Fuck them. Fuck all of them. Aubrey’s whispers behind a covered mouth revealed the truth. These people were not Elle’s friends. Not really.
They all simply played their parts as friends exceedingly well. A luminous, fun-loving group going to dinner parties, on ski trips, playdates, and charity events together. Living the life. Elle had to admit she enjoyed these times and was flattered to be included, to belong. So she had willingly played along, ignoring the underlying tension, the weariness and the competition. Everything was fine if they were all doing equally well. It was when someone was perceived as doing better or having more—that’s when jealousy and envy emerged in full swing.
Elle looked around, taking in the group celebrating on the field. What a perfect picture they presented. All smiles and happiness, they were a virtual Ralph Lauren advertisement of The American Dream. Winners, one and all, smug in the satisfying glow of their own success. They did have it all.
Or so they wanted everyone to think.
Elle knew better. She had ample experience in reading people. She watched and listened carefully and saw the cracks in their facades of perfection. The cheating, the anxiety attacks, the living beyond their means. It was all there if you looked closely enough and paid attention to the clues: body language, comments made after one too many drinks, what was left unsaid. Elle was simply more careful. More guarded. But she couldn’t control everything. How could she best protect Brynnie?
“Elle, come here. We’re getting a picture!” Aubrey waved excitedly to Elle, just as a good friend would. A friend who was genuinely thrilled for her son’s success, not one plotting and scheming to cause her misery.
Elle dutifully entered the group and stood next to Win, Brynnie, and Tabby. The lacrosse team spread out in front of them, holding their large championship trophy. The photographer made a cheesy joke that he didn’t need to instruct anyone to smile before taking the picture, yet it took all of Elle’s resolve to smile convincingly.
“Are you happy, Mom? Are you living your dream?”
Elle wanted to cry out in despair, but she wouldn’t give Aubrey the satisfaction. Instead, she focused on the one bit of knowledge that would make her smile genuine. Yes, Aubrey could order wine in perfect French, mastered after a year abroad in Paris; she knew the monogram on her cotton paper stationery should be engraved, not flat-printed; and she was so thin that she wore her clothes like a coat hanger. But Aubrey would have no idea what schadenfreude meant. Elle was smarter than she was. She had that.
Click.
The photographer got his shot. A group terrifically proud, celebrating their undeniable superiority with a happiness that teetered obnoxiously close to gloating. The picture would be plastered all over Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter within minutes. It would be on the Country Day website within the hour. Admissions would go up and alumni donations would come pouring in. People liked winners. It was good for business.
Chapter Seventeen
Iggy Azalea: “Trouble”
February 21, 1994
6:45 p.m.
I look like shit.
Elle leaned over the sink and scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked puffy. Had she gained weight? Elle turned and looked at her backside. Her butt still looked good in the hot-pink gown Tak had bought for her. She hadn’t gained weight; maybe she was just PMSing.
Yes, that was probably it. Elle always got bloated right before her period. When was she due next? It was hard to say for sure because she had misplaced her birth control pills and her cycle was off. It was a pain in the ass to get the pill in Japan, but Elle needed to get a new supply soon. She and Tak had been having unprotected sex over the past few weeks and it worried her. She would insist he wear a rubber until she got back on the pill.
The door to the bathroom was ajar, and Elle could hear Tak in the other room with Mike and Johnny. She leaned in closer to hear what they were saying, glad they all remained unaware of her ability to speak Japanese. From bits and pieces of conversations she wasn’t meant to understand, Elle had discovered two important pieces of information: Tak was dealing drugs—the young men she had seen charging down the stairs had actually been customers, and he was running an illegal gambling business out of Samantha’s—he sponsored high-stakes games for preferred clients with a buy-in of a million yen.
These revelations didn’t bother Elle in the least. It wasn’t as though Tak was peddling crack to school kids. He only sold blow, and just to people he knew—Samantha’s regulars looking to have a good time. And the gambling operation? It was more intriguing than anything else. Elle was anxious for the opportunity to peek in on one of the games to see what it was all about.
