Upper East Side #1

by Ashley Valentine

  Yes. It would.

  29

  “Have whatever you want,” Yasmine told Chanel. “It’s on the house.”

  Ruby took their order. Because she played bass in the band, she got drinks for free.

  “And don’t forget my cherry!” Yasmine yelled after her as Ruby left to get the drinks.

  “Your sister’s awesome,” Chanel said, admiring Ruby’s cool black bob and dark green leather pants.

  Yasmine shrugged. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s a pain in my ass, though. I mean, everyone’s always like, ‘Ruby’s so cool’ and I’m like, ‘Hello?’”

  Chanel laughed. “I know what you mean. My older brother—he goes to Brown, and everybody loves him. My parents are always so into everything he does, and now that I’m back from boarding school it’s like, ‘Oh, we have a daughter?’”

  “Right,” Yasmine agreed. She couldn’t believe she was having such a ridiculously normal conversation with Chanel Crenshaw.

  Ruby brought them their drinks. “Sorry guys, I gotta go set up.”

  “Good luck,” Chanel told her.

  “Thanks, sweetie.” Ruby picked up her guitar case and went to find her bandmates.

  Yasmine couldn’t believe it. Ruby never called anyone sweetie except for Tofu, her parakeet. Chanel certainly had a way of melting people’s hearts. Yasmine was even starting to like her a little herself.

  She picked up her drink and clinked glasses with Chanel. “To cool ass chicks,” she said, knowing it sounded seriously gay, but not really giving a shit.

  Chanel laughed and tossed back her shot of Stoli. She wiped her eyes and blinked a few times. A scruffy-looking dark skinned guy wearing an oversized tuxedo was walking into the bar. He stopped in the doorway and stared at her as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “Hey, isn’t that your friend Mekhi?” she asked Yasmine, pointing at him.

  Mekhi was wearing a tuxedo for the first time in his life. He’d felt pretty sharp when he first put it on, but not sharp enough to deal with the Kiss on the Lips. So when Bree let him blow the party off, he’d come to The Five and Dime to apologize to Yasmine for being such a dick about the movie. On the ride over he’d tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter that he’d probably never see Chanel Crenshaw again.

  The meter ran out.

  Life is fragile and absurd.

  This love never dies.

  Life was absurd all right. Because there Chanel was. In Brooklyn, of all places. His dream girl.

  Mekhi felt like Cinderella, in a tuxedo. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking, and tried to plan his next move. He would walk over and suavely offer to buy Chanel a drink. Too bad the only suave thing about him was his tux. And it was only half as suave as it could have been if he’d kept the Armani from Barneys.

  “Hey,” Mekhi said when he reached their table, his voice cracking.

  “What’re you doing here?” Yasmine asked. She couldn’t believe her luck. Did it have to be quite this bad? Was she going to have to sit there for the rest of the night watching Mekhi drool over Chanel?

  “I blew off that Kiss on the Lips party. It really wasn’t my thing,” Mekhi responded.

  “Me too.” Chanel smiled at him like he’d never been smiled at before.

  Mekhi clutched the back of Yasmine’s chair for balance.

  Heart!

  You there.

  That wasn’t life—this is.

  “Hey,” he greeted her shyly.

  “You remember Chanel,” Yasmine spoke up. “She’s in my class at Willard.”

  “Hey Mekhi,” she said. “Nice tux.”

  Mekhi blushed and looked down at himself. “Thanks,” he replied. He looked up again. “And that dress is...looks...pretty also,” he stuttered. He hadn’t thought it was possible to sound so idiotic. When had he forgotten how to talk?

  When he stopped talking and started writing depressing poems instead?

  “What about my shirt?” Yasmine said loudly. She stood up and twirled around. “Have you ever seen me look this good?”

  Mekhi stared at her red shirt. Not very exciting. “Is it new?” he asked, confused.

  “Never mind.” Yasmine sighed, impatiently swirling the maraschino cherry around in her glass.

  “Grab a chair,” Chanel offered, moving over to make room for him. “Ruby’s band is going to play in a minute.”

  Mekhi sat down next to her. His hands were shaking so much he had to sit on them to keep them still. He wanted her so badly.

