“Lifesavers? No!” she cried.
“Yes!” Tahj grabbed the Almond Joy out of her hand and started racing down the hallway.
“Wait, that’s mine!” Porsha yelled and tore after him, slipping on the thin carpet in her socked feet. It was just after two o’clock in the morning. Her interview was in less than nine hours, and she hated to admit it, but she was actually having a good time.
Yale, schmale.
Mekhi lay on the sofa bed, listening to Charlie snoring softly beside him. Across the room Chanel was sleeping in one of the double beds with Anthony, or was it Kaliq? He couldn’t tell. Her mouth hung open on the pillow, and he could see her front teeth glistening in the moonlight. Outside, the Ferris wheel loomed like a giant eye, watching them.
Mekhi rolled over to face the wall. He wanted to get up and write a poem but he’d left his notebook behind. He’d thought he’d be too busy enjoying himself with Chanel to want to write anything serious this weekend, but he was just beginning to learn that nothing ever turns out the way you think it’s going to. Life sucks and then you die. Maybe that was what Sartre had really been trying to say in No Exit.
Mekhi threw off the covers and stood up. On his way to the bathroom to get a glass of water, he walked past the bed where Chanel and Kaliq were sleeping. It was definitely Kaliq, he could see that now. And on the pillow between them were their hands…clasped tightly together.
They were holding hands in their sleep.
Mekhi turned away, picked up a pen off the bedside table, and locked himself in the bathroom. When you have the uncontrollable urge to write a heart-wrenching poem about the absurdity of human existence, toilet paper will always do in a pinch.
Porsha knew she was sleeping funny. The bag of Chips Ahoy was very close to her face and she was still wearing her bra, but she’d deal with that in the morning. Her stomach felt full and warm, and she really should have tried to make herself throw up if she wanted to keep fitting into her favorite pair of leather pants, but that too could wait until morning.
Next to her, Tahj was laughing in his sleep and clapping his hands together, as if he were trying to call his dog. Woofie? Was that his dog’s name? Porsha thought hard, but she couldn’t remember. She couldn’t even remember why she was there, in a strange motel room with Tahj and his dreadlocks. But it was nice to fall asleep to the scent of chocolate chip cookies and the piney smoke of his one hundred percent natural cigarettes. It reminded her of Kaliq.
Hmm. Sounds like someone finally let her hair down.
Sounds like someone also forgot to ask the motel reception desk for a wake up call.
19
Sunshine streamed through the window, hitting the bag of Chips Ahoy hard enough to melt them. Porsha caught the scent of gooey chocolate and woke up. She rolled over, knocking into Tahj, and then rolled the other way, crushing the half-empty bag of Fritos.
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She pulled her watch up close to her face and stared at it. Her Yale interview was at eleven, she was lying facedown on a bag of Fritos in a seedy motel room in East Asshole, Connecticut, and it was already ten o’clock.
“Fuck!” Porsha cried, leaping out of bed. “Tahj. Wake up. Now!”
It was kind of hard not to note the panic in her voice. “What time is it?” Tahj mumbled. He sat up, shaking his head back and forth sleepily.
“Three minutes after ten!” Porsha screeched at him, digging through her bag. She hadn’t even bothered to hang up her clothes, so her interview skirt was all rumpled. What the fuck was wrong with her? Was this not, like, the most important day of her life?
“Don’t worry,” Tahj said. It was the wrong thing to say.
“Shut up!” Porsha screamed, throwing a black Gucci loafer at him. “This is all your fault!”
Tahj reached under the covers to scratch his butt. “What’s my fault?”
“Just shut up.” She wadded up her clothes, stomped into the bathroom, and slammed the door.
“I’m going to go see if they have coffee by the front desk,” Tahj called out to her. “I’ll check us out and wait for you by the car.” He swung his feet to the floor and pulled his jeans on. Then he stood up and examined his reflection in the motel room mirror. One dreadlock stuck straight up from the middle of his head and there was a chocolate smudge on his T-shirt. Tahj shrugged. He wasn’t the one having the interview. He pulled his jacket on and grabbed the room key. No way was Porsha going to blame him for screwing her life up. He’d get her there.
