Upper East Side #1

by Ashley Valentine

  “Take off your clothes,” Porsha whispered.

  Maybe after we do it, I’ll tell her, he thought. That didn’t seem completely fair, but still, he kissed her. And once he started, he couldn’t stop.

  When Chanel woke up a little while later, Jaylen had changed the channel to MTV2 and was singing along loudly to some old Jay-Z song. Chanel’s Balmain dress had ridden up above her waist, and her lacy blue underwear was showing. She propped herself up on her elbows and wiped the lip gloss scum out of the corners of her mouth. “What time is it?” she asked, pulling down her dress.

  Jaylen glanced at her. “Time for us to get naked,” he said impatiently. He’d been waiting long enough.

  Chanel’s head felt thick, and she was dying for a glass of water. “I feel awful,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her forehead. “I want to go home.”

  “Come on,” Jaylen said, flicking off the TV. “We could take a dip in the hot tub first. That’ll make you feel better.”

  “No,” she insisted.

  “Fine,” he said angrily. He stood up. “There’s water on the table. Put your boots on, I’ll help you get a cab.”

  Chanel pulled on her boots and stared at the cold rain falling outside the hotel room window. “It’s raining,” she said, taking a sip of the water.

  Jaylen handed her a scarf, his trademark cashmere one, monogrammed with the letters J.H. “Wrap it around your head. It’s okay. I wear a new one every single day.” He shoved on his loafers. “Come on, let’s go.”

  She took the scarf and followed Jaylen out to the elevator and they rode down in silence. Chanel knew he was disappointed that she was leaving, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t wait to get out into the fresh air and into her own bed.

  A cab pulled up, the Remi brothers’ poster in the box on the cab’s roof. Chanel thought it looked like a close-up photograph of lips puckered into a kiss.

  “What is that? Mars?” Jaylen asked, pointing to it. He glanced at Chanel without a trace of humor in his eyes. “No, it’s your anus!”

  Chanel blinked at him. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny or if that’s what he actually thought the picture was. He held the cab door open for her, and she slid into the back seat.

  “Thanks,” she said sweetly, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  “Whatever.” Jaylen leaned into the cab and pressed Chanel against the seat. “What’s your problem anyway?” he hissed. “You’ve been fucking Kaliq since tenth grade, and I’m sure you did just about every guy at boarding school, and in France, too. What, are you like, too good to give me some?”

  Chanel stared directly into Jaylen’s eyes, seeing him as he really was for the first time. He’d always been hard to like, but she’d never actually hated him before.

  “That’s okay, I wouldn’t want to fuck you anyway,” Jaylen sneered. “I hear you have diseases.”

  “Get away from me,” Chanel hissed, putting her hands on his chest and shoving him away. She slammed the cab door shut in his face, and gave the driver her address.

  As the cab pulled away, Chanel hugged herself, staring straight ahead through the rain-spattered windshield. When the taxi stopped at a light on the corner of Broadway and Spring, she opened the door, leaned out, and threw up into the gutter.

  That would teach her not to drink on an empty stomach.

  Jaylen’s scarf swung from her neck and dangled in the puddle of pink vomit on the pavement. Chanel pulled the scarf off, wiped her mouth on it, and stuffed it into her bag. “Gross,” she said, slamming the cab door closed again.

  “Tissue, miss?” the cab driver offered, passing a box of Kleenex back to her.

  Chanel pulled one from the box and wiped her mouth with it. “Thanks,” she said.

  Then she sat back in the seat and closed her eyes, grateful, as always, for the kindness of strangers.

  “What about a condom or something?” Porsha murmured, gaping at Kaliq’s hard-on. It looked like it was going to take over the world. She had managed to get all of his clothes off, and now they were lying down on her bed on top of the covers. They’d been fooling around for almost an hour, and Porsha was running out of foreplay ideas. It was about time they did it.

  On the docking station, “Sex You Back to Sleep” was playing, and Porsha was getting hotter and hotter. She reached for Kaliq’s hand and licked his fingers, sucking greedily on the tip of each one. She had a feeling sex was going to be even better than food.

