“Bye Mom!” Reese yelled to Lady Sterling when they were at the front door. She was sitting in the living room, listening to loud bagpipe music while watching the dailies from Tea with Lady Sterling.
“If we’re doing this, I need some liquid courage,” Trey said, leading the way to the bodega they’d bought beer from before. They made their way past the wilted daisies sitting in buckets of muddy water and went straight to the back refrigerators. Trey picked out cans of Colt 45 and Olde English. The cans made wet spots on the sky blue fabric of his nasty suit.
The deli guy rolled his eyes at his costume, and Trey flashed him an embarrassed grin. Even though Reese’s plan was weird and stalkerish, it was also kind of hilarious.
“For the road.” He handed Reese a sweating can in a brown bag as they exited the bodega and walked past the townhouses over to Fifth. The sidewalks were filled with moms and strollers, but no one gave them a second glance. He cracked a can open for himself and chugged it, appraising his friend. “You do know how gay we look, right?”
“Yeah, you can be the boyfriend I met in Miami, okay?” Reese laughed, but Trey could tell he was distracted.
They reached the corner of 76th Street and crossed Fifth Avenue. They sat down on one of the concrete benches lining the high stone wall that separated Central Park from the street. From here they had a perfect view of the large apartment building Kiara lived in, just across the avenue.
“I promised donuts.” Reese walked to the metal coffee cart on the corner. Trey surveyed his surroundings. The air had the promise of fall in it, and he noticed one lone maple leaf slowly make its way to the ground, where an overzealous five-year-old wearing a dinosaur-imprinted hoodie stepped on it.
“So, I’m guessing your buddies in Nantucket didn’t make you dress up like Borat and stalk their exes.” Reese plopped a paper bag into Trey’s lap. He slid companionably next to him on the wood bench.
Trey grabbed a donut from the bag. “I actually didn’t really have any guy friends in Nantucket,” he admitted. He blushed a little, wondering if he’d revealed too much. “I mean, I guess I was just busy with girls and stuff.”
“I always wished I could be more like that,” Reese said thoughtfully, taking another swig of Olde English. “I’ve always just liked one girl at a time.” He gestured to the apartment building, where a brooding tall doorman was standing at attention.
Ten stories above, a sheer lilac curtain fluttered in an open window. Trey wondered if it was Kat’s room, and how much time she and Reese had spent there together. If Kat had cheated on him that summer, probably not that much, he thought. But then he felt bad for even thinking it.
“It’s the small things I miss,” Reese said after a moment, self-consciously pulling down the legs of his pants, so they covered at least part of his ankles. “Like, she would always bring me Gatorade after practice. I know that’s stupid. It was...just nice.” Reese scratched at his pant leg, embarrassed. He liked Kiara because she brought him Gatorade? Reese hoped Trey didn’t think he was a total loser. He’d already dragged him all the way out here and made him wear a ridiculous costume.
Trey nodded politely, not taking his eyes off the window. As much as the topic made him uncomfortable, a part of him was curious to know more about Reese and Kat. How long had they gone out? How far had they gone?
A group of middle-schoolers carrying skateboards walked by. They stared at Reese and Trey and burst into laughter. Trey cringed, ready to take the suit off and forget this whole stupid thing. But then he realized, This is what guy friends do. They’re there for each other.
Pube mustaches and all.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this, man,” Reese said. “But I guess since you’re my boyfriend and all...” He cracked a half smile. “Me and Kiara never had sex. I wanted it to be special,” he finished quietly, staring straight ahead.
“Oh.” Trey paused in surprise, mid-bite, then took another bite so he’d have time to think. So Kat hadn’t lied on the beach when she’d said it was her first time. Trey wasn’t sure if he should feel guilty or relieved. Or overjoyed. Or ready to kill himself because he was such an asshole.
“Well, maybe this was the best time for a breakup. You know. The fall is full of fresh starts and...and the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new?” It came out sounding more like a question than he’d meant it to. Maybe if Reese got over Kat—Kiara—he would be fine?
“Have you ever been in love?” Reese asked, ignoring his raunchy suggestion and looking deep into his eyes.
“Oh my God, you’re so fucking gay,” Trey laughed, hoping to lighten the mood. It was way too serious a conversation to have with the guy whose dumpage misery he was responsible for—especially in a polyester suit.
