Laura glared at Gaia, as if the idea of a girl concentrating on anything besides oatmeal-and-apricot-based facial rinse was unthinkable. “Gaia,” she began in her coldest voice, “not like we’d expect you to understand this, but even the most basic social interaction begins with—”
“It’s her,” Megan interrupted. Her perfectly applied mascara fluttered as she stared over Gaia’s head at the door to Starbucks. “Oh my God—it’s her. It’s totally her.”
Gaia’s opponent had made a move. He had brought his queen’s bishop out. And she had missed it. It was very annoying.
“It is her—oh my God,” Laura confirmed.
Gaia was staring at the white bishop, but the question distracted her. Who could possibly warrant such a reverent response from the world’s most irreverent bitches? Some meaningless Mandy Moore-type celebrity?
Gaia turned her head and followed the FOHs’ gaze.
The girl who had just breezed through the glass doors of Starbucks was no celebrity. Gaia was almost sure of it. She just walked like one.
Everything about this girl had the shine of a celebrity—her angular cream-colored face, her near floor-length buttery leather coat, the perfect golden highlights of her hair that could only be obtained from the salons on Fifty-seventh Street; even her catlike tortoiseshell glasses that sat halfway down her elegant nose, attached to a platinum chain that wrapped around her neck. Everything about her was just . . . perfect. Repulsively, hideously, and disgustingly perfect.
“Oh, Jesus,” Gaia murmured, turning back to the chessboard and making her move.
“What is your problem now?” Megan complained, taking a break from gawking to give Gaia the evil eye. “Gaia, would you like to purchase a clue? Do you even know who that is?”
“No, thank God, I don’t,” Gaia told Megan. Can’t you all just go away? she thought furiously, watching as Mr. Blond Chess Demon brought out a knight—clearly preparing to castle.
“You will lose this game,” Gaia’s opponent informed her in his smooth, charming voice, “unless you start paying attention.”
“No trash talking,” Gaia said, advancing a pawn—not the strongest move she could make, but one that would at least disguise her overall intentions. Meanwhile, she let her eyes drift slightly to the side and watched the girl float up to the counter and order something that surely had a six- or seven-word title—some nonfat, half-soy, double-foam, ten-dollar cup of flavored water.
“That is Elizabeth Rodke,” Megan stated. She sounded like she was announcing royalty. “She and her brother have just enrolled at our school.”
“Well, three cheers for them,” Gaia muttered.
“Okay, I suppose you’ve never even heard of the Rodke family,” Laura said.
“The who-key family?”
“Rodke?” Tannie said, staring at Gaia like she was mentally challenged. “As in Rodke and Simon? As in they make just about everything you buy at Duane Reade? Aspirin, soap, shampoo, toothpaste . . . ?”
Gaia’s opponent was thoughtfully scratching his chin, grinning privately as he considered his next move. Gaia raised her face and stared directly at the Friends of Heather. Enough, she had decided, was really enough.
“Tannie,” Gaia said. “Megan, Laura—let me just make a very small point.” They stared back at her, their arms crossed identically, their perfectly waxed eyebrows arrogantly raised. “We”—Gaia indicated herself and the blond boy across from her—“are playing chess. That means we’re concentrating on an intellectual task. Meanwhile, your queen of toothpaste is over there buying coffee. Once she’s got her coffee, she’ll leave. Now, it seems to me that the smart move for you three would be to walk away from us and go bother her. Doesn’t that seem reasonable?”
Gaia’s opponent was smiling at her. Behind him, the FOHs were speechless.
“Whatever,” Megan said finally. Then the FOHs mercifully took their leave of Gaia, and, lo and behold, within a matter of seconds they had begun introducing themselves to Elizabeth Rodke.
“Bravo,” Gaia’s opponent said, staring at the board. With the FOHs gone, it was blessedly quiet. “You’ve certainly got a way with people.”
“Well, how can I kick your ass if neither of us can concentrate?”
