by Staci Hart
“I sure hope so. I’m almost tempted to text Ash. Gentle pressure couldn’t hurt.” I picked up my double espresso and took a sip. “Wonder if he has a costume.”
“Because who doesn’t have Victorian circus attire in the back of their closet?” Betty asked with a dramatic sweep of her hands.
“What do you mean? That’s not normal?” Zeke asked, mirroring her pose.
She giggled and threw an apple at him, which he caught. “Then can I borrow something?”
“As soon as I get all my shit from that dirty whore’s place, be my guest.” Zeke turned to me and took a bite out of the apple. “What’s left to do for the next party?”
“Nothing. Genie said everything’s confirmed, circus tent and everything.”
“Thank God for that girl,” he said. “Can you imagine having to plan all this shit on your own?”
“It would take about seven minutes for Commissioner Warren to figure it out if I did.”
“Plus, it would just plain old suck,” Betty said from the pantry. “Who wants to spend all day getting permits?”
“No one,” Zeke answered. “But scheming it all up? Therein lies the fun.”
“Speaking of, we should talk about the next scavenger hunt,” I suggested.
Betty clapped, which was a feat with the bagel in her hand, but she managed. “Finally, the Breakfast at Tiffany’s hunt. I have been waiting for this for months.”
Zeke eyed her. “How about you shower before we have a family meeting? You smell like Drakkar Noir.”
Betty made a blah-blah face. “I would insult you, but I’ll give you a break since you just got dumped by Homan.”
“Look at you, being all charitable.” He headed to his suitcases. “I’m gonna unpack while Betty washes her parts off. Stell—order Thai, and let’s Golightly this scavenger hunt. I’m starving.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I listened to them rib each other down the hall toward their rooms with a smile on my face, glad for their company, grateful for the noise. Coffee in hand, I headed for my room where my planner awaited, unassuming, on my nightstand. It had no markings to distinguish what it was, no indication of its importance, just a simply bound planner in shades of pink and cream and gold foil.
My little gold book.
With a flip of the cover, I thumbed my way through the calendar to the sections I’d designated for each party. The planner had gotten so fat at one point, I’d been forced to take out the inserts for parties past, storing them in a photo box for safekeeping and reference. Honestly, I should have burned them, but the thought of torching all that hard work made my stomach crawl.
I slid my gold pen from its loop and jotted down a few notes for the Breakfast at Tiffany’s scavenger hunt, but my mind was a thousand miles and a week away. Because if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was hope.
And my biggest hope was that I’d see Levi again.
5
Have The Cake, Eat The Cake
LEVI
“Come on, Ash. I thought we had a deal?”
I walked the stretch of my living room with my phone pressed to my ear, sweaty first from the gym, then my run home, and eager for a shower. But first things first.
Ash answered through a yawn, “We did have a deal.” He smacked his lips. “One party.”
I rolled my eyes, heading for the stairs to the loft. “We never specified how many parties.”
“I already lost a shot at Lily James—she’s going to the circus party tomorrow night with that fucking beatnik poet, the Instagram famous one who writes with a quill because it’s ironic. I blame you.”
“Hadn’t picked up on that.”
“I’m at least eighty-nine percent sure I’ve got Grace Elizabeth convinced to come with me. You’re cute and all, but you’re no Guess model.”
“And I won’t sleep with you, so quit begging.”
“Exactly.” Sheets shuffled on the other end of the line.
I raked my free hand through my damp hair, pulling my tee out of my waistband to toss it in the hamper. “You owe me, Ash.”
“I know I fucking owe you, but you’re really interfering with my game, man.”
“What game?”
“God, you’re a real comedian, you know that? Listen—I can’t be on the hook for this forever.”
“Can’t you? I’m pretty sure if Billy hadn’t gotten you off the hook for your furniture-stealing shenanigans at Columbia, you would have been expelled.”
A sigh.
