Oh Yeah, Audrey! , livre ebook

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123 pages

English

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Its 5:00 a.m. on Fifth Avenue, and 16-year-old Gemma Beasley is standing in front of Tiffany & Co. wearing the perfect black dress with her coffee in handjust like Holly Golightly. As the cofounder of a successful Tumblr blogOh Yeah Audrey!devoted to all things Audrey Hepburn, Gemma has traveled to New York in order to meet up with her fellow bloggers for the first time. She has meticulously planned out a 24-hour adventure in homage to Breakfast at Tiffanys; however, her plans are derailed when a glamorous boy sweeps in and offers her the New York experience shes always dreamed of. Gemma soon learns who her true friends are and that, sometimes, no matter where you go, you just end up finding yourself.Filled with hip and sparkling prose, Oh Yeah, Audrey! is as much a story of friendship as it is a love letter to New York, Audrey Hepburn, and the character she made famous: Holly Golightly.

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Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	14 octobre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781613126981
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

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Extrait

PUBLISHER S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Shaw, Tucker. Oh Yeah, Audrey! / by Tucker Shaw. pages cm Summary: Months after the death of her mother, sixteen-year-old Gemma Beasley and friends she met through her Tumblr page meet in New York City to celebrate the life and style of Audrey Hepburn and her famous character, Holly Golightly. ISBN 978-1-4197-1223-4 [1. Breakfast at Tiffany s (Motion picture)-Fiction. 2. Hepburn, Audrey, 1929-1993-Fiction. 3. New York (N.Y.)-Fiction. 4. Runaways-Fiction. 5. Friendship-Fiction. 6. Grief-Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.S53445Oh 2014 [Fi]c-dc23 2014001465
Text copyright 2014 Tucker Shaw Illustrations copyright 2014 Malika Favre Book design by Maria T. Middleton
Published in 2014 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
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C ONTENTS
P ROLOGUE
1
S ATURDAY, 5:00 A.M .
5:05 A.M .
5:10 A.M .
5:15 A.M .
5:20 A.M .
5:25 A.M .
5:30 A.M .
5:35 A.M .
5:40 A.M .
5:45 A.M .
5:50 A.M .
5:55 A.M .
6:10 A.M .
6:15 A.M .
6:30 A.M .
6:55 A.M .
8:30 A.M .
10:00 A.M .
10:15 A.M .
10:35 A.M .
11:15 A.M .
11:25 A.M .
11:40 A.M .
11:55 A.M .
12:00 NOON
12:40 P.M .
12:50 P.M .
2
6:45 P.M .
6:58 P.M .
7:05 P.M .
7:25 P.M .
7:40 P.M .
8:15 P.M .
8:30 P.M .
9:10 P.M .
9:40 P.M .
10:30 P.M .
11:00 P.M .
11:20 P.M .
11:25 PM
11:30 P.M .
11:45 P.M .
12:00 MIDNIGHT
12:05 A.M .
2:35 A.M .
3
3:05 A.M .
4:20 A.M .
4:30 A.M .
4:35 A.M .
4:45 A.M .
5:15 A.M .
5:20 A.M .
5:30 A.M .
5:40 A.M .
5:45 A.M .
6:00 A.M .
6:15 A.M .
7:00 A.M .
The End
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
P ROLOGUE
I t s not like I officially ran away. Actual running away is when you just can t take it anymore-your family or school or life in general-and you hop a bus to some big city, change your name, and find a job clearing plates or checking coats at a restaurant. Or worse. If you fall in with the wrong people, there s no telling what you ll end up doing. Actual running away means you don t intend to come back, ever. But that s not what I did. I always planned to go back home.
I took a train from Philadelphia to New York City last night without telling Dad. I would have told him if I d actually seen him before I left. But he wasn t home, and I didn t have time to wait around, so I just left. He thinks I m spending the night at my friend Casey s, which I used to do sometimes. Little does he know Casey and I haven t spoken to each other in weeks.
So, no, it wasn t running away.
That s where Audrey Hepburn and I are different. She ran away for real. She had no intention of going back to being Lulamae Barnes from Tulip, Texas. Which I can totally understand. Her life pretty much sucked back home. And so does mine.
I call her Audrey Hepburn, but really I mean Holly Golightly-you know, from Breakfast at Tiffany s , a.k.a. the best movie ever made. Have you seen it?
I read somewhere on the Internet that Truman Capote, the writer who created the character Holly Golightly, really wanted Marilyn Monroe to play the part. Can you imagine? Marilyn Monroe, with her platinum blond hair and little girl voice, playing Holly Golightly? No way. Audrey Hepburn, long and tall and with that way of calling everyone dahling . . . she s the only one who could have played that part. As far as I m concerned, Holly Golightly and Audrey Hepburn were pretty much made for each other.
If you haven t seen Breakfast at Tiffany s , go to Netflix and watch it. Seriously. Right now. Or at least check out YouTube for the opening credits, which last, like, two minutes. Trust me. Besides, if you watch it, the rest of this story will make a lot more sense. Maybe you ll understand where I m coming from. Maybe you ll understand exactly what happened. And why.
I finally did something worth writing about. The kind of thing that stories are made of. Mom would have liked that, I think. She was a writer. To her, nothing was more important than stories. Especially if they were true.
Anyway, I didn t really run away like Audrey did in the movie. Holly, I mean. But we both ended up at the same place anyway:
New York City.
Tiffany s.
For breakfast.