“Good point,” he agreed while deftly exchanging his king and rook. “And I liked ‘queen of toothpaste.’ ”
“Well, I hate that whole status game,” Gaia told him. It was funny that she was being so open and honest with someone she didn’t even know—but she was liking this blond boy’s attitude more and more. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to be fake and shallow—what’s the rush?”
“Ex-act-ly.” The boy put out his hand. “I’m Chris, by the way.”
“Gaia.” They shook hands over the chessboard.
Meanwhile, at the counter, the queen had received her royal coffee while Megan, Tannie, and Laura fluttered around her like the loyal subjects they were, trying to make their formal introductions. The whole sight was so sickening. The queen had already begun flashing them her expectedly pearly whites, shaking their hands, and exchanging the most unbearable brand of giggles. She must have recognized instantly that these girls were her “people”—the closest thing the Village School had to an aristocracy.
“Your move,” Chris said.
“Right.” Gaia tried to tear her eyes away and focus on the chessboard. She wouldn’t be missing anything, anyway—the image only grew more grotesque when the queen took a call on her needlessly minuscule cell phone. Now she was weaving her perfect little way through the room, with her soy double-foam nonfat latte in one hand and her little silver cell phone in the other, gabbing away in grandiose fashion as her loyal subjects followed close behind.
She held out her finger to the FOHs with excessive politeness, indicating with another melodramatic grin that she was occupied on the phone. The FOHs kept a respectful distance. Gaia had seen more than enough—she turned back to the game and freed a knight, fortifying her advantage on the board. While she was staring at the pieces, waiting for Chris to make his next move, a shadow fell over the chessboard.
She looked up—and saw that the queen was right there. Standing at their table, making eye contact with Gaia.
Go away, Gaia was screaming internally. This table is taken. Please, queen of toothpaste, find yourself another goddamn table.
But the queen didn’t budge. She just stood there looking directly into Gaia’s eyes, a ludicrously wide smile stretched out across her perfect face. Chris was oblivious—his tanned arm was poised over the chessboard as he prepared to pounce on one of his pieces.
When the queen spoke, however, Gaia became very confused.
“Are they still behind me?” The queen barely moved her mouth to speak. She kept her smile completely intact, but she spoke quietly through her clenched teeth like a ventriloquist. Gaia couldn’t tell if she was talking to the phone or to her. But the way she was looking at Gaia, she seemed to be waiting for an answer.
“Are you talking to me?” Gaia finally asked.
“Shhh,” she pleaded quietly. “Yes,” she uttered through her clenched-teeth grin. “You. I’m talking to you. Are those vultures still behind me?”
Gaia looked behind her and saw the FOHs huddled just a few tables back. They were just standing there, honoring their queen’s request for appropriate distance.
“Yeah. They’re still there,” Gaia reported.
“Oh God.” She sighed, maintaining the smile. She turned back toward them and shrugged grandly, pointing to the phone, indicating that she’d probably be on for a while. Then she turned back to Gaia. “Please,” she muttered. “Please save me from those girls.”
Gaia found a smile creeping across her own face. She was beginning to understand the extent to which she might have misjudged the queen of toothpaste. “What should I do?” Gaia asked.
“Can I just sit down at this table for a minute and finish my fake phone call? I won’t disturb your game; I promise.”
“Well—sure.”
“Thank you.” Rolling her eyes with relief, the queen dropped down in the chair next to Gaia and indicated once more to the FOHs that her call was going to be a while. She kept the phone glued to her ear and continued to speak into it. “Uh-huh . . . uh-huh . . . right . . . ” She snuck another look at Gaia. “Are they gone yet?”
Gaia looked back and saw Megan, Laura, and Tannie finally give up on the wait. They headed for the door. “They’re leaving.”
The queen breathed a sigh of relief, slumping in her chair.
Finally she turned to Gaia. “Thank you so much,” she told Gaia. “I thought there was no escape. I’m Liz, by the way.”
“Got you,” Chris blurted. He grabbed his knight and took Gaia’s queen’s pawn. “I’ll forgive you for being distracted. Hey, sis.”
