"You are not a mind-reader," Tiffany snaps. Then, remembering her positive attitude crap, she takes a deep breath and rephrases. "What I mean is, I would be very grateful if you gave me a chance to prove that I've changed. I really do want to meet someone who understands me on a deeper level, and I don't care how much money he makes!"
"Okay." Richard turns around, grabs the fruit-and-veggie tray off the nearest cart, and hands it to me. He then removes the tray of champagne glasses and hands it to Morgan.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"Just help me out and stand there for a second, please," he says, as he hops up onto the cart. He stumbles for a moment, but finally finds his balance and gestures for Morgan to hand him a glass. "And a piece of silverware too," he whispers, as people are starting to look around again.
Morgan looks around and finds a tray of silver. "You want a knife, a spoon, a-"
"Just something I can bang against a glass," Richard says.
She hands him a fork, and he whacks it into the glass. I think he's trying to be enthusiastic, but he's used to eating with plastic spoons and the cheap flatware found in the school cafeteria. Also, he rarely goes to parties, and when he does they tend to be college parties, where people typically drink out of aluminum cans or plastic cups, not fragile glass wine flutes.
So when he whacks that fork into the glass, of course it shatters, champagne pouring over his hand as it clutches the still intact stem. "It's all right," he says, shaking shards off onto the floor. "Just a few scratches. I'll be fine. I have health insurance!"
This time the room really is silent.
"Well, anyway, I wanted to get your attention, and, uh, well now I've got it," Richard blathers on, and I'm once again reminded of all those suicidal deer prancing into the glare of my headlights. Have I mentioned how frustrating it is to be a vegetarian who accidentally kills animals with her car?
Unlike the deer, Richard at least knows he needs to veer sharply away to avoid a collision. "I wanted to introduce everyone to my friend Tiffany here," he says hastily, gesturing for Tiffany to come closer. She does, and he offers her a hand to climb onto the cart with him.
I'm really not sure the cart was intended to hold the weight of two twenty-one-year-olds, but hey, as Richard pointed out, he has health insurance, and so does Tiffany. And amaziangly, the cart holds, even as Tiffany struggles to catch her balance in her five-inch fake Prada stilettos and waves awkwardly at the other party guests, most of whom she doesn't know.
"I'm introducing Tiffany because she's looking for a date tonight," Richard says. Immediately, every male in the room starts making catcalls. A few indicate that they are particularly well-equipped to satisfy her needs.
"Hang on, hang on," Richard says, waving his hand to quiet the crowd. "Let me tell you a little about Tiffany first. She's decided to turn her back on material wealth, at least for the time being, and she absolutely refuses to date any rich guys."
"Good idea!" Morgan yells, apparently thinking about Biff.
"So she will not date anyone whose income exceeds $25K a year," Richard says. "Or anyone with a trust fund, or rich parents who fund everything. Proof of lack of income will be required," he adds. "Now, if you meet Tiffany's requirements, she'll meet with each of you at that table in the corner." He points at the only empty table in the room. "She's interested in making a real connection, so there's no telling how long it will take her to get to know you, before she decides if she wants to go out with you. All interested parties, please line up here." With that, he hops off the table, helps Tiffany down (she needs help with shit like that only because of the five-inch heels), and escorts her to the empty table, while men line up at the recently vacated cart.
Chapter Sixteen
"Is she actually verifying the amounts in their bank accounts?" Hoolio asks, as we watch Tiffany's offline dating service commence. He's talking about Morgan, of course - she's taken charge of screening suitors, walking up and down the line and taking cell phones.
"Yes, I am," she says over her shoulder, fingers flickering over a screen. "Everyone has their bank account on their phone now, so it's easy. And in case anyone made any outgoing transfers, I'm checking activity for the last week."
"That's smart," Richard says.
Hoolio shuffles his feet. "Well, this was one hell of an interesting party, but I think I should call it a night."
I look at my cell phone. It's nine-fifteen.