Elle knew better than to mention either of these things to Mitch. Despite her efforts to make their friendship a priority, he was still prickly about her relationship with Tak. This news would only confirm Mitch’s opinion of her boyfriend—he was nothing more than a rich kid playing the part of a two-bit thug. And so what if he was? They were all pretending to be something other than what they were.
From the tone of his voice, Elle could tell Tak was pissed off. She had learned he had a short temper and often took it out on Mike and Johnny. Here again, Elle wasn’t concerned. Tak was always sweet and accommodating with her, and she didn’t blame him for getting angry with those two. They got on her nerves as well. Especially Johnny. Elle didn’t trust him and sensed that behind his broken-toothed smile lay a seething resentment of her. She had taken to treating them both as nothing more than Tak’s employees at her disposal to order around like errand boys. Elle often had them bring her dinner, drop off her dry cleaning, and give her rides in Tak’s Mercedes.
Speaking rapidly and in a higher pitch than normal, Tak was complaining about being taken advantage of. He referenced the stockroom several times. Curious to hear more, Elle stepped out of the bathroom. Tak looked up as she entered and his posture softened. He eyed her approvingly. “You looking very beautiful, Blondie.”
“Thanks.” Elle smiled appreciatively, even though she didn’t like the dress. In addition to its shocking pink color, it was strapless and covered in sparkly sequins which made it garish and loud, like something a freshman would pick for their first prom. Even so, Elle wouldn’t complain. She would indulge Tak in the same way she did with his use of the stupid name Blondie. What did it matter what she wore?
Elle approached Tak and kissed him, ignoring both Mike and Johnny. It was spiteful not to acknowledge them, but she didn’t care. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger affectionately along Tak’s cheek, asking, “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine.” Tak kissed the back of her neck, putting his hand territorially on her ass.
Elle was not placated. What was going on in the stockroom? Was there a game? Convinced Tak would be more forthcoming if Johnny and Mike weren’t in the room, Elle was going to ask them to go fetch her a cold drink when, in commanding Japanese, Tak ordered them to go to the stockroom and wait for him.
Something was definitely up. Elle was intrigued. “What’s going on?”
Tak ran his fingers through her long blonde hair. “Nothing, Blondie. You no worry.” He drew her close and they kissed for a few minutes before he abruptly pulled her away. “I wish you no more work hostess. It no good.”
Elle’s job had become a sore subject with Tak. He was jealous she spent so much time with other men and wanted her to quit, but Elle wasn’t ready to leave the Big YAC just yet. She was making good money and the Mitch and Elle’s Adventure Jar was filling up quickly. Soon, she and Mitch would be able to afford their trip to Europe.
Elle rubbed Tak’s back sweetly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back early . . .”
Tak frowned.
“And I can stay with you tonight,” Elle offered, knowing it would only cause more problems—Mitch was expecting her to go out with him after she got off work. But what else could she do? Elle didn’t want to argue with Tak. Both he and Mitch placed impossible expectations on her time
, and it was a constant juggling act to try to keep them both happy.
“I no like, better you quit.”
“I don’t have to be at work for another hour.” Elle started to kiss Tak again. Maybe if they had sex it would reassure him he had nothing to worry about.
Tak pulled away. “I no time.”
Elle was surprised—and hurt. Tak had never turned her down before. Something really serious must be going on. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Yes. Yes.” Tak adjusted his tie, walked over to his desk, and pointed to a mirror with a few lines of cocaine on it. “You want?”
“Yeah, sure.” Elle leaned over the mirror and snorted a line. She had never intended to regularly use cocaine, but she couldn’t see any downside to it. Conversation flowed easily when she was high, so nights at the Big YAC practically flew by. Better yet, Elle could drink like a fish when amped up on coke and more drinking equaled more money in commissions. It was a win-win.
