Girls We Love Page 9

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he was calling about SBB, and because of the whole David thing, and well, you know … ” Liv shrugged and felt free and happy, because now she knew for sure that Flan, and thus Patch, knew nothing about that treacherous kiss.

  “Know what? That doesn’t make any sense,” Flan said. “If he was calling to find out something about SBB, then why didn’t he just ask to talk to her? Are you… lying to me?”

  “What? I couldn’t hear you… . Oh, hold on. Maybe this would look nice on you!” Liv tossed a brown halter dress with seashells sewn all over it across the aisle at Flan. She smiled brightly and innocently, and hoped that Flan would be distracted by her pick. Then she went back to combing the dresses on the racks, and waited for the whole unpleasant conversation to be over. She had gotten what she needed out of it, after all, and she didn’t know what Flan was making a fuss about.

  Liv was distracted from this series of thoughts by an incoming text message from her mom that read where are you young lady!? so she didn’t even notice Flan running toward the dressing room and slamming the door behind her.

  i break down in bloomingdale’s

  Maybe it was the party pressure, maybe it was the thought of Leland Brinker blowing out candles on my birthday cake, maybe it was that I’d skipped lunch … who knows. But as soon as I hit the dressing room at Bloomie’s, I was a falling down mess.

  And then I looked at this ugly brown seashell thing that Liv had given me, and I realized that I was having trouble trusting my best friend from elementary school. And that’s just never a good moment in an almost-fourteen-year-old-girl-on-the-verge-of-having-her-sweet-sixteen-party’s life. Know what I mean?

  So I sat there, crying, tears running down my face, making it all pielike and ugly, and I looked at this dress and I thought: (A) That dress is ugly; (B) Liv picked it for me, so she must want me to look ugly; thus (C) Liv must be having a secret something with Jonathan.

  Because suddenly I didn’t want to meet Leland Brinker. All I wanted was Jonathan. Is that strange?

  I mean, you would do the same thing I did, right? Which was that I curled up on the floor of the dressing room and I called my brother. It took him too many rings to answer, and when he picked up, he said, “Hey Flannie.”

  “Hiiiii … ” I knew I sounded like a baby, but I couldn’t help it. Patch always had the magic ability to calm me down, just by being him, and I was waiting for the magic to hit. “Patch, are you coming to my party tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” he said in that baked-on-the-beach voice of his, “of course I am. Why? You thinking of bailing?”

  “No—how can I?” I tucked my legs up against my chest and tried not to look at my reflection in the, like, twenty-five dressing room mirrors that were facing me down ominously. “Patch, I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

  “You mean a big party at a New York City club, with celebrities, and energy drinks, in your honor? Nah, you’ll love it.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said in a small voice.

  Patch sighed. “Listen, Flannie Bug, I’m out skating with Mickey and his new girlfriend and his old girlfriend.”

  “You mean Philippa?” For a moment, I put my self-pity on hold, because that was too weird. Philippa had been Mickey’s girlfriend for as long as I can remember, and her identity has always kind of been defined by the outsized personality of her boyfriend. Then she turned lesbian or something, which was so obviously just her trying to get a life. “That’s weird.”

  “Yeah, she’s really good, too. Or at least, she’s trying to be good. I think she hates Mickey’s new girlfriend, and doesn’t want to be shown up by her.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “So … are you okay? Sounds like you’re being kind of a baby.”

  I decided to ignore that little bit of brotherly judgment. “Whatever, I’m fine,” I said. The Patch magic was starting to work.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I said, straightening up and forcing myself to think if anything could be done about my pudgy crying face. “There’s just one thing I want you to do for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “Make sure Jonathan is at my party, okay?”

  There was a pause on the other line, and then Patch said, “Okay, you got it.”

  “Is he still going out with little miss freckle face, by the way?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no reason, just curious.”

  “Yeah, well, I think he broke it off. That raw-food-soup-at-nine-a.m. thing was a deal breaker.”

  “And has he said anything about any other girls?”

