by Jenny Lee
“Hey Eleanor,” Anna said, making sure her voice didn’t reflect her current feelings. “To what do I owe this pop-by?”
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, and it was making me boo-hoo, so I said to myself, ‘Ellie, you turn that frown upside down and scoot your cute B-U-T-T on over and tell Annie you miss her!’” Eleanor’s voice was sweet and saccharine. “Is it time for the dogs to say bye-bye, yet? I’m feeling very neglected sitting here all by my loney-lonesome. Plus, my nose is starting to twitch like a bunny’s.”
Anna sighed inwardly. Normally the dogs knew to make themselves scarce when Eleanor showed up, making a run for the large doggie door in the mudroom, but they must have refused this time as they were still awaiting Anna’s arrival. “Gemma! Jon Snow! Backyard!” she commanded, and the giant snootbears got up and headed toward the kitchen. Anna followed them in case Magda, the head housekeeper, had already started cooking dinner. Jon Snow was a notorious counter thief who once savagely destroyed the Christmas turkey, which Anna swore he had learned from watching A Christmas Story on TV. She let the dogs out the French doors, and they galloped out onto the back lawn, turning around sadly when she shut the door and they realized she wasn’t coming out to play. Sorry guys, blame Eleanor.
Anna had planned to read through dinner, but now she had a feeling Eleanor would invite herself to stay, so she texted Magda that under no circumstance could she serve a multiple-course meal. Later, as the two girls ate a vegetable lasagna in the dining room together, Eleanor finally brought up the real reason for her visit. “Annie, can we real-talk now?” Eleanor asked, using her best grown-up voice, which sounded like a talk-show host on a heavy dose of Adderall. “Pweease?”
Anna hated that Eleanor called her Annie and had asked her several times not to, even once enlisting Alexander to make her stop doing it, too, though that didn’t work, either. And if that wasn’t enough, Eleanor held at least half her conversations in baby talk, which was like nails on a chalkboard to Anna’s ears. “Sure thing, what’s up?”
“I’m still undecided about what I want to do for my birthday. I mean, besides spending it with my BFF, obvi! Mommy wants to throw me a family dinner at the club, so I’m supposed to find out what works best for you and Alexander. Is he coming down this weekend?”
Anna shook her head. “Nope, I was just there and he has a paper to write.”
Eleanor’s face fell at the information, landing on her most annoying pouty look.
“Well, I guess we could do my b-day family din-din the weekend after, but that’s a little sad for me. You know, because my birthday is technically one day closer to this weekend than the next.” This was Eleanor’s specialty: passive-aggressive pouting until she wore you out emotionally and got what she wanted. “Maybe Alexander could write his paper here? I just think my birthday family dinner would be so much better if it was this Sunday night at the club.”
“I thought your mom talked about doing a brunch this year.” Anna knew this would never happen, but sometimes it seemed only fair to torture Eleanor since she was always torturing her and Alexander. Well, she couldn’t speak for her boyfriend, because he never complained about Eleanor. “She’s my sister, Anna,” was his refrain on the few occasions when she let her annoyance with Eleanor show. “Family is family.”
“No way, Sunday birthday brunches sound like something old people do. Plus, there’s always too much syrup around a brunch for me to ever relax. You know how much I detest—”
“Sticky things, yes, I know. Have you talked to Alexander about doing it this Sunday night already?”
“I’ve left him several messages about it, three today, even. But he still hasn’t called me back. I know you two talk every night, so I was kinda sorta hopin-n-prayin you’d talk to him for me. He’ll do it if you ask him since he lurrrves you. Please, Annie-pie, Ellie’s asking so very nicely.”
Anna agreed, giving in to avoid the headache she now felt radiating up her neck, and reminding Eleanor that Alexander said no to her plenty. She knew he’d be annoyed at her for getting involved when he was probably avoiding Eleanor’s call on purpose, but she just didn’t have the patience for Eleanor’s whining right now. The headache crept behind her jaw, making her ears hurt. Less than two hours ago she had been so calm and centered, cantering with Marc Antony, who had jumped particularly well during her riding lesson this afternoon.