  Kaliq rolled onto his back while Porsha sucked his fingers. He had been so uptight about seeing her that he hadn’t even eaten dinner, and now he was feeling hungry. Maybe when he went home he’d pick up a burrito from the Mexican place on Lexington Avenue. That’s what he wanted, a chicken and black bean burrito with extra guacamole.

  Porsha suddenly bit down hard on his pinky.

  “Ow,” Kaliq said, his hard-on deflating as if it had been pricked with a pin. He sat up and blew on his hurt hand, then he ran it through his wavy hair. “I can’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?” Porsha asked, sitting up too. “What’s wrong?” Her heart fell. This wasn’t in the script. Kaliq was ruining a perfect moment.

  Clumsily, Kaliq took her hand and looked into her eyes for the first time all night. “I have to tell you something,” he said. “I can’t do this without you knowing. I feel like an asshole.”

  Porsha could tell by the look in Kaliq’s eyes that the moment wasn’t just ruined, it was killed. “What?” she asked softly.

  Kaliq reached down and gathered up the edges of the quilt. He draped one end around Porsha’s shoulders and wrapped the other end around his waist. It didn’t seem right to talk about this when they were both so naked. He took her hand again. “Remember the summer before last when you were away in Scotland, at your aunt’s wedding?” Kaliq began.

  Porsha nodded.

  “It was so fuckin’ hot that summer. I was in the city with my Dad, just hanging out while he went to some meetings and stuff. I got bored, so I called Chanel in Conneticut, and she came down.” Kaliq noticed Porsha’s back stiffen when he mentioned Chanel’s name. She removed her hand from his and crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes suddenly distrustful.

  “We had some drinks and sat out in the garden. It was so hot, Chanel started splashing around in the fountain, and then she started splashing me. And I guess I got kind of carried away. I mean―” Kaliq fumbled. He remembered what Cyrus had told him about girls liking surprises. Well, Porsha was about to be very surprised, and he didn’t think she was going to like it one bit.

  “And what?” Porsha demanded. “What happened?”

  “We kissed,” Kaliq said. He took a deep breath and held it. He couldn’t just leave it at that. He blew the breath out. “And then we had sex.”

  Porsha threw the quilt off her shoulders and stood up. “I knew it!” she shouted. “Who hasn’t had sex with Chanel? That nasty, slutty bitch!”

  “I’m sorry, Porsha. But it wasn’t like, planned or anything,” Kaliq said. “It just happened. And then it sort of happened again, earlier this week, right after she got back.” He swallowed, realizing how totally lame he sounded. “I just wanted you to know this wasn’t my first time.”

  Porsha stomped into her bathroom and snatched her pink satin bathrobe off its hook. She put it on, cinching the belt tight. “Get the fuck out of here, Kaliq,” she said, angry tears slicing her cheeks. “Before I kill you. I can’t even look at you. You’re pathetic.”

  “Porsha―” Kaliq pleaded. For a split second he tried to think of something charming to say. He could usually think of something, but nothing came.

  Porsha slammed the bathroom door shut in his face.

  Kaliq stood up and pulled on his boxers. Kitty Minky poked her head out from under the bed and stared at him accusingly, her golden cat eyes glowing eerily in the dark. Kaliq grabbed his jeans, shirt, and shoes and headed for the front door.

  He could hardly wait for that burrito.
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  The front door closed with a hollow bang. Porsha remained locked in the bathroom, glaring at her tear-stained reflection in the mirror. The tube of Chanel’s lipstick was still lying on the sink where she had left it. Porsha picked it up with trembling fingers. Gash, it was called. What an ugly name. Of course Chanel could wear lipstick with ugly names, and tights with holes in them, and dirty old shoes, and never do her hair, and still get the boy. Porsha grunted at the irony of it all and opened her bathroom window, tossing the lipstick out into the night and waiting to hear it land on the pavement below. But she couldn’t hear a thing.

  Her head was too full of the new movie she was working on. The movie in which she pushed the fabulous Chanel Crenshaw in front of a speeding bus with her stupid picture plastered on the side of it. Chanel would flail and flop on the pavement like a dehydrated mermaid while Porsha watched. Then Porsha would shave off all of Chanel’s annoying silky hair for the pigeons and vultures to use in their nests, gouge out her eyes, and leave her ugly, maimed, and smushed body there to rot.

