She tried to find her spot, her eyes bleary with almost-tears—how could she face the world with this ridiculous haircut? She readjusted her bodysuit thing—was it on backward?—pulling it off her shoulders and letting it hang around her waist.
“Jacqui?”
She turned around—completely topless. “Yes?”
“Oh! Hi! Oh!” Kit Ashleigh stood at the perimeter of the dressing area, his face turning purple. He was holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. “God! I’m so sorry!”
Jacqui folded her arms in front of her chest to cover up. “Kit!”
“I’m sorry I’m late. These are . . . for you,” he said, thrusting them at her and averting his eyes.
“They’re so beautiful! Obrigado.”
A dresser slipped the tank top–thong back over her shoulders, but it didn’t really make a difference. Jacqui was still very nude.
Kit did a double take. He’d just noticed her hair. “Your hair!”
“What do you think?” Jacqui said, nervously touching the ends. “Ugly, huh?”
“You look . . .” Kit’s eyes shone with admiration. “You look awesome.”
“You really think so?” Jacqui smiled, raising her eyebrows in a hopeful expression.
Just then, one of the production assistants spotted Kit. “No boyfriends here!” he said, ushering Kit out of the door.
“I’m not her . . .” Kit blushed again, to the roots of his blond hair. “You look beautiful. Good luck.”
“ ’Bye! Thanks!” she called, as her dresser straightened the thong string into the back of her pants.
Then something bronze and sculpted and perfect caught her eye—Philippe, in the middle of changing, his lean, tennis-toned body naked. He was doing pull-ups on a dressing rack, hanging—ahem—out there, for all the world to see, when Jacqui caught his eye.
He shot her a wolfish grin. “Nice haircut!” he called.
There were so many beautiful girls backstage, but for once, he was only looking at her. She ran to her place in line. The lights dimmed outside, and Reinaldo exhorted them to think, Sex! Sex! Sex!
After seeing Philippe naked, that wouldn’t be too hard.
musical chairs isn’t just for kindergarten
A FASHION SHOW WAS THE LAST PLACE ELIZA WOULD HAVE thought to bump into Jeremy, but here he was anyway. She had been helping to keep track of the donation checks, cross-referencing them with the checked-off names on the list, when he appeared at the entrance with Carolyn Flynn. The two of them were huddled together in the second row—sponsor seats, since Morgan Stanley had underwritten most of the event—sipping from champagne flutes and looking around with bemused expressions.
Eliza was watching them, wondering if Carolyn and Jeremy were a couple, when she saw Ryan enter from a side door and slip into his seat beside his sisters. Eliza’s heart melted a little bit. So what if Jeremy didn’t like her anymore—she had Ryan, and he was a great friend/hookup/whatever-they-were. Ryan winked and gave her a little wave.
Eliza waved back, just as she was accosted by a heavyset woman who looked a little familiar. “Are you in charge here?” the woman demanded. She was wearing a faded black polo shirt and baggy black pants, and was holding a Motorola walkie-talkie.
“Er . . . yes, I suppose,” Eliza said. “Can I help you?”
“My client, Chauncey Raven, is about to arrive,” the woman said, and Eliza remembered where she’d seen the woman before. She was the pompous publicist who’d asked Eliza not to let Ondine Sylvester into the VIP room earlier in the summer.
“That’s wonderful—we love Chauncey,” Eliza said, giving her standard reply to the assistants of the famous.
“Well, yes, but I need to know where she’s sitting. Those girls over there said all the front-row seats are taken.”
“Oh!” Eliza exclaimed. Shit. The show was about to start in five minutes. Her headset squawked with Mitzi’s grating voice “Eliza! Dollink! Code Blue! Chauncey Raven doesn’t have a seat!”
The heavyset handler scowled at Eliza.
Eliza didn’t know what to do. Mitzi’s command to fix it! didn’t really translate to anything helpful. How? Bring one seat from the second row up to the front? She scanned the room, which was filling up with guests, and settled on Mara and Megan. Surely they would understand how important it was to have Chauncey in the front row. Eliza click-clacked on her heels down the plastic-covered runway to where they were seated.