“I’ve never called the favor in, not until now,” I reminded him, “so here’s the deal. You’re going to bring me to all the parties I want to attend, and when it’s all said and done, we’re square.”
He paused for a beat. “For good?”
“For good. If I’m being honest, I never planned to cash in on it.”
“Do us all a favor and quit being honest. Some things are better left unsaid.”
I chuckled, eyeing the leather chairs in my bedroom, wanting to sit but unwilling to ruin any furniture with the buckets of sweat the Manhattan summer had blessed me with. I opted for the bench at the foot of my bed instead, leaning to rest my forearm on my thigh.
“It’s not that I don’t want to help you, man. I do. But this is bigger than me just taking you to a party. You’re lying about why you’re there, and I’ve betrayed the sacred code by sneaking a reporter in.”
“I haven’t lied to anyone.”
“Yet. At some point, somebody’s going to ask you what you do, and somehow I doubt you’re going to tell them there’s a press pass in your pocket.”
“You act like I don’t do this all the time.”
“Levi Hunt, professional liar.”
“As far as anybody at these parties knows, I’m Levi Jepsen, the photographer—I’ve got a website and everything.”
“Smart, since you are one, even if not professionally. And Billy’s last name? Not totally a lie, I guess. I mean, except for the fact that you’re writing about the group without their knowledge or permission. But hey, who am I to judge? Other than being the asshole sticking his neck out for you.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Ash, you know I wouldn’t ask you for this if it wasn’t important. This is the gateway to—”
“All your dreams coming true or some shit—yeah, yeah. I get it. I do. And I know you’ve got this idea that I’ll get to play dumb and not be implicated when they find out—because they will whether you tell them or they see your stupid mug next to the headline in the magazine. But I can’t pretend like I didn’t know you’re a reporter, and I won’t. The best I can do is say I didn’t know that you were writing about us. And if they don’t buy that, I’m throwing you under the bus.”
“Please, throw me under the bus. Tell them I tricked you into it—I’ll back your story up. Whatever I have to do to protect you, I’ll do it. You have my word.”
“The word of the king of bullshitters?”
“Oh, come on. What have I ever lied about but this? I don’t have a choice. This is how I get places I’m not supposed to be.”
He sighed again, and I thought I heard the scratch of stubble against his hand. “And what about Stella Spencer?”
My heart tha-dummed at the sound of her name. “What about her?”
“Somehow I get the feeling next time you see her, you’ll exchange more than a kiss. Are you gonna lie to her too?”
“About what I do for a living? I don’t see what other choice I have, do you?”
“No. Because if you tell her, you can kiss your admittance to the parties goodbye.”
“I’m not looking for anything serious, Ash, not when I’m leaving the country for an undetermined amount of time.”
“Which is just fine. But what about her?”
I had no answer to that.
“This group of us … I don’t know if you understand what we are to each other. You’ve been around us, sure, but … well, we’re family. We’ve been at this for a decade, and most of us have k
nown each other since elementary school. Stella just got her heart stomped to pulp by Dex Macy, and I don’t want her to get hurt by you too. Lying to the group as a whole is one thing. Lying to her when you’re into each other is another.”
I took a breath. Let it out. Thought it through. “You’re not wrong. She’s not interested in a casual thing?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t read her diary or anything.”
“So how about this? I’ll play it casual, let her know I’m leaving before anything happens, and see where she’s at. If she’s just looking for a hookup, we’ll be fine—”
“You think just because you hook up without strings, she’ll be fine with you lying to her?”
“Again, you act like I haven’t done this before. She’ll be mad for a minute, but she’ll understand when I tell her. Especially if I’m not ripping the group to shreds.”
“You’re a walking contradiction.”
I ignored him. “I’ll come clean the second it’s over, well before anything is published.”
“You make it sound like you know what you’re doing.”
“Because I do. Trust me.”
