Upper East Side #2

by Ashley Valentine

  The door to her mother’s bedroom opened and Cyrus came out, wearing his favorite red silk Versace bathrobe and bamboo spa sandals. He looked very relaxed. “Hello, Porsha!” he shouted, shuffling up and wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. “Your mother’s in the tub. But it’s official—I’m all moved in. And Tahj and Mookie have moved in, too!”

  “Mookie?” Porsha questioned, stepping backward. She didn’t like standing so close to Cyrus when it was very possible he wasn’t wearing anything under his bathrobe.

  “Tahj’s dog! He’s a real mooch. Ha ha! Mookie the mooch.” Cyrus snapped his stubby, gold-ringed fingers. “Tahj’s mom’s away a whole lot, and he was bored as hell up in that big house in Scarsdale with only Mookie to talk to, so he decided to move in with us. Like your mom says, the more the merrier!”

  Porsha just stood there, unable to believe her ears. The dog, Mookie, walked up behind her and sniffed her butt.

  “Mookie, no!” Cyrus said, laughing. “Come here, boy. Come help me introduce Porsha to Tahj. Come on.” He grabbed the dog’s collar and led him into the library.

  Porsha had a feeling she was supposed to follow them, but she stood where she was, still in shock. A moment later a head full of short dreadlocks darted out from behind the library door. The head belonged to a boy Porsha’s age, with slanted brown eyes, mocha skin, and pink lips that curved up at the corners.

  “Hey,” the boy said, “I’m Tahj.” He tromped down the hallway in his Timberland boots to offer Porsha his hand. His T-shirt was ripped and had a faded picture of Bob Marley on it. Porsha could see the tops of his underwear above the waistband of his baggy pants.

  Ew?

  Porsha touched his hand as little as possible before pulling away.

  “So I guess we’re roommates now, huh?” Tahj asked, still smiling.

  Seriously ew.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I shut your cat in your bedroom ‘cause she was kind of freaked out by Mookie. Her tail got huge,” he said and laughed, shaking his dreadlocks.

  Porsha glared at him. “I have to do my homework.” She turned for her bedroom, slamming the door in Tahj’s face. Alone in her room, she grabbed her cat and threw herself onto her bed. Kitty Minky kneaded her paws into her cashmere sweater. “It’s okay, baby,” Porsha murmured, clutching her to her chest. She closed her eyes tight and burrowed her head into Kitty's soft fur, wishing the world would go away.

  She kept her eyes closed and her body still. If she stayed like that for long enough, maybe everyone would forget about her and she wouldn’t have to go on being Porsha Sinclaire, living her increasingly stupid life. She could become someone else and still go to Yale. Eventually, after searching and searching for years without giving up, Kaliq would find her. It would be like an old black-and-white movie where the heroine gets amnesia and starts a new life and falls in love with a new man, but all along the man who loved her originally never gave up searching until he found her and asked her to marry him, even though she couldn’t remember his name. Then, when he gave her an old scarf of his, full of smells and old times together, her memory would come back and she’d say, “I do,” and they’d live happily ever after.

  The film credits rolled in her mind as violins played softly. When all else failed, Porsha could always go to the movies in her head. Best not tell the Yale admissions office that, though. They might give her a P for psychotic.

  Finally Porsha let go of Kitty Minky and sat up. She grabbed the remote for her TV and pressed play. The DVD player whirred, and soon the opening scene of Breakfast at Tiffany’s began playing over and over—Audrey Hepburn, still dressed up after a long night out, eating croissants in front of Tiffany’s at daybreak. This was the film Porsha had entered in the Emma Willard film festival. Audrey eating croissants to “Flawless” by Beyonce, admiring the diamonds in a Tiffany’s window. And again, to that old Nicki Minaj song—“Moment 4 Life.” Then again, to Rihanna's “Diamonds.” And again to different music. Porsha saw something different in the scene every time. She never got tired of it. Hopefully the judges at the festival next Monday would feel the same way.

  There was a knock on the door, and Porsha rolled over to see who could possibly have the nerve to disturb her. The door suddenly swung open, and it was Tahj. Mookie nosed his way between his legs and into the room. Kitty Minky yowled and darted into the closet.

