Upper East Side #11

by Ashley Valentine

  Chips nodded, listening carefully.

  “And to make things even more complicated, they’ve been best friends forever, and I’m always kind of messing things up between them.”

  Kind of?

  He took a deep breath, and Chips passed him his glass of scotch. “I know it’s idiotic, but I just can’t make up my mind.” Kaliq took a deep swallow and handed the glass gratefully back to Chips. “About anything.” He glanced out at the water again, hoping for a sign—a P-shaped cloud in the sky or an C reflected on the water’s surface. Instead, all he could see was the two girls’ faces winking at him. You know you love me, each one was saying.

  Chips took a sip of scotch and looked thoughtfully at Kaliq, his gold wedding band glinting in the light. “Well, Kaliq, I’ve always believed that honesty is an essential component to happiness—along with all of this,” he said, gesturing with his hand at the boat. “But there’s also something to be said for protecting someone you love from unnecessary pain.” He stood and tapped the ashes of his cigar over the side of the yacht before sitting back down again. Kaliq noticed for the first time that Chips’s left leg looked a little stiff as he walked.

  “You’re right,” Kaliq mused aloud. He leaned his head back to take in the warmth of the sun on his face, and closed his eyes for a minute. “I mean, what good would it do to tell Porsha about Chanel anyway? She’s going to Yale tomorrow. And maybe she’ll go, and I’ll miss her so much I’ll be on the Metro-North every freaking Friday. Or maybe me and Chanel will be together—so why decide now, right?”

  “Kaliq...” Chips turned and looked at Kaliq thoughtfully, one hand resting on his stiff leg. “Don’t twist my words to your own convenience. There’s a difference between protecting someone else and protecting yourself. And it doesn’t sound to me like you’ve done much thinking about what’s really best for those two girls you claim to love so much.”

  “Yeah?” Kaliq stared glumly down at the wide-planked floor. He knew how hurt Chanel would be if he told her he was going to see Porsha every weekend at Yale. He also knew that if he told Porsha what had happened with Chanel, that shoe-throwing scene would look like a trip to the circus.

  Step right up to see the man-eating Louboutin-thrower!

  “But there’s this other thing,” Kaliq went on, struggling with his thoughts. “Porsha and Chanel...they both know exactly what they want. They’ve got all these plans...Everyone else knows what they want, but I just...don’t. And even if I did, I feel like everything’s been decided for me.” The sparkling water seemed to laugh at him. Weeks before, the water had been full of promise. Now he just felt like he was sinking.

  “That’s the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard in all my living days,” Chips growled. He leaned forward so that his face was inches from Kaliq’s. “Look at me—I’m sixty-five years old, I’ve got a bad leg, and on Sunday morning, I’m setting sail around the world.” He tapped his shin and it made a weird knocking sound. “Knock on wood, it’ll be the best thing I ever did.”

  Kaliq’s eyes widened in surprise at Chips’s announcement—sail around the world? Damn.

  Chips tossed the cigar overboard with a flourish. “Boy,”—his voice was grave—“I’m going to give you the exact same advice I gave your father twenty-five years ago.” He paused, looking Kaliq dead in the eye. “You need to figure out what you really want. No more of this pussyfooting around. Remember, you’ve got to think with your balls, not with your dick.”

  Here we go again.

  Kaliq nodded, looking at the floor, starting to understand what Chips’s perverse little saying really meant. He was right—all this going back and forth about Chanel and Porsha wasn’t helping anyone. It was all about his dick, but there was nothing brave or manly about lying to the two people he loved most in the world.

  “Every boy has to become a man sometime.” Chips drained his glass and placed it on the teak plank floor. “Now’s your turn.”

  Is that Scottish-old-man-speak for “Grow a sack”?

  29

  Porsha glided through the arched entry to the Met’s newly reopened Greek and Roman exhibition space and glanced around the enormous room. Corinthian columns propped up the forty-foot ceiling, where a domed skylight opened up to the night sky. Ancient war scenes emerged from gold-veined marble walls, and dozens of marble pillars propped up the very anatomically correct Greek statues. Waiters in gold togas with silver trays wove expertly through the throngs of superbly dressed revelers.

