The Daughters Break the Rules

by Joanna Philbin

  “What?” Carina asked. “Me?”

  “Well, you do live a fabulous, glamorous life,” Barb replied. “You go to Chadwick, you live in a penthouse, you spend your summers in Montauk, your father is one of the most successful men in the world…” Barb flashed Karl a grin. “That’s a princess in our book.”

  “You’d just tell them about your life, the places you go, the stores you shop in, the kind of makeup you love to wear, all of that,” her dad volunteered. “Sounds like fun, huh?” he asked, smiling his Public Appearance smile.

  Stores she shopped in? she thought. Could her dad possibly be serious?

  “I’m… uh… flattered, but honestly, I don’t think I’m right for it. At least not these days,” she added, shooting her dad a look he didn’t catch.

  “Oh come on,” her father said. “They do a Q and A, they take pictures of you in some beautiful clothes. It’ll be great.” He gave her a brief, succinct tap on the middle of her back, which she knew meant End of Discussion. “We’ll figure out a time for Carina to come by the office,” he said to Barb.

  “Thanks, Karl,” said Barb. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I see my beauty editor getting tipsy.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Ed said, and the two of them melted into the crowd.

  Carina turned to face her father. “Are you kidding me?” she said, fighting to be heard over the latest Zero 7 song.

  “What, Carina?” he sighed. He grabbed a glass of ice water from one of the passing trays. “What’s wrong now?”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to be a princess. I thought that was the whole point of what you did.”

  “It’s a story,” he explained, sipping his water. “Let’s not dramatize it too much.”

  “But it’s a lie. I know kids like the ones she’s talking about and I’m not one of them. At least not anymore. But I don’t think I ever was, either.”

  “Carina, this magazine is in trouble,” he said under his breath. “And if they want to do a sidebar on my daughter, then that’s the least I can do for it.”

  “But why do you want people to think I’m something that you don’t even want me to be?” she asked.

  He slammed his glass down on a passing tray. “Everyone knows you live a good life. You’re my daughter, for Christ’s sake. You’re not exactly suffering.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t want to be your daughter anymore. Maybe I’d just like to be Carina.”

  The Jurg’s jaw muscle pulsed in and out as he looked at her. “What did you say?”

  “I have to go,” she muttered, almost backing right into a snapping photographer.

  “Carina—” he said, but she didn’t wait. She turned and hustled through the crowd, brushing past bulky handbags and pointy shoulders. She knew leaving like this was rude and immature, but right now, she didn’t care. She was too angry. Her dad was a complete hypocrite, and she just needed to get out of there. As she rounded the corner into the foyer, she bumped up against the mock-up of Princess on its stand. It tumbled to the ground.

  People looked up from their champagne flutes. One of the photographers snapped a picture. Carina looked down at the mock-up, wondering whether to pick it up. In the suite, she could see her father watching her, his narrowed dark eyes glittering like black stars as he shook his head.

  Then the elevator opened.

  Oh, who cares, she thought, and ran inside.

  chapter 12

  “I should be on the list,” she said, knotting her scarf closer around her throat as a chilly wind blew down Spring Street. “Jurgensen with a J. Matty Banks put me on.”

  The bouncer glanced at his clipboard and then rubbed his stubbly chin as he sized her up. He was as big as a linebacker, and so thick around the shoulders that his leather jacket seemed liable to snap off at any moment. Standing in front of him Carina felt about eight years old. “You got ID?” he asked, tapping the list with his pen.

  “I forgot it,” she said confidently. Her dad had once told her that people will believe anything as long as you sound confident.

  He looked her up and down. “Ten minutes,” he said brusquely, unfastening the velvet rope in front of the door. “And no drinking.”

  “No prob’m,” she said.

  She had absolutely no interest in drinking, ever since she’d swigged a vodka and tonic thinking it was 7UP when she was ten years old and almost barfed. “Thanks,” she said out of the side of her mouth, and walked into the Luxelle Lounge.