  “Mookie, no!” Tahj growled, grabbing the dog’s collar. “Sorry,” he said, glancing apologetically at Porsha. He pulled Mookie out the door and swatted his behind. “Bad,” he scolded.

  Porsha just stared at him, chin in her hands, hating him more each second.

  “Listen,” Tahj said. “You want a beer or something?”

  Porsha didn’t reply. She hated beer. Tahj’s chinky brown eyes roamed to the TV screen. “Hey, you dig that old shit?” he asked.

  Porsha grabbed the remote and clicked off the TV. No way was she going to allow Tahj to insult her film. Hadn’t he done enough harm already?

  “I know it must be pretty weird for you with us moving in all of a sudden, and the wedding and everything. I just thought if you wanted to like, talk or whatever, that’s cool.”

  Porsha continued to stare at him coldly, wishing he’d get lost.

  Tahj cleared his throat. “I was just hanging with your little brother Brice, you know, like watching TV and drinking a beer. Well, I drank a beer—he had a Coke. Anyway, he seems pretty cool with the whole thing. He’s a neat little kid.”

  Porsha blinked. Did this asshole think they were having a conversation?

  “Okay,” Tahj said. “Um, we’re all going out to dinner later. I’m vegan, so we’re going to a vegetarian restaurant. Hope that’s okay.” He backed away, waiting for a moment for Porsha to respond. When she didn’t, he smiled resignedly and closed the door.

  Porsha rolled over again and hugged a pillow against her stomach. Of course he was vegan. It was so typical. She wished she had some raw meat to throw in his stupid face.

  What? Did everyone expect her to give her new, faux-hippie stepbrother a warm welcome just because he was living in the house, drinking beer like he owned the place, and hanging out with Brice like Mr. Sensitive? Well, they could take that idea and shove it up their fat asses.

  At least she was getting away this weekend, and pretty soon she’d be at Yale and away from this freak show forever. Maybe if she told Kaliq what had happened, he would feel sorry for her and decide to come with her to New Haven after all. She reached for the phone beside her bed and dialed his number.

  “Yo,” he answered on the fifth ring. He sounded high.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Porsha said, her voice trembling a little. All of a sudden she felt like she might cry.

  “Hey.”

  Porsha rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Kitty Minky peered out of the closet, her eyes glowing yellow. “Um, I was wondering if maybe you changed your mind and wanted to come up to Yale with me—” Porsha’s voice broke off. She really was going to cry.

  “Nah, the boys are all hype for our road trip.”

  “Okay,” Porsha said. “I just...this whole wedding thing...and now...” She stopped. Tears fell out of the corners of her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  “Hey, are you crying?” he asked.

  Fresh tears fell out of Porsha’s eyes. Kaliq sounded like he was thousands of miles away. She was too upset to explain everything to him. He hadn’t even thanked her for her present. What the fuck?

  “I have to go,” Porsha sniffed. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”

  “I will,” he said, but Porsha could already tell that he wouldn’t. He probably wouldn’t even remember the phone call. He was too high.

  “Bye.” She clicked off and tossed the phone on her bed and scratched her nails against the bedspread. Kitty Minky crept out of the closet and jumped up on the bed beside her. “It’s okay, baby,” Porsha told her again, stroking her head. She picked the cat up and put her on her stomach. “It’s okay.”<
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  Kitty Minky closed her eyes and settled into the warm folds of her sweater, purring contentedly. Porsha wished she could find someone to make her feel that content. She’d thought Kaliq was that someone, but he was turning out to be just as crappy and disappointing as everything else in her messed up life.

  16

  “You don’t think it’s too Little Bo Peep?” Porsha’s mother asked. She twirled around on the raised platform in Saks Fifth Avenue’s bridal department, the skirt of the white satin and lace wedding dress fanning out around her feet.

  Porsha shook her head. The sight of her mother all dolled up in a pouffy, white low-cut wedding dress made her want to gag, but the sooner they were out of there the better. She had to get ready for her Yale interview tomorrow. “It looks nice,” she lied.

  “It’s kind of shameful for me to wear white,” Mrs. Sinclaire mused. “I mean, I already had my white wedding.” She turned to Porsha. “What if I had it dyed? It might look lovely in a nice golden beige or a pale lilac.”