  The party was a who’s who of Porsha’s life. Standing in little clusters were the elegantly dressed parents of almost everyone she had grown up with, delicately sipping champagne and smiling politely while gossiping furiously under their breath. Chanel’s parents looked as tall, exotic, and poised as ever, her mother, Lillian Crenshaw, looking statuesque in a stunning silver Oscar de la Renta strapless gown that even most girls Porsha’s age couldn’t pull off. Chatting with Mrs. Crenshaw was Misty Harrison, Jaylen’s mother, her hair piled high on her head like a sad imitation of Marie Antoinette.

  Let them eat cake!

  Next to Misty was her husband, Apollo, trying to get a peep down Imani's mother, Titi Edwards' low-cut black dress.

  Like father, like son.

  Mr. Edwards, Imani's middle-aged, movie-star, has-been father, was in a crisp black tuxedo, looking even more distinguished than usual standing next to the bulbous, sweaty Cyrus Campbell, who was patting his pot belly and grabbing fistfuls of appetizers from every platter within reach. Porsha shuddered in disgust but was comforted by the fact that she’d be seeing her real father tonight—if he ever made it. He’d called from the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris eight hours ago to tell them they’d missed their flight because Ping was having a bit of a fit (vomiting all over the place), and that they might only catch the tail end of the party. They’d have to drop the twins off with the Sinclaire Campbells’ nanny and then hurry over.

  Well, at least baby Yale could teach the little brats some manners.

  The classical Greek statues crowding the walls made the party seem even more packed than it already was. Porsha bent down to fix the strap of her patent-leather Christian Louboutins. The shoes were a perfect match to her blue strapless party frock, and they gleamed like they’d been candy-coated, glistening in the candlelight. Something moved behind her and Porsha whipped her head around, losing her balance and nearly toppling onto the cool marble floor. Did one of those Adonises just move?

  The chiseled statue gave her a wink as he changed from one classical pose to another. Porsha looked closer and realized that mixed in with the classical Greek and Roman sculptures were models covered in chalky clay-colored paint.

  “Porsha Bear!” A voice broke into Porsha’s thoughts and she looked up to see her father, looking dapper and handsome in a jet-black Gucci tux. His skin was smooth and milky chocolate, and the distinguished-looking laugh lines at the corners of his bright brown eyes were the only signs of his real age.

  “Daddy!” She ran to her father’s outstretched arms and instantly felt comforted. “I was sure you weren’t coming.” She buried her head in his crisp white shirt.

  “I wouldn’t dream of missing your big night, Porsha Bear. And you’re going to be even happier when I give you your gift.” Her father pulled back and stroked her cheek. He was wearing his emerald green cuff links that Porsha had always thought were the same color as Kaliq’s eyes. His fingers were manicured, and his hand smelled of some new powdery cologne.

  “What gift?” Porsha liked the sound of that. “You already got me a car for graduation.” She looked up at him expectantly. What could be better than a car? A plane? A horse? Her own New York apartment? Her own New Haven townhouse?

  Way to think small.

  Her father leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I talked to the dean of admissions at Yale.” He paused, his face crinkled into his trademark case-winning grin.

  Porsha threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Daddy!” She hugged him tig
htly. She didn’t even need to hear the rest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  A handsome tall tuxedoed man approached, streaks of gray in his fashionably long, combed-back hair. “Giles!” Harold Sinclaire called out to him. “Finally, you get to meet my little angel, Porsha!”

  “Enchanté!” Giles exclaimed, grabbing Porsha’s hand and kissing it. His teeth were blindingly white and his chocolate-brown eyes warm. “She is magnifique!” he exclaimed in a heavy French accent.

  Porsha blushed and gave him a little curtsy. She was finally starting to feel like the belle of the ball. About time.

  Didn’t she just arrive?

  “Porsha, dear, we have to check on the babies.” Her father gave her a quick hug. “We’ll be back soon though. I think you’ve got some good news to share with someone anyway.”