“Beyond all reason, I do.” Another sigh, this one resigned. “Fine, I’ll bring you. Just watch your ass, all right?”
Relief took the place of my worry. “Always do.”
And when I hung up, it was with the satisfaction that came with having your cake and eating it too.
6
Feed The Python
STELLA
“Hold still, or the wing on your liner is gonna look like a heart monitor,” Zeke warned.
With a sigh, I did what I’d been told and kept as still as I could, but it wasn’t easy with Betty trying on wigs and performing monologues behind me.
I sat at Zeke’s massive gold vanity, which took up a third of one of his bedroom walls. Over the last week, we’d gotten all his things moved in, and because Zeke was Zeke, the room was as good as home within twelve hours of the boxes and furniture delivery. Somehow, between shows at Supertramp and partying, he’d even found time to paint the walls emerald green. The room was huge, big enough for a queen-size bed to stand in the center of the room, housed in a gold frame that was likely meant to be a canopy, though he hadn’t put one on. The only other color in the room was navy, and almost all of it was velvet, from his fluffy duvet to the bench at the foot of the bed and even the cylindrical tufted seat under my ass. Everything else was gold and deco and elegant. Just like Zeke.
I mean, if we didn’t count what came out of his mouth.
One of the walls was covered in wigs so masterfully, it looked like an art display. It was this wall that Betty had chosen to occupy herself with while she waited her turn.
“God, I wish I had hair like this,” Betty said, and when Z was finally finished with my liner, I looked over to find her stroking the gorgeous white hair that was so long and thick, it fell past her waist.
“Honey, everybody wishes they had hair like that,” Z said, turning my chin back in his direction. “Look up.”
I did, trying not to blink as he applied my mascara.
Zeke was already done up as Zelda—all she had left to do was to put on her costume. Her hair, which reached her chin when it wasn’t slicked back, had been parted on one side, and over each ear were massive red roses attached to golden ram’s horns and a headpiece of dangling tassels and golden coins. Dark shadow and smoky liner made her look like a bedouin, which was appropriate since she was going as a snake charmer—rumor had it that Zelda Fitzperil could tame any snake regardless of size or aggression. She even had a gigantic fake albino python that looked so real, I refused to touch it.
Where Betty and I came from the one percent, Zeke had grown up in Paris, Texas—a tiny town in the northeast corner of the state, close to both the Oklahoma and Alabama borders. They had a miniature Eiffel Tower and everything.
No one was surprised that a town named Paris had produced Zeke, not even if that town was in Texas. It was the best sort of joke cannon fodder, but those of us who knew him well knew those jokes covered up the unpleasant truths of growing up in Paris, Texas as a gay kid whose favorite pastimes included sewing elaborate costumes and doing everyone’s makeup he could get to sit still for him, including his own.
“I wish Joss had made it back for this party. She’s gonna be so mad she missed it—and by a day. What a dick punch,” Betty said, inspecting herself in the full-length gilded mirror leaning against the wall.
“Our roommate, the romcom sweetheart of the silver screen. I can’t wait until she’s back. We need her mellow to balance out the two of you,” I said.
“How long’s she been gone?” Z asked. “Two months now?”
“Three,” Betty and I answered in unison.
“Now all we need is for Tag to come and stay, and Zekey will be a happy girl.” Z popped the lid off a liner pencil like she was unveiling the Crown Jewels.
Betty and I groaned at the mention of my stepbrother, who was the richest transient in the world and held the title of the most magnificent douche bag to ever live.
“Oh, stop it. He’s not that bad.”
Betty scoffed, “Easy for you to say. You’ve never had him shove his tongue down your throat without warning before.”
“And what a shame that is,” Z mourned. “Honestly, I’m shocked you’ll still have two free rooms when Joss gets back,” she started. “You collect friends like some people collect nesting dolls.”
“Stella Spencer’s Strays,” Betty said, gesturing like she was reading a marquee.
“Boardinghouse of the stars,” Z added.
