Upper East Side #10

by Ashley Valentine

  “Look, Mekhi.” Yasmine poured the rest of her bitter coffee into the crowded sink and left her mug on the countertop. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being gay, is there?”

  “Of course not! Thomas Mann was gay. And he won the Nobel Prize.”

  “Right.” Yasmine grinned, pleased to hear Mekhi sounding a little more like himself. So predictable, so easily influenced. Let him get this gay stuff out of his system; she could wait. “So ...I’d love to meet this Gabriel guy.”

  “Yeah?” Mekhi responded skeptically. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Yasmine squeezed his shoulder. Now that Mekhi was gay, she could do things like sit on his lap, right? She decided to try it. “Really,” she added, perching on Mekhi’s bony knee. Mekhi slipped his arms around her waist and buried his nose between her shoulder blades.

  “Thanks,” he said, his voice muffled. “You’re my hero.”

  Hey, maybe he really is gay.

  TO: Song of Myself

  FROM: Gabriel P.

  Re: Song of Myself’s Next Meeting!

  Dear Friends,

  I hope you enjoyed getting together as much as I did. I’m happy to report that our first get-together has already resulted in some flourishing romances—a happy consequence of bringing together so many like-minded creative individuals. I hope we can continue to inspire and excite one another at all our meetings!

  For our next get-together, please bring along your favorite work of Shakespeare and we’ll take turns reading aloud. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine!

  Yours in love and iambic pentameter,

  Gabriel

  26

  “Pull over!”

  “What?” The one disadvantage of his dad’s convertible was that it made having a conversation while driving almost impossible. Kaliq turned to see Porsha frantically pointing at a sign announcing one of those corny scenic overlooks where a couple of minivans were already parked along the shoulder.

  Bo-ring.

  “You want me to stop?” Kaliq had already slowed and was pulling over. He knew better than to argue with Porsha.

  “It’ll be funny.” Porsha dug into her hastily packed carryall and unearthed a digital camera. “I swiped it from Chanel’s house. I hope she’s not too pissed.”

  Kaliq frowned at the mention of Chanel’s name. He was still feeling a little guilty about sneaking out of Chanel’s place without saying goodbye—and on her birthday. Porsha had persuaded him that Chanel wouldn’t have wanted a morning wake-up call, birthday or no birthday, and chances were she hadn’t gone to bed alone anyway. And it was her house, so it wasn’t like they’d just ditched her in the middle of nowhere.

  Whatever you need to tell yourself.

  Before Kaliq had even turned off the car, Porsha had already slipped out of her seat and skipped toward the low stone wall that separated the parking area from the dramatic drop-off into a deep, tree-lined valley below. She was wearing the tiniest white shorts he had ever seen, and they made her legs look ridiculously touchable. She hopped up onto the wall and pouted her lips.

  “Take a picture!”

  Grinning and horny all over again, Kaliq fumbled with his seat belt and burst out of the car, willing himself not to run over to the stone wall and stick his hands down her tiny shorts. He took the camera from Porsha’s outstretched hand instead. “Say cheese.”

  Porsha stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.

  “Gorgeous.” Kaliq laughed at happy beautiful Porsha on the little LCD screen.

  Porsha patted the wall next to her. “Take one of both of us together.”

  Kaliq clambered up on the wall and held the camera out in front of them. Porsha pressed her smooth cheek against his. The smell of her made him feel lightheaded, and he put his free hand out to steady himself.

  Careful there, slugger.

  “I want our whole summer to be just like this.” Porsha slipped her arm through his and sighed. “The two of us, alone on the open sea. No people, no worries. It’ll be perfect.” Just like in the movie set on constant replay in her mind.

