Girls We Love Page 5

  “What? I know you’re fine,” Patch said, twisting his head slightly and squinting at David. He paused, and then stood. “I think it’s time for me to hit the hay.”

  “Oh, okay,” David said. “Can I just finish my beer?”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Patch said. “Good night.”

  Liv stood up and yawned dramatically. “I think I’ve got to go to bed, too.” Flan looked like she might get up and follow her, so Liv made her eyes all saucerlike until her friend sat still. “Nighty-night.”

  She winked at Flan and David, who were now sitting awkwardly on a love seat by themselves. Liv didn’t really think they would kiss or anything, but if they did, maybe that would make Jonathan jealous. And Liv had already decided that her friend should totally go out with Jonathan. Or get back together with him, or whatever.

  But she stopped thinking about that pretty quickly, because now she was following Patch Flood up the stairs toward all the bedrooms on the third floor. She let one of the straps of her camisole fall for good measure. Maybe Flan wasn’t going to get with her guy tonight, but Liv was pretty sure that she was.

  When she got to the top of the stairs, she saw that Patch was standing there with one of his shoulders resting against the wall. Was he… waiting for her?

  “Patch?” she whispered.

  He turned around. “Oh, hi Liv,” he said.

  His face was sort of moody, or something, so Liv said, “Are you okay?”

  “Everybody always just rushes into these things, you know?” he said, his greenish eyes focused on the floor. “I can’t believe David is being so flaky with SBB, who is sort of weird, I guess, but she just worships him. Everybody always has all these good intentions, and then their big love goes to shit so quickly.”

  Liv couldn’t believe it. She almost couldn’t breathe. This was better then hooking up with Patch Flood—he had basically just told her he was so into her that he wanted to take it slow. She stepped forward and looked into his eyes. “I totally get where you’re coming from,” she said simply, and then she kissed him on the cheek.

  Patch looked surprised for a minute, and as Liv turned back toward Flan’s room she wondered if she hadn’t taken it too far. But by the time she was curled up in her half of the sleigh bed, reimagining all the amazing things that had happened to her tonight, she had decided it was just the right gesture. It definitely said: “I also think we should take it slow, but I am so totally into you, too.”

  Liv smiled to herself as she fell asleep.

  philippa has excellent taste

  “This is sort of my special little place,” Stella said, shrugging proudly at Philippa and Mickey and Sonya. She obviously thought Bar d’O, the drag queen place in the West Village that she took them to on Sunday night, was a very big deal. “Can we have that table near the window?” she asked the hostess, who was channeling Madonna in her nouveau-disco-queen phase. As the hostess led them to that table, Stella turned and said, “That’s just my special little table.”

  Philippa, who was wearing a black Prada cocktail dress that used to be her mother’s and Converse, couldn’t help but notice that Mickey and Sonya, with whom she and Stella were on their second double date, were eye-laughing with each other. Then she saw Sonya mouth jackass at Mickey.

  When they sat down, Stella took out her wallet and said, “I’m buying. Mickey, you’re Cuban, right? They make great mojitos here. Four mojitos.” She turned and strode to the bar.

  Mickey and Sonya couldn’t help but giggle at all this, and Philippa felt herself joining in. “What a Jonathan, huh?” she said.

  “Total Jonathan,” Mickey said, nodding.

  “Who’s Jonathan?” Sonya asked.

  “One of my oldest friends,” Mickey said. “He’s really into knowing what’s hot and, you know, being able to get in hot places. And then, once he’s in there, knowing what’s hot to drink.”

  Philippa nodded and smiled in agreement. It was weird how good it felt, having someone she and Mickey knew in common who Sonya was clueless about. Besides, Philippa had always liked Jonathan, and she had faith that he would keep Mickey in line now that she wasn’t around to do it anymore. Then she remembered that this had all started because Mickey and Sonya were making fun of her girlfriend. “I just think Stella felt sort of out of her element last night,” Philippa said defensively, “you know, with the sweet sixteen and everything. So she wants to show us her spots tonight. I guess that’s why she’s acting … like a jackass. Kind of.”