  Sweet forget-me-not.

  I’ll slit my throat now, smiling.

  Forget me—never.

  The rumors couldn’t possibly be true. Chanel didn’t look like a sex-crazed, drug-addicted maniac. She looked delicate and perfect and exciting, like a wildflower you stumble upon unexpectedly in Central Park. Mekhi wanted to hold hands with her and whisper to each other all night long.

  The band started to play and Ruby let out a bloodcurdling yowl and slammed heads with the drummer. Mekhi noticed that Chanel had finished her vodka. “Want some more?” he offered eagerly.

  Chanel shook her head. “Let’s just listen to the music for a while.” She sat back in her chair, and their their elbows touched. Ruby let out another yowl and threw her black steel-toed combat boots into the audience.

  “Okay,” Mekhi said, pressing his elbow against Chanel’s as hard as he dared. As long as he was near her, he’d do anything.

  30

  “Let the festivities commence!” Jeremy Scott cried, throwing open the doors to the old Barneys building.

  As always, Kaliq, Jeremy, Anthony, and Charlie had smoked a big fatty before the party. Kaliq was silly high, and when he walked through the door and saw Porsha pushing her way through the crowd with her hand pressed over her mouth, he started to giggle.

  “What’re you laughing at, jackass?” Anthony asked, shoving his elbow into Kaliq’s ribs. “Nothing’s even happened yet.”

  Kaliq wiped his hand over his face and tried to look serious, but it was hard to keep a straight face in a room full of boys dressed like penguins, and girls in sexy dresses. He knew Porsha was in the bathroom, throwing up as usual. The question was, should he go rescue her? It was the type of thing a good, concerned boyfriend would do.

  “Bar’s over there,” Charlie said, leading the way.

  “I’ll catch you guys later.” Kaliq pushed his way through the crowded dance floor. He ducked around Jaylen—who was gyrating his crotch against the ass of some short girl with curly hair and insane cleavage—and headed for the ladies room.

  But Porsha hadn’t made it to the ladies’ room. Before she’d gotten there, a middle-aged woman in a red suit with a “Save the Falcons” button pinned to it had stopped her.

  “Porsha Sinclaire?” the woman said, holding out her hand and smiling her best fundraising smile. “I’m Rebecca Agnelli, from the Central Park Save the Peregrine Falcon Foundation.”

  Talk about bad timing.

  Porsha stared at the woman’s hand. Her own hand was clapped over her mouth, holding in the vomit that threatened to spew out at any moment. She started to remove it so she could shake hands, but then a waiter walked by with sizzling skewers of spicy chicken, and Porsha gagged. She squeezed her lips together to keep the puke from seeping out the sides of her mouth and changed hands, clapping the left one over her mouth and reaching out to shake with her right.

  “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” the woman said as they clasped hands. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”

  Porsha nodded and pulled her hand away. Enough was enough. She couldn’t hold on any longer. Her eyes darted around the crowded room, desperately seeking help.

  There were Alexis and Imani, dancing with each other. There was Anthony Avuldsen, handing out tabs of E. There was Jeremy Scott, trying to teach Lauren Salmon and Rain Hoffstetter how to blow smoke rings by the bar. There was Jaylen, holding that little Bree girl so tight it looked like her boobs mig
ht explode.

  All the extras were there, but where was her leading man, her savior?

  “Porsha?”

  She turned around and saw Kaliq pushing his way through the crowd toward her. His eyes were bloodshot, his face slack, his hair unbrushed. He looked more like a forgettable supporting actor than a leading man.

  Was this all there was? Was Kaliq it?

  Porsha didn’t have much choice. She opened her eyes wide, silently asking Kaliq for help and praying he’d be up to the job.

  Ms. Agnelli frowned and turned around to see what Porsha was staring at. Porsha made a run for it, and Kaliq stepped in just in time. Thank God he was so high.

  “Kaliq Braxton,” he said, shaking hands with the woman. “My mother is a big fan of those falcons.”

  Ms. Agnelli laughed and blushed a little. What a charming young man. “Well, of course she is,” she said. “Your family has been very generous with our foundation.”

