Upper East Side #1

by Ashley Valentine

  A few couples away, Jaylen had his hands full of Bree Hargrove. Bree wished the DJ would bring up the tempo. She was trying to dance as fast as she could, to keep Jaylen from groping her, but it was having the opposite effect. Every time she moved her shoulders, her boobs bounced out of her dress and practically hit him in the face.

  Jaylen was absolutely delighted. He put his arms around Bree’s tiny waist and pulled her close, swaying off the dance floor and into the ladies’ room.

  “What are we doing?” Bree asked, confused. She gazed up into his eyes. She knew Jaylen was friends with Chanel and Porsha, and she wanted to trust him. But he still hadn’t asked her what her name was. He’d barely spoken to her at all.

  “I just want to kiss you,” he said. He bent his head down and enveloped her mouth in his, pressing his muscular tongue against her teeth with such force that she let out a little gasp.

  Relenting, she opened her mouth and let him thrust his tongue deep into her throat. She had kissed boys before, playing games at parties. But she’d never tongue kissed. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she wondered, suddenly feeling a little frightened. She reached up and pushed against Jaylen’s chest, pulling her head away from him, desperate for air.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she mumbled, stumbling backwards into a stall and locking the door. She could see Jaylen’s feet, standing outside the stall.

  “All right,” he said. “But I’m not finished with you yet.”

  Bree sat down on the toilet seat without pulling up her dress and pretended to pee. Then she stood up and flushed.

  “All done?” Jaylen called.

  Bree didn’t answer. Her mind was racing. What should she do? Anxiously, she reached inside her little black handbag for her cell phone.

  Jaylen crouched down to look under the stall door. What was she doing in there, the little tease? He crawled forward on his hands and knees. “All right,” he said. “That’s it, I’m coming in.”

  Bree closed her eyes and backed against the stall wall. Quickly, she pressed the buttons for Mekhi’s number into her cell phone, praying that he’d answer.

  Ruby’s band was playing their last song, and Chanel and Mekhi were slick with sweat. Mekhi had some new moves down, and he was in the middle of an experimental slide to the side with a pelvic thrust when his cell phone went off.

  “Damn,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket. It was a text from his sister.

  Bad bad party. Please take me home!

  Mekhi tapped Chanel on the arm and pointed to his phone. “Sorry,” he shouted over the music. He pushed his way through the throng, putting his hand over his free ear as he called Bree back.

  “Mekhi?” Her voice sounded very small and scared and far away. “I need your help. Please come get me.”

  “Now?” he asked. He looked up. Chanel was pushing her way toward him, looking beautiful and sweaty and perfect and gorgeous.

  “Please, Mekhi?” Bree pleaded.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked his sister. “Can’t you take a cab?”

  “No, I—” Bree's voice trailed off. “Just please come now,” she said, and hung up.

  Ruby let out a final orgiastic siren wail, threw her bass at the lead guitarist’s head, and cannonballed into the headbanging crowd.

  “Who was that?” Chanel shouted over the howling mob.

  “My little sister,” he told her. “She’s at that party. She having a bad time.”

  “Are you going to pick her up?”

  “Yeah, I think so. She sounded weird.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Chanel offered.

  “Alright.” Mekhi smiled shyly. This night was getting better and better.

  “Just let me get my purse and say goodbye to Yasmine,” she told him, and headed for the bar.

  Mekhi had forgotten all about Yasmine, but she looked like she was having a good time talking to the bartender.

  “Hey,” Chanel said, touching her arm. “We’re going to get Mekhi’s sister.”

  Yasmine turned around slowly, waiting for CJ's eyeballs to enlarge and register “beautiful girl” in bold black letters like the cherries in a slot machine. But CJ only glanced at Chanel like she was just another customer.

  “Hey, we better take off!” Mekhi called from his spot by the door.

  Yasmine glared at him. She wished CJ would stop slicing limes for just a second so she could kiss him right in front of Mekhi.

  “Have a good rest of the night.” Chanel leaned over and gave Yasmine a kiss on her cheek. “Tell Ruby I thought she was awesome!” Then she slipped away to join Mekhi.

