Upper East Side #5

by Ashley Valentine

  “Hey!” Mercedes cried, suddenly splashing water in Jaylen's face. “Quit pinching my tits!” She smiled sweetly up at Kaliq. “Jaylen's and my mom's sisters are cousins. Or something like that,” she explained. “We lost our virginity together in sixth grade.”

  Kaliq tucked his hands into his coat pockets. There wasn't much you could say to that, but it made him realize how very little he actually knew about Mercedes. She was definitely full of surprises, and most of the time they weren't good ones.

  All of a sudden, Mercedes splashed out of the water and streaked into the house. “I'm getting us some champagne! And if you're not in when I get back, Kaliq, I'm going to freaking push you in!”

  But Kaliq had no intention of getting in. Instead, he stood up and followed her wet footprints into the kitchen. Mercedes was rummaging through cases of champagne in the walk-in pantry. Her naked ass caved in at the sides because she was so skinny, but other than that she was perfect.

  “I'm going upstairs to unpack.” Kaliq announced, giving Mercedes the opportunity to come with him so he could take his clothes off, in private.

  “Suit yourself,” Mercedes replied, scooting by him with a magnum of champagne under each arm.

  Upstairs Kaliq discovered his clothes had already been folded and put away in a closet in one of the guest bedrooms. So instead of unpacking, he did a quick sweep of the bathrooms to get rid of all the random bottles of pills and anything else Mercedes might try to ingest just for fun. If her mom really wasn't around, it was his responsibility to make sure she didn't drink a bottle of Nyquil and set the house on fire or something.

  Once he was finished Mercedes-proofing the bathrooms, he was definitely going to call Chanel and Porsha at the lodge. Because if he and Mercedes weren't going to have a romantic week together, skiing and having sex, and she was going to be all crazy all the time, then he'd rather have a little company.

  And who better to help entertain his hyperactively insane, drug addicted girlfriend than the über girl he'd always lusted after and his vicious-but-still-beautiful ex-girlfriend?

  14

  Once they finally made it to the Sun Valley Lodge, Porsha lay on her bed in their room, staring outside at the bare-branched trees and the snow, wondering if she should have gone to Hawaii after all. At least she could've been warm.

  “Knock, knock!” Chanel yelled at the door to the room next door. “Housekeeping!” She squealed excitedly as her long-lost brother opened the door and they embraced. Cairo was all sweaty from the sauna, but he was still her big adorable oaf. Her honey bear.

  “Hold on. I'll go change,” Porsha heard him say.

  “Porsh doesn't care what you're wearing,” Chanel replied. “Come and say hello.” Then Porsha heard the sound of bare feet padding across the carpet.

  “Hey.”

  She raised herself up on her elbows and blinked. Cairo was naked except for a white spa towel wrapped around his waist. His silky hair was wet and fell to the nape of his neck. There was a little scar on his chin where he'd fallen on the playground at the age of nine. Other than that, he was flawless.

  Porsha had already fallen for him after reading his diary and sleeping in his shirts. She'd never imagined the effect that seeing him in person would have on her. His huge almond shaped eyes! His sad, sexy mouth! His perfect chest! Even his feet were perfect.

  All of a sudden, she whirred into motion, sitting up and crossing her legs and ruffling her hair and looking calculatedly bored. “Hey.” She stretched her arms overhead and arched her back. “Have you been skiing yet?” she yawned.

  Cairo grinned. He was used to the effect he had on girls, and it was kind of cute to see his little sister's friend all grown up and sticking her chest out at him. Actually, he hadn't really seen Porsha since Chanel had gone to boarding school and he'd left for college over two years ago. She'd always been pretty, but with her cute pixie haircut, petite little body, and milk chocolae complexion, she'd developed into a genuine hottie.

  “Snow's awesome right now, and it's been, like, snowing at night and then sixty degrees in the sun during the day, so you can, like, ski in shorts. Some girls are even skiing in bikini tops. And this place is serious about maintenance, too.”

