You Just Can't Get Enough

  “Hey,” Owen replied lamely.

  “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Kelsey hissed. “You know what, I’ll just leave.” She sighed heavily and turned abruptly on her heel.

  “No, wait!” Owen cried. Kelsey whirled around, her green dress swirling around her tan knees.

  “Why? You know I hate you,” she said simply. She bit her lower lip as if she was going to cry. Owen just sat there, feeling like an idiot. He didn’t know how he could even begin to tell her how much he loved her, how he’d never, ever meant to hurt her, how he didn’t have a choice. “What we did together meant nothing?” Kat continued angrily. “What the hell was that? I told you I had never done that before. And then you treated me like this random…” She paused, as if searching for the right word. “Girl!” she spit out, as if that was the highest insult she could hurl. Owen shook his head helplessly. He hurriedly tried to climb out of the stupid tub, one foot sliding against the slippery marble surface. No matter what, he couldn’t let her leave.

  “It’s not like that,” Owen began. He wished he could run his hands through her hair, or calmly rub her back or… something. He thought of Rhys. But suddenly, with Kat in front of him, it was obvious what he had to do.

  “Kelsey… Kat… listen, I love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “It wasn’t a one-night thing. I knew I loved you that night, but then I met Rhys and I heard how much he loved you, and I couldn’t do that to him. I needed to give him a chance.” Why had he ever let her go? Now that he said it, it didn’t seem to make any sense at all.

  “Yeah, right.” Kelsey shook her head, but her silvery blue eyes seemed uncertain.

  “It’s true,” Owen said simply. He stepped out of the tub and over to her. He paused. He wanted to pull her into him. “I’m so, so, so sorry.”

  She stepped closer to him, and all of a sudden, it felt like a current of electricity passed between their bodies. She reached out and pulled his hand against her chest. Owen breathed the achingly familiar scent of the apple shampoo she used. She was perfect. It was perfect. He felt her mouth on his and he leaned in, knowing it was wrong. But they would figure that out later. The main thing was, he and Kat were together.

  He sat on the edge of one of the pillow-filled bathtubs and pulled her down onto him. He kissed her passionately, urgently. Their hands ran the length of each other’s bodies, as if grasping for what they’d both been missing.

  “I think this is a ladies’ room.”

  Owen heard the sound of voices outside the door. Who cared? He continued to kiss Kat hungrily, pulling her down into the tub.

  “Oh my God.”

  Owen heard a guy’s voice. He looked up, gently pushing Kat off of him. Standing frozen by the door were Rhys and Jack.

  “Um.” Kelsey scrambled to her feet, slipping and falling back into Owen.

  “What the fuck!” Rhys yelled, punching the wall. It made a sickening thud.

  “It’s not—” Owen and Kat said at the same time, their voices blending together as they scrambled to their feet. Owen looked wildly from Rhys to Jack. He knew this looked bad. Very bad.

  “Fuck you,” Jack spat. She looked at Owen, his face red and his hand on Kelsey’s back. She’d known he still had feelings for Kelsey, whatever had happened between them in the past. It was so obvious, but to see it, right in front of her fucking face … She turned and walked out.

  Rhys’s hand was throbbing from where he’d punched the wall, and he wanted to cry. But he was driven by the red-hot rage coursing through his veins. He felt like he was going to explode as in one swift movement he took off his Armani jacket and swung, his fist connecting with Owen’s face.

  “Oh God,” Owen said in surprise as he staggered backward, bright red blood spurting from his nose.

  “No!” Kelsey yelled. “Rhys, what the fuck?”

  Rhys looked at Kelsey through a film of hot, angry tears. The way she said his name was so harsh, like she truly hated him.

  “I’m fine.” Owen shook his head. He covered his nose and eyes with his hand, partly because he couldn’t bear to see Rhys’s expression.

  “Okay, what’s going on in here?” Two large bouncers catapulted in angrily at the sound of the commotion. Each one immediately grabbed one of the guys, while Kelsey stood helplessly in the middle.

  “It was nothing, sir,” Owen said. Blood gushed onto the pink carpet. “Just a dare. We’re leaving anyway.”

  “That true?” The beefy bouncer looked at Rhys suspiciously.