  “See you, Yas,” he called from the door, turning to go.

  Yasmine scowled at him, waiting so eagerly for Chanel. His tongue was probably hanging out of his mouth. She turned back to CJ's without a word. She couldn’t wait to kiss him again, and forget all about Chanel and Mekhi, heading off into the night together.

  “Who were they?” CJ asked, resting his elbows on the bar. He picked an olive out of a dish and held it just in front of Yasmine’s lips.

  She bit into the olive and shrugged. “Just some people I don’t really know.”

  32

  Mekhi hailed a cab and opened the door for Chanel. The October air was crisp and smelled of burnt sugar, and Mekhi suddenly felt very elegant and mature—a man in a tuxedo out on the town with a beautiful girl. He slid into the seat beside her and looked down at his hands as the cab pulled away from the curb. They weren’t shaking anymore.

  Unbelievable as it seemed, he had touched Chanel with those very hands while they were dancing. And now he was alone with her in a taxi. If he wanted to, he could take her hand, stroke her cheek, maybe even kiss her. He studied her profile, her golden beige skin shining in the yellow glow of the streetlights, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  “God I love to dance,” Chanel said, letting her head fall back on the seat. She felt completely relaxed for once. “I could seriously dance every single night.”

  Mekhi nodded. “Yeah, me too.” But only with you, he meant to add. It took a girl like Chanel to make a guy with two left feet say he loves to dance.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, enjoying the tired feeling in their legs and the cool air from the open window on their sweat-dampened foreheads. There was nothing awkward about the fact that they weren’t talking. It was nice.

  When the cab pulled up in front of the old Barneys building on 17thStreet, Mekhi was expecting to see Bree waiting for them outside, but the sidewalk was empty.

  “I guess I’m going to have to go in there and get her,” he said, turning to Chanel. “You can go ahead home. Or you can wait...”

  “I’ll come with you,” she said. “I may as well see what I missed out on.”

  Mekhi paid for the cab, and they got out and headed for the door.

  “I hope they let us in,” she whispered. “I threw my invitation out.”

  Mekhi pulled the crumpled invitation Bree had made for him out of his pocket and flashed it at the bouncer at the door. “She’s with me,” he said, putting his arm around Chanel.

  “Go ahead,” the bouncer said, waving them on.

  She’s with me?

  She’s with me.

  She’s with me!

  Mekhi couldn’t believe his balls. He’d had no idea they were that big.

  “I’d better go find her,” he told Chanel once they got inside.

  “Okay,” she agreed, squeezing his arm. “Meet me back here in ten minutes.”

  The room was full of old familiar faces. So familiar that no one there was quite sure whether Chanel had just arrived or if she’d been there all night. She certainly looked like she’d been having a good time. Her hair was windblown, her dress was slipping off her shoulders, there was a run in her tights, and her cheeks were all red, as if she’d been running. She looked wild, like the kind of girl who’d done everything everyone said she’d done, and probably a whole lot more.

  P
orsha noticed Chanel right away, standing on the edge of the dance floor in that funny old dress they’d bought together at Alice Underground.

  What the fuck?

  She pulled away from Kaliq. “Look who’s here,” she said.

  Kaliq turned around, gripping Porsha’s hand when he saw Chanel. The hand squeeze was out of shock, but Porsha took it as a demonstration of his devotion. She squeezed his hand back.

  “Why don’t you go tell her?” she instructed. “Tell her it’s over. You can’t be friends with her anymore. You can’t have anything to do with her.” Her stomach rumbled nervously. After all the throwing up she’d done, she really needed another tuna roll.

  Kaliq stared at Chanel with grim, slightly stoned determination. If Porsha thought it was crucial that he tell Chanel to get lost, then he’d do it. He couldn’t wait to get this all behind them so he could relax. In fact, after he talked to Chanel he was going to head upstairs and find somewhere private to light up.

  Stoner rule #1: When things get intense, get high.

  “All right,” he said, letting go of Porsha’s hand. “Here I go.”