  “Um … I guess he muttered something about having a crush on somebody, but … ”

  I gave myself a look in the closest dressing room mirror, which was pleasantly flattering, and decided that it really didn’t matter whether there was something maybe going to happen between Jonathan and Liv, or if he was mumbling about having a crush on her. It hadn’t mattered that the tree-hugger girl liked him, either—she happened, and now she was gone. I looked in that mirror and I decided that I was going to stop acting like a little girl and get myself together for this party. I was going to be glamorous and exciting, and I was going to get Jonathan back.

  I told myself, Look at yourself! You are so the kind of girl one of the Insiders would love. I was just going to have to start putting it out there.

  “Are you there?” Patch said.

  “Yeah, sorry. So you’ll definitely make sure that Jonathan comes to the party?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great,” I said. “You’re the best! Okay, back to dress shopping!”

  When I emerged from the dressing room, I saw Liv standing there with a big pile of dresses in her arms and a face full of regret.

  “I sorry,” she said, just like we always used to when we were nine. And just like that, I knew that it was all going to work out for me. Pretty soon, she was going to see that I was just as glamorous as she, or SBB, or Liesel were, and then she would regret that she ever had a secret crush on Jonathan that she tried to keep from me. “How did the dress look?” she asked.

  “Oh … I didn’t even try it on. I don’t know if I can try anything else on for right now.”

  “I hear you,” Liv said brightly. “What do you say we go downtown and get some hijiki burgers at Dojo?”

  “Okay,” I said, because I had to admit that part of my freak-out was due to the hunger currently gnawing its way through my stomach. Then Liv grabbed my hand and we walked toward the exit.

  For a very brief moment, Liv’s niceness made me wonder if maybe I was crazy, and I thought about confessing the whole thing to her, about how I’d—briefly, insanely—thought that she and Jonathan were involved, and how that made me realize that I wanted him back. But then Liv started swinging her big, plain brown Bloomie’s bag, and said, all fake nonchalant-like, “So, what were you and Patch talking about?”

  There was this buzzing in my ear. I smacked it, but it wouldn’t go away. It was like a little voice in my head telling me that telling Liv every last thing wasn’t the best idea anymore.

  I shrugged. “Nothing,” I said. “I’m starved. Let’s just take a cab downtown, okay?”

  liesel reid, pr superstar

  Manhattan was full of honking cars and steaming hot dog stands, but you wouldn’t have known that up by the rooftop pool of a certain building, on Park in the mid-70s, where everything was blue skies and quiet, except for the clinking of ice cubes in afternoon cocktails.

  Liesel flipped over onto her belly and unsnapped her bikini top, even though her skin was basically tan resistant. She just liked the whiff of danger she got from having her bathing suit top undone in public.

  This was just another part of a thoroughly busy and exhilarating day out promoting Candy, the new Chelsea club for underage socialites that she was working on as the most trusted and adored intern in the history of DDR PR. She took a piece of papaya from the small table set up next to he
r poolside recliner and sucked on it thoughtfully. It was a blissfully clear day, and up on top of her old friend Mimi Rathbone’s building, there was just a touch of a breeze.

  “So, are you coming or what?” Liesel said eventually.

  Mimi twisted her long horsetail of whitish blond hair into a knot on the back of her head. “Lies, you know I’d do anything for you. But an underage club? Filled with guys our own age? It just sounds kind of lame to me.”

  Liesel removed the papaya from her mouth and took a sip of her Perrier. “I get it. I understand that. But aren’t you tired of older guys sometimes? Don’t you sometimes just want to dance and look fabulous in a room full of fabulous people?”

  “I guess,” Mimi said doubtfully. She was lying on her back and wearing a turquoise bikini and Prada shades, and she looked ridiculously exercised for a seventeen-year-old. Liesel recognized Mimi as a new money kind of Upper East Side blonde, while Liesel herself was a classic Upper East Side blonde. But Mimi had a following, and Liesel needed her and all her little minions at the Candy opening.

  “Listen, I guarantee this party is going to be covered in all the gossip columns. Know why?” She leaned over in her chair, toward Mimi, and whispered, “I got Leland Brinker.”

