers for the next six weeks. “And remember, don’t let the ship suck you down.”
The next afternoon, Manda took a taxi to the radio station where Sierra worked. FM-102 was on the 15th floor of an office tower in mid-town. Manda had never visited a radio station before, and so Sierra took her around, pointing out the electronic equipment and trying to explain how things worked. It was clear that she barely knew how herself. In the hall, there was a giant poster of Sierra with her trademark white Stetson sitting on top of her head. When the time came for her to go on the air, Sierra propped the hat on her head. She sat behind a window in a booth, headphones clamped over her ears and a microphone pointed towards her lips. Manda sat on the other side of the window, wearing her own set of headphones and a sticker that said “Visitor” pasted to her shirt.
“Hullo, New York,” Sierra practically shouted into the microphone. “What’s kicking with you today? Sistah Britain here, did you miss me? I’ve got a bleeding headache, so you’d better be nice to me. My sister’s here from London, and I want to give her a shout out. Oi, Manda. How’s the jetlag treating you? She winked through the glass at Manda.
Manda smiled and winked back at her, feeling a sense of pride for her sister.
Sierra turned to a bald man sitting near her, also wearing headphones. “I’ve got Nuff Sed here, from one of New York’s best rap groups, Blak Attak. How’re you doing, Nuff? I heard you shaved all the hair off your body. Why?”
The two of them bantered back and forth, arguing playfully, until Sierra invited listeners to call in.
Sierra really was a natural. She had always been a great conversationalist, and now she had found her calling. She laughed easily and never seemed to run out of things to say. Charisma was one of her natural gifts. She was so alive, sitting there in her glass booth, chattering away happily. Imagine that, she was getting paid to entertain people with what she liked to do best. Talk.
By the time Sierra said her signoff line, “This is Sistah Britain saying goodnight New York, and may the night be good to you,” Manda was impressed.
“You were wonderful,” she said, putting her arm around Sierra’s shoulders as they left the station and headed for a barbecue party on the Upper West Side. “I couldn’t stop listening.”
Nik slipped his arm around Sierra’s waist. “I made her wonderful,” he said. “She belongs on the radio, and not on stupid television.”
Sierra turned her head to Manda and crossed her eyes.
They arrived at the party at sunset. The host, Theresa, was a media consultant for Ebay, and her husband, Curt, was a television executive with MTV. Theresa was dressed in a pretty blue kimono, and she had twisted a blue silk flower into her blond hair. Their party had a theme to it. Theresa and her husband had spent most of July in Japan, and this was a sort of welcome back to America party. All of the songs