  “Hey.” Chanel greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He blushed. He hadn’t expected her to touch him. “You look mah-velous, darling,” she said in a silly hoity-toity accent.

  “Thanks,” Kaliq said. He tried to put his hands in his pockets, but his tuxedo didn’t have any. Stupid thing. “What have you been up to?” he asked.

  “Well, I kind of blew off the party,” Chanel explained. “I’ve been out dancing at this crazy place in Brooklyn.”

  Kaliq raised his eyebrows in surprise. But then again, nothing Chanel said should have surprised him anymore.

  “You wanna dance?” she asked. She put her arms around his neck before he answered, and began to swing her hips from side to side.

  Kaliq glanced at Porsha, who was watching them carefully, and he quickly collected himself. “Look, Chanel,” he said, taking a step back and removing her arms. “I really can’t...you know...be friends...not like the way we were before.”

  Chanel gazed into his eyes searchingly, trying to read his true thoughts. “What did I do?” she asked. “Did I do something?”

  “Porsha is my girlfriend,” Kaliq continued. “I have to...I have to be loyal to her. I can’t...I can’t really be...” He swallowed.

  Chanel crossed her arms over her chest. If only she could hate Kaliq for being so cruel. If only he weren’t so good looking. And if only she didn’t love him. God, she should hate him for being so mean. That was what she’d set out to do, when she’d first come home to New York. But she couldn’t do it. She never could.

  “Well, I guess we should stop talking then,” she said. “Porsha might get mad.” She let her arms fall to her sides and turned abruptly away. As she crossed the room, Chanel’s eyes met Porsha’s. She stopped in her tracks and reached into her bag, searching for the hundred-dollar bill Porsha had left on the table at the Tribeca Star. She wanted to give it back. As if, somehow, it would prove she hadn’t done anything wrong. That night, or ever.

  Her fingers found her cigarettes instead. She pulled one out and stuck it between her lips. The music was getting louder and around her, people were dancing. Chanel could feel Porsha watching her, and her hands trembled as she fumbled around in her bag for a light. As usual, she didn’t have one. She shook her head in annoyance, and glanced up at Porsha. And then, instead of glaring at each other, the two girls smiled.

  It was strange smile, and neither one knew what the other meant by it.

  Was Porsha smiling because she had won the boy in the end and stamped all over Chanel’s party shoes? Because—as usual—she had gotten her way?

  Was Chanel smiling because she felt uncomfortable and nervous? Or was she smiling because she hadn’t stooped to Porsha’s petty level of spreading nasty rumors and playing with Kaliq’s mind?

  Or was it a sad smile because their friendship was finally, really over?

  Maybe they were smiling because they both knew deep down that no matter what happened next—no matter what boy they fell in or out of love with, or what clothes they wore, or what their SAT scores were, or which college they got into—they both would be all right. After all, the world they lived in took care of its own.

  Chanel pulled the cigarette out of her mouth, dropped it on the floor and began walking toward Porsha. When they were face to face, she stopped and fished the hundred-dollar bill out of her bag. “Here,” she said, handing it to her. “This is yours.” And then, without another word, she kept on walking, heading for the ladies’ room to splash some cold water on her face.

  Porsha looked down at the bill in her hand and stopped smiling.

  Over by the door, Rebecca Agnelli from the Central Park Save the Peregrine Falcon Foundation was just putting on her mink coat and kissing Alexis and Imani goodnight. Porsha walked over and pressed the hundred-dollar bill into her hand.

  “That’s for the birds,” she said with her fakest smile. “Don’t forget your gift bag!”

  Chanel turned on the tap and splashed her face over and over with cool clean water. It felt so good she wanted to peel off all her clothes and jump in.

  She leaned against the row of sinks, patting her face dry. Her gaze slipped to the floor, where she saw a pair of tan pigskin shoes, the fringed end of a cream-colored scarf, and a girl’s black H&M handbag.

  Chanel rolled her eyes and walked over. “Jaylen, is that you?” she said into the crack in the door. “Who’ve you got in there with you?”

  A girl gasped.