  Porsha shrugged and shifted uncomfortably on the fake antique loveseat she was sitting on. “I don’t mind white.” The dyeing thing sounded like it would take longer.

  “We can always dye it once it’s made,” the saleswoman suggested. “Shall I go ahead and fit you for this one, then?” Even she was getting impatient. They had already been through seven dresses and three skirt-and-jacket combinations. If Mrs. Sinclaire wanted her dress to be ready in only two weeks, she was going to have to hurry her ass up.

  Porsha’s mother stopped twirling and examined herself critically in the four-way mirror. “I do think it’s the most flattering one I’ve tried on. Don’t you, Porsha?”

  Porsha nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely, Mom. It makes you look tiny.”

  Her mother smiled, delighted. The way to any girl’s heart is to tell her she looks tiny. Girls kill to be tiny.

  “All right then,” she said, glowing with excitement. “Let’s do it.”

  The saleswoman began tucking and pinning the dress, measuring things and jotting them down on a piece of paper. Porsha looked at her watch. It was already 3:30. This whole boring episode was taking for-fucking-ever.

  “Have you found anything you like for the bridesmaids to wear?” her mother called over to her.

  “Not yet,” Porsha said, although she hadn’t even looked. Her mother wanted her to find one off-the-rack dress that she absolutely loved and get it for all the bridesmaids. Porsha loved to shop, but she was having a hard time getting excited about buying this particular dress. She hated wearing the same thing as other people. After all, she’d spent most of her life in a fucking school uniform.

  “I saw a gorgeous one in Barneys. Givenchy, I think the designer was. Chocolate beaded silk with spaghetti straps. Long, cut on the bias. Very sophisticated. It would look stunning on Chanel, with her slim legs and fair coloring. I’m not sure though—it might make you look a little…hippy.”

  Porsha glared at her mother’s reflection in the mirror in stunned silence. Was she suggesting that Porsha was fat? Fatter than Chanel?

  Porsha stood up and picked up her book bag. “I’m going home, Mom,” she said angrily. “I don’t have time to talk about clothes anymore. In case you’d forgotten, I have my Yale interview tomorrow, which, to me, is kind of more important.”

  Her mother whirled around, causing the saleswoman to drop her pincushion. “That reminds me!” Mrs. Sinclaire cried, completely oblivious to Porsha’s hurt tone of voice. “When Cyrus heard you were planning to take the train up to New Haven tomorrow, he had a terrific brainstorm.”

  Uh-oh. Any brainstorm of Cyrus’s had to be hellish. Porsha cocked her head, preparing for the worst.

  “It’s all arranged—Tahj’s going to take you! He wants to look at Yale, too, and he has a car parked in a garage on Lexington,” her mother explained in a rush. “Isn’t that just perfect?”

  Porsha felt like she was going to cry again. No! she wanted to shout. It, isn’t perfect, Mom! It sucks! But she wasn’t about to cry in the bridal department at Saks. That would be beyond pathetic. “I’ll see you later,” she said abruptly, turning to leave.

  Her mother frowned after her. Poor Porsha, she thought. She must be nervous about her Yale interview.

  Porsha walked the twenty-two blocks home biting back tears of outrage. She thought about checking into the Pierre Hotel and beginning the first stages of her disappearance. She could call her father and ask to live with him and his boyfriend in their chateau in France. She could learn how to stomp grapes, or whatever the hell they did there.

  But she had to finish her senior year at Willard. She had to finally have sex with Kaliq. And she had to go to Yale. She was going to have to suck it up.

  When she got upstairs to the penthouse, Mookie dashed down the hallway and hurled himself at her, licking her face and wriggling his bottom exuberantly. Porsha dropped her book bag and sat on the floor, letting the dog tread all over her as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Mookie’s breath smelled like ass.

  She’d definitely hit an all-time low.

  Tahj poked his head out of the library. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked, walking over to her. “Mookie, no!” he yelled, pulling the dog away. “You shouldn’t let him do that. He’s going to fall in love with you and starting humping your leg and stuff.”