“Seriously. Like when all you want is to hold the other person. Like you can’t stop thinking about them in the morning and at night, and dreaming about them,” Reese gushed, looking totally sincere except for the mustache that was half falling off his face and hanging over his teeth.
“Yeah,” Trey agreed. He did know that feeling. He felt it for the same girl.
“I thought we’d get married someday. Have kids, you know?”
“Are you sure those pants won’t make you infertile?” Trey asked, desperately trying to change the subject.
“Fuck you,” Reese said good-naturedly, taking another swig of his beer.
They both turned back to the green-awninged building. A flash of blue appeared. It was a girl.
“Shit! It’s her!” Reese dropped the can of beer in his lap in panic. He grabbed it and put it on the ground next to him before any more could spill on the starchy green material of his suit. He already looked like he’d peed his pants.
Way to go deep under cover.
Kat was wearing a form-hugging blue dress, totally oblivious to their presence. She started to cross the street, her legs hurrying across before a car came.
“She’s coming this way! Fix your 'stache,” Reese whispered furiously, brushing off his pant leg with one of the tiny white napkins from the donut bag.
Trey did as he was told, straightening his mustache and feeling the scratchy whiskers against his face as Kat walked closer and closer. She was twenty feet away, then ten, then five, and it seemed impossible that she wouldn’t recognize them.
“Ahhh, yeah, baby. So, I’m thinking we can have our commitment ceremony on the beach, just the two of us, and then partay!” Reese blurted out in a terrible accent. He turned to face Trey, a wild look in his eyes.
“Can you confirm my six-thirty pedicure today?” Trey heard Kat’s lilting voice two feet away from them as she walked past, holding an arm up to hail a cab. He watched her blue dress swirl around her knees. A taxi pulled up almost instantly, and she got inside.
Reese and Trey waited in silence until the taxi was out of sight.
“Aww, yeah!” Trey yelled, high-fiving Reese. It had been a close call. Kat had almost seen them. “These disguises are fucking awesome!”
“Nothing happened.” Reese shook his head dejectedly.
“Well, she wasn’t with a guy, right?” Trey clunked his can of beer awkwardly against the one Reese was holding. “Listen, I’ll help you find a new girl. You know, just someone to have fun with. Take your mind off things,” he added hopefully.
Reese took a swig of Olde English and tried to ignore the dull pain in his heart. Maybe Trey was right. Maybe he did need to find a new girl. Actually, the more he thought about it, the better it sounded. As soon as Kiara saw him with someone new, she’d be so jealous she’d beg him to come back. A smile spread slowly across his face. It was such a perfect plan. “You’re right,” Reese said, feeling better than he had all week. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem.” Trey watched his face light up, feeling pretty good himself. He’d clearly overestimated how broken up Reese was. Reese had been through the worst of it, and just getting him out there, meeting some new girls and having a good time, would do the t
rick. Soon he would be over Kat, and she and Trey could be together. Everyone would be happy. Trey was so excited he couldn’t resist giving Reese a beery hug.
“Get the fuck off me, dude,” Reese burped cheerfully.
Next on Tea with Lady Sterling: my gay son’s big fat gay wedding!
23
Vanity rode the M4 bus up Madison to Marcelo’s apartment late Thursday afternoon, trying not to touch any possibly germy surfaces, silently cursing her father for leaving her so destitute she couldn’t even afford cab fare. She and Draya had gone to Bergdorf’s after school to buy party outfits, but Vanity had quickly discovered that shopping knowing she couldn’t buy anything was like being on a diet surrounded by sweets. And there was no way she could have gone home, where Vivienne had been chain-smoking in bed for three days straight, wearing an eye mask and speaking loudly on the phone in French to pretty much anyone who would listen, including the second of Charles’s three ex-wives. Vanity hated all of the attention of it, which she knew her mother secretly loved. Vivienne had even suggested that Charles was right, and that Vanity did need to learn how to suffer. Well, fuck them.