  “Noooo …,” Mimi gasped, turning toward Liesel and pushing her glasses on top of her head. “For a dirty downtown folk singer, he is so delicious. I would totally hook up with him.”

  “I know!”

  “Okay, I’m in.” Mimi took a sip of her Perrier and got a far-off look in her eyes. “So, how many people do I get to put on the guest list?”

  “Sugar, you just tell me who you want.”

  Both girls paused to take in the late afternoon, chlorine-tinged laziness of it all. A pool boy stopped by to replenish their bubbly water, and when he was gone Mimi said, “I heard a rumor.”

  “I love rumows,” Liesel said.

  “Me too. Except this one gives me the creeps.”

  “Oh, really?” Liesel said, adjusting her bikini bottom ever so slightly.

  “Yeah, this one’s about Arno.” Mimi dropped her sunglasses to the bottom of her ski jump nose. “Arno Wildenburger. And you.”

  Liesel had been thinking about the rebirth of Arno Wildenburger, hot private-school boy, all day, and she didn’t like the way Mimi was saying his name. But if Liesel had learned one thing during her time at DeeDee Rakoff, it was how to set the tone of any conversation to her advantage. “My, that one got around quick,” she said casually. “But it makes sense because people just love to talk about Awno.”

  “Yeah, especially when our whole social circle saw him leaving the Boat House bathroom with you. With all the people there, I’m surprised it didn’t show up on the front page of the Post,” Mimi said, with maybe a tad more nasty than was necessary.

  “I guess I’ll have to work harder next time,” Liesel said without missing a beat. “Entre nous, he’s totally on the verge of being hot again. And I’ll keep hooking up with him in restaurant bathrooms until he is!”

  Mimi made a snorting noise. “Okay, fine, but just remember what happened with that whole Hottest Private-School Boy thing. I thought he was totally hot, too, until it turned out he wasn’t.”

  “Oh, that whole Hottest Private-School Boy thing is such a joke. DeeDee always says so,” Liesel said, ending the conversation so that she could return to tanning in peace.

  After all, tonight was the night when Arno was going to party backstage with Eddie Turro of the Glories and then make a surprise appearance onstage with him. His rep was going to be totally back in order after that, and Mimi Rathbone was just going to have to stew in all her jealous, fake-blond juices.

  checking in on the old new hot guy

  “Wildenburger, talk to me.” BEEP

  “Awno, it’s Lies. I know you’re probably about to head over to the Bowery, to hang with Eddie and the boys, but I wanted to make sure that package from Rogan got to you with the special outfit. Oh my God, you’re going to look hot hot hot. Call me if you want me to come over and tie your tie, okay?

  Ciao, ciao.”

  philippa isn’t kidding around anymore

  “So, that was fun,” Sonya said, coming out from the kitchen with a six-pack of Tecate under her arm. Her black hair was piled up on top of her head and speared with a stick, and she was wearing jean cutoffs that were way too big for her and rolled up at the hem, and a threadbare camisole. Philippa took a look at her and decided that Sonya definitely didn’t think what had just happened was fun. There was definitely some sarcasm lurking under that word.

  “Way,” Mickey said, grabbing one of the cans and drinking from it. “I didn’t even know you could skate till this afternoon.” They were sitting on the roof of the Pardos’ Perry Street compound, which was decorated with palm trees and various wood sculpture/chair hybrids. The sun was going down in a hazy blaze of glory. Mickey was wearing a Misfits T-shirt and absently rubbing his round belly. “Isn’t that weird?” Mickey said, as though he were still sort of stunned by it himself. “That I went out with her for so long and I never knew that she could skateboard?”

  Sonya sat down in one of the chairs and put her feet on the varnished tree stump table at the center of their chair circle. “That is odd,” she said, and swiveled her head to give Philippa a piercing look. Things had not gone smoothly with them during the skateboarding exhibition.