“Mar, can I talk to you for a sec?” Eliza asked, pulling on Mara’s arm.
“What’s going on? Anything wrong?” Mara asked.
“Chauncey Raven is coming to the show.”
“Oh, great!” Mara had hung out with Chauncey so much at Seventh Circle, she considered her a friend.
“But there aren’t any more front-row seats left. I’m so, so sorry. But do you think we could move you and your sister back to the second row? I can put you guys right there, behind the Perry twins.”
Mara straightened up. “But why?” she asked, noticing the Perry twins whispering across the runway. Sugar and Poppy were smirking, checking out Megan, and Mara blushed to think of what the twins were saying about her sister’s outfit. She couldn’t believe Eliza was asking them to move. Mara had been in the Hamptons long enough to know that being asked to give up your seat was completely humiliating.
Chauncey Raven’s publicist gripped Eliza’s arm and whispered, “Chauncey is in the building! Now!”
“I’m really sorry to have to do this,” Eliza said, turning away from Mara and making a begging gesture to Megan. “But we have a really important celebrity attending who forgot to RSVP, and we really need these two front-row seats. I’m totally sorry, Megan.”
“No prob!” Megan said, beaming. “Who’s the celeb?”
“Really, Meg, you don’t have to get up,” Mara pressed, even as Eliza was helping Megan out of her seat.
“It’s for Chauncey Raven. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Eliza said, handing Megan her things and moving her to the second row. “Oh. Except you have to leave the goody bag.”
Megan’s face fell. She noted the significantly smaller goody bag on the second-row seat.
“Okay, keep it,” Eliza said. “It’s fine.”
Chauncey arrived a full fifteen minutes later, with husband Daryl Wolf in tow. Since there was only one seat for the two of them, Chauncey promptly sat on her husband’s lap.
The room went pitch black, and suddenly, a booming bass line thundered from the overhead speakers, and a sultry British voice began to rap in a sexy coo. The lights went up, and the models strutted on the runway to the beat of the electroshock hip-hop song “Fuck the Pain Away.”
The crowd thrilled to the nasty lyrics and the tiny little outfits. Jacqui came out in her tank top–thong and new fauxhawk, and there was an electric shiver in the air. It was all so bad . . . yet so good. Not one outfit was wearable. Not one item of clothing had any reference to the lives of any of the women sitting in the audience. But it didn’t matter. The collection was a joyous celebration of sex and youth, and it would garner rave reviews in the papers. By the time the collection hit department stores, the sheer shirts would be lined, the miniskirts cut to a more modest length, and the tank top–thongs—well, they were really only for show.
Eliza put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, looking back to where Mara was sitting. But she didn’t see Mara, only Chauncey Raven, who was seated sideways on her husband’s lap, completely blocking Mara’s view of the runway.
And that’s what being a bitch will get you.
blood may be thicker than water, but nothing beats a VIP table
ONCE THE SHOW WAS OVER AND REINALDO HAD TAKEN his bows, there was a stampede toward the reception on the grounds of the country club. Garrett had arrived just as the show ended and given Megan a once-over before completely dismissing her from his attention. Mara gave Megan her goody bag to hold so she could say hello to her friends.
Once the real celebrities had departe
d and Garrett appeared at her side, the paparazzi finally noticed her. Mara saw that Megan seemed to be feeling awkward, but Mara had to say hello to so many people—gossip columnists, magazine editors, the various publicity handlers whose clients’ designs Mara had worn at some point during the summer.
“Dollink!” Mara screeched, saying hello to a slightly overweight girl in a tight Liberty print. She had finally figured out what Mitzi was saying to her all the time—“darling,” in an affected British accent. Not that it had stopped her from copying it. “You look fabulous!” Mara said.
When the girl turned away, however, she whispered to Garrett, Megan, and anyone else who was in earshot, “If you call wearing a tablecloth fabulous!”
Garrett laughed, and the Perry twins sauntered over to join the fun.
“Oh, wow,” Sugar said, when she saw Megan’s outfit. “I loved that dress.”
“Really?” Megan asked. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, last season,” Sugar snickered. “I gave mine away to Goodwill.”