S ATURDAY, 5:00 A.M .
T he sun is just a vague suggestion somewhere low in the sky. A soft, pinkish light pulsing slowly across the tops of the glass-and-limestone buildings that line Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.
I can t believe I m here.
Yes, I can.
I m standing on the sidewalk at the corner of Fifty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue, near the curb, just a few yards from the grand, granite-carved sign that reads: TIFFANY CO. New York stretches into the sky above me. I m alone here, not another soul on the street, and I swear I can hear Moon River floating through the air. I close my eyes, inhale, and breathe in the city.
This is where she stood.
I m happy for this hour alone, before the others come. If they come.
Across the sidewalk, I catch my reflection in the Tiffany s window. It s hazy, just an outline. My hair is up, just like hers, and my dress is long and sleek, just like hers. I ve got the triple strand of pearls and cat s-eye sunglasses and low sling-backs with kitten heels. Opera gloves, an ivory cape slung over one arm, and a shimmering diamond tiara. If I don t look too closely, I d swear it was Audrey Hepburn in that reflection. Tall and willowy and glamorous.
There s no trace in that hazy reflection of normal, boring, sixteen-year-old Gemma Beasley from normal, boring Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. No trace of the fake rhinestone tiara or the sixteen-dollar thrift-store gown that wouldn t even know how to pronounce Givenchy . It s a movie star in that window, a real one, in a real Givenchy evening gown.
I close my eyes, imprinting the image on my brain. I don t want to forget it, ever.
I m here. I ve escaped. I ve transformed. I m not Gemma. I m Audrey. Today, I m Audrey Hepburn.
5:05 A.M .
I shiver. It s chilly, an early June morning.
I suppose I could slip on my cape.
But no, I can t put it on. I have a script to follow. Breakfast at Tiffany s , the opening scene, where Audrey Hepburn (a.k.a. glamorous young socialite Holly Golightly) steps out of a cab at Fifty-seventh and Fifth-Tiffany s-in the early Manhattan morning after a night out. She gazes at the jewels in the Tiffany s windows while sipping coffee from a paper cup and munching on a pastry. She looks gorgeous. Moon River plays in the background-that soft, melancholy song with the swelling violins-and the credits run. Audrey Hepburn. George Peppard. Patricia Neal. Mickey Rooney as Mr. Yunioshi. Based on the novel by Truman Capote. Directed by Blake Edwards.
I wonder if Audrey was cold that morning, too. I bet she was, but she never put on her cape. And so my cape stays draped over my arm even as goose bumps crawl past my elbows. Audrey didn t need hers, and neither do I.
I look around. Will anyone else come?
Stop being anxious, I say to myself. They won t even be here until six.
It s going to be a big day. We ve been planning it for weeks and weeks.
As soon as I saw online that the Ziegfeld Theater was planning a midnight showing of Breakfast at Tiffany s as a way to commemorate the twentieth anniversary of Audrey Hepburn s death, I knew I had to be there.
I also knew that Dad wouldn t allow it. Hence the (so-called) running away.
Anyway, I used Google Maps to make a walking tour of landmarks from the movie and made plans (and reservations) for lunch and dinner at places Holly Golightly went to; and the marquee event-a midnight screening of Breakfast at Tiffany s at the Ziegfeld Theater, which is the most massive, spectacular movie theater in the entire universe-will be the cherry on the cake.
I pull a piece of paper out of my clutch.
Itinerary for the First (Annual?) Beyond-Fabulous Breakfast at Tiffany s Weekend! Saturday and Sunday, June 11-12
S ATURDAY
6:00 A.M. Meet at Tiffany s with pastries and coffee.
7:00 A.M. Breakfast at a Third Avenue diner.
9:00 A.M. Return to individual hotels to change.
I m staying at the Malcolm, a supercheap hotel in Chinatown with a shared bathroom down the hall. I m not sure where the others are staying yet.
10:00 A.M. Begin walking tour of Breakfast at Tiffany s landmarks, starting at Holly s apartment building on Seventy-first Street, where she lived alone with a cat (named Cat), downstairs from the handsome Paul Varjak (who Holly insisted on calling Fred and refused to allow herself to fall in love with). Even though both of them had dates with other people-mostly rich people who always gave them money-it was obvious they should be together.
11:00 A.M. Continue walking tour with visit to Central Park, where Paul Varjak met up with Doc-the husband Holly left behind when she ran away from Texas. Doc still called Holly by her old name, Lulamae Barnes, and he came to New York to convince her to come back. Holly never told Paul that she was married, of course. Not that she was trying to hide it from him or anything.