  “Well, I didn’t know Mickey skated, either,” Philippa said quickly. “Turns out he does sometimes, with his friend Patch. Same with me, except with other friends.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t been practicing all week?” Sonya said, dropping a devilish wink.

  “Oh, yeah, like I would even have the time,” Philippa said indignantly, realizing immediately that it didn’t sound like a resounding rebuttal. In truth, she had only spent the better part of a morning learning a few tricks with some skater dykes she’d met through Stella, and it had been worth it. While Sonya had been fearless and fun out there, she hadn’t really known how to do anything. And Philippa knew that her few well-executed tricks had made Mickey stop feeling sorry for her and start paying attention to her. In the old way.

  “Anyway, it’s not like anyone’s born knowing how to skateboard. Don’t you think Mickey would have had some idea that you could ollie?” Sonya said, swigging from her Tecate. “I mean, how long did you go out?”

  “Two years,” Mickey and Philippa said at once.

  “But we basically have been flirting since my family moved to that house”—Philippa pointed to a rooftop directly across from them, and smiled unconsciously—“when I was nine.”

  “Wow,” Sonya said, “that is a long time.” She studied her beer for a moment and then said, “So how is it you just suddenly became a lesbian, Philippa?”

  “Um, I guess it was something that I’ve been wondering about for along time…,” Philippa said defensively.

  “Oh, just wondering about? I bet Stella didn’t think you were just wondering,” Sonya said with a smirk.

  “I didn’t say that,” Philippa snapped back, cocking her head. With a few words, Sonya had declared that the simmering tensions of the day had now brought them to full-fledged warfare. And Philippa wasn’t about to stand down on her own turf. “I really went out with Stella. It was for real, until she turned all crazy and also kind of boring on me.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Mickey said, standing up and crushing his beer can underfoot. He took another and swigged before he said, “Nobody wants to hear about this, girls.”

  “I do,” Sonya said. “See, this may all be a little joke for you, but I’ve had a really hard time being bisexual, because nobody believes being a bisexual is a real thing. Well, you know why? Because of people like you, who are basically straight and then just go around toying with lesbian identity for brief periods of time and then try and get back with their old boyfriends.”

  “Yo, I need to whiz,” Mickey said before turning and jogging toward the edge of the roof. “Into the Fr
adys’ yard!” he called behind him.

  But Philippa wasn’t going to bite at that one—she had a much scarier fish to worry about. She and Sonya were still sitting on the sculptural chairs, but they were ready to pounce on each other at any second.

  “I really am a lesbian, so you can just take all this self-righteousness and shove it!”

  “Oh, come on, be honest for once,” Sonya said. “You’ve been competing with me all day. It was you who set me up with Mickey, and now you regret it. Right? Am I right?”

  Philippa had her skirt bunched up in her palms, and she felt closer to swatting another girl than she had pretty much ever. “So what if I do?” she said with a toss of her head.

  “You are such a fake lesbian!” Sonya screeched. Mickey remained focused on pissing off the roof, which Philippa knew was just a ruse to stay far, far away from a conflict that was ready to boil over.

  “I am not!” Philippa screamed. “I just happen to be a little more open-minded than you are! I just happen to fall in love with people, not genders!”

  Before Philippa knew what hit her, she was wrestling with Sonya on the ground. Sonya had a fistful of her hair, which really hurt, not to mention the rockiness of the ground, which was covered with pebbles. Philippa had had a few skating lessons, but no lessons in how to fight girl-on-girl, and it was all she could to do to get a few innocuous slaps in before Mickey came hustling over from the other side of the roof and pulled Sonya off her.

  Philippa looked up from the ground and saw that Sonya was heaving and red-faced. It looked like she was really pissed. Also, she had little pebbles embedded in her skin, and Mickey was brushing them off, sort of gently, it seemed. It dawned on Philippa for the first time that Mickey might actually be angry, and at her.

  Eventually Mickey extended a hand and pulled Philippa up to her feet. There was a look on his face that Philippa had never seen before. Weirdly, since she was the one who had just been attacked and thrown to the ground, Philippa found herself saying, “Are you okay, Mickey?”