  Giles kissed Porsha first on one cheek, and then the other. “Au revoir, jolie mademoiselle,”he bid her graciously.

  Porsha grinned, not even caring that her father had just arrived and was now leaving again. Kaliq was back into Yale, handsome French men were kissing her hands, and this was her party. All was right with the world.

  “Say hi to Ping and Pong for me,” she called after them, feeling particularly generous.

  After her father and Giles left, Porsha scanned the room for Kaliq. Instead, she found Chanel standing by the bar, her elegant Valentino cocktail dress shining in the light, thin silver bands cinching her tiny waist. Porsha walked toward her, her blue gown with its intricately beaded bodice trailing silkily behind her like an inky pool of water. She smiled giddily to herself. Chanel might look stunning, but next year she’d be stuck in the dirty old city while Porsha and Kaliq were miles away in their cozy New Haven love nest, feeding each other oysters and all sorts of other cute, couple-y foods. Her father might not have given her a townhouse yet, but her birthday was coming up in November...

  Well, her mom did buy her an island.

  “Hey.” Porsha kissed the air near Chanel’s cheeks.

  Mwah! Mwah!

  “Isn’t this wild? Check out the naked guys in body paint over there!” Chanel set her empty champagne flute down on the marble bar behind her and grabbed a full one. She hated how nervous she felt around Porsha. How much did Porsha know about her and Kaliq? How much would Chanel be brave enough to tell her? “It’s beyond. Your mom really outdid herself.” Maybe it was best just to act cheerfully, casual, like she wasn’t about to steal her best friend’s boyfriend right out from under her nose.

  Porsha pushed closer to the bar, practically knocking over Rain Hoffstetter. Rain’s long hair was usually sweaty from soccer and pulled back in a lopsided ponytail, but tonight she was wearing it in loose waves around her face, and a black-and-silver gown made her athletic body look slightly less manly.

  But only slightly.

  Next to Rain stood Nicki Button, famous for her two nose jobs—which Porsha didn’t think had done her all that much good. Rain and Nicki fought more than Chanel and Porsha did, mostly over clothes, not boys, but since both were headed to Vassar, maybe they’d made their peace.

  Until five minutes from now, when they both realize they’re wearing the same Prada slingbacks in silver and white. Totally last spring.

  “Excuse me, ladies.” Both girls practically jumped backwards as Porsha reached past them and grabbed a flute of champagne. She turned back to Chanel and clinked her glass against her friend’s. “To us,” she toasted heartily. She could afford to be a little friendly. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted—as usual.

  The two girls downed the contents of their glasses in one gulp. Then Porsha put a delicate hand on her hip. “Have you seen Kaliq?” she asked, raising one perfectly arched dark eyebrow. “I need to talk to him.”

  Chanel grabbed another glass of champagne. She wished there were some simple solution to this, but there wasn’t. Porsha looked so happy tonight, she didn’t want to ruin the party for her. She and Kaliq would just have to wait to tell her that they were together when Porsha was happily settled in at Yale, and then maybe she wouldn’t even mind that much. Finally she took the flute of champagne away from her lips. “I haven’t seen him yet,” she admitted.

  Porsha had noticed Chanel stiffen at the sound of Kaliq’s name, and for a second she almost felt sorry for her—what with that desperate love letter and all. She was dying to tell Chanel about getting Kaliq into Yale, but it just seemed wrong to tell her before telling Kaliq himself. After all, Chanel probably still harbored some desperate dream that she and Kaliq would live happily ever in the city together while Porsha was up in New Haven. Like that would ever happen.

  “Well, I’m off to find him,” Porsha chirped gaily.

  As soon as she sauntered away, Rain and Nicki quickly filled the spot next to Chanel. Rain held a cocktail napkin in her hand, and Nicki held a pen as they awkwardly tripped over themselves to get Chanel’s attention.

  So that was it—they wanted Chanel’s autograph. To Porsha’s surprise, she didn’t even feel jealous. People were always drooling over Chanel, and they always would be. What did she care? She had everything she’d ever wanted.