  23

  Just before midnight, the taxi pulled up at 994 Fifth Avenue. Across the street, the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art were deserted, glowing eerily white in the light of the streetlamps. Chanel stepped out of the cab and waved to Roland, the old night doorman, who was dozing just inside the lobby. The door to the apartment building opened, but it wasn’t Roland who opened it. It was someone else.

  “Kaliq!” Chanel squealed, genuinely surprised. “Hey, could you loan me five bucks? I left my credit card in my room. Usually the doorman helps me out, but I guess he’s asleep.”

  Kaliq pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and gave some to the taxi driver. He put his finger to his lips and crept up to the front door of the building. Then he knocked loudly on the glass door. “Hello?” he shouted.

  “Oh my God.” Chanel laughed. “You are so mean!”

  Roland snapped his eyes open and nearly fell off his chair. Then he opened the door for them, and Chanel and Kaliq ran inside and rode the elevator up to her apartment.

  Chanel led the way to her room and sat down heavily on the bed. “Did you get my message?” she yawned, pulling off her boots. “I thought you’d come out tonight.”

  “I couldn’t,” Kaliq said. He picked up the little glass ballerina perched on top of Chanel’s mahogany jewelry chest. She had the tiniest toes, like little pinpoints. He’d forgotten about her.

  “Well, it wasn’t worth it anyway,” Chanel sighed. She lay down on the bed. “I am so tired, And really drunk.” She patted the bed next to her and slid over to give Kaliq room. “Come lie down and tell me a bedtime story?”

  Kaliq put the ballerina down and swallowed. Breathing in the scent of Chanel’s room with Chanel in it made his heart hurt. He lay down next to her, their bodies touching. He put his arm around her and she kissed his cheek, snuggling in close.

  “I was just over at Porsha’s,” he said. He didn't mention that he was this close to getting a nice slice of Porsha pie. He actually admired his self control, his ability to keep the old hot dog in the bun for once. But he bet Porsha really wouldn’t have minded too much if he had just kept his mouth shut and got on with it instead of getting all moral on her and telling her all about his time with Chanel.

  Usually guys would of done anything to bag a virgin. Kaliq should have loved the idea that Porsha had never done it before. But he didn't seem to care about that at all. All it did was make having sex with her this huge thing that he couldn't deal with without smoking a big fattie and downing half a bottle of JD.

  Chanel didn’t even answer. She was breathing steadily. Was she already asleep?

  Kaliq lay still, with his eyes open wide, his mind racing. He wondered if he and Porsha were officially broken up now. He wondered if he kissed Chanel right now, full on the lips and told her he loved her, how she’d respond. He wondered if he’d just gone ahead and had sex with Porsha if everything would have been all right.

  Kaliq cast his eyes around the room, taking in all the familiar well-loved objects that he’d grown up seeing and forgotten all about. The kilt-wearing teddy bear that sat aristocratically on Chanel’s little dressing table. The big mahogany armoire with its drawers half open and all her clothes spilling out of it. The little brown burn mark he’d made in ninth grade on the white canopy hanging from her bed.

  On the floor by the door was Chanel’s red velvet bag. The contents had spilled out of it. A blue pack of Gauloise cigarettes. A one-hundred-dollar bill. And a cream-colored scarf with the letters J.H. stitched on it in gold.

  Why had she needed to borrow money from him when she had a hundred dollars with her? Kaliq wondered. And what the hell was she doing with Jaylen's scarf?

  Kaliq turned over on his side and Chanel moaned softly as her head rolled back on the pillow. He studied her critically. She was so beautiful and sexy and trusting, and so full of surprises. It was hard to believe she was actually real.

  Chanel reached up and put her arms around Kaliq’s neck, pulling him toward her. “Come here,” she murmured, her eyes still closed. “Sleep with me.”

  Kaliq’s whole body tensed. He didn’t know if Chanel meant just go to sleep or sleep with her, but he was definitely aroused. Any boy in his right mind would be, which is exactly what turned him off.

