The family that’s gay together stays together!
4
Porsha’s dark eyes narrowed, catlike, as she looked at Chanel in her jean skirt and white tank top. The light poured in through the enormous living room windows and bounced off Chanel’s angelic wisps of silky hair. She looked predictably, infuriatingly stunning. Even though it was obvious that Chanel hadn’t put any effort into her outfit, she was as gorgeous as fucking ever. It wouldn’t matter if she were wearing saggy-butt shorts and a stained wifebeater—she’d probably still get stopped on the street on her way home and get put on the cover of September’s Vogue. It wasn’t fucking fair.
Yes, but look who has the boy, honey.
Porsha willed herself to smile and maintain her composure as Chanel slithered her golden-beige arms around Kaliq’s neck. Wasn’t it bad enough that Chanel had planted that stupid three-page love letter in Kaliq’s car when she could obviously see that Porsha and Kaliq were totally back together? Did she have to show up in Porsha’s living room the second they got back to the city, like some scary stalker?
Or like your best friend?
Porsha seethed, watching as Chanel leaned in even closer to Kaliq’s body, and Kaliq gripped her tightly, closing his eyes like he was really enjoying it. Chanel nestled in Kaliq’s arms like she belonged there, like she had always belonged there. Any more of this and Porsha was going to scream. She shifted from one foot to another, angrily twirling her ruby ring around her finger and silently shouting at them to let go of one another and notice her standing there.
“Porsha, honey!”
Porsha whipped around as her mother practically pounced on her, while a skinny bored-looking bleached-blond woman stood behind her scribbling in a leather organizer. Eleanor wrapped her arms around Porsha, enveloping her in a cloud of perfume. Porsha squeezed her eyes shut tight and dug her short buffed fingernails into the palms of her hands, tolerating the embrace.
“Welcome home!” Eleanor finally stepped back and gestured to the blond woman, who had now taken a seat on the couch. “Ooh, and I’m so glad you get to meet my new friend, Davita Fjorde!”
Porsha offered the woman a limp hand, all the while looking over her shoulder as Kaliq laughed at one of Chanel’s annoying little jokes.
“Charmed, Porsha,” Davita drawled, tapping one Jimmy Choo slingback against the burgundy rug. She didn’t seem to have any patience for family reunions.
Well, good. Neither did Porsha.
“Now, Porsh,” Eleanor began, speaking rapidly—the way she always did when she was worried about something, sweat breaking out in small jewel-like beads on her brow. She practically pushed Porsha onto the sofa. “Davita is here because...because...well, I’m glad you’re sitting down, because I have big, big, big news!”
Porsha really didn’t like the sound of that—what could be bigger than Chanel manhandling Kaliq right in front of her? They had finally stopped hugging, but were now paired off in the corner of the room, whispering. Chanel’s delicate laugh grated in Porsha’s ears like the whine of a chainsaw.
“I’ve invited Davita and Chanel to help plan a going-away party for you and Tahj at the Met the night before you leave for college!” Eleanor grabbed Porsha’s arm, squeezing tight with excitement, her eyes glassy and bright. “That’s just nine days away!”
Davita grabbed a clipboard from off the coffee table. “Let’s see...so far we’ve got fabulous gift bags full of Kiehls and Frédéric Fekkai products, and of course flower arrangements by Robert Isabell. I was thinking stargazer and Casablanca lilies, but that may be too bridey for your taste...truffles from La Maison du Chocolat, a tower of cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery. And I thought it might be really cute to run a red carpet outside and down those fabulous Met steps...Porsha? What do you think?” Davita frowned, her leathery skin crinkling. Her face looked like it was about to peel off in layers, like a withered onion.
Porsha couldn’t concentrate. She continued to stare at Chanel and Kaliq, willing Kaliq to turn around and notice her. Hello! Remember me? Your girlfriend? The girl you just spent a month alone with on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic? The girl you said you loved about eighty thousand times?What the fucking fuck was going on?
“...and it’s all for you, sweetie! Well, you and Tahj and...the rest of the family too! Because...we’re moving to Los Angeles!”
Porsha’s head whipped around to face her mother. “What?” She suddenly felt like she was choking. “What are you talking about?”