  And by “everything,” she meant a living, breathing person, right?

  Porsha was about to check the neighboring European sculpture room when she spotted Kaliq out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning against a tall Romanesque column near the dance floor, looking glum. Jeremy Scott, Kaliq’s skinny friend from school and Anthony Avuldsen, looking incredibly high and athletic, were periodically punching him in the arm, clearly trying to pry him away from the column and get him to dance or drink or at least smile. Kaliq just waved his hand at them, so they shuffled off to the dance floor alone, dancing like idiots three feet apart from each other.

  Well, if the sight of his stoner friends jerking their arms and legs spastically on the dance floor couldn’t cheer up Kaliq, Porsha knew something that would. She pushed through the dancing crowd, practically trampling over Laura Salmon, dressed in a salmon-colored silk Dior dress that sagged in the chest and was way too old for her.

  Salmon in salmon. How appropriate.

  Porsha bounded up to Kaliq, throwing her arms around him. “Guess what?” she demanded, her dark eyes sparkling. “I have really big news.”

  Kaliq smiled at her wordlessly, but his eyes were a million miles away. She plowed ahead anyway, grabbing his black bow tie and forcing him to pay attention. “So I told my dad about your little problem, and he talked to Yale, and I got you in!” She threw her arms tightly around him again and whispered in his ear. “Now we can be together at Yale—just like we planned!” Her whole body shook with excitement, but Kaliq just stood there, stock-still. He’d hardly even hugged her back. She pulled back and looked into his stunning green eyes, searching them questioningly.

  “Wow.” Kaliq shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what to say.” He blinked, trying to process what she’d just said. Go to Yale, for real? Not just take the train to New Haven twice a day and pretend he went there? “Porsha...you’re amazing.”

  Now that was more like it.

  “I know.” Porsha was about to give Kaliq a kiss he’d never forget when she spotted her mother approaching from across the room, wearing an floor-length Versace gown encrusted with millions of tiny gold sequins, and Gucci stilettos that looked like they were made of twenty-four-carat gold ropes. Ever since Eleanor had lost all her baby weight, she’d been wearing tacky look-at-me outfits, but Porsha was too happy to be annoyed with her crazy mother tonight.

  Davita Fjorde strode alongside Eleanor, wearing a black Miu Miu minidress and satin peep-toe platforms, barking orders into her headset. “No, no, no!” she hissed. “Just wash him off and get him out there as a regular waiter. Nonflammable paint only! I don’t need a human torch streaking through my party!” She smiled tightly at Eleanor and then murmured into her headset, “Okay, photo one, you’re up once we find Porsha.”

  Porsha knew that her mom and Davita were preparing to
drag her off somewhere so she could pose for some god-awful pictures her mother would no doubt blow up so large you’d be able to see every one of Porsha’s pores. Knowing they’d be separated momentarily, she leaned in to whisper in Kaliq’s ear. “Our train leaves at 10 A.M. tomorrow morning from Grand Central,” she told him softly, loving the smell of cologne on his skin—a fresh, lemony scent she knew he only used on special occasions. “I know we could drive, but this will be so much more romantic!” She drew back and smiled sweetly up at him again.

  Kaliq had never seen Porsha look so beautiful—or so happy. Her skin was gleaming and her face was glowing against her bright blue dress. The diamond studs in her tiny earlobes shone in the light.

  Across the room, Chanel was standing at the bar, wearing a long gauzy silver dress, her silky hair falling in gleaming tendrils down her bare back. Her face was in profile, and her features were so unbelievably gorgeous his breath caught in his chest. He forced himself to shift his attention back to Porsha—his beautiful girlfriend, still wrapped in his arms. The sight of her glowing hopeful face tore at his heart. Yale. He was going to Yale. He should have been ecstatic, but he didn’t know what to say or even what to feel. He pulled her close and breathed in the familiar honey-almond scent of her hair. His chest felt tight, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Porsha nestled into him like there was no place she’d rather be.

  “I love you,” he whispered into her hair, hoping the words would ground him. But now, more than ever before, Kaliq felt like a small wooden boat set adrift.