“What an interesting sculpture collection.” Jack wandered over to an elaborate antique Chippendale cabinet set up in the corner of the room, where Edie had placed a collection of small glass octopi she had found at a Brooklyn flea market.
“You think so!” Edie clapped her hands. “I’m glad you like them. Avery of course doesn’t appreciate them. She doesn’t understand that today’s kitsch is art.” She shook her head sadly. Her artist friends had gathered around a large orange Le Creuset pot.
“I brought my sousaphone,” a skinny guy announced to the general group.
Shut the fuck up! Avery wanted to scream. She knocked back a glass of champagne, standing next to Jack as if they were best friends or something. Jack was acting like she was so fucking interested in everything, when for all Avery knew she was filming the whole ridiculous chain of events and live-feeding it to everyone at Constance. She inhaled deeply, determined not to give Jack the pleasure of a breakdown.
“Jack’s a dancer. Maybe she and you could do something together, Owen,” Avery suggested sweetly.
“Great!” Edie clapped her hands together. “You both can provide pre-dinner entertainment!” Edie frowned into the pot. “I think this might be done.”
“Looks terrific,” Avery said, scanning the room of ten or so artists, annoyed that Baby had disappeared. Together they needed to hold some type of intervention to let Owen know who—or better yet, what—his new girlfriend was.
Baby slunk back into the living room, finally rescuing Avery from her personal circle of hell. She had changed into a simple black dress and her hair was loose around her shoulders. She winked at Avery and sat down next to Jack, elbowing her as if they were best friends sharing a delicious secret.
Psst, I stole your ex-boyfriend! Tee-hee!
“This is so nice. You know, I was just talking with my boyfriend, J.P., about how we might like to travel to Africa this summer,” Avery heard Baby say to Jack. She smiled to herself. Sometimes Baby really could come through. Still, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could deal with Jack in her fucking living room.
“Hey Owen, I need to talk to you. You too, Baby,” Avery pulled them both to a stand. She had had enough. It was one thing for Jack Laurent to edge her out of Constance, but this was Avery’s territory, and she was never a girl to go down without a fight. She dragged Owen onto the terrace, her manicured fingernails poking half-moon circles into his smooth, hairless forearm.
“Ow, Ave, what’s your problem?”
The three siblings stepped onto the terrace. The night air was cool, and the windows in the surrounding apartments were lit up, tiny yellow boxes against the dark night sky. Inside those apartments were normal families and catered parties and actual, eligible boys, Avery thought as she looked across the street wistfully.
“Why are you with Jack Laurent?” She turned back to Owen, her eyes narrowed.
Owen paused. Avery had always gotten into his business, but she’d never been this mad about anything before. He looked over to Baby for help, but her dark eyes were narrowed at him as well. Why did his sisters care so much?
“We’re dating.” Owen shrugged defensively. He was so sick of everyone questioning his personal life.
Aw, can’t we all just get along?
“You’re dating the girl who sent me to jail!” Avery said indignantly, sloshing her wine on the concrete slab of the terrace.
Owen laughed. “She put you in jail?”
“Well, she called the cops at my party, which is pretty much the same thing,” Avery huffed. “Fine, date her. Date the Antichrist. I don’t care.” Avery stomped off, almost stepping on Rothko.
Owen thought about it. Jack might not be as sweet as she appeared, and she might have ulterior motives. But no one was that evil. Besides, it would be nice to get to know a girl in New York. His sisters were totally overreacting. Maybe Avery had totally misunderstood Jack.
And maybe someone’s already forgotten about another girl’s apple-scented shampoo?
Owen walked back inside, pausing when he saw the way Jack’s hair fell over her slim shoulders. The candlelight captured her hair, making it look like it was on fire. She seemed so alive and fun. Meanwhile, Avery and Baby were huddled against each other, scowling. They were probably just jealous. Owen shrugged it off.