  Kaliq plucked two flutes of champagne off a passing tray. He raised his glass and drank up. Then he raised his other glass and drank that too. “To the birds,” he said, trying to fend off another outbreak of the giggles.

  Alexis and Imani stood on the edge of the dance floor, waving their hair around, useless as usual. He waved them over.

  “Hello, Kaliq,” greeted Alexis, tottering over on four-inch stilettos.

  Imani clutched her drink and stared at the strange woman standing next to him. She had just taken some of Anthony's E. “Hi,” she greeted. “I love red your suit.”

  “Thank you, dear. I’m Rebecca Agnelli, from the Central Park Save the Peregrine Falcons Foundation,” the woman said. She held her hand out to Imani, who reached out with both arms to give her a drunken hug.

  “Excuse me,” said Kaliq, bowing out right on cue.

  “Porsha?” he called, cautiously pushing open the ladies’ room door. “Are you in there?”

  Porsha was crouched in the end stall. “Shit,” she said softly, wiping her mouth with toilet paper. She stood up and flushed. “I’ll be right out,” she said louder, waiting for him to leave.

  But Kaliq pushed the ladies’ room door open all the way and stepped inside. On a counter by the sinks were little bottles of Evian, perfume, hairspray, Advil, and hand lotion. He unscrewed a bottle of water and shook a couple Advil onto his palm.

  Porsha opened the stall door. “You’re still here.”

  Kaliq handed her the pills and the water. “I’m still here,” he repeated.

  Porsha swallowed the pills, sipping the water slowly. “I’m really fine,” she insisted. “You can go back to the party.”

  “You look nice,” Kaliq said, ignoring her. He reached out and rubbed one of Porsha’s bare shoulders. Her skin felt warm and soft and he wished they could lie down on her bed and fall asleep together like they always used to. And then maybe have sex.

  “Thanks,” she replied, her lower lip beginning to tremble. “So do you.”

  “I’m sorry, Porsha. I really am,” Kaliq began.

  She nodded and began to cry. He pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and handed it to her.

  “I think the only real reason I did it...I mean, that I did it with Chanel...is because I knew she’d do it,” he said, grasping for the right words. “But it was you I wanted all along. It's always been you.”

  Aw.

  Porsha swallowed. He’d said it just right, exactly the way she’d written it in the script in her head. She put her arms around Kaliq’s neck and let him hold her. His clothes smelled like weed.

  Kaliq pushed her away and looked down into her eyes. “So everything is okay now?” he said. “You still want me?”

  Porsha caught the reflection of the two of them together in the bathroom mirror and gazed up into Kaliq’s gorgeous green eyes and nodded. “But only if you promise to stay away from Chanel,” she sniffled.

  Kaliq wound a strand of Porsha’s hair around his finger and breathed in the scent of her perfume. It felt okay, standing there, holding her. It felt like something he could do. For now, and maybe forever. He didn’t need Chanel, or any other girl for that matter. He nodded. “I promise.”

  And then they kissed—a sad, soft kiss. In her head, Porsha could hear the swell of music signaling the end of the scene. It had started out a little rocky, but at least the ending was okay.

  “Come on,” she said, pulling away and wiping the mascara smudges from under her eyes. “Let’s go see who’s here.”

  Holding hands, they left the ladies’ room. Alexis smiled knowingly as she tottered past them on the way in.

  “You guys,” she scolded. “Get a room!”

  31

  “This band is awesome!” Chanel shouted at Yasmine over the pounding drum and bass. She wriggled her butt from side to side in her chair, her eyes shining. Mekhi was having trouble breathing normally. He’d barely touched his drink.

  Yasmine smiled, pleased that Chanel liked the music. Personally, she hated it, although she’d never tell her sister Ruby that. SugarDaddy was all about people dancing and sweating and shaking their bodies around, which was definitely not Yasmine’s thing. She’d rather lie around in the dark listening to her favorite CD that consisted of nothing but sounds of a thunderstorm.

  A girl wearing a red leather vest and black lace leggings was being tossed in the air by the pulsating crowd. Something about her legs looked wrong, like they’d been pulled off and stuck on backwards.