  The Luxelle Lounge was so exclusive that it didn’t have a phone number or a name on the door. Inside, it was as cool as Carina had pictured. Red velvet booths lined the walls, covered by gauzy curtains. Tea lights flickered along the massive cherrywood bar. Groovy French hip-hop played on the PA system. And on the stage at the back of the room, waiting like props for a play, were Matty’s turntables and speakers, bathed in red lights.

  Carina looked around self-consciously. She’d never been in a bar by herself, and figured someone was about to call the police or Child Services. But nobody seemed to notice her. Not the silky-haired female bartenders shaking their martini shakers, or the beautiful waitress who glided past her without a word. The few people at the bar didn’t turn around. But someone had noticed her. A guy who looked to be her age stood in the corner, sipping a glass of water as he quietly studied her.

  He was thin and wiry like a skater, with dark hair that was cut a little too short on top to be stylish. He wore dark green pants, beat-up Stan Smiths, and an Arctic Monkeys T-shirt over a long-sleeved gray thermal. He was kind of cute with his sculpted cheekbones and big brown eyes, but he was a little on the small side, and he looked like an artsy guy. Artsy guys weren’t really her thing. They were always way too into their music to be bothered with girls, or sports, or hanging out with the guys. But from the way this artsy guy was staring at her, he seemed much more interested in her than in, say, downloading another Arcade Fire album.

  Suddenly a guy’s howling voice made her jump.

  From out of the shadows came “CaREEEna! CaREENa JAY!”

  Matty Banks was half strutting, half shambling toward her, as if he were too cool to take actual steps. He looked even taller and skinnier than the last time she’d seen him, and he’d grown a scruff of beard to go along with his permanent bedhead. Lots of girls thought Matty Banks was hot, but Carina was always a little turned off by guys who were thinner than she was. As he approached, he leaned backward and sang her name out again to the ceiling.

  “CaREEEEna! What’s up, Karl Junior?” he said, arching his back and giving her a big high five.

  “Hey, Matty!” she said, returning the high five as best she could. “Good to see you.”

  Matty threw his arm around her and brought her face-to-face with the Howard Johnson logo on his T-shirt. “Babe! So good to hear from you! Your dad like that iPod I set up for him?”

  “He loves it. I think he’s already lost ten pounds from running so much,” she said.

  “Yo, Amber!” Matty yelled toward the bar, cupping his hand. “Slide me a Rockstar when you have a sec!”

  One of the silky-haired bartenders nodded at him.

  “And one for my friend, okay?” he yelled again, taking her by the arm and steering her toward one of the red leather booths.

  “So what’s up?” he asked as Carina finally wriggled out of his grip and sat down. “You said you’re doing a party?” His hands beat out a frantic staccato rhythm on the table as his eyes swept the room. She remembered that Matty had a classic case of attention deficit disorder.

  “It’s the Silver Snowflake Ball,” she said. “It’s for all the private-school kids in the city. It’s black-tie, invitation-only. They do it every year. It’s kind of a big deal.”

  “Sounds awesome, little J,” he said, checking out the beautiful waitress as she came over with their drinks and placed them on the table.

  “Anyway, all the money for tickets goes to charity,” she went on, trying to regain his attention. “And not
hing would make this event cooler than having you there to DJ. So what do you think?” She took a sip of the energy drink and almost gagged.

  Matty gulped his drink, staring at something past her head. “So it’s not for your dad?” he asked.

  “Uh, no,” she repeated. “But it’s a really great cause. Cosmetic surgery for people who can’t afford it, which is really important. And I’m pretty sure I could get you Rockstar drinks all night for free. But because it’s a charity and everything, we wouldn’t be able to pay you.”

  His eyes suddenly stopped roaming the room and landed on her.

  “But I’m sure you’re okay with that,” she prompted.

  Matty set down his bottle and studied the table for a moment. “Right, well… I’d love to help you out, dude, but I don’t think I can do it. I’m just too booked up.”

  “But I haven’t even told you when it is yet.”