Mara pretended not to hear that. She had told Megan to borrow something from her closet, and this was exactly why.
Megan excused herself to check out the buffet, giving Mara a hurt look. Mara shared a cigarette with Sugar.
“God, who can eat at a place like this?” Sugar asked.
Mara shrugged. “Should we go to Dragonbar now?” she asked, referring to the real after-party that only a select few had been invited to, including the three of them.
Several of Sugar and Poppy’s friends, including an heiress to a large pharmaceutical fortune, joined their circle. “Hey, Plum, isn’t that your sister?” she asked, pointing to Megan, who was having trouble juggling two cocktail-sized plates filled with stuffed mushrooms and crab legs.
“Um, uh, well . . . not exactly,” Mara replied, feeling uncomfortable.
Megan didn’t hear what she said, but someone else did. Mara looked up to see Ryan Perry staring at her, shaking his head.
“Hi, Ryan,” she said, blowing smoke in his face.
“I never would have believed it,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve become one of . . . them,” he said, motioning to the crowd. “My sisters are bad enough, but you . . . I always thought you were different.”
“What do you mean by that?” Mara asked, but Ryan had already turned and was walking away.
Mara looked around, hoping someone else had heard their conversation and could confirm how totally out of line Ryan was, but there was no one near her, save for a waiter who didn’t look exactly pleased to be there. She went back to sit next to Garrett and watched Ryan say hi to Eliza. Megan caught up with her, still holding a plateful of appetizers.
“Mar, I’m exhausted. I think I’m going to go home early,” Megan said, looking deflated. “And I think I’ll just take the earliest bus back to Sturbridge tomorrow.”
Mara was still distracted by Ryan’s words “You’re just like them.” Like who? Megan was talking, but Mara wasn’t listening. “Um, okay, sure,” she nodded, distracted.
“Mara, didn’t you hear me? I’m going,” Megan said.
But Mara only reached into her purse and handed Megan the keys. “The top lock sticks a bit—you have to turn it twice,” she said.
Megan nodded, swallowing. “Well. Okay. I guess I’ll see you when you get home at the end of the summer then,” she said.
“Yeah,” Mara replied, standing up to give her sister an awkward hug good-bye. Just like them? Who was them—Sugar and Poppy? What was so wrong about that? They were his sisters, after all. Mara looked at them and then back at herself. Sure, they were all wearing metallic sandals and asymmetrical minidresses, but that didn’t mean they were the same. Looks can be deceiving, Mara said to herself. Ryan should have known that better than anyone.
“Is she gone?” Garrett asked, sidling up to Mara.
“Yeah,” Mara said. “She was really tired.”
“Good,” Garrett said, rubbing her back.
Mara flicked the ashes off her cigarette into an empty wineglass since the ashtray was so far away. Across the room, she spotted Eliza and Ryan huddled in a corner with Ryan’s friends. Eliza was sitting right next to Ryan, so that their thighs were pressed tightly against each other’s, and Eliza was brushing his bangs out of his face—anyone who saw them would think they were a couple.
See, looks can be deceiving, she repeated to herself again.
Then again, sometimes things are just the way they appear.
i’ll break your stupid french face
ELIZA BUMPED INTO KIT, WHO WAS NURSING A DOUBLE scotch, when she arrived at Dragonbar. “Hey, dude, what’s wrong?” she asked.
Kit motioned to where Jacqui was huddled in a corner with a crew of glamazons.
Everyone else at the party was dressed like gilded lilies, but the true beauties—Jacqui included—were lounging in sweats and sneakers. Jacqui was sitting squarely on Philippe’s lap.
“C’mon, let me buy you another drink,” Eliza said. “Maker’s Mark, right?”
Kit nodded, shaking the ice cubes in his now empty glass.
Philippe walked up next to them. He nodded to Eliza. “ ’Allo. I think we have met before, yes?” he asked flirtatiously.
“Yes,” Eliza nodded, smiling.
Philippe was still wearing makeup, which looked totally goofy up close. He nodded to the bartender and ordered a cosmopolitan.