Her memory traveled back to when she left Staugas Farms and was at a four-way stop across from a guy on a motorcycle dressed all in black with a red racing stripe on his tinted helmet. Seeing a motorcycle while driving always made her nervous, so she paid special attention to the red shiny bike before her. Her mom called them “donorcycles” and refused to let Steven get one, even though he had begged for an entire year. He gave up after he got his driver’s license, though Anna knew her brother rode his friend Kaedon’s bike at their house in the Catskills.
She had been surprised to learn on Valentine’s Day that Vronsky’s mother even allowed him to ride one, and without a proper license, which, even though he had just turned sixteen, he still hadn’t bothered to get. (In France when Geneviève was growing up every fourteen-year-old had a moped.) Ah, there it was! These days every single thought she had seemed to lead right back to Vronsky. The sleek Ducati bike made her nervous, bringing up thoughts of a motorcycle accident, which made her think of how terrible it’d be if Vronsky ever crashed his motorcycle.
“Annie-hoo, are you listening? I asked you a very important question. Do you think we should have a funfetti cake for my family dinner, or for my actual birthday dinner, you know on the actual day I was born? You’ve got to be there for that, too. We’re having lobster rolls flown in from Maine, I think. Well, at least that’s what I told Daddy I wanted…”
“Funfetti cake for your actual birthday dinner,” Anna said on autopilot. “Vanilla ice cream on the side.” She was barely listening, because she was now fantasizing that the motorcyclist she had seen earlier was Vronsky, and that he’d ridden all the way in from the city to see her. He was turning in the direction of Staugas Farms; she had seen so in her rearview mirror as she drove away from him. Wouldn’t that have been so lovely? If he had come to see her?
“Annie! Annie!” Eleanor snapped her fingers. “Are you even listening to me?”
Yes, Eleanor, unfortunately, I am.…
XVIII
Dustin was surprised when Steven had texted that he should bring his brother over for their tutoring session. He had tried to reschedule their session for the following day since he had plans to spend the afternoon with his brother, but Steven said it was imperative that he see Dustin today, so he and Nicholas came over.
When Nicholas walked into Steven’s apartment, he whistled at the fancy digs, which embarrassed Dustin, even though Steven didn’t seem to notice. Steven suggested that Nicholas play his PS4 while they did their schoolwork, directing him to a shipment of advance copies of new games that wouldn’t come out until next year. Steven’s dad was tight with one of the head honchos at Sony’s gaming division, so these boxes would arrive every few months with the latest video games.
Just another perk of the superrich, Dustin thought to himself, whereas his brother Nicholas had to comment out loud about it: “No shade, but you one-percenters got some sick-ass perks.”
Steven nodded and agreed. “Hells yeah we do.” (Comments like this should have made Steven an asshole, yet somehow they came across as charming, which Dustin found to be both disturbing and fascinating.)
Once Nicholas was settled into the living room playing Fortnite, Steven motioned for Dustin to follow him instead of going to their usual workplace in the dining room. Dustin walked down the hallway behind his friend, and Steven led the way into his bedroom and closed the door. Dustin had never been in Steven’s bedroom before, and as he entered, he understood why Steven hadn’t even clapped back over his brother’s lack of filter … because it was true. Everything in the lavish, professionally decorated bedroom wa
s top of the line. Dustin felt like a character in a Hollywood movie. Steven turned on the massive flat-screen TV that hung on his wall and commanded Siri to play Lost Boyz’ “Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless.”
“Sorry for being so mysterious, bro,” Steven said. “But I really need to talk to you and only you.”
“Sure thing,” Dustin replied, suddenly growing anxious that somehow he had done something wrong.
“I wanted to talk the other day, but I couldn’t because of Lolly.” (Lolly had been there for their entire homework session two days earlier.)
Dustin was now more nervous, saying a silent prayer that Steven wouldn’t mention the very name that he had been avoiding like the plague.