  “Yes,” he said woodenly, not meeting Owen’s eyes.

  “Okay, fine. You kids get out, now.” The bouncer escorted the boys to the elevator, Kelsey trailing behind them.

  “I’m sorry,” Owen said dumbly. He couldn’t stand the way Rhys looked right now. It would be easier if his face held only pure, unbridled anger, but Owen could tell he was utterly devastated.

  “Don’t talk to me,” Rhys hissed as the elevator made the agonizingly slow descent down. Finally, they reached the lobby.

  Kelsey and Owen hurriedly exited, making their way out of the Delancey and into the oppressive heat. Even though it was late September, the night felt like summer. Like the first time they met.

  “Are you okay?” Kelsey asked, her hands fluttering toward Owen’s battered nose. Owen nodded. It didn’t hurt that badly. What did hurt was remembering the look on Rhys’s face. Owen closed his eyes to blot out the image and inhaled the vague scent of apples.

  “It’s nothing, don’t worry.” Owen tapped his nose experimentally. To his surprise, it felt fine.

  “Do you think—maybe—you should come back to my place to make sure everything’s okay?” Kelsey fretted. She looked so sweet and concerned and shy that Owen just wanted to pull her close to him. He glanced up and down the empty street. Suddenly, he realized, he could. They weren’t a secret. Kelsey—Kat—was right in front of him. They didn’t have to hide.

  “Okay,” Owen breathed.

  Kelsey’s lips spread into a wide grin. Just as quickly, she stopped smiling. “Promise me we’re not bad people?” She looked up pleadingly at him.

  Owen shook his head. “No, we’re just… meant to be,” he finished lamely. Across the street, a car alarm went off. The past ten minutes had held more emotional drama than he’d been through in his life, and he honestly didn’t know what he was supposed to do next.

  But Kelsey did.

  “Let’s go,” she commanded, taking his hand and squeezing it urgently. Owen reacted almost instinctively. He pulled her toward him, not even caring that they were in the middle of the street. Right now, kissing on the corner with blood trickling out of his nose, he actually felt good.

  Love is the best painkiller.

  Alone in the elevator, Rhys pressed the up button, hard. Like an idiot, he’d reserved a suite for him and Kelsey for the night. He shook his head numbly. Only when the elevator doors slid closed did more tears fall down his cheek.

  He walked into the rose petal–strewn suite and looked out on Manhattan, trying to take it all in. All that time, Owen was the other guy? All that time, Owen had taken him for some dumb, trusting sidekick. The joke was on him, but it wasn’t funny at all.

  Rhys savagely tore the foil around the Veuve chilling in the corner and popped the cork. It ricocheted against the all-white wall, and rivulets of champagne dripped down the orange label of the bottle. They spewed onto the pristine white goose-down bedspread. He laughed bitterly. He had been a fool. Too trusting, too naïve. But that was all going to change.

  up, up, and away

  The Cashmans’ town car dropped Baby off at her building on Seventy-second and Fifth. She ran through the lobby, went up the elevator, and sprinted through their cavernous penthouse. As soon as the door closed, she tore off her dress, letting it fall into a puddle on the buffed floor. Immediately Rothko came over and pawed at it suspiciously. Baby felt a small wave of guilt at the idea of just running off. But she shook it away. She was going to Barcelona!

 
She ran into her mom’s studio, which was currently filled with canvases painted with the number 8 in all different colors, shapes, and sizes. She opened a battered filing cabinet that housed all of the Carlyles’ important documents and pulled out her barely used passport. She pulled her hair in a messy bun, threw on a pair of Avery’s Citizen jeans, which were about two sizes too big and six inches too long, and yanked on an ancient navy blue hoodie that said SNUG HARBOR with a picture of a smiling whale on the back. She stuffed her wallet, a copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and a sketch book in an army green messenger bag that looked perfect for an adventure, then tore down the elevator and through the doors again.

  “Can I get you a cab, miss?” the doorman asked, tipping his hat.

  Baby nodded eagerly. She couldn’t believe she’d be somewhere totally different in less than twelve hours. Suddenly, she shivered despite the surprisingly balmy late-September air. Should she have brought a coat? What was the weather in Barcelona like, anyway? Who cared? She could always buy a coat.

