The Daughters Break the Rules

by Joanna Philbin

  Slowly, she turned around. The restaurant seemed to be emptying. The hostess was at another table, speaking to the mother of three squirmy kids taking turns throwing mini quiches at each other. Carina reached down and grabbed her bag. It was now or never.

  She got up and calmly began to walk to the exit. If anyone asked where she was going, she would say that she needed to use the bathroom. No big deal. As she threaded her way past the tables, she imagined that she could feel the hostess’s eyes boring into her back like lasers. Any moment now, she was going to notice Carina and ask her to stop. Any moment now…

  “Excuse me!” a woman yelled. “Are you leaving?”

  Carina slipped past the empty podium.

  “Excuse me? I’m talking to you!” It was the hostess.

  That was it. Time to run.

  She zipped past the fancy boutiques, past the check-in desk, past a cluster of Japanese tourists who watched her, puzzled and amused, like she was another New York attraction. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the clerks behind the front desk reach for his phone as she ran by, but she didn’t care. With a push, she was through the heavy revolving doors and down the carpeted steps. Outside she didn’t stop, zigzagging across Fifty-ninth Street, until she reached the lineup of smelly hansom cabs waiting to take tourists through the park, and hid behind a big white horse. She stopped and bent over, panting. She could see the headline splashed across the cover of the New York Post: MOGUL’S DAUGHTER SKIPS OUT ON TEA TAB.

  Finally she stood up. Her throat burned, and the skin under her turtleneck dripped with sweat. The sun had set, and it was getting cold. So Roberta wasn’t going to help her. Fine. She didn’t need her help. She needed to get home and come up with a plan B for Ava’s party. Which right now looked like it would be called Winging It.

  She took a deep breath and made her way to the subway. It was only when she’d reached the stairs to the N and the R that she realized that she’d forgotten one crucial part about the dine and dash. She hadn’t eaten a thing.

  chapter 10

  “Well, congratulations, C,” Lizzie said, leaning back in the ratty, burnt-orange-colored chair in the corner of the student lounge and stirring her instant Swiss Miss with a pen. “By taking this job, you may have officially punished yourself worse than your dad ever could.”

  “Did you even go to the Gap?” Hudson asked, looking up from the sheet music in front of her. “Or what about Jamba Juice? Or babysitting? My cousin is always complaining about her nanny going on vacation…”

  “You guys, chill,” Carina said, taking out a love poem by e. e. cummings from her book bag. Another Ed special. “I’m gonna make a thousand dollars doing this—enough to go on the trip. And it’s planning a party! This is gonna be fun.” At the bottom of the page she wrote in big block letters I WANT TO KISS YOUR BALD SPOT.

  “Fun?” Lizzie asked, almost spilling her Swiss Miss. “Dealing with Ava every waking minute for the next six weeks? That’s not fun. That’s heading for the psych ward.”

  “And you don’t have any experience, C,” Hudson almost whispered, twisting her rings.

  “It’s not like you have to be Martha Stewart to plan a party,” Carina said, folding the letter to Ed back up and slipping it into her earth science notebook. “You just find people to do what you want and order them around. I’ve seen people do it before.” She had decided not to mention her meeting with Roberta Baron. Not now, not ever.

  “Carina, we’re just—” Hudson started.

  “Worried, I know,” she cut in. “But don’t be. Everything’s fine. I can do this.”

  She pulled out her Spanish book as Lizzie and Hudson, she knew, traded dramatic, concerned looks over her head.

  It wasn’t fair. She was always the first one to get behind one of her friends’ crazy schemes. Like Lizzie’s secret modeling career, for one. If it hadn’t been for Carina, they never would have visited Andrea’s studio. She’d even signed Lizzie’s modeling release for her. (Well, forged Katia’s signature, but still…)

  But whenever it was her crazy scheme, all Lizzie and Hudson ever did was ask her a bunch of nitpicky questions or make her feel like it was never going to work. Why couldn’t they be the least bit supportive? She looked down at her book, trying to concentrate, until an overpowering scent of Issey Miyake perfume made her look up.