“Hey kids!” Edie said, pulling herself off the floor. “I just got your invitations for the St. Jude’s swim team benefit,” she announced. She pulled out three already opened envelopes and Avery made a mental note to open her own private PO box. The invitations were elegantly engraved with the maroon St. Jude’s crest. “It says you each can bring a date. So, who are you bringing?” Edie plopped down on a pillow between the four of them, hardly registering that Jack wasn’t one of her children.
“I’m going with J.P. We’re really excited about it,” Baby said, smiling innocently at Jack.
Jack sniffed, trying to ignore the jab. She smiled angelically at the Carlyles’ weirdo mom. Although, in the long run, she’d probably enjoy having this wackjob of a mom more than her own.
“Well, obviously, you and Owen are going together, so the important question is, who is Avery going to bring?” Edie mused. “Do you know she’s never had a boyfriend?” Edie addressed Jack like she was spouting harmless trivia. “Not even in kindergarten, and you know how horny five-year-olds are! All the inhibitions come in later.” Edie shook her head.
“How sad,” Jack murmured, fluttering her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at Avery. Avery recognized that look. It was the final glance a lioness gave before she ate her prey. Avery had two words running through her head: oh and shit. Jack was poor and lived in an attic with her crazy, mentally unstable mom, but it didn’t even matter. By tomorrow, the entire world would know Avery was a complete freak of nature. She felt a dull ache in her chest.
“Okay, well, we’re doing performances in the next room. I’d love to see some interpretive dancing. I remember Avery and Baby did a great one a few years ago.”
Jack smiled but didn’t even ask Edie to hear more about it. She didn’t need to. Even an embarrassing story about Avery and Baby performing a vernal equinox step dance in lace-up sandals was nothing compared to the information Jack already had in her possession.
“I think I have to go,” Jack demurred, smoothing her dress and picking up her bag. “Owen, I can’t wait until the benefit. And it’ll be great to see you there too, Baby,” she added, making it sound more like an insult than anything.
“Okay, I guess I’ll just walk Jack out,” Owen said uncertainly, looking from one sister to another. From Avery’s blue, flashing eyes to Baby’s brown, narrowed ones, he felt like he was asking them permission.
As Owen and Jack made their way out the door, Avery could hear them laughing into the hallway, the sound mixing with the farting noises of bagpipes in the background. What a swell night.
Just wait till the morning!
partners in crime
Owen whisked Jack past the doorman and into the chilly September night. He briefly put his arm around her shoulders, then retracted it as if he’d touched something right out of the microwave. Was he allowed to do that?
Is there a Rules: Fake Boyfriend edition?
“Thanks for dinner,” Jack said. Now that they weren’t performing in front of anyone, it suddenly felt awkward talking to him. She glanced at Owen’s dumb NANTUCKET PIRATES T-shirt. He looked like such a boy, especially compared to J.P., who always looked like he was late for a power lunch at Capital Grille.
“Why’d you call the cops on my sister’s party?” he asked suddenly.
“It’s a long story.” Jack shrugged, hoping she’d sound mysterious instead of bitchy.
“Avery’s pretty mad at you.”
“I’ll apologize to her. It was just something silly. Like a welcome to New York initiation. You know.” Jack shrugged again. “So, tell me about Kelsey.” She changed the subject.
Owen sighed in frustration. So he had accidentally gotte
n involved with a girl who was involved with Rhys. But he hadn’t even known that at the time. Did that mean he had to walk around with a scarlet A on his chest? He’d thought New York would be a chance to start over, but clearly he was in over his head. And Owen hated nothing more than feeling like he was drowning. “Nothing is going on between us. Why, what are you going to tell people?” he spat out angrily.
“You want the truth?” Jack asked. “I’m not going to say anything,” she said honestly, surprising herself. “Can we please go to the St. Jude’s benefit together? We both need dates,” she rationalized. Good. That made her sound a little bit less desperate.
“So then why did you…” Owen trailed off and awkwardly crossed his arms over his thin gray T-shirt. He really didn’t understand girls. Still, something about Jack seemed so sweet and innocent.
Looks can be deceiving.
“My mom is French. And crazy and moving back to Paris for some senior citizen reality television show. My dad has all these kids with his wife, who’s, like, a teenager practically. My boyfriend broke up with me for your sister, and I just could use some support,” Jack said in a rush of words.
