Upper East Side #2

by Ashley Valentine

  Chanel had come back to the city last month after being kicked out of boarding school. At first, she’d been thrilled to be back in the city. But then she’d discovered that Porsha and all her other old friends weren't speaking to her anymore. Chanel still didn’t know what she’d done that was so awful. Sure, she hadn’t really kept in touch with anyone, and sure, she’d maybe bragged a little too much about all the fun she’d had in Europe this past summer. So much fun that she hadn’t returned in time for the first day of classes at Hanover Academy in New Hampshire. The school had refused to take her back.

  Her old school, Emma Willard, was more forgiving. Well, the school was. The girls were not. Chanel didn’t have a single friend in New York anymore, so she was thrilled to meet Mekhi. It was fun getting to know someone so different from herself.

  Mekhi wanted to pinch himself every time he looked into Chanel’s almond shaped eyes. He had been in love with her since he first laid eyes on her at a party in ninth grade, and it was his hope that now, two-and-a-half years later, she was falling in love with him, too.

  “Let’s get the biggest sundaes on the menu,” Chanel said. “We can switch bowls halfway through so we don’t get bored.”

  She ordered the triple peppermint sundae with extra hot-fudge sauce, and he ordered a coffee banana split. Mekhi would eat anything with coffee in it. Or tobacco.

  “So,” Chanel said, pointing at the paperback sticking out of Mekhi’s coat pocket, “is that good?”

  The book was No Exit, by Jean Paul Sartre, an existentialist tale of misfits in purgatory.

  “Yeah. It’s kind of funny and kind of depressing,” Mekhi said. “But there’s a lot of truth to it, I guess.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Hell.”

  Chanel laughed. “Whoa,” she said. “Do you always read books like that?”

  Mekhi extracted an ice cube from his water glass and put it in his mouth. “Like what?”

  “Like, about hell,” she said.

  “No, not always.” He had just finished reading The Sorrows of Young Werther, which was about love. And hell. Mekhi liked to think of himself as a tormented soul. He preferred novels and plays and books of poetry that revealed the tragic absurdity of life. They were the perfect accompaniment to coffee and cigarettes.

  “I have trouble reading,” Chanel confessed.

  Their sundaes came and they could barely see each other over the mounds of ice cream. Chanel dipped her long sundae spoon into the bowl and carved out a perfectly enormous bite. Mekhi marveled at the long, slim angle of her wrist, the taut muscle of her arm, the silky brilliance of her hair. She was about to pig out on a disgustingly huge sundae, but to him she was a goddess.

  “I mean, I can read, obviously,” Chanel continued. “I just have trouble paying attention. My mind wanders, and I think about what I’m going to do that night. Or something I need to buy at the drugstore. Or something funny that happened like, a year ago or something.” She swallowed the bite of ice cream and looked into Mekhi’s understanding eyes. “I just have no attention span,” she said sadly.

  This was what Mekhi loved most about Chanel. She had the ability to be sad and happy at the same time. She was like a lone angel, floating above the surface of the earth, laughing with delight because she could fly but crying out of loneliness. Chanel turned everything ordinary into something extraordinary.

  Mekhi’s hands shook as he cut off the tip of his chocolate-covered banana with his spoon and ate it silently. He wanted to tell Chanel that he’d read for her. That he’d do anything for her. Coffee ice cream melted and spilled over the edge of his bowl. Mekhi tried to keep his heart in his chest.

  “I had a great English teacher at Riverside last year,” he said when he’d regained control. “He told us the best way to retain what you read is to just read a little bit at a time. Savor the words.”

  Chanel loved the way Mekhi talked. The way he said things made her want to remember them. She smiled and licked her lips. “Savor the words,” she repeated, the corners of her mouth curving up into a smile.

  Mekhi swallowed a piece of his banana whole and reached for his water. God, she was beautiful.

  “So, you’re probably, like, a total A student and you’ve already applied to Harvard early or something, right?” Chanel said. She picked a broken piece of candy cane out of her sundae and sucked on it.