“Hey, Chris,” the queen of toothpaste said, closing her cell phone and dropping it on the table. “So we made it through our first day, huh?”
“Barely,” Chris agreed. “Gaia, this is my sister, Liz Rodke. Liz, this is Gaia.”
Sister—?
Gaia could feel her face flushing. The FOHs had mentioned that the queen had a brother. They’d apparently had no idea that he was sitting right here, playing chess with Gaia. And Gaia had called her—
“You’re the queen of toothpaste, by the way.” Chris said pleasantly.
“Queen of—” Liz Rodke was laughing. “Wait, that’s hilarious.”
“I thought so, too,” Chris said. Gaia’s face was burning. She had no idea what to say.
“I—I am so sorry,” Gaia stammered. “I didn’t mean—”
Liz touched Gaia’s arm reassuringly. “Please don’t worry about it. I’m the one who pays the price of being known. Chris is anti-society page. I get so jealous.”
“So you’ve both started at the Village School?” Gaia asked, still so flustered, she’d lost sight of her strategy.
“Yeah, where apparently you’re the queen,” Liz said.
“So we’ve come to the right place if we want to get acquainted,” Chris went on.
I’m the queen of the school? Gaia thought wildly. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
Of course, the Rodkes had just arrived at the Village School. It wasn’t their fault—they would soon find out how ridiculous that premise was.
“But I’m not—” Gaia began.
“This girl has been dominating Starbucks since she got here,” Chris insisted, looking up from the chessboard. “She’s got a very pretty boyfriend whom she kissed good-bye about five minutes ago, and everyone in the room watched. Especially that equally lovely boy in the back of the room.”
He means Ed, Gaia realized. He hasn’t missed a thing.
“And those three badly dressed cows are desperately jealous of her,” Chris went on. “I’m pretty jealous myself, with all the male attention she’s getting.”
“Gaia, do those girls represent the majority of the student body?” Liz was smiling a real smile this time—it was easy to see the difference. And her name was Liz. Not Queen Elizabeth. Not the queen of toothpaste. Just Liz. “Because that would be bad.”
“No, I think you’ve seen the worst of it right there,” Gaia said. “You didn’t have to be so nice to them.”
“Yes, I did. I’ve learned that the hard way. If I gave those girls an ounce of attitude, then I’d get a permanent rep at this school in two seconds: rich bitch. Boom.”
Gaia felt instantly guilty. Liz had Gaia’s first impression of her totally pegged. And it wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to be judged for her gray sweatshirt. Why should Liz be judged for her leather coat?
“But you are a rich bitch, sis,” Chris said, while staring at the chessboard. Liz thwacked him on the shoulder without looking.
“Besides,” Liz went on. “Nice is just easier. You know what I mean?”
“I guess,” Gaia said dubiously. “Where are you from? I’m sorry—I suck at small talk.”
“No, that’s good,” Liz assured her. “Small talk takes up half of my life. We much prefer ‘actual’ talk. We’re always making speeches; you can’t shut us up. It’s awful.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“My whole family,” Liz replied, taking a sip from her coffee. “My father and mother, me—even dimwit here.”
“I make speeches, I play chess,” Chris agreed readily, “and I’m smart enough to befriend the school’s most popular girl since it’s the easiest way to meet the cutest boys.”
“But I’m not—”
Gaia stopped, looking down at the table and at the white and black queens facing each other across the chessboard.
I’m not popular.
But Liz wasn’t what she seemed, either, was she? Not to Gaia or to the FOHs. And neither was Chris—she hadn’t guessed that he was gay until he’d made it clear.
What’s real? What’s a pose? What are people you haven’t met yet like? How can you tell?
Life as new Gaia was getting interesting.
the power
And for just one moment Gaia could see it in Jake’s eyes: actual terror. Real live childlike terror.
OLIVER
Dear Gaia,
You and I have so much catching up to do. Years’ and years’ worth. So I thought I might try writing you letters. For me as much as for you, I suppose. Just to try and connect with you as much and as often as possible. I need that.
