by Tara Brown
“Don't be. I shouldn't have snapped at you. This whole Matt thing has me going crazy. And school’s a mess. I’m doing double the number of subjects to graduate on time. I’m sleeping four hours a night. In other words, I’m sorry. There’s no excuse.” It’s all I have. It’s what Nat would say.
“It’s okay. I’m feeling sensitive, like I told your mother.” Her cheeks flush with color, and I can’t help but wonder what that's all about.
But I also have to go.
“I’ll be home early. Matt is taking me out to some stupid party. I don't even know. But I have homework to do.”
“Did you tell your mom that you switched majors?”
“No. My being anything beyond a socialite is incomprehensible to her.” I mutter it as I check my phone again. Matt’s sent some weird message for me to give to Vincenzo. When I glance back up she has a weird smirk on her face.
“You know, for all the games you’ve played with him, eventually you’re going to have to admit you really like this boy.”
My lips part to disagree but the words don't come out. Instead, I sigh and she hugs me.
“And he really likes you,” she whispers.
“I hope so.” I hug back. “I better go. Thanks.” I feel like shit for being rude to her. She’s a soft person, like Nat, only softer. She doesn't do conflict well. Or shitty attitudes.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She smiles and I wave, slipping out into the hall and down the stairs.
I don't want another argument over the boys or being a disappointment. I’m literally exhausted and I’m getting too old for them. I’m technically too old to live at home, but it’s not exactly living at home right now; it’s living in a house my parents infrequently visit.
But not for long. I have a plan. Come winter, I’ll have it all figured out.
Vincenzo is waiting for me on the street when I get outside. He smiles wide as I flash the text message at him. “Interesting,” he says and opens the door for me.
We leave the city, heading in a direction I never go, north toward Yonkers.
I glance at the text again, the numbers and letters mean nothing to me.
Bored, I text Nat, wondering how her day is going and telling her all about mine: school, school, school.
She doesn’t answer back, probably already zoned out in a video game. I check our snaps and wince when I notice William the Douche in the background of the last photo she sent. Of course. He’s home for the weekend.
I need to figure out a way to break them up. It’s been bugging me for ages, not sure how to go about it. How does one ruin another person’s relationship, without losing that person as a friend? I contemplate calling Linda about it, but I need to maintain my independence. Being in therapy for the rest of my life is not part of the plan. It isn't as if I grew up in a cult or was abused or had some horrific experiences and need to be coddled. My life is great. My parents’ expectations are ridiculous and antiquated but there are ways around that. I am currently working on that plan and it’s coming along nicely. At least it will be when I get some sleep.
When we finally stop at something resembling a castle, I recognize it but can’t place it for a moment. Vincenzo gets the door and it clicks.
“Are we in Tarrytown?” I laugh as if this is a joke.
But he just grins.
Limos and cars fill the parking lot and one person stands out in the crowds of people milling about the entrance.
Matt in a suit, casual with no tie and his shirt open a bit, is across the parking lot from me. His playoff scruff is gone but his hair is still to his cheeks. The other people start to ring bells in my head. They’re players, cleaned up players. I tighten everywhere, realizing he’s invited me to a hockey party.
We stare at each other, neither of us moving. He has that cheesy grin, the one suggesting he’s won this round before we’ve even played it.
I glare, completely pissed off that he would actually break a rule and say I’m his girlfriend to bring to the wife party. But when I turn to get back into the car it drives off.
Vincenzo leaves me in Tarrytown!
My jaw drops as he speeds away, turning the corner as if I might have run after him, in my heels . . .
I contemplate calling and screaming at him, but I know better. Someone will record it and Sami Ford the diva will be blasted all over TMZ again. And after how I just treated Nadia, my mom will never believe me that I was provoked. Not that I think this has anything to do with Vincenzo. I spin, snarling at Matt as he saunters over, gloating with even his walk.
“Don't be pissed. It isn’t what you think.”
“We have rules, Matt.” I fold my arms across my chest, ready to call a cab and suffer through that to make a point.