Once she saw the sign for 68th Street through the driver’s window, she pressed the dirty yellow tape strip for the bus to stop, holding her hand away from her body in case she contaminated herself. She shook out her auburn hair and walked regally down the bus’s black rubber steps, hoping the Cashman Complex doorman didn’t happen to be looking down the street. She bounded into the ornate entrance, her black flats thwacking against the polished marble floor, and nodded confidently to the doorman.
“Miss Laurent,” the doorman acknowledged as he waved her in. Vanity felt a wave of relief. It wasn’t as if she looked poor. She pushed the button for the private elevator and hurriedly stepped in, eager to feel Marcelo’s arms around her.
Frances, the Cashmans’ unsmiling maid, let her in. Vanity glanced around the entranceway at the shiny black marble floors, the huge plate glass windows, the gold umbrella stand. She used to cringe at the penthouse’s mishmash décor and tacky pieces, wishing that Marcelo’s family could be more subtly rich. But today the opulence just felt overwhelming. She tried to steady herself as she climbed the spiral staircase that led to Marcelo’s top-floor bachelor pad.
“Hey.” He was wearing a red polo and pressed Ralph Lauren khakis. He smiled, irresistible dimples forming in both cheeks. “You’re looking pretty. Did I get it right?” Marcelo teased as he ushered her into his bedroom and closed the door. Every time she saw him—wavy hair with a perfect side part, intelligent hazel eyes, chiseled jaw, and a body made for rugby or squash—Vanity felt like everything was right in her world. He was the prince to her princess. And this weekend they’d be hosting a party, showing all the world how together they were.
“Are you okay?” Marcelo asked, brushing a lock of auburn hair off her face.
“Fine,” Vanity lied. “Just stressed out with ballet.” She ignored the momentary flash of guilt that shot up her stomach. Marcelo had fallen in love with her before she got all moody and depressive and poor. She needed to be the girl she was just a few days ago. That was the girl he loved. And surely she’d be that girl again soon.
She hugged him, inhaling his usual scent of Ralph Lauren Romance, and then gave him a slow, smoldering kiss. She took a step toward the bed and slowly unbuttoned her cardigan, locking her green eyes with Marcelo’s hazel ones and giving him what she hoped was a sultry, come-hither look.
Just then, the door flew open and Dick Cashman burst in. A skinny, bespectacled male assistant trailed behind him, wearing cowboy boots that matched Dick’s.
“Holy mother of hell!” Dick twanged when he saw Vanity hastily pull her cardigan around her shoulders. “I’ll let you kids get decent!” He slammed the door as she hastily smoothed her blouse. It wasn’t like they were doing anything.
Not yet, anyway.
“I guess I should see what Dad wants.” Marcelo shrugged and opened the door.
“I’ll come,” Vanity groaned. It would be supremely slutty to just hang out in her boyfriend’s room after being discovered in a compromising position.
“So, about the crapper,” Vanity heard Dick’s voice boom from down the hall as he gave his assistant the grand tour. “NASA designed it. Normally, they’re only on space shuttles. I saw a documentary about them and thought, ‘Fuck me, I’ll buy one!’ Custom made just last week!” Marcelo’s father loved to buy ridiculously expensive toys and useless gadgets. But, unlike her father, at least he supported his wife and family.
“Hey, Dad,” Marcelo interrupted as he descended the steps from his suite into the foyer. Vanity lingered up above. Even from ten feet up, she could see Mr. Cashman wink at his son. She buttoned her cardigan all the way up to her neck, trying not to feel embarrassed.
“Sorry about the interruption,” Dick chuckled, striding toward Marcelo. His male assistant’s cowboy boots made loud clicking sounds on the newly polished floors. “But I wanted to show you what the dogs dragged in.”
Baby Cartwright, her high cheekbones streaked with dirt, suddenly peered from behind Dick’s bulk.
Surprise!
“Hey!” Baby greeted Marcelo enthusiastically. She pulled her tangled hair into a ponytail on top of her head and grinned mischievously. “Sorry I’m late to pick up the dogs, but I found the best place for them to run. It’s Fort Tryon Park in the Bronx, and it’s great. Nemo would love it! I was just telling your dad about it.”
“Sounds great for the bitches!” Dick Cashman leaned down to pet Nemo. “Want to take the chopper up there?” Dick offered.
“No!” Marcelo said awkwardly.