In the shower, Porsha scrubbed at herself furiously as she went over practice interview questions in her head.
Why Yale? Because it’s the best. I’m not going to college to have fun. I want the best teachers and the best selection of courses offered and the best facilities. I don’t want to just get through the next four years. I want to be challenged.
Tell me about yourself. What kind of person are you? I’m very organized (chuckle). My friends think I’m kind of anal. I’m ambitious. I can’t stand the idea of being just average at anything. I’m determined. I push myself to do the best I can. I suppose I’m a little stubborn. I’m very social. I organize parties and charity events. I try to stay politically aware, although with all the reading at school, I have to admit I don’t read the paper every day. I love animals. I try to be a thoughtful daughter and sister and do nice things for my family without them asking.
Who is your role model? I have two. Dorothy Dandridge and Audrey Hepburn. They are both remarkable, strong, respected, beautiful women. Full of grace.
Porsha turned off the tap and grabbed a towel. She didn’t have time to wash her hair; hopefully it wouldn’t reek of smoke. She examined her appearance in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy, and a small zit shone redly above her left eyebrow. She spritzed her face with cucumber toner and dabbed eye cream under her eyes. Yale wasn’t admitting her based on her looks, anyway. She pulled on her light blue Calvin Klein button-down shirt, her black pleated skirt, and black tights. Then she brushed her hair back into a low ponytail. There. She looked like the kind of girl who liked to hang out in bookstores reading poetry. She looked serious and intelligent.
Porsha dug around in her cosmetics bag for her MAC compact. She brushed a mahogany glow over her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, and her forehead. Then she smeared some clear gloss on her lips. She was as ready as she’d ever be.
Ignoring the sick, nervous feeling in the pit of her bloated stomach, Porsha stuffed her things into her bag, slipped on her Gucci loafers and her black wool coat, and charged out of the room. She was organized, ambitious, determined, politically aware…
She reached the bottom of the staircase and pushed open the door to the parking lot. The hood was up on the Saab and Tahj was bent over the engine, attaching some kind of clamp to the battery. Porsha stopped and sucked in her breath. What the hell was wrong with the fucking car?
Tahj turned around and squinted at her. “Battery’s dead,” he said. “We must have left the lights on all night.”
“We?” Porsha dropped her bag and stamped her foot angrily. “Now what am I supposed to do?” she wailed.
“The manager’s going to jump-start us.” Tahj pushed his dreads behind his ears. “It’s cool.”
“Excuse me, but it is not cool. We should be there by now!” Porsha screamed, even though Tahj was standing right in front of her.
A bleached blond woman in her forties pulled up beside the Saab in an old brown Suburban. She left the motor running and hopped out. “Let’s get this done quick,” she told Tahj. “I don’t like to leave the phones ringing.” She lifted up the hood of the Suburban.
Porsha looked at her watch again. It was 10:30. “How far are we from Yale?” she asked.
“The university? About twenty-five miles,” the woman said. “My son goes there. It takes him about twenty minutes or so.”
Porsha frowned. It had never occurred to her that the sons of the types of people who managed Motel 6s could go to Yale. “How long
is this jump-start thing going to take?”
Tahj handed the woman the clamps for the jumper cables. He laughed. “Oh, it could take anywhere from five minutes to two hours,” he said, winking at the motel manager.
Porsha crossed her arms over her chest. “We don’t have two fucking hours!”
Tahj opened the door to the Saab and started the engine, revving the gas a few times to make sure it was well and truly fired up to go. He left the engine running and motioned for Porsha to get in.
“You’re lucky,” he said, and winked at the hotel manager again. The woman switched her car off and Tahj removed the cables, closed the Saab’s hood, and got in next to Porsha. He pulled an envelope out of his jacket and handed it to her.
Porsha ripped it open. It was a cheesy Hallmark card with a picture of a little girl on it. TO MY SISTER, it read. ON HER SPECIAL DAY.