  Porsha nodded in pretend fascination. She'd skied all her life, but she liked to take it nice and easy and never embarrassed herself by wiping out. She'd brought her favorite bikini for the hot tub, but from what Cairo told her, she could even wear it on the slopes! Chanel had warned her that he was a superfast bump skier, but maybe if she asked super-nicely, he'd consider taking a little break from the bumps. They'd make a perfect couple, her in her bikini and him in his surf shorts, winding their way gracefully down the mountain to the envy of all.

  “Do you think you could take me around tomorrow?” she asked. “I've only skied here once before.”

  Cairo grinned. “Yeah.”

  Their hotel room was large and old-fashioned, with heavy beige velveteen drapes, oak dressers and nightstands, and a walk-in closet. But it also had all the modern amenities: docking station, Blu-ray player, Internet access, and a minibar, which Chanel had just discovered. Sitting on the floor in front of the open fridge, she stuffed a complimentary chocolate bar into her mouth and washed it down with a sip of champagne. Was Porsha flirting with Cairo? And was Cairo actually flirting back? Weird.

  “Don't mind me,” she muttered under her breath as she took another swig out of the minibottle of champage. “Look, the light is blinking on the phone. We have messages!” She scooted over to the bedside phone and picked up the handset, following the instructions to retrieve their voicemail.

  “Hey, it's Kaliq. Hope you guys made it out okay. Want to meet up tomorrow morning around ten-thirty to ski? Let me know if you're up for it. Um, I don't know what the number here is. It's kind of a crazy place, actually. But call my cell. Okay. See you.”

  Chanel thought Kaliq sounded breathless—and oddly nervous, too—but maybe that was only because he wasn't getting high anymore and she wasn't used to his normal voice. Chanel held on to the phone and glanced at Porsha and Cairo. He was pointing out the window and explaining something to Porsha about the layout of the mountain and which runs the sun hit in the morning and in the afternoon. As if Porsha cared.

  Chanel dialed Kaliq's cell and left a message. “We're definitely up for skiing tomorrow,” she said. “I'm gonna be rusty, though, and we're gonna have to stop for hot chocolate and cigarettes every other run, but if you get bored you can always blow us off. Can't wait to meet Mercedes. See you at the bottom of River Run at ten-thirty. Bye.” She hung up, popped another chocolate into her mouth, and then crawled across the floor, making a growling sound before opening her jaws and biting the back of Cairo's leg.

  “Ow!” Cairo yowled.

  Chanel sat back on her haunches. “Can we do something?” she asked. “Or are you guys too busy talking in this boring hotel room to, like, go out?”

  Porsha glared down at her friend from her perch on the bed and could barely resist kicking her in the head. Couldn't Chanel just butt out and let them talk?

  Chanel jumped to her feet and grabbed her cosmetics bag out of the splayed-open suitcase lying on her bed. “I'm taking a shower,” she announced. “And if you guys are ready to join me for a cocktail afterward, fine. If not, I'll just find some cool, interesting people to hang out with, and you can just sit here watching the ski weather report and picking your noses.” She knew she sounded kind of bratty, but it was also pretty damned tactful of her to give Cairo and Porsha time to, like, do it on the bed right now while she was showering, if that's what they wanted.

  Porsha rolled her eyes. Chanel was only jealous because all of a sudden Cairo wanted to talk to her more than he wanted to talk to his little sister. And Porsha wasn't about to pass up an opportunity like this. Cairo and Chanel could see each other anytime.

  “I'd better go get dressed,” he said, hitching up his towel. “You probably have to unpack and everything.”


  Porsha walked over to her bag and unzipped it. She pulled out her bikini and a few pairs of lacy underwear, scattering them on top of the bed in plain view. “I didn't bring much. Actually, I need to rent skis and stuff at the ski shop downstairs.”

  “Yeah?” Cairo paused in the doorway. “I can help you with that. Tell my sister I'll meet you guys in like half an hour in the lobby. We can get something to eat afterward.”

  “What about your parents?” Porsha asked, remembering that she was a guest on this vacation, and although all she really wanted was to stay in Cairo's room and order room service and watch romantic black-and-white movies and rip each other's clothes off, she hadn't forgotten her manners. “Don't we have to eat dinner with them?”