  Kaliq nodded. “I can’t wait to get out on the water.” The mental image of Porsha in her bikini, lolling about on the deck of the Charlotte, swept over him. It was happening at last. The real summer he was meant to have was beginning—and everything was falling into place. Driving northeast in that the serene summer afternoon toward the ocean, toward freedom, with Porsha right next to him...Kaliq could feel the weight of all his past mistakes lift off of his shoulders. He had never swiped from his coach’s stash of Viagra; he had never had his diploma withheld; he had never hooked up with Tawny; he had never rubbed ointment on Babs’s tattoo. He had just spent the night with Porsha, and he was about to spend the rest of the summer with her and maybe the rest of his life. All was as it should be with the universe.

  “Okay. Time to drive.” It was almost like Porsha was reading his mind. She hopped down from the wall, grabbing the camera from Kaliq’s hand to scrutinize the pictures he’d just taken.

  “I just gotta make a pit stop.” He nodded in the direction of the concrete bungalow that housed the roadside restrooms.

  “Be quick about it.” Porsha kissed his cheek before skipping back to the passenger seat.

  Inside the chemical-smelling bathroom, Kaliq focused on what would happen a couple of hours from that moment, when they at last reached their destination. He closed his eyes, picturing Porsha skipping ahead of him, up the gangplank and onto the yacht, shedding those tiny white shorts as she went.

  As he washed his hands, Kaliq felt the familiar throb of his phone vibrating in the pocket of his cargo shorts. It was probably Porsha, telling him to hurry up. He smiled. Some things never changed—like Porsha’s impatience. He opened voicemail, hoping to listen to the sexy message Porsha had left him as he dried his hands. The phone was perched precariously between his ear and his shoulder and he almost dropped it into the sink when instead of hearing Porsha’s sly, giggly voice, he heard the angry grumble of Coach Michael’s.

  “Braxton, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re pulling, but you better be on your deathbed right now. Thought my wife would cover for you? Forget it, kid. She said you were smoking weed in my fucking attic. Under my goddamn roof. You think I was bluffing, Braxton? I’m calling your dad the second I get off the phone. It’s over, kid. You’re never going to see that diploma. Yale? It’s never going to happen. Big mistake, kid, fucking with me. Big-time mistake. And I’m not through with you yet.”

  Kaliq finished drying his hands on his shorts, then grabbed the phone, stabbing at the button that would erase that message forever. He stuffed it back in his pocket and studied his face in the cracked rest-stop mirror. He had to get the fuck out of there.

  Spoken like a man on the run.

  27

  “Hey. It’s Porsha. I just wanted to call and say, you know, happy birthday. Sorry we took off. I’ll call you later and tell you everything.”

  Turning off her cell phone and tossing it into her bag, Porsha leaned back into the warm leather embrace of her seat and tapped her foot impatiently. What the fuck was taking so long? The sooner they got back on the road, the sooner they would be at the Charlotte, and the sooner she would be stretched out on the wide wooden deck sunning herself in only her undies, drinking spiked lemonade and feeding Kaliq slivers of raw oysters with her fingers. That’s how she planned to spend every minute of the rest of the summer.

  Not a bad plan!

  She swiveled the rearview mirror to examine her face: her eyes looked bright and clear, her skin sun-kissed and flawless. She grinned at herself. All the stresses of the summer just melted away: she’d never gone to London with Lord Marcus; she’d never played second fiddle to Chanel on her movie debut; she’d never seen Kaliq holding hands with some tacky Long Island townie. Everything was just as it should be: her and Kaliq, in love, forever.


  Porsha fiddled idly with the stereo, but Kaliq had the car keys in his pocket, so it wouldn’t play. Impatiently, she turned the knob on the glove box. It dropped open to reveal a crisp white envelope with a name scrawled across it in a familiar hand.

  Kaliq.

  “What’s this?” Porsha said aloud. She picked up the envelope. Why the fuck was Chanel leaving an envelope for Kaliq? Glancing in the direction of the bathroom to confirm that Kaliq was still inside, she slid her fingernail under the envelope’s flap. She unfolded the paper and started to read Chanel’s manic scribble.