  Or snuggle with J.P.?

  Just as she slammed the yellow door of the cab, her phone beeped. She slid it out of her front pocket. Meet at 12th Ave. and 48th St. x J.P. Weird. Why were they going all the way over to the West Side? Maybe that was a shortcut to get to Kennedy or wherever.

  As the cab zoomed crosstown through the ghostly-looking park, Baby wondered if she should feel guilty. After all, she wasn’t officially done with her Constance community service, and she and Sydney were supposed to figure out the layout for the Rancor fashion shoot, not to mention round up all the clothing samples they’d borrowed. But Baby quickly brushed those thoughts aside as the cab careened southwest. She hadn’t felt this excited in a long time. Maybe she could use this experience for another Rancor essay—teaching Constance girls to live outside their navy uniform–wearing, sesame crusted tuna–eating, vodka gimlet–swilling lives.

  “Here we are.” The cabbie stopped at a parking lot adjacent to the Hudson River.

  “Okay.” Baby slid out of the cab and handed the driver a twenty.Where should I go, exactly? she texted. Just then, her phone rang.

  “Are you here?” J.P. asked excitedly.

  Baby looked around. “Yeah, but all I see are helicopters and stuff.”

  “Okay, well, we’re right on Forty-ninth Street—there’s a path, just walk right up.”

  “Oh.” Baby looked up and couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed the gold glint of the interlocking C’s on a white helicopter. She quickly walked over, her hands shoved in her pockets.

  “There you are!” J.P. wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. “I told my dad—he’s so psyched for us. He’s arranging details with our pilot, so we should get there by tomorrow morning, around eleven their time, and I’ve booked us at the Ritz.” J.P.’s face shone with excitement.

  A private jet? The Ritz? Baby kicked a small pebble on the tarmac in frustration. It all sounded perfect—for a girl like Avery or Jack. For Baby, it was entirely wrong. She didn’t want a five-star hotel or a private plane. The point was to get out of New York City and experience the world—not the exact same thing in a different country. J.P. was still dressed up in his suit from tonight, and he looked achingly handsome, his brow furrowed in concern. Baby bit her lip numbly. He just didn’t get it.

  “We’ll definitely be able to get back by Monday. Or we could both just take a sick day from school or something,” J.P. explained, letting the sentence hang in the air. Baby managed a small smile. She couldn’t believe J.P. thought she was worried about school. He was such a good guy. She felt like the worst person in the world for what she was going to do.

  “I don’t… I don’t think this is going to work.” Baby looked at the ground, noticing the ultra-buffed shoes of the pilot, who was standing five feet away, pretending not to listen.

  “It’s just… we’re too different,” Baby explained. “You want to fly in jets, and I just want to fly.” Baby smiled, remembering the day they’d met. J.P. had hired her to manage his out-of-control puppies after one ran off and she chased it barefoot down the street. “You need someone who appreciates how amazing you are.”

  “I think you’re amazing,” J.P. said.

  “You too,” Baby replied genuinely. It was really true. She bit her lip, then continued in a rush of words. “You introduced me to the city. You showed me it could be fun. Now I need to find that for myself.” She shrugged and smiled sadly up at him. It was weird. Their breakup felt so natural. And, judging from J.P.’s wistful but resigned expression, it seemed he felt the same way. She couldn’t believe she was giving up a guy any other girl in Manhattan would kill for. And she couldn’t believe the bubbling sense of freedom she felt in her stomach.

  “Can I at least get you a cab, Ms. Independent?” J.P. teased good-naturedly.

  “That’d be nice,” Baby acquiesced. It was nice to be taken care of sometimes. J.P. hailed her a cab and they hugged tenderly. “Call me if you need your dogs walked?” Baby asked impishly. A tear fell out of her eye and she laughed halfheartedly. She didn’t know why it hurt so much. It was like when she’d visited her home in Nantucket and found it didn’t feel the same. J.P. brushed the tear aside as a cab screeched to a halt.

  “Friends?” J.P. pulled her in close and kissed the top of her head.