“Ready?” Tahj asked.
Porsha closed the card. “Just drive, please,” she ordered. She touched the zit on her forehead. It felt like it was growing exponentially with each minute that passed.
What’s your biggest strength?
I never give up.
And your biggest weakness?
I’m a little impatient. But only a little.
Yeah, right.
20
“Why don’t you go out for a run or something?” Rufus Hargrove suggested to his daughter on Saturday morning. He scratched at the gray wiry hair sticking out in tufts at the neckline of his yellowed undershirt. “Your mother was a runner.”
Bree scowled. She hated talking about her mother. “Mom only ran with her personal trainer. They were sleeping together, remember?”
Her father shrugged. “You look bored, that’s all,” he said. “Want to go to the movies with me?”
“No.” Bree sipped her tea. “I’d rather just stay here and watch TV.”
“Fine,” her father said. “Just make sure it’s something educational. You know, like Sesame Street.” He smacked the top of Bree’s curly head with the Saturday Times and headed into the bathroom.
Bree stayed seated at the kitchen table, staring into her mug. Marx, their overweight tabby cat, leapt up onto the table and sniffed her ear. “I’m bored,” Bree told him. “Are you bored?”
Marx sat down and licked his enormous belly. Then he jumped off the table and headed for his bowl of cat food.
When in doubt, eat.
Bree stood up and opened the refrigerator door. She stood there for a while, staring into it. Swiss cheese. A grapefruit. Sour milk. A box of cornflakes put in the fridge to hide it from the roaches. A lone English muffin.
The house phone rang. Bree didn’t move. No way was it for her, anyway. Kaliq, Mekhi, Chanel—they were all away.
It rang again and again and again.
“Bree, dammit!” she heard her father yell from the bathroom. She slammed the fridge closed and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Brianna, it’s Yasmine.”
“Hey,” said Bree.
“Is Mekhi around?”
“No. Mekhi went up to Brown with Chanel for the weekend. He didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“That’s weird.”
“Yeah. We haven’t really been speaking that much lately,” Yasmine admitted.
“Oh.” Bree walked back to the fridge and opened it again. Swiss cheese. She could have Swiss cheese melted on the English muffin.
“Okay, well, I guess if he’s not there, he’s not there,” Yasmine responded. She sounded really disappointed. Disappointed and hurt. Her whole charade with her cool, older boyfriend didn’t fool Bree for a minute. She was totally in love with Mekhi. If Mekhi told Yasmine he’d marry her if she grew her hair out, wore bright colors, and got some exercise, Yasmine would do it.
Bree felt kind of sorry for her. She put the Swiss cheese back on its shelf. “Hey, I have kind of a weird question,” she said, deciding to be nice for a change. “Do you want to like, do something today? I mean, together?”
There was a brief little pause. The sound of Yasmine hesitating. “Sure,” she said. “I’m holding a screening of my film at The Five and Dime at noon. You could come to that and we could hang out afterwards or something.”
Bree closed the refrigerator and leaned against it. Yasmine wasn’t exactly her favorite person in the world, but what else was she going to do with Kaliq gone?
“All right,” she said. “I’ll see you there.”
Who knew? She and Yasmine might even wind up becoming friends.
21
“Thank you for waiting,” Porsha’s interviewer said, sweeping into the cold blue waiting room of the Yale admissions office, where Porsha had been sitting stiffly on the edge of a wing-back chair for over fifteen minutes. Tahj had almost hit several people getting her there on time, and then she’d had to wait. Now she was a nervous wreck.
“Hi!” Porsha squeaked, jumping to her feet. She thrust out her hand. “I’m Porsha Sinclaire.”
The interviewer, a tall tanned man with gray hair at his temples and sparkling green eyes, took her hand and shook it. “So glad to meet you. I’m Jason.” He turned and led Porsha into his office. His pants were a little tight in the ass, Porsha noticed. “Have a seat,” he offered, crossing his legs and pointing to the blue velvet armchair across from him.