Richard raises an eyebrow. "I hope it wasn't something I said? I really didn't mean to offend you earlier."
Hoolio shakes his head. "No, no, it's not that, it's just..." His face is getting redder than Tiffany's did that one time she fell asleep in the house tanning bed.
Well, this isn't going well for me. What the fuck happened? "Hoolio, what's wrong?" I ask, stepping closer to him. "If you're bored, we can go take that walk on the beach together. Alone."
He shakes his head. "It's not that I'm bored either, it's just..." He sighs and stares down at his shoes. Oh, crap, I've seen that look before. "You're a really great girl, Shade, and I'm glad I met you. But I just don't think this is going to work out between us. I...think we should just be friends."
"And how did you come to that conclusion?”
"You really wanna know?"
"Yes." No, I don't, but I can't say no in front of everyone. And maybe I kind of do.
He tugs at the strings on his hoodie. "Because I don't think that my life sucks just because I'm not rich, Shade. And I don't get why you think that, either. I don't want to be with someone who thinks money is essential for happiness. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were this shallow."
With that, he ducks his head, turns and walks off toward Tiffany's table. I see Morgan's eyebrows shoot up under her excessively-sprayed bangs at the sight of him joining the line of potential suitors.
I should be thinking of something brilliant I could do to make this an awesome viral video. But all I can think about is how, once again, Tiffany has upstaged me.
I glance around the party, desperate for an idea. What can I do to wrestle the spotlight back onto me? Unfortunately, all I see are people sneering at me and whispering to each other, probably agreeing with Hoolio. And then there's Richard, leaning up against the counter, drink in hand, smiling smugly at me.
Well, I have to do something fast before I wind up looking like the loser in this breakup. For lack of a better idea, I pull out my cell phone, open the GluedToYou app, and press the LiveStream! button.
"I'd like my viewers' opinion on something," I say, so loudly that even Tiffany looks up from the corner where she's holding court. "Do you think it's super rude to dump someone and ask out their best friend in the same breath? Like, I go to a party with someone, I say something that indicates I have some ambition for my life and career, and this doofus decides he'd rather go out with someone whose only ambition in life is to find a rich husband. Well, that's been her ambition her whole life until today. Today she's decided she no longer cares about money and wants to date poor guys, so this guy who came to the party with me ditches me for a chance at going out with her. I just hope they can schedule a date before she changes her mind again."
I pause, letting my phone's camera follow my eyes around the room. "And I really hope she doesn't have any ulterior motives."
Hoolio looks over at Tiffany. "Is that true? Did you always want to marry a rich guy?"
Tiffany jumps up, knocking over her white wicker chair. Now she's starting to look like she did after falling asleep in the house tanning bed that one time. "Of course not!" she yells at Hoolio. "And for the record, I had no intention of dating you, either. Did you really think I'd be impressed by an asshole who dumps a girl for another girl mid-date? What is wrong with you?
"And you," she says, spinning around to look at me so fast that her cheap, mall-kiosk hairpiece slips off-center. "I can't believe what you just implied about me. I make an effort to change my life, to become a better person, and you make fun of me. Wors
e than that, you imply this is some sort of master plan, when you know I'm not smart enough to manipulate people the way you do."
Wait...what the fuck? Is Tiff actually jealous of me? Why? And her excuse is that she's stupid?
"I thought you were my friend," she continues, her chin trembling. "And I could forgive you for thinking my plan to change my life was stupid. But to accuse me of somehow trying to trick a rich guy into dating me by pretending to want a poor guy - that's the sort of underhanded thing you would do, not me."
"But is it true?" Hoolio pressed. "Did you always want to marry a rich guy?"
Tiffany barely glances at him before she goes back to giving me the glare of doom. "I used to, yes," she snaps, still not looking at him. "But if I had half the intelligence and talent you do, Shade, that thought would never have crossed my mind. I don't know why you always feel the need to steal what little attention I can get from a guy when you can have any man you want." She finally shoots the glare Hoolio's way. "Well, almost any man." She picks up the nearest glass of champange and flings it in his face. Then she storms past him, slapping Morgan's hands away as she tries to run after Tiffany.