  Kaliq: I just turned eighteen a couple of hours ago. When the clock struck, I looked around the room and I couldn’t find you. I know you were with Porsha, and if you’re really happy, then I’m happy for you. Because how can you not want someone you love to be happy? But that’s the thing, Kaliq...I think I love you. I know that sounds crazy, and there were so many other times I should have told you, but it didn’t hit me until last night or tonight or whatever, and if I didn’t tell you now, when would I have? It’s just—it’s always been you. Did you ever wonder why I came back last fall? Last night, when—

  Porsha stopped reading midsentence, flipping impatiently through the packet, three pages of heavy writing paper completely covered with Chanel’s too-big looping script. Her heart pounded in her chest. There was no question what to do next. She looked left and right just to confirm that she was indeed alone, then slipped out of the car and walked back to the scenic overlook.

  Carefully, she tore the first page of the letter in half, then tore that half into quarters, and kept shredding it until all that remained was a handful of confetti, which she cupped in her palm. The warm breeze lifted the scraps of paper out of her hand and sent them showering onto the valley below. She did the same with the two other pages and the envelope as well, tearing them into tiny bits so that Chanel’s handwriting was just a jumble of meaningless shapes that the wind lifted and sent drifting into the valley below.

  Porsha returned to the car and reached into her bag to retrieve her cell phone. She studied the phone momentarily. Should she call Chanel? Tell her that she knew all about the letter, that she knew how her supposedly best fucking friend actually felt about her boyfriend? Or should she just play innocent, ignore that two-faced bitch and focus on the perfect summer that stretched out before her? She suddenly didn’t feel quite so bad about ditching Chanel on her birthday.

  No kidding.

  “Ready to go?” Kaliq slid into the driver’s seat, a boyish grin stretching across his perfect face.

  “Ready.” Porsha pulled on her seat belt.

  Buckle up—you’re in for a wild ride!

  28

  Chanel was once again lying in her all-white bed staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep now that she’d finally admitted how she really felt. The ceiling was pockmarked where she’d peeled off dozens of glow-in-the-dark stars just before she left for Europe, and she’d been counting the remaining stars for the last three hours, ever since she’d slipped the note into the Aston Martin. She kept losing count and starting again. And maybe she’d dozed off, or maybe not. Hakeem shifted onto his side, throwing his arm across her chest. It felt heavy and suffocating. She’d already been in this exact place, exactly a year before: in love with Kaliq, but lying next to Hakeem. She’d even admitted it and gotten it off her chest, so why couldn’t she sleep?

  Second thoughts?

  She slid out of bed for the second time that morning and slipped into the hallway. Downstairs a few people were clanking bottles into the trash and whispering about their headaches. From the grandfather clock downstairs she heard that it wasn’t morning anymore at all: it was exactly noon. She yanked at the long white T-shirt she was wearing. It said BROWN in capital letters across her chest and hung below her knees.

  She didn’t even know where she was walking until she got there, but she soon found herself in front of her parents’ closed bedroom door. She knew that Porsha and Kaliq were inside. They’d probably made a fort out of the many oversize pillows on the bed, which Porsha had dubbed the Kissing Cave or something cheesy...or totally adorable if you were in love. Which Kaliq was. With Porsha.

  So what was Chanel doing declaring her love for him now? There were so many other, better times she could have told him in the last year. Like when they were nearly naked in a Bergdorf’s dressing room. Or when they were kissing in the bathtub at Imani Edwards' Hamptons house. Or when she’d decided not to go back to boarding school and came back to the city instead. But she hadn’t. She hadn’t told him any of those times, mostly because she’d been scared. That he didn’t love her back, which he didn’t. He loved Porsha.

  She backed away from the heavy wooden door that led to her parents’ master bedroom suite and toward the stairs where Kaliq had told Porsha he loved her just last night. So why had she suddenly declared her love for Kaliq, now, at the very worst possible time?

  “Hey, you’re the birthday girl.” A guy she’d never seen before looked up at her from the bottom of the staircase. His shaggy hair was piled on top of his head in a messy bun. “Chantel, right?”

  “Chanel,” she told him.