  “Hey, C, can we have a quick meeting?” Ava stood over her with her leather-covered notebook tucked under her arm and a silver Tiffany fountain pen poised in her hand. She looked more like a businesswoman than Carina ever would. “There are just a few things I’d like to go over,” she said, with a quick glance at her chunky silver Cartier watch. “Just to get you started.”

  “Sure,” Carina said. She was about to get up, but Ava just sat right down next to her on the carpet.

  “When I told the charity people that you’d be planning this party, they fuh-lipped out,” Ava said, tucking an auburn curl behind one ear. “You know, because of all your connections and everything.”

  “Great!” Carina said proudly, making sure to glance at Lizzie and Hudson. But both of them were too busy staring at the back of Ava’s head to notice her.

  “So let’s start with a quick overview of all the things you’ll be taking care of,” Ava said briskly, opening the cover of her notebook. “I’ve separated them into three categories. Food, music, and decor. I figured the best thing to do would be to let you know what I’d like to have, just to give you something to work with.”

  “Sounds good,” Carina said.

  As Ava flipped the pages of her legal pad, Carina noticed that her nails had already been repainted a purplish black. “Okay, the ballroom at the Pierre Hotel is our venue, and it has amaaazing acoustics. Which brings me to the most important thing we need to discuss. Music.” She fixed Carina with a deadly serious look. “Music makes or breaks a party, so I think for this, we go for the best there is. We go for Matty Banks.”

  Matty Banks wasn’t just a DJ. He was also a Grammy-winning music producer, trendsetter, model, and generally one of the coolest twenty-two-year-old guys currently walking the earth. Who also charged thousands of dollars.

  “Matty Banks? Really?” Carina asked.

  “You’ve used him before, right?” Ava prompted.

  “Yeah, sure, he played my dad’s birthday last summer,” Carina said, “but I don’t know if he’s gonna be available. He’s, like, the busiest guy on earth.”

  “Even for you?” Ava asked.

  “What do you mean, for me?”

  “Well, you’d be the one asking him,” Ava said. “You said you only like to work with the best.”

  Carina suddenly understood what Ava was talking about. She wanted Carina to use her “connections.” After all, that’s what Carina had pretended she could do. And even though Matty Banks was probably booked months, if not years, in advance, Ava would be expecting her to get him lickety-split.

  “I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” Carina said, trying to sound confident.

  “Okay, then let’s move on,” Ava said, checking it off her list. “Now, appetizers. I’m thinking we go for comfort food. That new place in the Meatpacking District, Café Luz? It’s supposed to do this incredible mac and cheese with shaved truffles. Your dad probably knows the chef, right?”

  “Filippo?” Carina asked worriedly. “Since he’s just opened that place, I’m sure he’s going to have his hands full—”

  “Let me know what he says,” Ava interrupted, crossing the item off her list. “And then for dessert, I’m thinking vegan cupcakes from Sugarbabies.”

  “Wait. Isn’t that the place that charges six bucks a cupcake?” Carina asked.

  Ava wrinkled her nose. “They just won best red velvet in the city and they’re totally in right now. And for the flowers, I think we should try to get Mercer Vaise. You’ve worked with him, right? He’s supposed to be incredible with orchids.”

  “Mercer Vaise does weddings for sheiks and royal families,�
�� Carina pointed out. “Can the Make New York Beautiful people afford him?”

  Ava scrunched up her face as if Carina had just spoken Swahili. “We’re not paying these people. Is that what you thought? This is all for charity.”

  “Then how are we getting them?” Carina asked.

  Ava rolled her eyes. “Because you know them. You’ve worked with them before. They should be happy to do this for you and your dad. Why else do you think we’re paying you a thousand dollars?”

  Carina glanced up at her friends. Hudson was aiming a furious stare into the back of Ava’s head. Lizzie was shaking her head no.

  “Wait,” Ava said, giving Carina a steady, unblinking stare. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”

  The seconds ticked by in slow, slow motion. Carina thought frantically. This was her chance. Her chance to say that, well, maybe… it might be a problem.