“Stop with the face, dude, this isn’t about Kimmie,” Steven said.
And there it was: the DJ in Dustin’s chest made the vinyl of his heart skip a beat.
“I’ve been trying to forget the whole thing, really. But I can’t. It’s impossible. I have to tell someone, and you’re the only one I trust with this secret.…” Steven was pacing back and forth on the high-end shag carpet in front of the TV as the opening strains of “Renee” bumped out of the special-edition Bose surround-sound speakers.
“Steven, just say it. You’ll feel better.”
“You can’t tell anyone. Not a soul. Cone of silence, but you gotta swear first. This is some fucked-up repugnant shit that cannot leave this room.”
“Are you high?” Dustin asked. “Because you’re acting like it. And I should know, I’ve got an addict in your living room right now.” Dustin couldn’t help but wonder if Steven’s dad had a lock on his liquor cabinet.
“No, I’m not high, I had one bump, but it was just to calm me down.”
Dustin thought about telling Steven that cocaine was a stimulant, but he didn’t want to get off topic or risk losing his friend’s confidence. “Steven,” said Dustin in his calmest and most trustworthy voice. “I swear I won’t tell a soul.”
Steven stopped pacing and stood in front of Dustin, who was sitting at Steven’s desk in a silver mesh Herman Miller chair. “My mom … The other day I … fuck! I can’t do it. I can’t even make myself say it.”
“Steven!” Dustin said sharply.
“On Valentine’s Day I walked in on some dude with a back tattoo going down on my mom.”
Dustin heard the words, but they didn’t really register. “Come again?”
“Dude, not cool, not cool at all,” Steven said, even though Dustin wasn’t trying to make a pun. “It was a dragon.”
“What was a dragon?” Dustin asked.
“The tattoo on the dude who was downtowning my mom!” Steven gagged a little. “It had wings on it. It was kinda baller, I mean out of context. It had these iridescent silver eyes that looked—”
“No one cares about the tattoo!” Dustin started pacing. “Did they see you?”
“Nah man, he was deep in there and my mom was staring at the ceiling. I had to come home and deliver a V-Day gift for my dad and there was music playing and I opened the door. God, why did I open that fucking door? My whole life would be different if I didn’t open the motherfucking door! Fuck! It even ruined my favorite swear word!”
Steven’s bedroom door swung open. Dustin and Steven stared at Nicholas, who was standing in the doorway. “Dude!” Steven said. “Don’t you knock?” Dustin saw the irony in this but kept silent.
“Yo, just got the final skin, Entropy, and it’s dope AF!” Nicholas declared. “I saw Hot Pockets in y’ fancy-ass fridge, can I snag a couple?”
“Nicholas,” Dustin said. “We’re eating dinner with Mom right after we’re done here.”
“Have as many as you want,” Steven said quickly. “Sorry, we’re just talking about my history paper.”
“No doubt, stay nerdy,” Nicholas said with no judgment whatsoever. “Nicholas out.” He shut the door.
Once Nicholas was out of earshot, Steven relayed to Dustin the whole episode in all its gruesome detail. It was obvious that Steven had been bursting at the seams to get this off his chest for some time, and the more he talked the calmer he became. Dustin, on the other hand, got more and more animated as the conversation continued. It was as if Steven had passed his psychological baggage off onto Dustin like a flash drive planted on an innocent bystander in a spy movie.
“Dude, I can’t even imagine…” Dustin said to his friend, even though he would still trade Steven’s mommy drama for his own if it meant Nicholas and his mom would mend their relationship. Actually, he’d have to think about that one.
“No, you can’t,” Steven agreed. “I’ve been avoiding her for days, but she’s starting to sense something’s up. You think it’s the Hot Pockets that fucked me? I left two in the microwave on Valentine’s Day. What if my mom knows I know about the dude with the dragon tattoo and his Big Baller shitkickers?”
Dustin was barely following the words coming out of his friend’s mouth.
“Dustin! Tell me what to do.”