  Porsha stifled a sob and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  “You ready to rock on up to Yale tomorrow?” Tahj asked, holding out his hand to pull her up off the floor.

  Porsha ignored his hand. She wanted a drink badly. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of here,” she mumbled miserably.

  “Well, we could leave now if you want. It’d be more fun if we didn’t have to wake up early to get you up there for your interview,” Tahj said. He pushed his dreadlocks behind his ears. Porsha had never seen anyone do that before.

  “Now?” She accepted his hand and stood up shakily. It wasn’t what she’d planned. But why the hell not? This way, she and Tahj would be on the road at night. They’d have to stay in a hotel somewhere. They’d have a car. They could go anywhere. Anywhere that wasn’t here. She was going to be spontaneous for once.

  “Okay,” Porsha finally said with a sniffle. “I just have to pack.”

  “Cool,” he said. “Me too. Hey Brice!” he shouted.

  Brice padded out of the library in his socked feet. He was wearing one of Tahj’s LEGALIZE HEMP T-shirts and had chocolate on his face.

  “Sorry, little man, I can’t finish watching The Hunger Games sequel with you,” Tahj told him. “Me and Porsha are going on a road trip.”

  “That’s cool,” Brice shrugged. “Sequels suck.”

  Porsha pushed past her brother and hurried into her bedroom to get ready. Her heart was pounding. She might have hated Tahj, but she was so eager to get the fuck out of there she didn’t even mind that it had to be with him. Just as long as he didn’t try to act all brotherly and Mother Naturey and shit.

  17

  When Chanel arrived at the bar upstairs in Grand Central Station, Mekhi was already there, smoking a cigarette and drinking a gin and tonic. He looked nervous.

  “Hey,” Chanel said breathlessly. She was always breathless because she was always late. Mekhi liked to imagine her descending from the heavens to get there. It was a long flight. “Our cook gave me some sandwiches in case we get hungry.”

  Her cook! Well, she was a fairy princess—of course she had a cook. Mekhi swirled the ice around in his glass. Chanel was wearing a blue sweater that made her eyes look bigger and brighter than he had ever seen them.

  “I brought a bottle of wine,” he told her. “We can have a picnic.”

  Chanel slid onto the bar stool next to him. The bartender placed a cocktail, all bubbly and lavender-colored, on the napkin in front of her. “I love this place,” she said, picking up the drink. The bartender already knew what she wanted. How cool was that?

  Mekhi offered her a cigarette, put one
in his mouth, and lit them both. He felt incredibly suave.

  Chanel exhaled, blowing smoke at the station’s ornate ceiling. “I think the thing I love most about going someplace is the stations and the airports and the taxis. They’re so...sexy.”

  Mekhi sucked on his cigarette. “Yeah,” he said, although he couldn’t have disagreed more. He couldn’t wait to just get there. As soon as he and Chanel were alone he would…

  Yes?

  He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he was sure it was going to be something.

  “You’ll like my brother,” Chanel said, sipping the cocktail. “He likes to philosophize. But he’s kind of a big partier, too.”

  Mekhi nodded and pulled at the little twists in his hair. He’d forgotten about her brother. Hopefully he would be partying with his roommates while they were there. That way Mekhi would have Chanel all to himself.

  The departures and arrivals boards flashed and fluttered as new times were posted and trains came and went. The station was busy with the weekend rush. People dashed to meet their trains or stood around waiting to greet their friends.

  Chanel squinted at the departures board. “Our train leaves in fifteen minutes,” she said. “One more cigarette for the road, and then we should go.”

  Mekhi fished two more cigarettes out of the pack and swiveled around on his stool to pick up his lighter.

  “So...” Chanel said. “I read your poem.” She had to bring it up sometime, and now was as good as ever. The poem was good, but it still freaked her out.

  Mekhi suddenly froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw four vaguely familiar boys saunter into the Vanderbilt Avenue entrance to the station.

  One of them stopped and stared at Chanel.

  Kaliq was high, but he wasn’t hallucinating. Chanel Crenshaw was sitting right there at the Grand Central bar, wearing jeans, a blue V-neck sweater, and her favorite pair of brown suede boots. The sweater made her eyes look bigger and brighter than he’d ever seen them.