“Philippe, this is my friend Kit. Kit, this is Philippe. He’s one of the au pairs this summer at the Perrys’,” Eliza explained.
“Hey,” Kit said, watching as Philippe took a big slurp of his girly cocktail. The model in eyeliner was a pink-drink man. “You with that girl?” Kit asked, motioning to Jacqui.
Philippe cocked an eyebrow. “What if I am?” he asked.
“Well, she’s a friend of mine,” Kit said, trying not to let his voice betray more anger than he was feeling.
“Oh yes?” Philippe raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah. And if you break her heart, I’ll break your stupid French face,” Kit snarled, poking a finger at Philippe’s chest and sloshing the pink drink down his silly MODELS SUCK T-shirt.
“Merde,” Philippe cursed, turning away without a response, wiping at the pink stain on his T-shirt as he walked away.
“Don’t worry about it, baby,” Jacqui said, when he sat back down. “We’ll get you out of that T-shirt soon enough.”
eliza does the relationship math
IT WASN’T THAT HE DIDN’T INTRODUCE HER TO HIS best friend from prep school—Matt Hooper, whom he’d mentioned a couple of times. He certainly did. He’d said, “Hey, Matt, this is Eliza.” And Eliza had smiled up at Matt, and Matt had said, “Yo,” and taken a seat. That was it. He didn’t give her the special once-over or the subtle nod that said, So, you’re my buddy’s girl. Eliza was just Eliza. Just some chick sitting next to Ryan at a club.
They’d been hooking up for more than a month now, and while she didn’t expect Ryan to introduce her as his girlfriend . . . she wasn’t not his girlfriend either. When they’d first gotten together, she’d still thought of Ryan as Mara’s boyfriend. But since Mara was so obviously Garrett’s new girlfriend, that made Ryan . . . her boyfriend? Eliza mentally calculated what Ryan had done for her—picked her up from the club so she wouldn’t have to drive, called her every evening, never made plans to see her on the weekend because it was already assumed that he would, of course, see her on the weekend. He’d even given her that necklace before they left Palm Beach. Maybe Eliza was crazy, but it sure sounded like girlfriend status to her.
And if she was his girlfriend, why didn’t he say so? Why didn’t he tell his friends about her? Why didn’t any of them realize that she wasn’t merely Ryan’s date for the evening, or Ryan’s friend, but the girl he went home with every night? Suddenly, Eliza stopped feeling confused, and started feeling incredibly . . . dissed.
“Ryan, can I talk to you for a second?” Eliza asked.
r /> “Sure, babe,” Ryan nodded, smiling.
“I mean, just the two of us?” she clarified.
Eliza led him to a corner of the club. “What exactly do you think we’re doing?”
“Having a drink?” Ryan shrugged, still smiling warmly at her.
“No, I mean . . . the two of us . . . you know.”
“Oh.” Ryan’s face went blank for a second; then he realized that Eliza was looking at him intently. “Well, the way I see it”—Ryan waggled his eyebrows, obviously trying to make light of the situation—“we’re like friends . . .”
Uh-huh.
“ . . . with benefits. You know . . .” He shrugged his shoulders and tried a winning smile.
“Benefits? What kind of benefits?” Eliza demanded. She knew the term, but she was angry enough to demand that he give her his explanation of it.
“You know . . . we’re friends who like . . . hook up and stuff.” Ryan grinned. “C’mon, let me get you another drink.”
Where the hell did Ryan Perry get off being so casual about them? “So that’s all I am? A hookup? A booty call?” Eliza spat.
“E, don’t be that way,” Ryan said, putting his arms around her to calm her down. “C’mon, it’s not what you think. Don’t be mad. You knew what we were doing, right?”
“Fuck you, Ryan!” Eliza blinked back tears. She wasn’t cheap, but that’s exactly how she felt like right now.
“Eliza . . . wait . . . Eliza!” Ryan stammered. “C’mon . . .”
Several heads turned in their direction, watching the lovers’ spat that was obvious to all. If any of Ryan’s friends had thought Eliza and Ryan were just friends, then the sight of her throwing her drink in his face made it quite clear that they were anything but.