  But that wasn’t an option. She needed that money.

  “Of course not,” she said, shaking her head. “My dad’s BFF with all these guys.”

  “Wunderbar!” Ava exclaimed, getting to her feet and brushing the dust off her burgundy tights. “Oh, and I almost forgot. We said two hundred, right?” She reached into her bag, took out a heavy Louis Vuitton wallet, and pulled out two crisp hundred-dollar bills. “For your retainer,” she said, with the slightest touch of sarcasm.

  As soon as Carina closed her fist over the money, she felt all of her doubts melt away.

  “Let me know what happens with Matty,” Ava reminded her. “By Friday?”

  “No problem,” Carina said.

  “Perfect. I have a feeling that this is going to be the best Silver Snowflake in history.” Ava tossed her hair and sauntered away as her rolled-up kilt swung back and forth like a wagging finger.

  “Oh my God, this is worse than I thought,” Lizzie said, almost leaping out of her chair. “You have to get people to do stuff for free?”

  “And she’s already given you money?” Hudson asked warily.

  “It’s just for the lift ticket,” Carina said, trying to sound optimistic. “So I can save my place on the trip.”

  “But you hate using your dad’s name,” Lizzie said, playing with an elastic band around her wrist. “It, like, makes you nauseous. So why’d you tell her yes?”

  “It’s not like I have to throw his name around. Almost all of these people have worked with him already. It’s asking friends for a favor. And it’s for a really good cause.”

  “Free cosmetic surgery to the underprivileged?” Lizzie asked, arching a furry brow. “You’re above this, C. Running around town, doing Ava Elting’s bidding… it’s beneath you. Don’t you think?”

  Carina felt a flash of anger as she got to her feet. “I need to find Carter before the bell,” she muttered, and then grabbed her bag and ducked out of the lounge.

  She sped down the hall to the stairs, trying to stay calm. As much as she loved Lizzie and Hudson, neither of them knew what she was going through. They’d never had to bail on plans with a guy they liked because they couldn’t afford to get a pizza with him. They’d never had to live on twenty dollars a week. How could they judge her? She was just doing what she had to do. Of course, Ava had definitely thrown her a curveball with the favor thing, but she’d figure out a way to make it work. And she was already halfway to her romantic trip with Carter. As soon as she found him and gave him the money, it would be a fait accompli, as Hudson would say.

  When she saw Carter walking out of the computer lab a few minutes later, her stomach did such a crazy free fall that she was afraid she might throw up.

  “Hey, what are you in such a hurry for?” he asked, coming to stand a thrilling two feet away from her. He smiled in such a lazy, sexy way that the hairs on her arm stood on end.

  “Just wanted to give you this,” she said slyly, handing him the two bills. “For the lift ticket.”

  He looked down at the crumpled money in his hand. “I thought you’d just write me a check or something,” he said.

  “Nah, cold hard cash is how I roll,” she flirted. “And you didn’t think I was gonna forget about kicking your butt, right?”

  “No way,” he said, beaming, as he slipped the money into the pocket of his fleece.

  “And… maybe we could even hang out before then,” she said. For a second she was scared he wouldn’t respond. But his grin only spread wider.

  “Sounds good,” he said. Just then, a deafening chime came from her book bag. It was her vintage cell phone. “What the hell was that?” Carter asked, looking around.

  “I gotta go,” Carina said, stepping backward. “I’ll Facebook you.”

  She raced down the hall and ducked into the girls’ bathroom. Once she was safely locked in a stall, she took out her phone. It was a text from her dad.

  Party for Princess magazine tonight. 6:00 sharp. SoHo Grand Hotel.

  She still hadn’t seen the Jurg since the other night in the den. And the last thing she wanted to do right now was go to one of his events.

  But maybe this was the perfect chance to let him see that she was just fine. She’d found herself a job and (possibly) a new boyfriend, all in the last few days. She was more than fine. She was kicking butt.