  There was something so careless about the way she had said it. He suddenly had no trouble imagining her doing all the things he’d heard she’d done. Sex. Cults. Drugs. With Chanel, anything was possible.

  A glitter of silver caught his eye. It was the tiny silver box Chanel kept on her bedside table, full of her baby teeth. Every time he came over, Kaliq used to open up the velvet-lined box to see if all the teeth were still there. But not this time. From the look of things, Chanel wasn’t the same little girl who’d lost all those teeth.

  Kaliq pulled away from her and stood up. He snatched up Jaylen’s scarf and tossed it on the bed, not noticing that it was streaked with vomit. And then, without even looking at Chanel again, he left, slamming the door behind him.

  At the sound of the door closing Chanel opened her eyes and breathed in the scent of her own barf. Gagging, she threw the covers back and ran to the bathroom. She clutched the rim of her white porcelain sink and heaved into it, her sides hurting with the effort. Nothing came out, so she turned on the shower as hot as it would go and pulled her clammy Balmain dress over her head, dropping it on the floor. All she needed was a good hot shower and a little exfoliant.

  Tomorrow she’d be good as new.

  24

  “Mekhi,” Bree whispered, poking at her brother’s chest. “Wake up.”

  Mekhi flung his hand over his eyes and kicked at his sheets. “Go away. It’s Saturday,” he mumbled.

  “Please get up,” Bree whined. She sat down on the bed, poking him repeatedly until he removed his arm to glare at her.

  “What’s your problem?” Mekhi asked. “Leave me alone.”

  “No,” she insisted. “We have to go shopping.”

  “Right,” Mekhi said. He rolled over, turning his head toward the wall.

  “Please, Mekhi. I have to get a dress for the party on Friday and you have to help me. Dad gave me his credit card. He said you could get a tux, too.” Bree giggled. “Since we’re turning out to be the type of spoiled rotten kids that will need tuxes and dresses and all that crap.”

  Mekhi rolled over. “I’m not going to that party.”

  “Shut up. Yes you are. You’re going and you’re going to meet Chanel and dance with her. I’ll introduce you. She’s really cool,” Bree burbled happily.

  “No,” he said stubbornly.

  “Well, you can at least help me pick out a dress,” Bree pouted. “Because I’m going. And I want to look nice.”

  “Can’t Dad go with you?”

  “Yeah, right. I said I wanted to look nice,” she scoffed. “You know what Dad told me? He said, ‘Go to Sears, it’s the working-class department store.’ Whatever that me
ans. I don’t even know where Sears is, if it even exists anymore. Anyway, I want to go to Barneys. I can’t believe I’ve never even been there. I bet people like Chanel Crenshaw and Porsha Sinclaire go there, like, every day.”

  Mekhi sat up and yawned loudly. Bree was all dressed and ready to go, with her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, her brown hazelnut skin glowing. She even had her jacket and shoes on. She looked so cute and eager, it was kind of hard to say no.

  “You’re a pain in my ass,” he said, standing up and stumbling toward the bathroom.

  “You know you love me,” Bree called after him.

  As far as Mekhi was concerned, Barneys was full of assholes, down to the dude who opened the door for him, smiling in the cheesiest way possible. But Bree loved it, and even though she had never been there, she seemed to know everything about the place. She knew not to bother with the lower floors, which were full of designer clothes she could never afford, and headed straight to the top floor. And when the elevator doors rolled open, she felt like she had died and gone to heaven. There were so many beautiful dresses hanging on the racks it made her salivate to look at them. She wanted to try them all on, but of course she couldn’t.

  When you’re a 34D, you’re kind of limited. And you definitely need help.

  “Mekhi, will you go ask that woman to help me find this in my size,” Bree whispered, fingering a purple velvet empire-waist sheath with beaded straps. She pulled out the price tag. Six hundred bucks.

  “Jesus Christ!” Mekhi said, looking at the price over her shoulder. “No way.”

  “I’m just trying it on for fun,” Bree insisted. “I won’t buy it.” She held the dress up to herself. The bodice would barely cover her nipples. Bree sighed and put the dress back on the rack. “Would you please ask that lady if she’ll help me?” she repeated.