Tak reached into his desk drawer and took out a baggy full of white powder. He handed it to Elle. “So . . . you keep. You need at work, you have. I see you back here. Midnight.” Tak kissed Elle, a little dismissively she thought, and walked out without saying more.
Disappointed by her boyfriend’s brush off, Elle sat on his desk and looked at the baggy. It made her nervous to think about taking cocaine into the Big YAC. She was having a hard-enough time hiding her habit from Mitch. What if Mae-san found out?
Elle heard the door to the office open. She quickly put the baggie in her purse and looked up to see Kenji. He was holding a case of Tak’s favorite rum.
Seeing her, Kenji jumped back, startled. He bowed awkwardly with the case still in his hands, apologizing, “I very sorry. I no think you here.”
Elle waived her hand. “It’s fine; don’t worry. I’m happy to see you.”
Elle was glad to see him; she was convinced there was something between Kenji and Mitch. Knowing neither of them would ever make the first move—Mitch was afraid of rejection and Kenji was incredibly shy—she was determined to set them up. It would be perfect: once Mitch was having sex of his own, he’d lighten up about her relationship with Tak.
Elle’s plan was to move slowly, first gaining Kenji’s trust. Once that was accomplished, she would arrange a date for the two of them in time for Mitch’s birthday in May. It would be the perfect gift. She smiled at Kenji. “It’s so nice of you to bring that up here for Tak. I hope you know he appreciates everything you do.”
Kenji set down the case of rum. “Thank you. Tak-san good boss.”
“Yes, he is, but he can be tough. If you ever have any problems with him, you come to me, okay?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you.” Kenji nodded his head in quick half bows.
“We should all go out sometime . . . I bet Mitch would love to join us.”
At the mention of Mitch’s name, Kenji’s cheeks turned a bright, hot red. “Yes, yes. I very much like. Thank you.”
Elle was pleased by Kenji’s reaction—she knew there was something there. “Great, I’ll work on putting something together.” That was enough for now. She didn’t want to make Kenji uncomfortable. There was still plenty of time. “Do you know where Tak went?”
“I’m no sure, maybe he stockroom?”
“Okay, thanks. I think I’ll go check on him.” Elle grabbed her purse—the cocaine still in it—and walked down the stairs into Samantha’s, eager to see what Tak was up to. What could possibly be more compelling than sex with her?
The TV behind the bar was on, showing a broadcast from the Winter Olympics in Lillehammer. Elle didn’t particularly care about sports—or the Olympics, for that matter—but the story of Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding had captured her attention. She stopped to see if the figure skating competition was on.
Elle hoped Nancy Kerrigan would win the gold medal. It would be the appropriate karmic reward for what she had been through, and she deserved it. Although everything about the figure skater—the way she looked, talked, and moved with such grace and ease—gave the appearance of someone born into wealth and privilege, she was actually from a modest background. Nancy Kerrigan had earned her success. She had been determined, she had paid attention, and she had made it happen. Elle was inspired by her example.
An alpine skiing event was on and nothing about figure skating, so Elle grabbed a bottle of beer from behind the bar—it never hurt to have a roadie—and walked down the hallway to the stockroom. It was cold, and she shivered involuntarily as she drank the beer. The door to the stockroom was closed; she put her ear against it, hoping to hear something.
Nothing.
Elle considered knocking but decided against it. She was Tak’s girlfriend; she could do whatever she wanted. She opened the heavy steel door and walked in, unnoticed. Tak, Johnny, and Mike were all standing with their backs toward the door, huddled around a young man tied to the back of a chair. Elle couldn’t be sure, but he looked like one of the guys who had almost knocked her over on the stairs a few weeks ago. It was hard to tell; the man’s face was purple and bleeding and both of his eyes were swollen shut. He yelled out in agony as Tak punched him in the face. Shocked, Elle dropped her beer bottle on the concrete floor. What had she walked in on?