So much for subtlety.
“Okay.” Owen nodded. “Family can get complicated. Besides, I sort of like doing the fake-dating dating thing,” he added, because it was true.
Jack nodded. It was sort of nice to talk to Owen. Even if his sisters had pretty much ruined her life.
“Um, do you need me to walk you home?” Owen asked, shifting uncomfortably on the pavement. He really didn’t want to go back into the claustrophobic apartment, and now that everything with Jack was out in the open, he felt curiously relaxed. Maybe he could ask her opinion on what he should do to get over Kelsey. He needed a friend.
What happened to that swim team buddy of his?
“No, I’m fine.” She pulled out her Treo and frowned. “Everyone’s heading to the Beatrice Inn tonight.” Jack shrugged and turned her face up to Owen’s. “You want to come?” She’d asked just to be polite, but found herself hoping he’d say yes.
Owen paused. Too many thoughts were jumbled together in his head and he wasn’t sure what to do. If he went with Jack, would it be for real, or would it just be another public appearance? “Well…” he began, then trailed off as he took in her catlike green eyes, her freckles against her pale skin, the curve of her hipbones through her dress, even though she was muscular and athletic. The muscles on her arms reminded him of the way waves looked right before they crested on a clear Nantucket day.
Owen’s hesitation made Jack suddenly panic. “I’ve got to jet. See you later!” she said quickly, turning on her fragile stilettos and practically running down Fifth Avenue.
Owen watched her retreating back in confusion. What was that about? He shook his head and turned, entering the building.
“Women,” the hat-wearing, grandfatherly doorman said as he pulled open the imposing black doors. He guffawed, slapping his knee loudly as if he’d heard a really good joke. Owen stiffened. Had the doorman been listening? It felt like everyone was always watching in New York.
That’s because we are.
Owen quickly strode to the elevator bank, aware of how his steps echoed on the ultra-polished marble floor of the lobby. He really hoped Edie’s guests had gone home and weren’t using the penthouse as a crash pad or an interpretive dance space or something equally bizarre. He needed time to think.
About what? Or whom?
He opened the unlocked penthouse door. Immediately, he was accosted by Avery and Baby.
“We’re not finished here. Are you seriously going to keep dating Jack?” Baby demanded, her hands on her tiny hips. Avery stood next to her. Owen was reminded of a pair of mismatched bookends they used to have at their house in Nantucket.
“Yes,” he countered easily, but there was a slight edge to his voice.
“Owen, she’s not right for you,” Avery said, trying to sound like the voice of reason. In Nantucket, she’d worked for a peer-counseling hotline, where kids called in with all sorts of emotional traumas. The school psychologist had recommended statements like I understand or I hear. Avery took a deep breath and readjusted her headband. “I understand you think Jack Laurent is hot,” Avery began, eyeing Owen, who was shuffling uncomfortably from one Adidas slide to the other. “But looks only go so far,” she said delicately, wishing she could say what she was really thinking—that Jack was a bitch in ballerina’s clothing.
“It’s more than that. She’s funny and honest and a hard worker and an athlete,” Owen explained, just wanting his sisters to bug off already. He had no desire to explain that Jack was blackmailing him, or why. But even as he delivered a laundry list of Jack’s accomplishments, he realized what he’d said was mostly true.
“What, a couple pirouettes in a pink tutu and she’s an athlete?” Baby said sharply.
“You know, I don’t know what you girls are doing at Constance, but maybe you can try and all be friends,” Owen snapped, annoyed. “I don’t have time for this.” With that, he stomped off to his room.
As Owen huffed off, Baby felt a little guilty for yelling at him. After all, he’d never said anything bad about her pot-smoking loser Nantucket boyfriend—although, thinking about it, she sort of wished he had. She looked over at Avery, who was hugging Rothko to her body so hard his yellow eyes were bulging out. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Avery let go of Rothko, who hissed and scampered away. She stomped behind him, making a beeline for her bedroom, and threw herself down on her white eyelet bedspread, looking up at the ceiling’s delicate molding. Her life was falling apart and no one seemed to care. She had no boyfriend. No friends. Even the cat didn’t want to hang out with her.