  “Nah,” Mekhi said. “I’m totally clueless. I mean, I definitely want to go somewhere with a good writing program, I just don’t know where yet. Our college advisor gave me this big long list, and I’ve got all the catalogs, but I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Me neither. But I’m probably going up to visit Brown sometime soon,” Chanel told him. “My brother goes there. Want to come?”

  Mekhi searched the deep wells of her eyes, trying to gauge whether she felt as passionately about him as he did about her. When she said, “Want to come?” did she mean, “Let’s spend the weekend together, holding hands, staring into each other’s eyes, and kissing for hours at a time”? Or did she mean, “Let’s go together because it would be convenient and fun to have a friend along”? Still, he couldn’t say no. He didn’t care whether she’d said Brown or Loserville Community College, Chanel had asked him if he wanted to go and the answer was yes. He’d go anywhere with her.

  “Brown,” Mekhi said, as if he were still thinking it over. “They’re supposed to have a great writing program.”

  Chanel nodded, combing her long hair with her fingers. “So come with me.”

  Oh, he’d go. Of course he’d go. Mekhi shrugged. “I’ll talk to my dad about it,” he said, trying to sound casual. He didn’t dare let Chanel know that inside he was leaping and bounding around like an excited puppy. He was afraid he might scare her away.

  “Okay, ready? Let’s switch,” Chanel said, pushing her bowl toward him.

  They switched bowls and tasted eachother’s sundaes. As soon as the new flavors hit their taste buds, their faces contorted and they stuck out their tongues. Peppermint and coffee didn’t mix. Mekhi hoped it wasn’t a sign.

  Chanel took her bowl back and dug in for the final stretch. Mekhi took a few more bites of his and then put his spoon down. “Whoa,” he said, leaning back in his chair and clutching his stomach. “You win.”

  Her bowl was still half full, but Chanel put her spoon down, too, and unbuttoned the top button of her jeans. “I think we’re tied,” she said with a giggle.

  “Want to take a walk?” Mekhi ventured, crossing his trembling fingers tightly.

  “I’d love to.”

  60th Street was quiet for a Friday night. They walked west, toward Central Park. At Madison, they stopped at Barneys and looked in the window. There were still a few people behind the counters in the cosmetics department, setting up for the Saturday morning rush.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without Barneys.” Chanel sighed, as if the store had saved her life. Mekhi had only been inside the famous department store once. He’d let his imagination run wild and had bought a very expensive designer tuxedo there with his father’s credit card, fantasizing about wearing it while dancing with Chanel at a glamorous party. But then reality had set in. He hated glamorous parties, and until a few days ago, he’d thought Chanel would never have two words to say to him. So he’d returned the tux.

  Now he smiled at the memory. Chanel definitely had more than two words to say to him. She’d invited him to spend the weekend with her. They were falling in love. Maybe they’d even wind up going to the same college and spending the rest of their lives together.

  Careful, Mekhi. There goes that imagination again.

  At Fifth Avenue, near the corner of the park, they headed uptown past the Pierre Hotel, where they had both gone to a formal dance in tenth grade. Mekhi remembered watching Chanel, wishing he knew her, as she laughed with her table of friends, dressed in a green strapless dress that made her hair shimmer. He had been in love with her even then.

&nb
sp; They walked past Chanel’s orthodontist’s office and the Frick, the old mansion that was now a museum. Mekhi wanted to break in and kiss Chanel on top of one of the beautiful old beds inside. He wanted to live there with her, like refugees in paradise.

  They kept walking up Fifth Avenue, past Porsha Sinclaire’s building on 72nd Street. Chanel gazed up at it. She’d known Porsha since first grade and had been in the Sinclaires’ apartment hundreds of times, but now she was no longer welcome.

  Chanel couldn’t pretend she was entirely blameless. She knew what had upset Porsha most. It wasn’t just that Chanel had been out of touch with her old New York crowd or that she’d been off partying in Europe while Porsha’s parents were getting a divorce. What had really turned their friendship sour was the fact that Chanel and Kaliq had slept together the summer before Chanel went away to boarding school. It wasn’t like, planned or anything. It just happened. And then it sort of happened again, right after she got back.