“This isn’t breaking them. It’s a party, you and I have a thing, in fact we’re friends. I needed a date and not a PF. It’s a classy event, end-of-year party. I can’t just bring anyone so I asked my friend Sami and she said yes. Nothing more.”
“That's really what you told them?” I’m skeptical.
“I didn't tell them shit. It’s what I’ve done.” He offers me his arm. “Now come on before you make more of a scene than Vincenzo speeding out of here.” His words are spoken in that tone that suggests this is not open for discussion.
“Fine.” I take his arm. “But don't expect me to be nice to anyone or have fun.”
“I have no expectations, Sami. None.” He strolls to the door. “But you do look beautiful.” He lowers and kisses the side of my head.
“No affection. We’re friends.” I jerk away, putting on an attempt at a pleasant version of resting bitch face, and let him lead us inside.
Of course the obvious happens. I’m spotted.
“They’re staring,” I mutter.
“No, simply surprised to see me with a girl. I never am. Ever.” He laughs but I can see the mouths wording my name in hushed voices. “I should remind you, this is the wives club, so if you see a guy with a different girl than the last time you saw them out and about in the city, don't mention it. There are wives and then there’s the side dish. This is a wife party.”
“Let me guess, the wives have never done the scenic tour of Harlem in the back of a limo.” I jab him right in the heart. He wants to play this game of ambush; I can use it against him.
“Sami.” He warns with words and a tightened grip. “Not everyone believes in having a side dish. Some guys are perfectly happy with the one woman they’re with and are incredibly loyal. Not everyone cheats.”
One of the forwards comes over, smiling wide and interrupting my lecture. “Sami Ford, holy shit. You’re hotter in real life, how is that possible?” He’s young and maybe drunk already.
“Eckelston, this is Sami Ford. Sami, this is Lawrence Eckelston. He’s a rookie too.” As if I didn't already know that.
“Call me Lori, everyone else does.” Eckelston passes his beer to Matt and wraps both arms around me, hugging and lifting me off the ground. He spins and puts me down, leading me away from Matt. I couldn’t be more surprised by his familiarity with me, or the touching. He’s not like other people. “So tell me, what are you doing here with a guy like Brimstone?”
“I don't know.” It's the God’s honest truth.
“Well, let’s get you a drink and you can tell me all about how you believe in love at first sight too.” The charming rookie leads me to the bar. “This place is cool, eh? Sleepy Hollow and all that.”
“Are you Canadian?” I almost grimace at him being Canadian but also that Tarrytown’s cool. Clearly, he hasn't seen the rest of Sleepy Hollow or know that the last Canadian Matt hung out with left quite the impression, even though I didn't know him.
“I’m dual, Canadian and American. From BC, just outside of Vancouver, but my parents are Americans.” He speaks like a Canadian. “And you’re a New Yorker, right?”
“Sort of.” I eye him suspiciously. “I grew up in Connecticut.”
“You and Brimstone live that nonsense with the servan
ts and drivers and butlers.” He smiles and holds his fingers up to the bartender.
“We do.” I don't know what the hell is going on. This random guy’s hitting on me, everyone’s still talking about me, and Matt is nowhere to be seen. This is great.
“My mom’s family lives like that. They’ve all got maids and a butler and a driver. My grandpa has cars in this garage and he doesn't drive them. He pays someone to drive him around in them. It’s weird. I mean the maid and cook I get, I have that too. But the whole dude driving my sports cars for me, I don't think so.”
“What does your grandfather do?”
“Mostly truck building. They’re in Washington.”
“Truck building?” I don't know if he means car dealership or not.
“Yeah, my mom’s a Pigott. They made tanks and railway cars and now big rigs.”
I almost cough. I absolutely know who the Pigotts are. His family is almost as rich as Matt’s. “And you play hockey?” I don't understand how everyone’s family allows this. Even Zach Palfrey is apparently playing hockey now.
“Yeah. They’re cool about it. Honestly, I think my grandpa is stoked I’m making my own money and not sponging off the family company.” He chuckles. “I didn't need them to create another position at the top for me.”