  “Nah. They have a ton of friends here. They pretty much always do their own thing. I'm sure they'll want to have, like, one dinner with us, or maybe brunch or something. But basically, we're on our own.” His eyes met Porsha's in mutual understanding of how good that sounded.

  “This is going to be fun,” she said.

  “Yeah, it is,” Cairo agreed before ducking into his room.

  Well, at least it should be entertaining.

  15

  “It's like dawn on Sunday morning, and it's only two degrees,” Elise complained. “What's with the stakeout?”

  “Shush,” Bree whispered. “Here he comes.” She grabbed Elise's coat sleeve and dragged her inside the Lexington Avenue dry cleaner's they happened to be standing in front of.

  “Now what are we doing?” Elise grumbled.

  Bree put her fingers to her lips and crouched down behind a giant yellow bag of laundry. She was wearing dark sunglasses just for the occasion and could barely see a thing in the dingy shop. “Shhhh.”

  “Can I help you?” the man behind the counter asked. The two girls stayed put as Damien walked quickly past the shop window. His head was tucked inside a black cap, and he was wearing a bashed-up brown leather jacket with a sheepskin collar that was either very expensive or very old. In his hands were a large coffee and a paper bag with something inside it.

  Aha! Was it a gun? Bree wondered. Someone's hand? A boring toasted plain bagel with cream cheese?

  “Come on!” Bree leaped to her feet and dragged Elise back out of the shop, trailing Damien down 70th Street to Park Avenue.

  Damien had never invited Bree home or even told her where he lived. And when she'd asked him to hang out with her today, he'd said he couldn't, just as he did half the times she asked him. He was so secretive that she just couldn't resist spying on him. Damien had a favorite coffee place on the corner of 70th and Lex and probably lived somewhere nearby. So that morning, Bree had dragged Elise out of bed at seven to wait across the street from the coffee shop until he showed up.

  “Hey, look,” Elise pointed down Park Avenue to a lavish-looking doorman building with a green and gold awning. “He's going inside!” She'd acted like the whole spying-on-Damien thing was totally stupid, but now she was getting into it. “Is that where he lives?”

  “I don't know,” Bree answered breathlessly. They continued down the block to the corner until they reached a sunny spot. Bree leaned against the building, waiting for Damien to come out again.

  “You're just going to stay here?” Elise pulled a pack of Orbit gum out of her pocket and offered a piece to her.

  “What's wrong with that?” Bree unwrapped the stick of gum and bit off half of it, rewrapping the other half to save for later.

  “Well, what if he just sits there and watches TV for three hours? We could die out here,” Elise complained.

  Bree chewed her gum and shoved her hands in her black parka pockets. She closed her eyes and let the late March sun drench her face. “It's warmer in the sun. Anyway, what else do we have to do? We're on break. We don't even have any homework.”

  Elise couldn't argue with that. It totally sucked being one of the only kids in your class who didn't go away skiing or to some beach resort over break. At least Bree was keeping them busy.

  Elise suddenly jumped when she saw Damien emerge from the building, capless and without the coffee and white paper bag. “Hey,” she whispered, poking Bree in the arm.

  The girls pressed their bodies against the side of the building and ducked their heads, hoping he wouldn't spot them. This time Damien was leading a giant white mastiff on a red leather leash. The dog was wearing one of those three-hundred-dollar, Burberry plaid, collar-and-coat combinations that only dog-crazy rich people bought, and little pink leather boots.

  Oh, my.

  Bree didn't quite know what to make of this. It was completely embarrassing for Damien, but it was also totally intriguing. He'd never even told her he had a dog! She yanked on Elise's sleeve again. “Come on.”

  They followed at a distance as Damien walked the dog slowly around the block. He was considerate, letting the dog sniff fire hydrants and curbs where other dogs had peed. Then the dog humped its back and did an enormous poop. Damien dutifully crouched down and picked it up with a little plastic baggie he pulled from some sort of baggie dispenser attached to the leash, depositing it in the waste bin on the corner of 69th and Madison. After that, he marched the dog around the block to Park Avenue and into the building again.

  Bree leaned against the building in the same sunny spot, totally bewildered by what she'd seen.