  “Right, so like, do you think you can give me a ride to the train station?” He reached under his sweat-stained polo to scratch his belly, revealing a sliver of hairy stomach.

  Ew.

  Chanel took a step down the stairs, letting her hand glide over the dark wooden banister. “I’m sure people will start getting up soon. Someone will drive you.”

  “Cool.” He stretched his arms up high, yawning loudly, and headed back into the living room, where people were still sprawled out on every soft surface. She heard someone mutter “Duuuuude,” as he collapsed onto the antique leather couch.

  Chanel swept through the marble foyer to the door and lingered for a moment, hand on the doorknob, before she pulled the door open and stepped outside. The front of the house was well shaded and cool, and she wrapped her arms around her body protectively as she scanned the driveway.

  She wasn’t sure if she was having second thoughts, or not, or if she wanted to sneak back to that car and take back the envelope she’d left inside. But the decision had been made for her. The Aston Martin was nowhere in sight. Kaliq—and presumably Porsha—were gone.

  And they’d taken some very juicy reading material along with them.

  29

  Porsha knelt in the bucket seat of the car as Kaliq slowed the Aston Martin to a stop in front of the whitewashed Newport Yacht Club. The harbor glimmered in the midday sun. Porsha breathed in the warm, salty seaside air. She kept shaking her head, letting her windblown locks swing around her shoulders, which she hoped looked sexy. In truth, she was just trying to shake the thought of Chanel’s letter from her mind. Seriously, what the fuck?

  “I can’t believe we’re actually here.” Kaliq’s voice startled her back to attention. Despite having driven for hundreds of miles just to get there, Kaliq didn’t seem all that eager to get out of the car. He’d undone his seat belt and was just sitting there, staring out of the car’s tiny windshield at the forest of masts in the harbor.

  “What’s wrong?” Porsha opened the door and hopped up and down, getting the blood in her legs flowing again.

  “What? Oh, nothing.” Kaliq looked startled.

  Porsha settled her fists on her hips. Her blousy cotton shirt fluttered in the wind. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You look kind of...distracted.”

  “No, no, everything’s fine.” Kaliq stood and slammed his door shut behind him. “We’ll have to do something about the car, I guess.” He frowned.

  Porsha adjusted her bag and perched on the still-warm hood of the green Aston. Kaliq looked more than distracted. He looked like he was going to throw up. Was there any chance he knew about the letter? Or could Chanel have called him while he was in the restroom? Was that why he’d taken so long? Porsha fidgeted impatiently. What was the holdup? “Kaliq, is there anything you want to tell me?”
>
  “What? No,” Kaliq answered, stuffing the keys in his pocket. “We’re really doing this, right?”

  “We’re really doing this!” Leaving her bag on the hood of the car, Porsha scurried around to where Kaliq stood and threw herself into his arms. A white seagull swooped down onto the parking lot. “You seem worried.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just...thinking is all.”

  Don’t hurt yourself.

  Inhaling Kaliq’s delicious scent—his deodorant, a hint of the lavender soap from Chanel’s parents’ master bathroom, the ocean smell that had somehow already made it into his shirt—Porsha closed her eyes. “Don’t worry, Kaliq. It’s summer. And we’re together. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

  Kaliq pulled away just far enough to look at her face. She smiled up at him, hoping for a moment that they’d get shipwrecked somewhere and that they’d never have to see Chanel again. They’d live in a bamboo hut, forage for food, and be naked all the time. Who needed clothes when they had each other?

  She must be out of her mind.

  “You’re right. Fuck it. Fuck everything and everyone else.” Then he bent down and pressed his delicious mouth to hers. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Be sure to send a postcard.

  Author's Note

  So while Porsha and Kaliq may be sailing off into the sunset, something tells me this story is far from over. Especially when there are so many questions waiting to be answered. Like:

  Will Porsha tell Kaliq about the letter from Chanel? Will Chanel find Kaliq and tell him on her own? Will Porsha throw her overboard if she does?

  Will Mekhi really make out with another boy? Again. Will they go even further?!