  Sonya nodded like she still thought it was pretty funny, and then she leaned over to whisper something in Mickey’s ear. Sonya was wearing a sparkly halter top and skinny-ankle jeans.

  “So,” Philippa said, trying to get back in the conversation, “what did you guys do all day?”

  “Wow,” Sonya said, laughing and pushing her long hair back off her shoulder. “Just hung out, I guess. Breakfast at Veselka, we went to that Japanese place on Ninth Street that has all those vintage T-shirts and shit … ” Mickey pointed to the Mickey Mouse shirt he was wearing. “I don’t know,” Sonya went on, “nothing much.”

  “Um, nothing much?” Mickey said sarcastically.

  “What? What am I forgetting?”

  “Brooklyn Bridge?” Mickey was widening his big eyes at Sonya like a wounded boyfriend. “The orange Vespa?”

  “Oh, right!” Sonya slapped her hand down on the table. “We went to the Vespa dealers on Crosby and test-drove a scooter.”

  “Across the Brooklyn Bridge,” Mickey added excitedly in Philippa’s direction.

  “The pedestrian pathway of the Brooklyn Bridge, actually,” Sonya put in, “which was hilarious.”

  “Everyone was screaming—”

  “—jumping out of the way, ‘you morons!’ You know, like that—”

  Philippa found herself nodding along excitedly with their story, even though they were totally wrapped up in each other. But how could she not nod along? This used to be her story.

  “And eventually this cop pulls us over and is like threatening to arrest us… ” Mickey said, rolling his eyes.

  “Oh no,” Philippa said, involuntarily putting her hands over her mouth. She hated when cops entered Mickey’s stories.

  “Don’t be such a ninny,” Sonya said. “It all worked out fine, because I just suddenly really wanted to kiss Mickey, right there on the pedestrian walkway of the Brooklyn Bridge, with, you know, those beautiful spans overhead and the sea breeze and all the people yelling at us and—”

  “And the cop, don’t forget the cop. He thought we were cute, so he let us go,” Mickey concluded.

  “How romantic,” Stella said, coughing her hoarse smoker’s cough. She was standing by their table with four green drinks.

  “Oh, hi,” Philippa said, glad to see her girlfriend after listening to Sonya and Mickey’s kissing story. She reached over to her for a kiss, but Stella didn’t move any closer, and the whole thing came off awkwardly. There was a moment of silence, and then everyone slurped their mojitos.

  “I just love drag, and how it, like, turns gender on its head … ” Stella was saying. The night had progressed considerably, and it was now late enough that she was smoking in the bar. Out in the middle of the floor, a heavy and diaphanous drag queen was telling raunchy jokes.

  Mickey was several mojitos in, and slumped against the back of the booth, but he still managed to look bored by this latest pseudo-academic nugget from his ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend.

  “I mean, you think about how this challenges all of our socially constructed preconceptions about—”

  “Yawn,” Mickey said. “Hey, where’s Sonya?”

  Philippa put her arm around Stella, to reassure her that she didn’t think the lecture was boring, but Stella hadn’t seemed to take offense anyway. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe she realized she was a lesbian after all, and ran off with a—”

  “Oh, there she is,” Mickey interrupted. They all looked up and saw Sonya bellied up to the glowi
ng orange bar. Next to her was the disco Madonna, and they appeared to be in the middle of a tequila shooting competition. The bartender would pour them a shot, and they would knock it back. Rinse, repeat.

  “Holy cow,” Mickey said, his face filling up with admiration.

  “I’m not sure this is a good thing,” Philippa said.

  “Definitely not a good thing,” Stella put in.

  “Come on! You drink like a little boy!” Sonya yelled at the Madonna, who was looking a little queasy and pulling at his wig.

  “Oh dear,” Stella said.

  The Madonna looked around the room to see if anyone was watching. Several regulars were.

  “If you can’t handle the heat, why don’t you just crown me queen,” Sonya yelled tauntingly. The little group that had formed around them thought that was pretty funny, and clapped, so the Madonna reluctantly nodded at the bartender to pour them two more shots.