The sound of glass shattering got Tak’s attention. He turned and looked blankly at Elle, like he didn’t recognize her. Strands of hair had come out of his ponytail and he was sweating. He pushed the stray hairs away from his face with a bloody hand. His pinky ring was covered in a thick, deep red.
For several minutes, no one said anything. The only sound in the room was a low whimper from the beaten man in the chair. Elle was too stunned to move.
Finally, Tak approached her. “Sorry, Blondie. You no see this.” He put his arm around her and led her out the door, apologizing again, “Sorry you see.”
Elle stood in the hall with Tak. Through the open door she could see Johnny repeatedly shove his knee into the beaten man’s face. She turned her head away, ashamed of the violence. Were they beating him up because she had complained about him almost knocking her over?
No, it couldn’t be that. Elle had been distracted by the cocaine in Tak’s office that day and had forgotten to mention what had happened. Still, what could this guy possibly have done to deserve this treatment? He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old. Elle should go help him. Tell Johnny to leave him alone.
Tak took Elle’s face in his hands. They were warm and smelled like metal. Was that the odor of blood? “It’s okay now, Blondie. You no worry.” Tak gently kissed Elle behind the neck.
Elle smelled beer on Tak’s breath and felt his hair, warm and damp from sweat, brush against her cheek. As he leaned in and kissed her open-mouthed with his tongue, she tasted salt. Tak stared intently into Elle’s eyes as he explored her body with his hands. He whispered in her ear, “I love you.”
He loves me.
Elle was horrified by what she had seen, offended and disgusted by the violence, yet she couldn’t deny an overwhelming feeling of arousal. She wanted Tak. All her senses yearned for him.
How could that be? Was it the cocaine?
It didn’t matter. Elle couldn’t resist.
He loves me.
She gave in, pulling Tak close and kissing him passionately. Tak returned her kiss and lifted her arms above her head, holding them up with one hand. With his other hand, he reached under her dress and deftly pulled her G-string off.
With the door to the stockroom still open, Elle knew Johnny and Mike and the beaten man could see what she and Tak were doing. She didn’t care. In fact, she kind of liked it.
He loves me.
She helped Tak remove her thong and unbuckled his pants. Elle felt him, hard and ready. Tak lifted her off the ground and she wrapped her legs tightly around him. He pressed her back to the wall and entered her with a single deep thrust.
Elle closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure. For a split second, she remembered the misplaced
birth control pills—she should make Tak wear a rubber—but she couldn’t stop him now; it felt too amazing. As Tak rocked rhythmically inside her, the small of Elle’s back began to ache with tension. She tightened her legs around him and tried to push him into her even deeper.
Elle wanted to scream—the pressure building inside her was almost too much to bear. As she opened her eyes and saw Mike and Johnny watching, Elle climaxed. The release was so intense, so gratifying, she shivered uncontrollably for several minutes.
Holy shit.
Never in her life had Elle felt so good. She wanted more.
Chapter Eighteen
The Killers: “All These Things That I’ve Done”
May 19, 2017
12:07 a.m.
Why did I eat those enchiladas?
Elle loaded a dirty plate and fork into the dishwasher, full of disgust over her lack of self-control. Despite Four’s win, it truly had been the penultimate bad day, just as she had known it would be when she woke up that morning to the news about the earthquake and the song about past regrets. The signs were never wrong.
Consumed with worry over Aubrey’s decision to target Brynnie’s sexuality, despondent over the sad reminder of Jimmy, and disturbed by Win’s announcement about the trip to Tokyo, Elle had been restless and unable to sleep. Aggravated, she had gone into the kitchen to get something cold to drink. While getting a bottle of Evian out of her Sub-Zero refrigerator, she had seen a dish of Angela’s homemade enchiladas on the shelf and was tempted. Elle hadn’t eaten all day and was starving. Just a bite, she had told herself.
The one bite was delicious, so tasty that Elle had given herself permission to eat one full enchilada. Just one. She scarfed it down greedily. Still not sated, she had continued eating until the entire pan of cheese and tortillas was gone.
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