I’m writing for two reasons. The first is to let you know just how sorry I am for everything that’s happened. It isn’t easy for me to face the truth of what I was and what I’ve done over the years—to you, to your father, to your poor mother, and to so many innocent people. The only chance I have of finding any kind of peace is if I try to keep making amends and try to devote myself to being the best person I can be and the best uncle I can be to you. When I look in the mirror, I want to see plain Oliver Moore and not that monster, Loki, and all the terrible things he’s done. That’s only possible if I make amends with the people I’ve hurt. And that means Tom and you. Gaia.
Here’s the second reason I’m writing, Gaia. I want you to know that you can depend on me. You’re a very brave and very intelligent young woman, and you certainly don’t need an old uncle’s help to live your life. You’ve shown over and over again that you’re more than capable of holding your own. But if there’s anything you need, ever, at any time—especially with Tom out of New York—please don’t hesitate to let me know, and I’ll take care of it. It would be an honor.
Like you, I’m sure, I’m doing my best to resume a normal life and put all the events of the past behind me. I’ve moved into this new apartment on Broome Street. It’s not that far from your school—just a short walk across town. I’d love it if you came by to see it. You’re welcome anytime, along with Jake or any of your friends you want to bring, whenever you just want to get away from everything and relax.
It’s strange, as a middle-aged man, to try to resume a life that I never really led to begin with. But it feels good to be doing the right thing and to be on the right side again. I don’t know how I ever could have gotten so lost and so turned around, as I was for all those years. It seems like just yesterday that I was wrestling with your father when we were kids or dropping by that rat’s nest of an apartment he had up by Columbia. Those memories are so vivid, it’s hard to believe that I’ve been robbed of all the time—time I could have been spending with you or your father or even with Katia. I’d give anything to go back and do it over, but of course that’s impossible.
Nikolai is dead already—I know that. There’s no way to kill him again for what he did to me, to all of us. And of course Yuri is finally out of our lives. I find it difficult to think about that—that monster, that abomination—without being overcome with rage. All the things he took from us, from all of us; things we can never get back. . . . It’s probably best for me not to think about that.
But I can’t help it. In the end, the blame goes all the way
around, doesn’t it? We all played our parts in the big game, and we each made our mistakes. In the end, it was a game about being smart, wasn’t it? About having the willpower and the intelligence to control events by controlling the people around you. Gaia, if you had joined my side, we could have taken control of all of it. I’m sure you realize that. The smartest and bravest people end up in charge, and who can argue with that? It was stupidity, plain human stupidity that caused all the sadness and loss in our lives. Tom’s awful stupidity first, the way he stole Katia away from me. Then Rodriguez at the CIA, but let’s face facts, Gaia, when have they ever been smart about anything? It makes me so angry. And anger helps me see the truth. And the real truth is that the only way to get what you want in this world is to be smart enough and brave enough to force things your way. You can’t have the life you want if you’re afraid of your own power—you have to take control of
Violent Tendencies
OLIVER STOPPED WRITING.
He raised his head and looked around. He felt dizzy. For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was.
But of course he knew exactly where he was. The smell of coffee and the ticking clock told him: he was at his own kitchen counter in the middle of his new loft. Behind him, the empty living room reflected the bright afternoon sunshine from the skylights high in the wall. There was no sound but the ticking of the antique clock over the refrigerator and the murmur of Manhattan traffic outside.
Oliver looked down at the letter he’d been writing. He massaged his hand, which was aching and throbbing. It was easy to see why: the ballpoint writing, which looked so mild and neat at the top of the letter, got darker and more violent as it went down the page. The last paragraph was written in thick block letters, gouged deeply into the lined paper. Oliver saw that he’d actually torn the paper as he wrote.
He put the pen down on the counter and took a sip of coffee. It soothed him. He took a deep breath, looking over the letter, and then, in one fast move, he ripped the page from the pad and savagely crumpled it up. He had to crumple the next page, too, since the savage writing had gone through the paper.
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