  Philippa watched in horror as Sonya lifted her shot glass, said, “Who’s the big queen now?!” and knocked hers back. The Madonna shot his as well, and immediately fell backward onto the floor. Upon impact, he projectile vomited.

  “Holy herd of cows!” Mickey yelled, standing up excitedly.

  “What the fuck?” the drag queen in the middle of the room said. He stopped his routine and looked from the fallen Madonna to Sonya and back again. Sonya looked like she was trying not to laugh. Finally the drag queen said, “What in hell did you do to Richard? Get out of here, you little hussy.”

  Suddenly the lights went up, and a lot of mean-looking drag queens were staring Sonya down.

  “We gotta get out of here,” Philippa said.

  “Good idea,” Stella said.

  Mickey ran up and grabbed Sonya by the hand and pulled her out of the bar with Philippa and Stella close behind.

  Much later, when Stella had gone home to study for her summer class, Philippa found herself on another bridge with Sonya and Mickey. They were more or less at the bottom of a fifth of Cuervo and a hint of the sun was making their view of the East River all golden, from the point where it flowed out from under the Williamsburg Bridge.

  At some point Philippa had gotten tired of hearing about how much fun Sonya and Mickey thought each other were, so she started talking about her relationship. She hadn’t been able to stop.

  “She’s so smart and cool and I just”—Philippa knew she sounded drunk, but she kept on with it—“love her soooo much.”

  “You do not,” Sonya said sharply, but with a smile. She was pressing her abdomen against the metal railing of the bridge, and leaning into the dewy, salty air. “Love her, I mean.”

  Philippa knew, even in her tequila-fogged state, that Sonya was telling the truth. And she hated her for it.

  all sbb wants is a normal life, like any normal girl, except with nicer clothes

  After a Grobart family Monday night dinner of thin-crust veggie pizza and grape juice spritzers, Sara-Beth Benny—who had moved back in to the Grobarts’ West Village apartment after reconnecting with their son Saturday night—pulled David into his room and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Your mom seems so happy,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “My mom?” David said. “Um, why?”

  “Oh, you know,” SBB said, inhaling the nice, clean-but-still-a-little-sweaty smell David always had after basketball practice and a shower. She loved that smell. It smelled like real guy, as opposed to all those overly manicured boys she knew in the TV business. “Because the family is back together… I just think she seemed so at peace tonight, having all of us around her.”

  “I don’t think Mom …,” David started. “Um, never mind. I’m sure you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right,” SBB said, grabbing at David’s T-shirt, “which is why I’m so afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Well”—SBB opened her blue eyes at David—“I need some girl time.”

  “Girl time?”

  “Yeah, with my new friends. Flan and Lynn.”

  “Lynn?” David said, twisting a little bit so that SBB had to let go of his shirt. “You mean Liv?”

  “Right, Liv,” SBB said. “Oh, you’re annoyed, aren’t you? But listen, because I can’t see any of my old friends, I really need to spend some time with my new girlfriends. Is that okay with you and Mom? I mean, you and Hilary?”

  “Yeah,” David said, “sure, that’s cool. Go hang with Liv. And Flan. Flan and Liv.”

  “Okay,” SBB said. “Are you sure? It’s really okay if… ”

  “No, go… go…,” David said, taking SBB’s two small hands in his, squeezing them, and then letting them go.

  “Oh no!” she wailed, covering her face with her hands. “You are mad!”

  “No, no, no!” David waved at her, like he was trying to direct traffic in a snowstorm. “Not mad, not mad!”

  She peeked through her fingers. “Really?”

  “No! I mean, yes! Please, go, have fun. I’m okay. Really.”

  A smile broke out over Sara-Beth’s face, and she threw her arms around David again, this time at his middle. “David, you are such… a good… mmmph … guy.”

  “Thanks,” David said, petting her head. “I’m going to go catch the beginning of the Yankees game on TV, okay? Say bye when you leave?”

  “Okay.” Sara-Beth beamed a smile up at David—good, understanding David.