I almost laugh but remember that could be my future if my plans don't work.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” He clears his throat and smiles wide again. Unfortunately, him being the grandson of a billionaire makes him that much more attractive. I am that shallow. He was cute five minutes ago, now he’s one of us.
“So Vancouver? Not really my kind of city. All the yoga pants and puffy winter coats are a bit overdone.” I take the beer he’s ordered for me, cocking an eyebrow at it.
“Vancouver is wicked but the problem there is it’s so far from everything. Sort of the way LA is. There’s just nothing awesome out West. The world sort of gravitates toward this side of the country.” He leans on the bar, grinning down on me. “Now tell me how you met Brimstone.” He narrows his honey-brown eyes as if he’s already analyzing the answer I haven’t given yet.
“Why, what did he say?”
“You met at one of those awful Young Republicans meetings. You were around twelve and the moment he saw you he was smitten. Some crap like that.”
A laugh slips out.
“That’s what I figured.” He laughs too.
“We met in London. It was late at night, early morning a few years ago. He made sure I got home safe and we’ve been friends ever since.” Which is a complete lie based on all the truth.
“The Young Republicans sound like more fun.” His smile fades as he takes a big drink of beer. I follow suit, not loving the fact I am drinking my meal. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins again. “So you are just friends?” He asks it as Matt is walking up to us.
“Sorry?” I pretend I didn't hear it.
“You and Matt, you’re just friends?”
“Yeah, just friends. Nothing more.” I can’t fight the shitty grin on my lips, knowing Matt has heard it all.
“Well, I wouldn't say just friends.” Matt stands next to us, towering over me like a dark shadow. “I mean, I did cook for you and let you win at checkers.”
“Oh damn, girl, he cooked for you?” Lori laughs and murmurs, “Whipped,” loud enough for us to hear.
“Maybe.” Matt confesses, still staring at me.
“No.” I shake my head. “Matt has a thing for puck bunnies.” I glance back at Lori. “Guys who like trashy girls aren’t really my thing.”
Lori holds his hands up innocently. “Never touched one myself. Can’t stand trashy girls that let you have sex anywhere you want it. Gross.” He drinks from the beer again.
Matt’s glare is actually trying to light me on fire.
“Well, I’m going to powder my nose. It was lovely meeting you.” I hand the beer to Matt and saunter off.
The room is uninviting, as hell.
Every girl in here is giving me the look, the one that says they know me. They read about me in the papers and rag magazines so they clearly have me pegged. I’m that spoiled slut who wants to take their man, ruin poor innocent Matt, and then move on to the next party. I’m probably going to the bathroom to do a couple of lines of coke so I can be fun.
I finally locate the bathroom and sit on the makeup bench, pulling my phone out. I text Nat again.
911
Dear God, what now? she answers.
Can I call?
I’m in the movie theater. Call in an hour.
Will has a theater room at his house. Your pedestrian is showing. I sigh and call Carson. He’s better than nothing.
“Miss Ford, to what do I owe the honor of an actual phone call?” He chuckles into the phone.
“I need a rescue.”
“The hockey party isn’t all you hoped it would be?” He laughs harder.
“How do you know I’m here? Vincenzo left me in the fucking parking lot and drove away.” I click the lock on the main door to the bathroom and sit back down.
“Matt has some skills at planning dates. Who knew?”
“This isn’t a date, Carson. It’s a work party. It’s like obligatory Friday night fun that only couples force each other into. And he didn't ask me, he surprised me ambush style. I didn't even dress appropriately. The women here are in cocktail dresses and the guys are in casual suits. They don't even match, and I look like I might be down with some brunch or maybe an evening of drinking wine with friends.” Speaking of that, I whine, just a little, “And Nat’s in the theater, the actual public one, with dipshit, so she won’t come get me. I know Vincenzo has been bought off. I might have to take a cab.”
“Dear God, woman, it can’t be that bad there. Doesn't one of the Pigotts play for the Rangers now?” He sounds distracted. “Yeah, Lori. He’s hilarious. A crazy Canadian. He’s good people. Just stay by him the whole night.”