  Elise stood beside her, chewing noisily. “Hey, I don't know if it's true or not, but you know those girls, Cassie, Vicky, and Mary?” she asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, they were talking about that fancy party all the rich girls from school went to Thursday night? And they mentioned a boy who was at the party who sounded exactly like Damien. So maybe he's like this zillionaire kid and he's too shy to tell you.”

  Bree winced. Or maybe he's too ashamed of me to bring me home to meet his parents, she thought miserably. Still, she wasn't totally convinced. Damien didn't act like a rich snob, and he went to kind of an alternative school. If he were a zillionaire, he'd probably go to St. Jude's or some boarding school in New Hampshire or something.

  “If he's so rich, what's he doing buying his coffee from a deli and walking his own dog?” she countered. Then again, why did his dog wear a collar that cost more than any piece of clothing she owned? God, Damien was more mysterious than ever!

  “Maybe he's a spy impersonating a high school kid to penetrate some major high school drug ring,” Elise suggested.

  “And he has to dress his dog in pink boots as part of his cover?” Bree said, her eyes trained on the building's entrance. “I don't think so.”

  Elise did a few jumping jacks to keep her blood circulating. “Well, maybe they're special James Bond dog boots, with, like, torpedoes in them or something.”

  “Right,” Bree giggled. She kind of liked the idea of Damien being a spy. “And he's a black belt in karate, and he's fluent in, like, twenty-three languages.”

  Elise bent down and retied her shoelaces. She was getting seriously bored of this. “Who, the dog?

  “No, you idiot!” Bree exclaimed, still watching the door. “Damien.”

  “Who knows?” Elise yawned. She really needed to go back to bed, but she was also secretly hoping that she and Bree would go back to Bree's house so she could see Mekhi again. He was so weird, in a really cute way. “So what do we do now?”

  Bree pulled the other half piece of gum out of her pocket. She spit the old half into the wrapper and shoved the fresh piece into her mouth. Although she hated to admit it, she absolutely loved spying on Damien. “We wait.”

  Well, at least they're keeping busy.

  16

  “Hello?” Mekhi shouted hoarsely into the intercom outside the Red Letter offices on 11th Street in the West Village. The cigarette he'd been smoking on the walk from the subway had burned down to the quick, singeing his fingers. He tossed it onto the sidewalk, hoping that someone from Red Letter wasn't watching disapprovingly from a window. “I'm Mekhi Hargrove? The new intern?”

&n
bsp; The heavily grated door buzzed, and Mekhi pushed it open. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants as he mounted the stairs in front of him. Already he could see the glare of office light, hear the tap, tap, tap of computer keyboards, the hum of fax machines, photocopiers, and printers, and the steady murmur of voices talking on the phone. He reached the top stair and surveyed the open-plan office, full of strange heads bent over desks, talking on the phone and looking busy, busy, busy.

  Bisecting the white walls was a thin horizontal red line, making it look like the large room had been wrapped with red ribbon. When he squinted, though, Mekhi could see that the line was made up of thousands of tiny words painted in red. He wondered what it said, but in order to get close enough he'd have to lean over someone's desk, and he didn't want to be rude.

  He waited for someone to greet him and show him around—someone there must have buzzed him in, after all—but no one seemed to notice him.

  Even in his fancy new suit?

  He shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat noisily. Nothing.

  “Um,” he spoke to the guy sitting nearest him. The guy had slicked-back hair and was wearing a crisp white shirt with French cuffs tucked into neatly pressed black trousers that were probably made by Armani or Gucci or something. There were four unopened minibottles of water lined up on the desk in front of him. “I'm here to see Siegfried Castle,” Mekhi told him.

  The guy looked up and squinted at Mekhi. “Pourquoi?”

  Mekhi frowned. Couldn't the guy just speak English?

  “Because I'm his new intern?”

  The guy stood up. “And I ham your new boss.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Siegfried Castle. Call me Sig—no, actzuelly, I zink you must call me sir.”

  Mekhi wasn't sure how to handle the palm-up scenario. Boldly he put his hand on top of Siegfried Castle's and turned it around, shaking it up and down like a normal person would.