She held her hand up over her face and glanced at her silver Rolex. It was only ten o’clock on a Friday night. She wondered where Genevieve, Jiffy, and Sarah Jane were. She wondered if her life would ever be the way she had imagined it would be: full of dinner parties, after-school functions, and out-of-control nights.
“Hey Babe?” she called. She suddenly felt completely lonely.
“Are you okay?” her tiny sister asked in concern, opening the door. She climbed onto the bed and bounced up and down on her knees, the way she used to when they were little.
“I guess so.” Avery paused dramatically, waiting for Baby to say something that would make everything okay. Baby knew better than anyone that greasy food, vodka, and a dumb ’80s teen movie could always make Avery feel better.
Just then, Baby’s cell beeped.
“Is that Mr. New York?” Avery asked, surprised by how bitter she sounded. After all, it wasn’t Baby’s fault that the most successful and cutest high school boy in Manhattan had fallen in love with Baby instead of her.
Tell us how you really feel.
“Probably. I guess his Save the Indigenous Salamanders or whatever benefit ended early.” Baby pulled her cell from her pocket. Her face flushed and she quickly snapped the phone shut again.
“I want to see!” Avery squealed. She reached into Baby’s pocket, pulled out the slim red Nokia, and flipped it open.
Party in Bushwick tonight. Want to come? Bring your “kick the patriarchy” friend. No one else. Avery looked up at Baby questioningly. Did Baby have a secret boyfriend?
And can she borrow him? Two fake boyfriends are even better than one!
“It’s just this guy from that improv thing. I think he wants me and Sydney to film something for Rancor. You want to come?” Baby shrugged, looking so sweet and innocent that Avery briefly felt bad for thinking she might be having an illicit love affair. Avery considered. She might be boyfriendless, but she certainly wasn’t going to hang out with unshaven, overpierced, pretentious hipsters in Brooklyn of all places.
“Not really,” Avery said regally, and flopped back onto the pillows. But sat up sharply as she realized Baby was rummaging through her closet. “If you take anything with a tag still on it, I’ll kill you,” Avery threate
ned, even though at this point, she’d rather kill herself.
Or maybe she should start a blog—misery loves company.
hey people!
Joan of Arc. Queen Elizabeth 1. Edie Bouvier Beale. Katharine Hepburn. That’s just a small sampling of names from the long history of eccentric single women. Now we can add one more to their ranks: It seems the lustrous and elegant A is also manless—and always has been. Does that mean she has a future wearing unusual outfits, surrounded by cats and fabulous gay men? Only time will tell. But before you judge, think about it. There are advantages to not having a man around:
You can eat a whole box of Godiva in bed and not worry about chocolate stains, pimples, or cellulite. Who’s looking?
You can adopt the entire population of cats at Bideawee animal shelter and spend all your money buying them mini coats from Marc Jacobs. The best part? They can’t say no!
You can wear a freaky mink stole with the animal head still attached, and no one will try to stop you.
Basically, when you stop trying to impress the opposite sex, you can do whatever the hell you want. And maybe, fifty years down the road, there’ll be a Harper’s Bazaar fashion spread dedicated to your unusual sense of style. Or you could die miserable and alone in a cat pee–soaked apartment. Either one!
charity begins at home
As a certain school fund-raiser approaches, I’ve been thinking about the spirit of giving. Everybody thinks charity is just about sparing some change, but why not access your inner Good Samaritan and try simply being nice? Start with your nearest and dearest, and the sentiment is sure to spread outward. Meet Daddy for lunch at the Harvard Club and try to listen as he drones on about his new schooner. Let your mom buy you that dorky hooded Norma Kamali coat—the one she loves, but which makes you look like an extra from Harry Potter. Take a moment to bond with your brothers or sisters, even if they are totally annoying. After all, doesn’t love make the world go round? And speaking of . . .