Eleanor’s smile wavered for a moment and she reached up, patting her sleek black bob to compose herself, her six-carat diamond wedding ring sending glittering reflections across the room. “Cyrus’s real estate company just landed a huge contract in L.A. They’re building a luxury resort in Malibu! Isn’t that fabulous?” Eleanor waved her hands excitedly in front of Porsha’s stunned face. “And with you and Tahj off to college, it’ll be a fresh start for baby Yale...who really should be raised properly, with a real backyard she can play in.” Eleanor grabbed a stack of blueprints from the coffee table and shoved them on Porsha’s lap. “Look at these plans for the new house! Your bedroom will be here, with its own terrace, and Yale’s is going to have a sleeping loft for the nanny and—”
“Jesus Christ, Mom!” Porsha yelled, swatting away the blueprints. “Los Angeles? Where people die from earthquakes like every day? You raised me in Manhattan—without a backyard! What’s wrong with Central Park? This is our home!”
Davita stiffened at Porsha’s little outburst and stalked out of the room, clutching her jewel-encrusted cell phone. She was paid to plan parties, not navigate family drama.
Chanel and Kaliq were still chattering away obliviously in the corner, staring deep into each other’s eyes. The greatest catastrophe of Porsha’s life, and they didn’t even notice?
“Yes, dear, I’m well aware we raised you in Manhattan, but we were innocent new parents,” Eleanor answered, distractedly surveying the plans for the new house. “We just didn’t know any better!” She tried to make her voice a bit more soothing. “Please be happy for your family. I promise you’re going to love it. If you’ll just look at these blueprints, you’ll see we’re going to have a swimming pool and everything. And oh!” She jumped up and grabbed a photo from the coffee table. “I forgot the other surprise—even your father is coming over from France to celebrate!” she exclaimed, shoving a photo under Porsha’s nose. “With these darling Cambodian twins he’s adopted with that sweet Giles.”
Porsha looked down and tried to focus on the photograph. Her handsome father sat smiling happily, a pink bandana tied around his neck, two decidedly Asian-looking babies cradled in his overly worked-out arms. Porsha stared down at the photograph uncomprehendingly, feeling nauseous. Babies? Her father had adopted babies from Cambodia? What, was one beautiful, Yale-bound daughter not enough? Was she not enough for anyone?
“Really, Porsha,” Eleanor continued, “I think Giles is just about the best boyfriend your father’s ever had!”
Porsha jumped to her feet. For the first time in her life she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Los Angeles? Cambodian twins? She couldn’t fucking believe her family would do this to her. This was supposed to be the happiest time in her life! It was supposed to be all about her and Kaliq, heading off to Yale with no more distractions, just smooth sailing all the way from now until they climbed into her brand new BMW and drove away, leaving her crazy family behind.
In the corner, Chanel laughed again, and Kaliq ran his hands through his wavy hair. Clearly they were in their own little world, with no clue what the hell was happening to her. Porsha clutched her stomach. Projectile vomiting was a distinct possibility. Her family was seriously moving? What would it be like on Thanksgiving or Christmas break? She’d be in L.A. with her stupid family, hiding out in their bomb shelter or wherever the fuck people went during earthquakes and Kaliq would be...here. With Chanel.
She heard her mother calling after her as she clutched her stomach
and ran down the hall to her old bedroom. Baby Yale was lying in her white wooden crib, her head topped with a Mohawk of black peach fuzz. She smiled delightedly at her big sister as if to say, “What’s all the fuss about?” Porsha went over and picked her up, glad to see her chubby little friend after almost a month away. Then she noticed that Yale was wearing a tie-dyed onesie with the words CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’ stenciled on the front of it.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Porsha whisked her tiny sister over to the changing table, yanked off the offending article, and replaced it with the adorable pink onesie she had bought for her at the Calvin Klein flagship store on Madison Avenue. Yale giggled as Porsha tickled her in all her favorite spots.
“There.” She dropped the tie-dyed onesie into the airtight Diaper Genie, where it would be lost forever. “Much better!” Yale clung to Porsha’s shoulder as Porsha carried her over to the cashmere throw rug to play with blocks.