  “Shit,” Jaylen cursed. He'd stood Bree up on the toilet seat lid in the end stall and pulled her dress down so he could get at those massive jugs. Chanel had come at the worst possible time. He pushed open the stall door a few inches. “Go away,” he growled.

  Behind him Chanel could see little Bree Hargrove, her dress pulled down around her waist, her arms hugging herself, looking terrified.

  Someone pushed open the bathroom door. “Bree? Are you in here?” Mekhi called.

  Chanel suddenly registered: Bree was Mekhi’s sister. No wonder she’d sounded weird on the phone. She was about to be mauled by Jaylen Harrison!

  “I’m here,” Bree whimpered.

  “Get out of here,” Chanel snapped at Jaylen. She pulled the stall door open just wide enough for him to get past her without Mekhi having to see his own sister half-undressed.

  Jaylen pushed by her, shoving her against the stall door. “Well, excuse me, psycho bitch,” he hissed. “Next time I’ll be sure to ask your permission.”

  “Wait a minute, asshole,” Mekhi said, sizing him up. He'd always hated Jaylen but now he hated him even more. “What were you doing to my sister?”

  Chanel pushed the stall door closed and stood outside it, waiting for Bree to step down from the toilet and fix herself before her brother saw her. Inside, she could hear Bree sniffling.

  “Fuck you,” Jaylen said, pushing Mekhi out of the way.

  “No, fuck you, Scarf Boy,” Mekhi responded evenly. He’d never been in a fight before and his hands began to shake again.

  Chanel hated it when boys fought. It was so pointless, and it made them look like assholes. “Hey Jaylen,” she said, poking him in the back. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself? You know no one else will.”

  “You bitch,” Jaylen hissed, whirling around to face her. Spit flew from his mouth. “You think you can come back here and act all high and mighty after everything you’ve done?”

  “What have I done, Jaylen?” Chanel demanded. “What is it that you think I’ve done?”

  Jaylen licked his lips and laughed quietly. “What have you done?” he asked. “You got kicked out of boarding school because you are a perverted slut who made marks on the wall above the bed in your dorm room for every dude you fucked. You have STDs. You were addicted to all kinds of drugs and busted out of rehab and now you’re dealing your own stuff. You were a member of some cult that killed chickens. You have a fucki
ng baby in France.” Jaylen took a deep breath and licked his lips.

  Chanel was smiling again. “Wow. I’ve been busy.”

  Jaylen frowned. He glanced at Mekhi who was standing there, watching silently with his hands in his pockets.

  “Go away, Jaylen,” Chanel whispered.

  Jaylen shrugged and grabbed a bottle of Evian off the counter. “Whatever, bitch,” he said, pushing past Mekhi and out the door.

  Mekhi knocked on the bathroom stall. “Bree?” he called gently. “Are you all right?”

  Sniff, sniff.

  Bree couldn’t get control of herself. She just could not believe that of all the people in the universe, it had to be Chanel Crenshaw who found her like this. Chanel must think she was so pathetic.

  “I can't tell whether I'm still really drunk, or just tired and really hungry,” she finally managed to say. She picked her purse up off the floor and pushed open the door. “Just take me home.”

  Mekhi put his arm around his sister and Chanel took his hand. Together, they wound their way through the crowded party.

  “Wait! Your gift bags!” Rain Hoffstetter squealed from her post at the front door. She handed Chanel and Bree each a black Kate Spade tote bag.

  Mekhi pushed open the doors and ran out into the street to hail a cab. When he found one, Chanel got in first, then Bree, and then him. Bree put her feet up on the hump in the floor and hugged her knees, resting her head against them. Chanel reached down and stroked her curly black hair.

  “You guys go home first,” Chanel offered.

  Mekhi glanced at his sister. She needed to go to bed. “All right,” he agreed, and gave the driver his address.

  Chanel leaned back, still stroking Bree’s hair. “Wow,” she said ironically. “I haven’t had this much excitement since I left boarding school.”

  Mekhi stared at her, his eyes wide and trusting. “So, those stories...” he said, and then he blushed. “I mean, did any of that happen, for real?”