  She tossed her phone into her bag and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She’d go to his stupid party, smile her guts out, and show him that his punishment had barely touched her. Now she almost couldn’t wait.

  chapter 11

  The party for Princess was well under way when Carina stepped off the elevator and into the penthouse suite of the SoHo Grand. She walked past a poster board mock-up of the December cover, featuring a brunette starlet who’d just played the lead in a popular horror movie, and checked herself in the mirrored wall of the foyer. She’d changed from her uniform into a parent-appropriate ruffled gray silk top from Anthropologie, dark blue skinny jeans, black ballet flats, and her most expensive Martin Meloy bag. She wasn’t crazy about Martin Meloy, especially after what had happened with Lizzie, but this seemed like the kind of crowd that’d be into him. Okay, she thought, staring at her reflection. All she needed to do was show her face to the Jurg and then get out of here. Afterward, she had a meeting with Matty Banks. And that was much more important than being here.

  She moved into the main room of the suite. A few C-list celebrities lounged on the couches while the twentysomething Princess editors gawked at them from the open bar. Gorgeous waiters passed platters of tuna rolls and bacon-wrapped scallops, and paparazzi stalked the room, taking pictures. It was the usual scene, less a “party” and more just a reason to get Princess, and its cover girl, mentioned on Page Six and the gossip blogs the next day. And Princess needed all the press it could get. No matter how many times it changed art directors, or how many “cool” actresses it got for its covers, Princess got outsold by the other teen magazines every month. Her dad couldn’t figure out why, but Carina had, a long time ago. It was because Princess was hopelessly lame. She’d always gotten the feeling that the editors had taken a seminar called “Getting to Know the Teen Girl!” in 1989 and been referring to their notes ever since. They were always too late with their trends and totally off with their fashion stories, and did articles on stuff that had been a big deal ten years ago, like “Teens and Technology.” But she’d never shared her opinion with the Jurg. She doubted he’d appreciate it.

  She moved through the room, on the lookout for her dad, when she almost tripped over Creepy Manservant perched on a suede ottoman. In his greasy comb-over and boring brown suit, he looked utterly out of place. “Hello, Carina,” he said in his nasal voice. “Nice to see you.”

  “Hi, Ed,” she said, unable to look him in the eye. She wondered if he’d been getting her anonymous love notes.

  “Do you know Barb Willis?” he asked, gesturing stiffly to a plain-looking woman next to him who looked as out of place as he did. “She’s the editor-in-chief of Princess. Barb, this is Carina. Karl’s daughter.”

  “Hello, Ca
rina,” Barb said eagerly, extending her hand. Barb seemed to be in her midforties, and she had thin, staticky brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. She didn’t wear any jewelry or makeup, and her shapeless black suit hung on her angular frame. Unlike most of the female editors who worked for her dad, Barb seemed to be trying hard not to be glamorous.

  “Hi,” Carina said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Carina was working for us in the office for a while,” Ed said with one of his patented smirks. “So she knows all about the magazine.”

  And how much trouble it’s in, Carina thought.

  “Here’s your father now,” said Ed, and Carina turned to see her father striding toward her. People stepped aside to let him pass, the way they usually did whenever he moved through a crowded room. Even Carina had to admit that he looked like a movie star in his charcoal gray Armani suit.

  “Hello, honey,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. He was always more affectionate with her in public. “Good to see you.”

  “Hi,” she said, barely meeting his eye.

  “I see you’ve met Barb,” he said.

  Carina noticed Barb staring at her dad intently. Oh great, she thought. Barb’s in love with him. “Yes, we just met,” she said.

  “Carina loves the magazine,” the Jurg told Barb. “She’s had a subscription since… well, for years now, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” Carina said, smiling right through the lie.

  “Actually, Barb has a wonderful idea,” the Jurg said. “I’ll let her tell you about it.”

  Barb blushed a little and pushed her glasses up on her beaky nose. Carina couldn’t help but think that Hudson could have done a seriously awesome makeover on her.

  “We’ve decided to start doing a feature on a real-life ‘Princess,’ ” Barb began, putting quotes around the word with her fingers. “A real girl who lives a fabulous, glamorous life that all of our readers would love to have. And we figured, who better for that story than Carina Jurgensen?”