At least someone was happy to see her.
5
“So, what have you been doing here all by yourself?” Kaliq asked. Across the elegant burgundy-and-ivory living room, Porsha was arguing with her mother, as usual.
“Nothing much.” Chanel hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. “Nothing” was the truth—she’d spent the past month doing a whole lot of nothing, bumming around on her couch, wandering the streets of New York aimlessly, iced latte in hand, going to movie theaters alone. Just trying to distract herself from the gnawing anxious feeling inside her. “You know, hanging out—the usual.” She couldn’t tell Kaliq what she’d really been up to—it was too pathetic.
She took a deep breath and wiped her sweaty palms on her jean skirt. Why was she so nervous? This was Kaliq, the guy she’d chased around this very living room when she was six because she wanted to wear his new Superman underwear.
Has anything really changed?
“What about you guys—you’re the ones who went on this big adventure!” Chanel looked into Kaliq’s eyes and edged her fingers closer to his on the settee where they were huddled together. She smiled shyly, her silky hair curling slightly around her temples. She wasn’t trying to flirt, but when it came to Kaliq, she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Captain Braxton,” she said with a sly smile.
“Don’t ever call me that!” he laughed. “Seriously, though, being out on the water all that time was amazing. Sun every day, and the stars at night—you just can’t imagine how great—”
“That’s great, Kaliq,” Chanel cut him off distractedly. She turned to stare as Porsha got up from her seat and stormed out of the living room, holding her stomach with one hand and wiping her face with the other. Throwing a tantrum five minutes after coming home wasn’t exactly unusual for Porsha, but Chanel wondered if she should she go and check on her friend. Wait, shouldn’t that be Kaliq’s job now? she wondered. Wasn’t checking on your girlfriend kind of a boyfriend thing to do? Chanel turned to look at him. He was gazing straight at her, completely oblivious to the fact that Porsha—the supposed love of his life—had just run of the living room in tears. What the hell did that mean?
Umm...maybe that he’s high? Again?
“So,” Chanel started again, focusing her gaze on the gray T-shirt Kaliq had had for as long as she could remember—anything to avoid looking up into his glittering green eyes. She shuffled her flip-flops against the floor and steeled herself for the question she knew she had to ask, no matter how much the answer hurt. “Did you find—?”
“We found so much cool shit.” He grinned widely. “Little sandbar islands, these caves up in Maine—we even saw fucking puffins!”
Chanel looked up into his eyes, her heart thumping crazily in her chest. She kept replaying Porsha’s sudden exit over in her mind. What was she so upset about? Had Kaliq found the letter and said something to her about it? Or what if Porsha had found it and told him? Or, worse yet, what if Porsha found it and didn’t tell him? What if Kaliq loved her too and that was why he wasn’t running after Porsha? Or what if the letter was still nestled in the glove compartment of Kaliq’s father’s Aston Martin, unread, all her questions unanswered?
“It was really amazing,” he said, speaking slowly, the way Kaliq always did when he was happy or relaxed or high, which was basically all the time. “I didn’t want to come back.”
Just looking at his angelic face, she couldn’t stand not knowing what had happened to her letter—not knowing whether or not he knew. She had to say something.
Chanel smiled weakly. “Kaliq, did you ever find—?”
“Just a minute, you two!” Eleanor appeared before them and sat down, wedging her skinny butt between them on the way-too-small-for-three sofa. Chanel and Kaliq both inched over—not that they had a choice. It was either move or have Eleanor sit on their laps. She linked one arm through Chanel’s and the other through Kaliq’s, a mischievous look on her face. The overpowering scent of Eleanor’s perfume made Chanel feel like she was in a department store.
“I’m so glad to get the two of you alone,” Eleanor whispered conspiratorially, as if they were all planning some kind of top-secret mission. “I’m working on a surprise for Porsha for the party. It’s a slide show of Porsha’s life, kind of like a-greatest-moments-so-far thing.” She smiled brightly, turning her head back and forth to look at Chanel and Kaliq as she spoke, like she was watching a tennis match. “But the problem is that I don’t really have the time to go through the thousands of snapshots of Porsha I’ve amassed over the years—and that’s where you two come in!” She squeezed each of their knees with her hands. “I need you to go through this immense stack of albums and choose some appropriate photographs. But I’m afraid we’re on a bit of a deadline—I need them by next Friday at the latest.”