Dustin thought about the Hot Pocket situation. His own mother would notice, but that’s because she was obsessed with having a spotless kitchen and would have found the forgotten Hot Pockets immediately. She also wasn’t the type of mom to get head from men with back tattoos. These were key differences. “No way your mom saw them. Don’t you guys have a cook? A chef, or whatever you rich people call your staff?”
Steven stared at Dustin in awe. “Duuuuuuuude. Why didn’t I think of that? I could have asked Marta last week and then I wouldn’t be brickin’ it nonstop. This is why I’m friends with you, you smart son of a … really nice lady.”
“I got you man,” Dustin said. “And besides, even if your mom did find out you knew, she’s not gonna ever bring it up.” The relief was now apparent in Steven’s face and Dustin was pleased that he could be somewhat helpful.
“One problem down, one to go,” Steven said. “How do I un-remember this shit? It’s like burned into my brain.”
“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” Dustin said.
“The what of the what now?”
“It’s this Charlie Kaufman movie with Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet and there’s this company that can erase your memories if you really want to forget something.”
“Holy shit,” Steven said. “That’s not a documentary, is it? Can they do that?”
“Please, if they did I’d have already been there,” Dustin said. “You’ll just have to forget the old-fashioned way. Booze and drugs, or GoT for the third time in my case.”
Steven laughed. “You’re a good friend, Dustin,” he said, clapping his hands on his friend’s shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. “Thank you. I feel better.”
“Better enough to do homework?” Dustin asked.
“Nah, but better enough to play a three-way FIFA tournament with your bro?”
“Let’s do it,” Dustin said. It was obvious his friend was in no condition to study, and Dustin was nervous about his mom-brother reunion dinner so he was all in for the distraction, plus he knew Steven would still pay him for the tutoring.
When the two friends walked into the hallway, the smell of Hot Pockets wafted from the kitchen but neither one of them said a word about it.
XIX
Every weekend, all over the country, teenagers are having house parties.
But what is typical for 99 percent of teens was quite different from a Beatrice D. shindig. Her parties started out as ragers and always went well into the wee hours of the morning. The cops were never called, the reason being that her favorite house-party location was a fifteen-thousand-square-foot country home on sixty acres, just over the New York border. It was probably misleading to call it a house party, but an estate party didn’t exactly have the same ring to it.
Normally Beatrice sent out her invites on perfumed stationery, but because this party was so last minute, she was forced to send an Evite. She chose to send it while she was at school, wanting to have eyes on her guest of honor as she recei
ved it. Though the girl in question had no clue she was the sole reason for the hundred-plus-person get-together, that’s exactly what she was.
Beatrice located Anna sitting on the steps in the winter sunshine, bundled up in her white Moncler coat with the fur trim reading The Bone Clocks, and hit send. Bea checked her own phone and saw the new email with the subject line: IT’S MY PARTY AND I’LL DRUNKCRY IF I WANT TO! She smiled at the line; not her best creative work, but it amused her.
Bea looked back up at Anna, who had stopped reading and was now checking her phone. Bea had to move quick.
“Hey, Annacakes, can I count on your presence?” Bea asked, joining her on the steps even though she detested sitting on the ground. “I want you to spend the night. Like officially, as opposed to the rest of the drunken animals who will no doubt crash there, too. We have eight bedrooms and you can have first pick, because your pores are so tiny.”
“Me and my pores totally want to come,” Anna said. “But Eleanor’s birthday is next week and it’s turning into a scheduling nightmare. I’m still waiting to hear when the family dinner will be.”
“Family dinner? Good lord, don’t tell me you ran off and secretly married the Greenwich OG without telling anyone. Think of all the expensive gifts you’d be missing out on!”
Anna laughed. Bea was probably the funniest person she knew, though she’d never tell her brother this. “No, of course not!” Anna responded even though she knew Bea was only teasing her. “You think I’d willingly become sisters-in-law with Eleanor?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Anna regretted it. What was it about Beatrice that brought out her catty side? “That was mean of me. I take it back.”
