‘I actually think writing to him is the epitome of sensible, but sure.’ Magda smiles, and she scrolls the internet as Evie searches through anyone cc-ed in all the emails about the movie and the contracts and the fauxmance to see who could be best placed to help her. In the end, she settles for her own agent, dropping her a line to explain that she left for the airport early and would love to get word to a few key people to say thanks. Could you hunt down contacts for Daphne Diamond and Duke Carlisle for me please? she asks, and then the pair head inside to check in.

‘No, this way,’ says Evie, pointing to the queue for economy check-in. Magda was heading for first class, the check-in desk with a literal red carpet out front and no line.

Magda furrows her brow.

‘No,’ she says. ‘We’re first class, right?’

Evie looks at her friend.

‘Duke got you a first-class ticket home too?’ she says, incredulously. ‘Jesus! Magda!’

Magda shrugs. ‘Only because of you,’ she says. ‘So really it’s like you got me a first-class ticket.’

Evie tuts. ‘Okay, well. Let’s see how much it is for me to upgrade.’

Magda nods. ‘Excellent idea,’ she says.

The check-in person announces that it is almost ten thousand dollars.

‘Sorry,’ Evie says. ‘One-way?’

‘Yes, to Salt Lake City it is nine thousand, four hundred and ninety-six dollars to upgrade your economy seat to first class.’

‘But …’ asks Magda, stuttering with her words in shock. ‘Why?’

The assistant nods. ‘Well,’ she says. ‘It’s on-the-day, it’s Christmas, and it’s a full flight. This is the last first-class seat we have today.’

Evie looks at Magda. ‘I could pay that,’ she says. ‘But it would be stupid of me.’

Magda bites her lip. ‘Especially when you already have a ticket,’ she agrees.

‘I’m supposed to be getting savvy with my spending, right? I deserve nice things, but I also owe it to myself to be smart?’

‘That’s what we said …’ Magda agrees, and Evie is waiting for her friend to say, Screw it! Think of all that movie money! but she doesn’t, and Evie finds that she can’t actually do it. She can’t blow that kind of cash, even if she does, in theory, have it.

‘Can I check in my bags here please,’ Magda says to the assistant, and then to Evie she says: ‘And then I’ll come with you to check in over there, okay? I’ll even sacrifice the first-class lounge to buy you your last Weisswurst. Come on.’

It takes Evie forty-nine minutes to get through economy check-in, and she stares longingly at the empty red carpet of first the whole way.

‘You’ll survive,’ jokes Magda. ‘And if we’re allowed, maybe we can switch halfway through the flight, both get a turn.’

Evie pouts dramatically. ‘Okay,’ she says, in a small voice. ‘Thank you.’

42

Duke