Chanel tried to glance at Kaliq over Eleanor’s head, but when she leaned back on the couch, Eleanor leaned back too, fanning herself with her hand.
“But remember—this has to be a top-secret mission, you two, so no telling Porsha!” Eleanor’s loud whisper reverberated off the living room’s paneled walls, and she held her finger up to her mouth.
Hush-hush!
Chanel tried not to giggle. Eleanor was terrible at keeping secrets—she always managed to tell her children what they were getting for Christmas before she’d even bought their presents. Most likely she’d tell Porsha by tomorrow—if Porsha hadn’t already heard their entire conversation. Kaliq just nodded mutely. He never said much in Eleanor’s presence; she was far too overwhelming.
“We’d be happy to do it,” Chanel answered for the both of them. “And we promise to keep it a secret from Porsha.”
Yeah. They’re good at that.
6
“I am just too pooped to pop!” Mekhi’s mom stretched her arms overhead and wiggled her butt back and forth on the lumpy brown leather sofa in the living room, her mouth open in a yawn. It was only eight o’clock, and Rufus was at one of his anarchist poet jamborees in the West Village. She looked around, blinking like a sleepy Siamese cat. Her mousy black hair was sticking out in every direction, and her watery brown eyes were now red and bloodshot. “Jet lag really gets you at my age. And cocktails on the plane are only a temporary fix!”
She looked at Mekhi and then turned in the direction of the kitchen doorway, where Yasmine was standing, obviously expecting them to say something. Mekhi sat stonily in the tattered armchair across from his mom, still not sure what to make of her.
“But you kids really shouldn’t be drinking!” She wagged a finger back and forth, apparently unaware that she was chastising them for something she’d done. “Although if you want to taste some—just a taste—you just let me know, okay? Because that would be fine. So, where am I sleeping?” she added to her rambling.
Mekhi attempted to exchange a what-the-hell? glance with Yasmine, but she just stood there, lazily licking the remains of the penis cream puff from her fingers. The contrast of her smooth, cinnamon skin against her close-cropped dark hair, the curve of her red lips, her slightly mock
ing hazel eyes—she really was beautiful.
“See?” His mother leaned forward and prodded his knee with her jewlery-embellished fingers. “She likes the cream filling.”
Mekhi quickly snapped out of his reverie and stood up. “Um, well, we’re sort of filling up around here. I guess if you want to take my room I could take the couch?”
His mother stood up, holding onto her neck with one hand and rubbing furiously. “The couch? Don’t be silly. I mean, now that you’re...well, you know—” Jeanette broke off, waving her turquoise-laden hands in the air. “I mean,” she began again, “sharing Yasmine’s room shouldn’t be a problem, right? You girls can pillow talk all night!”
“Sure, um...yeah...that’s fine,” Mekhi stammered, glancing over at Yasmine. She looked a little surprised or horrified—or maybe she was just trying to hold in her laughter after hearing Mekhi called a girl by his own mother.
Jeanette stood on her tiptoes and kissed Mekhi on the top of his head, mussing his little twists. “Mekhi, dear, do you mind if I use your computer before I go to bed? I just want to send off a few e-mails. Don’t worry, I won’t download any porn!”
Without waiting for an answer, she flitted toward Mekhi’s room, whistling Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” completely off-key.
Sure, she’ll survive. But will Mekhi?
“Good night, ladies!” they heard her trill as she closed the door to Mekhi’s room.
Mekhi swallowed hard, trying to hide his embarrassment. He never would have imagined it possible that four little words—specifically, the ones on his postcard to his sister that read, “Dear Bree, I’m gay”—could cause so much trouble. He went into the kitchen to find Yasmine, who was now smearing pastry cream on the tabletop, swirling it in intricate designs. If he was really gay, then how come he still thought about running his palms over the prickly hairs of Yasmine’s shaved head, or seeing if the flesh on her stomach was still as soft and warm as bread dough.
Upper East Side #11 Page 3