  That was nearly a month ago, and Chanel felt like it had happened to some other girl with an entirely different life. Chanel, Porsha, and Kaliq had been such a close threesome. Chanel had hoped Porsha would see it as one of those crazy things that happened between friends and forgive her. It was just a one-off. And besides, Porsha still had the boy. But Porsha had only recently found out about it, and she wasn’t going to let it go.

  Chanel fished around in her purse for a cigarette and stuck one in her mouth. She stopped walking and flicked on her lighter. Mekhi waited as she inhaled and blew a cloud of gray smoke into the chilly air. She pulled her worn plaid Burberry coat around her.

  “Let’s go sit out in front of the Met for a while,” she said. “Come on.” She took Mekhi’s hand and they quickly covered the ten blocks to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Chanel led Mekhi halfway up the steps and sat down. Across the street was her apartment building and as usual, her parents were out, attending some charity function or art opening, and the windows were dark and lonely looking.

  Chanel let go of Mekhi’s hand, and he wondered if he’d done something wrong. He couldn’t read her mind, and it was driving him crazy.

  “Me and Porsha and Kaliq used to sit on these steps for hours and just talk about nothing,” Chanel told him wistfully. “Sometimes we were supposed to go out and me and Porsha would get all dressed and put on makeup and everything. Then Kaliq would show up with a bottle of something and we’d buy cigarettes and just ditch the party and sit out here.” She looked up at the stars with big, shining eyes. There were tears in them.

  “Sometimes I wish…” her voice trailed off. She didn’t know exactly what she wished, but she was tired of feeling bad about Porsha and Kaliq. “Sorry,” she sniffed, looking down at her shoes. “I hope I’m not bumming you out.”

  “You’re not,” Mekhi said. He wanted to take her hand back, but she’d hidden it in her pocket. Instead, he touched her elbow and Chanel turned to him.

  This was his chance. Mekhi wished he could think of something beautiful and passionate to say, but his heart was in his mouth. Before his nerves could paralyze him, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips, ever so gently. The earth wobbled on its axis and he was glad he was sitting down. When he pulled back, Chanel’s eyes were glowing at him.

  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and smiled at him. Then she lifted her chin and kissed Mekhi again. Just a tiny kiss on his lower lip, before she ducked her head down and leaned it against his shoulder. Mekhi closed his eyes to steady himself.

  Oh God. What is she thinking? he wondered desperately. Why won’t she tell me?

  “So where do Westsiders go to hang out?” Chanel asked. “Is there a place like this?”

  “Not really,” Mekhi said, his arm around her. He didn’t want to have a conversation right now. He wanted to take her hand and dive off the edge of the cliff and float on their backs in a moonlit sea. He wanted to kiss her again. And again and again. “I go down to the boat basin during the day, sometimes. At night we just walk around.”

  “The boat basin,” Chanel repeated. “Will you take me there?”

  Mekhi nodded. He’d take her anywhere. He waited for Chanel to lift her head so they could kiss again. But Chanel kept her head pressed into his shoulder, breathing in the smoky scent of his coat and allowing her nerves to be soothed.

  They sat like that for a little while longer. Mekhi was too nervous and happy and dazed to even light a cigarette. He was hoping they could fall asleep that way and wake up in the pink light of dawn, still wrapped in each other’s arms.

  A few minutes later, Chanel pulled away. “I’d better go before I fall asleep,” she said, standing up. She leaned down and kissed Mekhi on the cheek. Her hair brushed his ear and he shivered. “See you soon, okay?”

  Mekhi nodded. Do you have to go? He was afraid to open his mouth in case he said the words that had been threatening to escape all night. I love you. He was still so afraid of scaring her away.

  He watched Chanel run across the street, her silky hair streaming out behind her. The doorman held the door to her building open, and she disappeared.

  Chanel rode up in the elevator, jangling her keys in her coat pocket. A few weeks ago she would have been sitting at home on a Friday night, watching TV and feeling sorry for herself. How lucky she was to have made a new friend in Mekhi.