“Yeah, so? He isn’t worth my time. He’s another Matt; he’s not the inheriting Pigott. He’s only a grandson.”
“Oh my God.” He laughs, no longer distracted. “Did you seriously just say that aloud?”
“You know what I mean. There’s no point in getting the photos and being seen together if my dad won’t even be interested in the lineage.”
“Since when do you give a shit about that?” He isn’t laughing anymore.
“Since lately. I don't want to be married off. I don't want to be disinherited. And I don't want to become Ivanka Trump where my dad has to create a spot in his company for me. I want to do my own thing. So I have to be smart about it.”
“Well, well, well. Someone is catching on. I can’t believe you've finally grown up enough to play the game without being forced into the little-woman spot.” He gives in. “If you really want a ride, I’ll send a car. But I think you should stick it out. He has something very worthy planned out for you. Something I know you’ll love.”
“Fine.” I am as defeated as I sound. “But I’m not talking to the wives. They’re bitchy whores who hate the fact their husbands cheat on them with sluts. Not that I blame them; the whole PF thing is disgusting. I’d be bitter too.”
“You mean you are bitter.” He chides.
“No.” That is off limits still.
“Ignore the wives, Sami. Don't talk to them. Flirt with their husbands and make them pay for being horrid little bitches. You’re Sami-fucking-Ford, act like it.”
His pep talk makes me stand up straighter. “You’re right. They already think I’m the nastiest slut in the world, why not be her?”
“Keep it tame though, Matt doesn't need to be embarrassed. Be smart about it.”
“I will.” A wicked smile crosses my mouth as I hang up and re-gloss my lips. I check my outfit, unbutton one more button of the Ann-Sofie beige shirtdress I just got at the London ready-to-wear, and tighten the brown belt slightly. It’s paired with nude caged lace-up heels and rose gold je
welry. It isn’t cocktail worthy, but it’s fun and flirty and makes my tanned skin and tawny hair glow.
“And it’s on, bitches.” I unlock the bathroom and strut out, ready to destroy some relationships.
I’m full of smiles when I walk right back up to Lori. Matt’s eyes narrow suspiciously. He’s knows me too well, even better than Nat. He knows this is as fake as I get.
“So, Lori, does your family ever vacation in Europe?” I take my beer back from Matt.
“Yeah, my parents have a couple of places we frequent. My mom is a huge fan of London so we have a flat there, which is nice a couple of times a year, but I’m more of a winter sports kind of guy. Fortunately, Dad loves Colorado so the winter house is in Steamboat.”
“There’s a place called Steamboat?” I act like I’ve never been there.
“There is. Actually, I think you’ve been there. I was there snowboarding when I was a kid and you were there. I saw you.”
“This happens to her a lot. She’s bad with faces,” Matt adds, visibly annoyed, probably because I’m talking to Lori and not grateful enough that he brought me to this spa in Tarrytown to hang with the hateful eight in the corner.
“We travel a lot.”
He laughs and I laugh and Matt groans. The laughing brings a couple of other players over. They introduce themselves and their wives. I skim over the women, barely even acknowledging them, but bat my lashes and laugh and joke with the men until Matt has officially lost it.
Lori is mid story, making us all giggle nonstop when Matt cuts in.
“Anyway, I think the show is about to start.” He grabs me by the arm, not roughly, but firmly.
Everyone stops laughing and talking to glance at him and then to the far end of the room where there’s a curtain. Nothing’s there but the curtain walling off part of the room.
“What show?” I ask, assuming this was it.
“The show, before-dinner show.” He gestures his head at the curtain.
“Okay.” I smile at him and the circle of men I have garnered. We’ve officially split the room into men on one side and women on the other, and I’m the only girl on the boys’ side.
We ignore what Matt’s said and turn back to Lori as he goes back into a story we were all enjoying. “So then Dad says that the helicopter has to make a landing and—holy shit, is that the Lumineers?” He turns his head back to the curtain.