Vanity narrowed her catlike eyes at Baby, who hadn’t even noticed she was standing at the top of the stairs. What the hell was that skinny nobody doing in her boyfriend’s apartment?
“Okay, well, whatever you kids want,” Dick Cashman sounded disappointed as he tromped away toward the hall that led to his office. His assistant practically ran after him.
“Thanks!” Baby smiled affectionately at Mr. Cashman’s retreating back. She hadn’t known what to make of Marcelo’s dad at first, but the more she talked to him, the more she loved how random and tacky he was. Even though he was one of the wealthiest men in New York, at least he was having fun with his money instead of just using it to make other people feel bad.
“So, you’re here to take the dogs?” Marcelo asked stupidly. He sounded weird, and the peach fuzz on the back of Baby’s neck stood on end in warning. She looked up to see Vanity Laurent at the top of a spiral staircase, glaring down at her. She wore a cashmere cardigan buttoned high up her long, graceful ballerina’s neck. She radiated evil.
Vanity slowly descended, her chin held high, and stood beside Marcelo proprietarily.
“Oh, uh, Vanity, this is Baby. She’s been helping out with the dogs.”
“We’ve met,” Vanity said icily, narrowing her eyes. When Marcelo had said he was walking the dogs yesterday, had he been walking them with Baby Cartwright? Was that what he had been doing all week after school? “And we have the dogs taken care of today,” she added coolly.
Look out, pups, you’re about to see a catfight!
Marcelo coughed and took the leashes away from Baby. “Yeah, sorry for not telling you sooner,” Marcelo said, but he didn’t make eye contact. Shackleton whined. “Is it all right if you get paid tomorrow?”
Baby looked from Marcelo, who was staring straight down into Nemo’s tangled fur, to Vanity, whose arms were folded across her chest.
“Sure, that’s just fine.” Baby’s voice dripped with sarcasm. She saw exactly what was going on, and if he wanted to play that game because he feared the wrath of his alpha girlfriend, she wasn’t going to stop him. “I’ll stop by tomorrow for the check.” She stomped off, surprised at how hurt she felt.
As she emerged from the Cashman tower, Baby pulled out her cell to dial Ace, and wished for the millionth time that she was there or he was here. It clicked to voi
cemail immediately and she hurried downtown in the growing darkness, wondering why she suddenly felt lonelier than she had all week.
Poor Baby.
“So your dad hired Baby Cartwright?” Vanity asked sweetly, once Marcelo put his drooling, smelly labradore and pugs in the dog playroom all the way on the other side of the apartment. She walked over to the terrace and opened the sliding doors. There was a cool breeze and she could see people walking in and out of Central Park. She belonged up here, not in some musty garret full of castoffs. Her heart slowed down. Everything was fine.
Doesn’t she mean perfect?
“Yeah. To walk the dogs. Is everything okay?” Marcelo asked as he sat down at one end of the low-slung, ultramodern couch. The Cashmans’ study was a huge, multilevel room with tall bookcases full of unread first-edition volumes. The walls were flanked with statues and frames of varying sizes, mismatched so that a Chagall hung next to a Van Gogh, which hung next to a portrait of some medieval dude with a scepter and doves flying around his way too small crown.
Vanity turned away from the terrace and walked over to the hammered steel wet bar. She knew she could always call Roger, the butler, to pour them drinks, but it was so much more romantic to mix them herself. She felt very Upper East Side wifey, welcoming her husband home after a long day.
“Are you sure Baby Cartwright is okay?” Vanity demanded, splashing Bombay Sapphire and tonic in two high glasses.
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Marcelo shifted on the couch, watching Vanity swirl the concoction.
She smiled sweetly as she handed him his drink. “She’s in one of my classes at Willard. Apparently she’s mentally unstable. Her sister said she had some type of problem.” Vanity shrugged casually, taking a seat on Marcelo’s lap.
“She seems fine,” he answered, sliding Vanity onto the couch.
“Looks can be deceiving.” Vanity tried to sound unconcerned but really, inside she was sort of freaking out. Why the fuck wasn’t Marcelo ravaging her right now? Did he want to walk dogs with some fashionless, skinny nobody like Baby? And why were the Cartwrights trying so hard to ruin her life?
Fifth Avenue #1 Page 12