  “You’re such a creep I hate my life you’re such a creep I hate my life you’re such a creep. I love your lies!!!!” Ruby growled into the mic.

  “Come on,” Chanel said, standing up. “Let’s dance.”

  Yasmine shook her head. “That’s okay,” she said. “You go.”

  “Mekhi?” Chanel called, tugging on his jacket sleeve. “Come on!”

  Mekhi never, ever danced. He was bad at it, and it made him feel like a goofball. He hesitated, glancing at Yasmine, who raised her thick eyebrows, challenging him. If you get up and dance right now, you will go straight to the top of my loser list, her look said.

  Mekhi stood up. Chanel grabbed his hand and pushed her way into the throng. Suddenly she whipped around and slammed her whole body against his.

  Mekhi stood there for a moment, unsure how to respond. Then he began to nod his head up and down in time to the beat. All around him people were jumping straight up into the air and slamming into each other. Mekhi took a deep breath and slammed Chanel back, laughing. Chanel raised her arms overhead, closed her eyes, and let out a wild banshee yell. Mekhi closed his eyes too and howled into the air.

  The music was so loud, the crowd so crazy, it didn’t matter what they did. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t dance, or that he was the only one in the room wearing a tuxedo—probably the only one in Williamsburg.

  He opened his eyes. Chanel was smiling at him. She stuck out her tongue and slammed her perfect body into his once again. Mekhi stumbled backwards, grinning.

  He was with her, and that was what mattered.

  Alone at the table, Yasmine finished first her drink and then Mekhi’s. Then she got up and went to sit down at the bar.

  “Nice shirt,” the bartender remarked when he saw her. Yasmine's sister was always talking about how cute he was—early twenties, Hershey chocolate skin, and a cute, sly smile.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling back at him. “It’s new.”

  “You should wear red more often,” he said. He held his hand out. “I’m CJ. You’re Yasmine, right? Ruby’s sister?”

  Yasmine nodded. She wondered if he was just being nice to her because he liked her sister.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” CJ asked. He poured a few different things into a martini shaker and shook it up.

  Oh, fuck, she thought. Here’s when he pours out his heart and tells me all about how he’s been in love with Ruby forever, but she doesn’t seem to notice him. And he wants me to play Cupid and blah, blah, blah.

  “What?” she questioned.
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  “Well,” CJ said. “I see you and Ruby come in here all the time.”

  Here he goes, Yasmine thought.

  “And you never come up to the bar and talk to me. But I’ve kind of had a crush on you since I first saw you.”

  Yasmine stared at him. Was he joking?

  CJ poured the drink out of the martini shaker into a short little glass and squeezed a few limes into it. He pushed it toward her. “Try that,” he said. “It’s on the house.”

  Yasmine picked up the glass and tasted it. It was sweet and sour at the same time, and she couldn’t taste any alcohol in it at all. It was good.

  “I could drink about ten of these,” she admitted.

  “Don’t,” CJ warned.

  “Why the fuck not?”

  CJ replaced the glass with a bottle of water. He leaned toward her and whispered softly in her ear, “Because I want to kiss you and I want you to remember it.”

  Yasmine put the empty glass down and smiled. Chanel and Mekhi could dance their pretty asses off for all she cared—she was about to be kissed.

  Speaking of kissing, the Kiss on the Lips DJ had just broken up with her boyfriend of four years and was playing sad, slow love songs back to back. Gorgeously dressed couples held onto each other and swayed to the lonesome riffs, barely moving beneath the soft lights. The air smelled of orchids and candle wax and raw fish and cigarette smoke, and there was a peaceful sophistication to the evening that was both unexpected and familiar. It wasn’t the turnt up party that some had hoped for, but it wasn’t a bad party, either. There was still plenty of alcohol left, nothing had caught fire, and the cops hadn’t shown up to card people. Besides, the year was just getting started—there were tons more parties to look forward to.

  Kaliq and Porsha were dancing together, her cheek against his chest, both of their eyes closed, his lips brushing the top of her head. Porsha had put her brain on pause, and her head was full of static. She was tired of dreaming up movies. Right now, real life suited her just fine.