  Mekhi sat on the Met steps for a few more minutes until the lights came on in the top floor of the building across the street. He imagined Chanel kicking off her boots in the hall and dropping her coat in a chair for the maid to pick up. She’d change into a long, white silk nightgown and sit in front of a gilt-framed mirror, brushing her luxurious hair, like a princess in a fairy tale. Mekhi touched his lower lip with his index finger. Had he really kissed her? He’d done it so many times in his dreams it was almost impossible to believe that it had actually happened.

  He stood up, rubbed his eyes, and stretched his arms up high above his head. God, he felt good. It was funny—all of a sudden, he was the guy he usually hated reading about in books. The happiest guy alive.

  3

  “I don’t see why you have to go to Brown on the same weekend that I’m going to Yale,” Porsha called out to Kaliq from inside her bathroom. Kaliq was lying on her bed in the adjoining room, snaking one of Porsha’s belts around on top of the bedspread for Kitty Minky, Porsha’s Russian Blue cat, to chase. The lights were out, the candles were lit, Drake was playing on the iPod docking station, and Kaliq had his shirt off.

  “Kaliq?” Porsha repeated impatiently. She began to take off her clothes and pile them on the bathroom floor. Her plan had been for them to go up to New Haven together that weekend. They could rent a car and stay at a romantic bed-and-breakfast, as if they were on their honeymoon.

  “Yeah,” Kaliq finally answered. “I don’t know. That’s just when Brown scheduled my interview. Sorry.” He snapped the belt from between Kitty Minky’s paws and cracked it in the air above her head, sending her streaking into the closet. Then he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, waiting.

  The last time he and Porsha had been about to have sex, Kaliq had spilled the beans about having sex with Chanel. Not once, but twice. It had just seemed too slimy to go through with it without Porsha knowing that A) it wasn’t his first time and B) he’d done it with her former best friend. Of course, once he’d confessed, Porsha hadn’t wanted to do it anymore. She’d been furious.

  Thankfully, all that was behind them. Well, sort of.

  Porsha finished strapping on the Manolos and spritzed herself with perfume. She closed her eyes and counted to three. One, two, three. In those three seconds she played a short film in her head, imagining the incredible night she and Kaliq were about to have. They were childhood lovers, destined to be together, giving themselves wholly to one another.

  She opened her eyes and ran the brush through her hair one more time, checking out her reflection in the mirror. She looked confident and ready. She looked like someone who always got
what she wanted. She was the girl who was going to get into Yale and marry the boy. If only her nostrils weren’t quite so big or her breasts so small, but whatever.

  She pushed open the bathroom door. Kaliq looked up and was surprised to find himself immediately turned on. Maybe it was the champagne. He closed his eyes and opened them again. No, Porsha really did look that good.

  He reached for her hand and pulled her down on top of him. They kissed, their lips and tongues playing the same games with each other that they’d been playing for two years. But this time the game wasn’t going to be like some four hour session of Monopoly that the players eventually got sick of and abandoned. This game was going somewhere, and they weren’t going to stop until they had bought up every piece of real estate they could lay their hands on.

  Porsha closed her eyes and pretended she was Audrey Hepburn in Love in the Afternoon. She loved old movies, particularly ones with Audrey Hepburn and Dorothy Dandridge in them. They never showed the characters having sex in those movies. The love scenes were always romantic and tasteful, with lots of long, heartfelt kisses, great outfits, and cool hairdos. Porsha tried to keep her shoulders down and her neck stretched long so she would feel tall and lean and sensuous in Kaliq’s arms.

  Kaliq accidentally jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow. “Ow,” Porsha said, pulling away. She hadn’t meant to sound scared when she said it, but she was, a little. Audrey Hepburn never got jabbed in the ribs by Cary Grant, not even accidentally. He treated her like a china doll.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Kaliq. “Here.” He reached for a pillow and slid it under her so that her head and shoulders were propped up comfortably. Porsha lifted her head and fanned her hair out prettily around her face. Then she reached up and bit Kaliq on the shoulder, leaving an o of white teeth marks on his skin.