ÉTOILE | A Timothée Chalamet Fanfiction

une

There is a distinct loneliness that becomes of you after so many nights spent in New York. You lose the world and in return, it loses you - washed up in the shores of overflowing glasses and an inescapable stupor. I think this night marks my passage into loneliness.

The quiet noise from 11th Avenue is drowned out by the scratchings of my record player, the end of Ella, Elle L'a fading into a loud silence. My reflection stares at me through the vanity mirror as I apply a last coat of lip gloss and do a once-over before looking at my phone. I text my other half to see if she will still be joining me on tonight's outing.

Stella

Ardesia 10 o'clock?

See you there xo

Wear your black Dolce dress lol

Oh it's THAT kind of night

😈😈😈

I smile at my screen and notice it's thirty minutes til. I slide my phone into my handbag and slip on a pair of strappy black heels before heading out the door. My walks across the city remind me of all the reasons I talk myself into staying each late and lonesome night. Twenty minutes pass by in slow motion and I enter the bar with a good feeling. The familiar smell and dim golden light put me at ease as I take a seat and smile at Hailey behind the counter.

"Hey, girl. Where's Stel?" she asks as she pours me a dirty martini.

"She'll be here," I smile before taking a sip. I glance around the room and size up what I'm dealing with tonight. Plenty of the same men in their suits, whiskey in their hands, lust in their eyes. I've made enough mistakes to know what will come of a night with one of them. It takes a special stranger to compel me towards conversation, someone different enough from the swarms of New York men to get me inside their apartment.

These nights with beautiful strangers have undoubtedly fostered the distance I feel from the world, and yet they also keep me sane. The necessity I have for touch is an insatiable craving.

It is so easy to romanticize the nuances of this city and still so impossible to see them in any other way.

As I work on a second martini, I see Stella walk in and meet my eyes immediately. She saunters over, her demeanor suave and subtle, and sits beside me, reaching over to hug me tightly.

"My gorgeous Angel, you are hot," she says, eyeing me up and down while shaking her head. "You must be on a mission tonight."

We laugh and order drinks, beginning light conversation about how we're doing. For twenty-somethings paving our way amid the career scene, Stella and I have been considerably fortunate. I've been with an interior design company for a few years now, meeting and working with well-known and wealthy people. Stella works as an art curator for a museum, which gives her the impression that she is the most cultured and sophisticated woman in New York. I entertain this idea, because let's face it - she basically is.

"Look at all these people, oh my God. What does it take to get a good man around here?" Stella gawks, looking distastefully at our options. I laugh in agreement with her. "Wait!" she exclaims in a whisper, pointing her eyes at someone across the room. I follow her gaze and land on a man giving Johnny Depp vibes.

"I support that," I state approvingly.

"Be right back," Stella says before making her way to his table.

I smirk and turn back to the bar, twirling the empty glass in my hand and considering another. I haven't seen anyone who catches my eye yet. And while I began the night with a specific type of person in mind, I am beginning to broaden my criteria. The realization of my desperate purpose here should concern me, but I am in too deep to break the surface now.