“We should make a sign,” Betty decided.
“And lucky for you two assholes,” I said on a laugh. “God, I can’t even imagine what it would be like to live here alone.” My nose wrinkled.
“You could make a room for every occasion. Like a room full of tiaras,” Z said with the flip of her hand.
“Or you could go the other way. Become a recluse and have a room for every cat.” Betty flipped her hair like a stripper and smirked at herself in the mirror. “Think Levi will find his way in tonight?”
“Oh, he’s gonna find his way in, all right,” Z said, looking down her nose as she lined my lips. “All the way in ’til he hits the end.”
I tried to talk without moving my mouth, but Z shot me a look that shut me up.
“What you need is a fling,” Betty said, exchanging her wig for another, this one a mass of auburn curls so thick, I didn’t think you could get a hand in there if it wasn’t attached to a pair of scissors. Maybe not even then.
“A fling.” Z laughed. “Stella can’t help but love any and everybody. It’s one of the reasons everybody loves her right back.” Finished lining, she booped my nose. “But casual sex? That’s more for you and me, Betty. Not Star Bright.”
“I can do casual sex,” I argued.
Z and Betty locked eyes and burst into laughter.
“What? I can. I was in a non-thing with Dex for two years.”
“Even if I didn’t know you were in love with him, the fact that you just said years automatically excludes it from being even remotely casual,” Z said.
“Maybe I just have bad taste.”
“You have impeccable taste,” Z assured me. “You just trust the wrong guys.”
“Ugh, Dex,” Betty started, never taking her eyes off the mirror as she posed for herself. “I hope he gets genital warts.”
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d really believed his stupid creed about monogamy, but the whole line was bullshit.” I said. “He didn’t up and change his mind about monogamy. He didn’t rewrite his rules for Elsie Richmond—he made up a bunch of nonsense to feed to me so he could fuck whoever he wanted.”
“Be still,” Zelda Fitzperil commanded, and nobody disobeyed Zelda. “Listen—you trust first and ask questions later. It’s one of your great qualities, but sometimes our best qualities are flaws, and this, honey, is one of yours
.”
I sighed, held hostage as she dabbed on my lipstick.
“Right now you’re asking me with your pretty little brain, How do I fix it, Z? How do I become a savage bitch who gets what she wants? Teach me your wise ways. Impart upon me your sage wisdom. And here it is—fuck the brains out of that boy tonight and do not, under any circumstance, exchange numbers.”
My brows clicked together.
“Quit it. You’re going to give yourself elevens, and you’re too young for Botox. Blot.”
I rolled my lips together before blotting them on a tissue. “What if I like him?”
“Then you definitely don’t exchange numbers,” Betty said as she approached with a French Revolutionary wig, swirled to look like pink cotton candy. “I don’t know why you didn’t go as cotton candy, Z. This wig is incredible.”
“Because I wore it to the Candy party, and I’ll be goddamned if I wear the same wig twice to our parties.”
Betty sighed. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering. It’s not like I’m getting laid.” She shot Z an accusatory look.
“Don’t gimme that,” Z warned. “You’re the one who suggested I go man-free. It’s only fair you should have to do it with me.”
“You mean not do it,” she corrected. “Whatever. You’re going to cave, and then we’ll both be free of the pact.”
“That right there is exactly why I won’t cave. It’s like you’ve never met me.”
“I know you too well, which is why I’m banking on you folding like a bad poker hand.” Betty hinged to look at herself in the vanity mirror. “Sex or no sex, I still should have worn it.”
“Probably. Because I’m about to tease your hair so hard, you’ll be tasting Aqua Net for a week.” Z leaned back to inspect her handiwork. “I’m a fucking artist. The end. Now, your hair.”
Betty primped next to me. “This Levi guy is hot for sure, but you haven’t dated anybody in the month since Dex, and before that, you were only with him. Even though he was fucking half of Manhattan.”
