baccarat hotel, New York
4:30pm
a
"Is that four out of four done?" Margot, Harry's makeshift assistant, asks, checking things off in her planner.
"Sure is." I reassure her.
I tailored Harry's all black suit to perfection, adding a nice me touch with satin on his jacket lapels, maybe a green ostrich feather scarf to go with it. We haven't decided yet.
Harry's going on Saturday Night Live tonight to promote the album, perform a song, so he needs a few outfits. I've been holed up in the hotel all week while he goes back and forth from here to the studio, working on skits or whatever it is they do there.
It's been nice, to get back to our roots. To actually do something productive, to be useful.
But I haven't left the hotel as much because we don't want to draw any more attention to ourselves. It'll just look suspicious. I don't want anyone to find out about me getting fired, or Harry, so I'm doing my best to stay out of sight.
"I think that's cause for celebration." Margot points at me with her red pen.
"You think everything's cause for celebration." I laugh, finally sitting for the first time all day. The show's tonight so I've been working non stop to get everything done.
"It can be. You should come to the wrap party with the cast! Harry really wants you to."
"I know."
He's mentioned it once or twice.
"Get these over to SNL so they're ready for tonight. And please put them in garment bags!"
"Okay. We'll still send a car after the show! Okay! Midnight!" Margot calls out as I leave the room, to head down the hall to my room.
I headed straight for the bed, collapsing on it, exhausted. It's been way harder to put clothes together without any access to a room with proper lighting or tables or machines. All my stuff's in about a million suitcases and I wonder why I came back to the states with Harry in the first place.
I started to worry, about a million things at once.
If the suits would be okay for tonight. If my apartment in Paris is still intact. If I should go back since technically there's nothing much for me to do after this.
Harry's been carting me around from country to country like another one of his designer trunks he's packed. And somehow, I only see less of him.
He's always doing interviews, or spending time with people for 'intimate' magazine articles. He's always in a meeting about the upcoming tour he keeps adding more dates to, or at photo shoots I can't even be a part of or doing SNL performances.
And I'm just here, waiting for him. I'm in a perpetual state of waiting.
I can't even be in the middle of it all, not the way either of us want.
I have dinner alone, from room service and it's barely edible.
And I watch SNL from the staged comfort of the hotel bed, picking at snacks from the vending machine.