  “Always.” Baby gave him a genuine smile as she reached around her neck and unclasped the LOVE necklace. “Thank you.”

  J.P. nodded and held the door of the cab open for her. Baby stepped in, squeezing his hand one last time.

  The door slammed shut and Baby eased into the backseat. The dreadlocked cabbie turned down the reggae music blasting from the speakers. He peered at Baby, her passport still clutched in her tiny hand.

  “The airport, miss?” he asked, staring pointedly at the passport.

  Baby looked out the cab window. It had started to rain, and the tiny drops pelting the glass made everything look extra sparkly. Just a matter of yards away was the fast-moving Hudson. Even though she knew the land on the other side was just New Jersey, from here it looked beautiful and mysterious and full of surprises. And she needed a little bit of surprise. She caught the eye of the cabbie and nodded, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

  Bon voyage?

  boys aren’t everything

  Avery woke up, sober and alone, in her bedroom on Sunday morning. She glanced at the clock on her dresser. Eleven a.m. In another, allergen-free universe, she’d be showering and getting ready for a romantic brunch, followed by a stroll through the Met with Tristan. But unfortunately, in her dysfunctional world, she really didn’t have to wake up for anything. She sighed and pulled her pillow over her head, determined to shut out the world for as long as possible.

  Just then, her phone rang on her bedside table

  “Hello?” she asked flatly. She couldn’t imagine who it could be. Maybe she should just cut her losses and become a feminist, adopt fifty cats, and write difficult-to-understand treatises on the male gaze.

  “Avery, darling, I do hope it’s not too early to call,” the crackly voice of Muffy St. Clair came through the receiver.

  “Not at all.” Avery sat up, suppressing a sigh, and pushed her hair behind her ears.

  “Well, I’m meeting a few of the ladies at L’Absinthe for brunch and I think one in particular would be quite interested in meeting you,” Muffy croaked. She sounded as if she’d just smoked a pack of Merits. Maybe she had.

  “Oh.” Avery tried to fake enthusiasm. She couldn’t wait to spend her Sunday afternoon talking about the cafeteria complaint box at Constance or something equally riveting.

  “Fantastic! Noon okay for you, dear?” Muffy hung up quickly, not giving her much of a choice. But at least she hadn’t asked about the benefit last night, so Avery didn’t have to lie about Muffy’s sneezy mess of a grandson. Avery rolled out of bed and, not bothering to shower, pulled on a simple lilac-colored Tory Burch sheath dress. She wondered if Baby had bothered to come home last n
ight, or if she’d ended up spending the night with J.P. Not like she was jealous or anything.

  Not at all.

  “’Bye!” Avery yelled in the foyer just in case anyone in her family had bothered to come home. Hearing no response, she grabbed her Louis Vuitton Speedy purse and slammed the door extra loudly on the way out. She was so not in the mood. She took the elevator downstairs and ran into a bleary-eyed Owen in the lobby. A black and blue bruise was spreading from under his nose to the area under his eyes. What the hell?

  “Oh my God! Did Jack do that?” Avery asked indignantly. His whole face looked swollen and painful.

  “No.” Owen shook his head. “Long story. Long, involved story,” he said mysteriously. “With a sort-of-happy ending.” Instantly, the expression on his face changed from one of misery to one of happiness. But another wave of emotion passed over him, and the expression shifted to one of regret. Avery regarded him with curiosity.

  And they think girls are hard to understand?

  “Are you okay?” she asked again. Why was Owen being so weird? “And where were you last night? Are you just getting home?”

  “Long story,” Owen repeated, his voice muffled from the injury. Avery glanced at her Rolex, torn. She wanted to hear what the black eye was all about, but she was already running late.

  “Look, I’ll tell you all about it later. I need to clean up more before I see Mom,” he explained.

  “Okay, but we’re going to have a conversation. I have to go to a brunch now, but three o’clock, we’re talking. Be there,” Avery commanded.

  She walked outside and made her way down Fifth, toward Sixty-seventh Street. She entered the café, looking for her familiar crew of platinum blond ladies.

  “Avery!” she heard a thin voice call. The gnarled hand of Muffy St. Clair gestured her over to a corner table. She faked her best smile and walked over to them.