When Tiffany gets like this, the best thing to do is leave her alone until she cools off. So I do the only thing I can think of: I go back to my live feed.
"You know, I've noticed something," I say to my viewers, noting that the number has jumped from twenty-four to forty-seven in the last five minutes. "You know all that crap you hear about how you should just be yourself and the right person will find you and love you and appreciate you? Well, I'm here to tell you that it's just that - crap. Be yourself and your date will leave you for someone fake, who will then proceed to get mad at you. Shade out."
Chapter Seventeen
After I close the feed, I go out to the terrace to think. I can't believe what Tiffany said. Is she really trying to "change her life for the better", or is this just another act to get our vlog viewers' attention? And where does she get off thinking I'm stealing attention from her? Guys circle her like paparazzi circle Justin Bieber with a joint in his hand. I'm lucky to catch the eye of one of them, let alone all of them.
I pull my personal chocolate stash from my purse and eat a piece, calories be damned. Here's the thing: I am not ugly. In fact, I'm very attractive. I have good skin, great tits (especially considering that they're real, which no one believes, but it's true) and a tight ass. But I lack the one trait that all truly beautiful women have.
It's hard to define what it is. It's sort a glow, a tendency to smile all the time, an easy confidence that can only come from having things go your way most of the time. Tiffany has it. Morgan has it. Half the girls in the sorority have it. They smile without considering it first. They assume any guy they want will want them back, and they're usually right. They assume they'll get a grade changed because they ask for it. They may find out they're wrong, but they make the assumption in the first place. That's the quality that confers real beauty, and I do not have it.
I've tried to figure out why, and it took me a while, but I finally got it: You get that quality when you're not constantly frustrated, when you don't spend all your time hearing that you're not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough, not something enough. Just not right for us. Not right for the part. If you'd only work at it, you could do so much better.
I'm not saying that those other girls don't get rejected. Of course they do. They just haven't been getting rejected constantly for years. Some things have gone right for them. When you never get a break from rejection and failure, well, that's different. That wears on you. You know all that crap they start telling you in kidnergarten about the little engine that could, and if at first you don't succeed, try, try, again and all that other utter bullshit? Why don't they tell you stories about the person who tries, tries again, and fails, fails again and never succeeds? I am that person, and every time I force myself to try again, to go to one more audition, to make one more video, and I fail one more time, another little piece of me goes permanently numb.
And that's why I'm not a beautiful guy magnet, and Tiffany is. And that's why her accusations at me are not only ridiculous, but downright cruel. True, she probably has no idea how I feel all the time, but-
"A penny for your thoughts." Richard's voice startles me and I almost drop my chocolate over the balcony. "I can afford it."
"Yes, you can." I turn around to look at him. "You definitely can."
He joins me at the railing and leans on it, looking out at the beach. "You notice there's no trash down there?"
"I noticed. I assume they pay someone to collect it every day." I shrug. "I guess it's more expensive than waiting for the drunk drivers to swing this way, but more effective, too."
"So how did things work out for you tonight?" Richard asks.
"Obviously, not well." I stuff the chocolate bar back in my purse before I can finish the thing. "Are you here to gloat? Because I'm really not in the mood."
"No, I'm not here to gloat." Richard rolls his eyes. "And I'm not here to steal your chocolate, either, despite what you may have heard about us low-income scholarship kids. I'm here because this is my balcony."
"Oh...right." I'd forgotten about that. "Well, fine, I'll just go back to my shitty motel room." I push off the railing and whirl around, heading for the sliding door.
"Would you be any happier sulking in an expensive suite like this?" Richard asks me. There he goes again, trying to convince everyone else that money can't make them happy.