  “Oh, and by the way, I might come by Patch’s later. Might not happen, but Arno and I were talking about going over there tonight. But don’t worry, I know not to crowd,” David said, taking a deep breath. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

  Sara-Beth threw on a low-key Barneys black knit poncho over tight black leggings, and then put her black wig back on. She waved good-bye to the Grobarts, who looked like the light was about to go out of their lives—sometimes, she felt like they needed her as much as she needed them, but only sometimes. Then she hurried down to her waiting limo. On the way to Flan’s house, she made the driver pull over for a bottle of Baileys and three packages of tamari-flavored rice crisps.

  When SBB got to the Floods’, she was greeted on the steps by her two new younger girlfriends.

  “Hi!” Flan said, jumping up and kissing SBB on either cheek.

  “Hello, sweetie,” SBB said. “You look just gorgeous.”

  “Thanks,” Flan said, brushing her brownish hair over her ear and looking sort of embarrassed by the compliment. She ducked her head when she talked, which SBB knew from her movement class signified humility. “This is my friend Liv, who I told you about.”

  Liv extended her hand forcefully. “It’s such an honor,” she said. “I mean, your spread in W? The Mumbai look? My total fashion inspiration for all of second-semester eighth grade!”

  “That’s nice of you to say,” SBB said, lowering her voice and looking around to make sure nobody on Perry Street was watching. “But I’m really not here to be my celebrity self. This is just me, okay?”

  “Okay,” Flan said, ushering her into the house and then up the stairs. “We made cookies, too, so you can feel really normal!”

  SBB felt her heart clutch a little. “Oh… thanks. You girls are terrible, though! I have to be camera-ready in like under two weeks!”

  “Oh, that’s okay!” Flan said quickly.

  “Yeah, we can just donate them to homeless people or something,” Liv added.

  “I brought rice crisps,” SBB added hopefully as they came off the third-floor landing into Flan’s room, which was all normal and covered with pillows and fashion mags. “Oh my God, this is perfect!” SBB said, throwing herself into the big comfy sleigh bed in the middle of the room. Then she noticed the collage of pictures of Leland Brinker on the wall behind the bed, most of them from the album sleeve of his debut album, Peppermint Girls on the Brink.

  Sara-Beth raised her eyebrows at Flan. “Leland Brinker, huh?”

  “Who’s Leland Brinker?” Liv asked.

  “Oh, you know,” Flan said
bashfully, “he’s that folk protégé. He’s like eighteen but he sounds like Bob Dylan and hangs out with Norah Jones and people like that.”

  “I hooked up with him, you know,” Sara-Beth said, sitting up. “Leland, I mean.”

  “You know that’s been there forever,” Flan said, suddenly even more embarrassed by her bedroom wall collage. “I really meant to take it down by now.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed, he’s hot!” Sara-Beth said impulsively. For some reason, she felt a strong urge to make Flan feel okay about everything. “But not as hot as David,” she added.

  Liv and Flan came and sat gingerly on the bed. “How long have you been with David?” Liv asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Oh my God, not long at all, but it’s like so… ” Sara-Beth felt all warm inside at the mention of David, and her eyes glazed over as she tried to think of some good way of describing him. “He’s just right,” she said, “that’s all.”

  “Yeah,” Liv said dreamily. “I know what you mean.”

  “Did you have fun on Saturday night?” Flan asked.

  “I thought it was a great party,” SBB said. “I mean, I’ve been to so many parties in the last year that they all blur, but that one was special. Because Liesel is special to me. We knew each other when we were little girls. Did you have a good time?”

  “Oh my God!” Flan clasped her hands together and looked up at the ceiling. “Such a good time! I loved everything about it. The horse and the place and all those flowers and—”

  “Now Flan wants her own sweet sixteen,” Liv gushed. SBB could always tell when people wanted to talk to her so badly that they would be unable to do anything but just say whatever came into their heads. Liv was one of those people, but SBB resolved not to let it reflect on Flan. After all, SBB completely understood that you could be a terrific person and still end up being surrounded by other people who could be, well, not so great.

  “You know what—you should have a sweet sixteen!” SBB said, beaming at Flan. “Why not? That would be so much fun!” Liv and Flan stared at her like they didn’t know what to say. Sara-Beth, who had hated silence since she was a child, felt the need to add, “No, really, why not?”