Porsha sat down and crossed her legs. She had to pee, and there were cat hairs on her skirt that she hadn’t noticed before.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Jason began, smiling at her with his nice green eyes. Green, like Kaliq’s.
“Um.” Porsha couldn’t remember if this was one of the questions she’d prepared for or not. It seemed so vague. Tell me about yourself. Tell him what? She twirled her ruby ring around and around on her finger. She really, really had to pee.
She finally took a deep breath and began talking. “I’m from New York City. I have a younger brother. My parents are divorced. I live with my mom, who’s getting remarried soon, and my dad lives in France. He’s gay. He loves to shop. I have a cat, and my new stepbrother Tahj has a dog. My cat hates the dog, so I don’t know how it’s going to work out.” She stopped for breath and looked up. She realized that the entire time she’d been speaking she’d been staring at Jason’s black lace-up shoes. This was a no-no. She was supposed to make eye contact. She was supposed to make an impression.
“I see,” Jason said pleasantly. He jotted a few things down on his pad.
“What are you writing?” Porsha asked, leaning forward to look.
Good grief, surely that was another no-no.
“Just a few notes,” Jason said, hiding what he’d written with his hand. “So tell me why you’re interested in Yale.”
This one she’d prepared for.
“I want the best. I am the best. And I deserve the best,” Porsha said confidently. She frowned. That didn’t sound right. What was wrong with her? “My dad went to Yale, you know,” she added hastily. “He wasn’t gay then.”
Jason frowned and scribbled away. “Yes, he did, didn’t he?”
Porsha yawned discreetly into her fist. She was extremely tired, and her shoes hurt like hell. She uncrossed her legs, rested her elbows on her knees, and slipped her heels out of her shoes. That was better.
Except that now she looked like she was sitting on the toilet.
As he wrote, Jason’s gold monogrammed cufflinks gleamed in the cold November light coming through the window. Porsha’s father had worn cufflinks like that the night he took her out for her birthday. The night all hell broke loose.
“Can you tell me about a favorite book you’ve read recently?” Jason asked, looking up.
Porsha stared at him, scanning her brain for the title of a book, any book, but she couldn’t think of a single one.
Vogue? The Bible? The dictionary for God’s sake? Then something clicked in Porsha’s brain. Or rather, her brain switched off completely and something else took over.
This is not re
commended during an important college interview.
“I haven’t been able to read much in the last few months,” Porsha confessed, her lip trembling. She closed her eyes, as if in pain. “Everything is a mess.”
She was back, the leading lady in the tragic film that was her life. She imagined herself staring out to sea on a deserted beach wearing a trendy, short black trench coat. Rain and salt water pelted her face, mingling with her tears.
“I stole a pair of pajamas,” Porsha continued dramatically. “For my boyfriend. I don’t know what made me do it, but I think it’s a sign, don’t you?” She glanced at Jason. “Kaliq didn’t even thank me.”
Jason shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Kaliq?”
Porsha snatched a Kleenex from the box on his desk and blew her nose noisily. “I’ve thought about ending it all,” she declared. “I’m serious, I have. But I’m trying to be brave and hold on.”
Jason had stopped writing. A boy sprinted by the window, wearing a Yale sweatshirt. “And what about sports? Are you interested in sports?”
Porsha shrugged. “I play tennis. But the only thing I’m really interested in right now is starting over. Beginning a new life.” She slipped her right shoe off entirely, placed her right foot on her left knee, and began massaging her toes. “It’s been so hard,” she added tiredly.
Jason put the cap on his pen and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Er...do you have any questions for me?”
Porsha stopped rubbing her toes and put her foot back on the floor. She scooted her chair forward and reached out to touch Jason’s knee. “If you can promise me to let me in early, I promise to be the best student Yale University has ever had,” she said earnestly. “Can you promise me that, Jason?”
Oh. My. God. Goodbye Yale University, hello community college!
Jason groped in his pocket, retrieved his pen, and scribbled something else on his pad, underlining it twice.
Let’s guess what he wrote. FREAKSHOW?
Upper East Side #2 Page 11