I spin around. "Yes. Yes, I would. Because if it hadn't been for this stupid bet, Tiffany would never have gone on a fake-happy kick, Hoolio would never have ditched me for her and she would never have gotten mad at me."
Richard leans back on the railing and raises an eyebrow in that infuriatingly sexy way of his. Damnit, why do I find him so sexy? The guy annoys the crap out of me. "You think Hoolio would have gone out with you in the first place if you hadn't been doing the bet? After what he said about you and Tiffany, do you think you would have had a chance with him?"
I can't think of any upside to lying in this situation, so I don't take the extra step. "Yes, I do, because Hoolio isn't like you."
His dimples twitch as if they can't decide which direction they're going. "What do you mean?"
"You blame everything on the money itself," I say, reaching for the door. "You're like those people who blame guns for killing people and spoons for making people fat. I think Hoolio just didn't like my attitude toward money. You're right about one thing - he would have dumped me once he found out how I felt about money. But you know what? If a guy is going to dump me because I don't like shitty motel rooms, then he obviously didn't care that much about me to begin with, and I'm better off without him."
Richard screws up his face like a bad actor in an antacid commerical and tosses his beer can over his shoulder. "I never said I had a problem with the money. It's how it makes you people act. The whole point of this bet was to get you all to change your attitudes about money."
"And what attitude would that be? That money isn't the root of everything that's bad in the world?"
"No," Richard snaps. "It's this attitude that it makes you better than everyone else, that it gives you the right to do things and get away with things just because you have it. It's like this little protective shield that you all wear so you don't have to deal with anything."
I take my hand off the door and walk back over to the railing. "You're suffering from tunnel vision, Richard."
"What's that supposed to mean?" He folds his arms over his Tommy Hilfiger shirt, which I'm guessing he bought at an eighty-percent-off clearance sale.
"Everybody finds something they can use as a protective shield," I say. "Poor people just have to think of something other than money. Even rich people have to do that sometimes. You do realize you can't buy off everyone for everything, right?”
Richard sighs. "Maybe. But rich people use money to make themselves feel superior a lot,
Shade. Maybe not every rich person every time, but a lot." His forehead wrinkles, making his blue eyes suddenly look cloudy. "They have a handy, built-in, get-out-of-jail-free card always ready to go. And that's just not fair."
I catch his eye and hold it, hoping he'll blink or look away first. "I know what you are, Richard. I have a cousin who's just like you."
If it wasn't for the railing, I think he'd fall off the balcony right now. "What?" He jerks upright. "You think I'm gay? Not that I have anything against gay people - they're another group that takes a lot of crap, just like the poor. But just because I'm the only guy who doesn't want you doesn't make me gay!"
I give him my patented half-snort, half-laugh. "That's not what I'm talking about."
Richard finally blinks, then turns around and stares out at the ocean. "Then what are you talking about?"
"Let me tell you about my cousin." I turn back to the ocean as well, leaning on the railing just close enough to Richard that I feel his shirt sleeve brush my arm. He smells like cheap aftershave and expensive champagne. It's a potent combination.
"My cousin's name is Cliff," I say, watching a seagull swoop down and snatch something from the ocean. A fish or a piece of floating trash? "He's a few years older than me, and he grew up rich and hating it. I think maybe one of his problems was that his parents didn't pay enough attention to him.
"Now, every time I'm in a big-box store, I see poor people ignoring their kids. The little brats will be running wild, ripping shit off shelves, leaving it for other poor people who work there to clean up. But Cliff, he didn't care that poor people ignore their kids, too. He just blamed whatever problems he had with his parents on their money.
"That was just the first thing. When he was fourteen, his dad was arrested on some sort of insider-trading charge. I don't remember the details, just that he eventually got off with a slap on the wrist. He even got another job in stock trading! Well, I don't know if he was really innocent or not, but Cliff got the idea that he wasn't. I think he overheard some conversations between his parents about how easy it was for dear old dad to get off."
Sorority Girls With Guns Page 10