  Matty shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just slammed. Like, all through Christmas, all through New Year’s. Gotta make a living, right?” Before she could respond, he downed the rest of his drink and got to his feet. “Wish I could help you out. Seriously. But say hi to your dad for me. He knows how to reach me, right?”

  “Sure,” she said tonelessly.

  He clutched her hand and gave her a bro-style handshake. “Awesome. Hope you’re hanging around for the show. I’m taking requests,” he joked, winking at her, and then he ambled off toward the bar.

  She kicked at the table leg in frustration. That had been a total waste of time. Yes, Matty was still obsessed with her dad, and yes, he still liked her. But not enough to forget about getting paid. That was why he thought her dad was a rock star. That was why he’d taken a meeting with her. For the same reason Roberta had: because he thought it meant another fat paycheck.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw the gargantuan bouncer approach the table. “Time’s up,” he said as he grabbed her arm. “You want us to lose our liquor license?”

  “I’m leaving, I promise!” she yelled as he yanked her to her feet. She twisted her arm to get free but the bouncer’s hand was too strong. “Hey, hands off! What’s your problem?”

  Just as Carina was about to send a swift kick into the guy’s massive leg, the skater guy with the big brown eyes stepped neatly in front of them.

  “Ruben, man, chill,” he said calmly, holding up the palms of his hands. “No need for theatrics.”

  “You know this girl?” the bouncer demanded.

  “ ’Course I do, and she’s about to leave,” the guy said calmly. He stepped closer, so close that she could see that he had nice white teeth and long dark eyelashes. “No offense, dude,” he said, “but dragging her out of here kind of makes you look like a jackass.”

  Ruben released his blood-stopping grip on her arm. Whoever this guy was, it was clear that Ruben did not want to look like a jackass in front of him.

  “If anything happens, it’s your fault,” Ruben muttered before stomping out the door.

  “Sorry about that,” Artsy Guy said, coming closer. “They can get a little paranoid around here.”

  “But not about you?” she asked, rubbing her burning arm.

  “I come here a lot,” he said casually. “But you’re obviously new.” He cocked his head and stared at her. “I’m gonna say Park Avenue, tennis camp, East Hampton, and only goes below Fourteenth Street to shop at Marc Jacobs,” he said with a nod at her purse.

  “Martin Meloy,” she corrected, hiding her bag behind her legs. “And what are you? The Hipster Police?”

  The guy smiled. “No, I’m Alex,” he said, sticking out his hand. “Alex Suarez.”

  “Carina.” They shook hands.

  “And I’m not a hipster,” he shot back.

  “And I don’t live on Park Avenue,” she said.

  “Got it,” he conceded. “How do you know Matty Banks? Please tell me you’re not dating him,” he added, running a hand through his short black hair.

  “I was just trying to hire him. For the Silver Snowflake Ball. It’s this dance every Christmas—”

  “I know what it is,” he interrupted. “I go to Stuyvesant.” He grinned. “Which means I’ve never been invited.”

  Stuyvesant was one of the city’s public high schools, which meant that its students would never, ever turn up on Ava’s list of potential invitees.

  “Well, it’s not life-changing or anything,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t even be going if I weren’t planning it.”

  “Uh-huh,” Alex said, grinning even harder now. She felt her face get warm. Usually she was the one who called people out on their ridiculousness, and now he was doing it to her. “So’s Matty gonna do it?” he asked.

  “No, he can’t. He’s all booked up.”

  “You just lucked out,” Alex said. “He’s terrible.”

  “Terrible?” Carina repeated. “He’s the most famous DJ in the world.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’s good,” Alex replied, hitching his hands under his armpits. “I’ve seen him spin three times in the past six months, and he’s played the same set every time. Just because he’s got a Grammy and he sleeps with models, he thinks he doesn’t have to try.” Alex snorted. “He’s a total disgrace to the DJ profession.”

  Carina folded her arms. “You’re a DJ?” she countered.

  “Yup,” he said, scratching his neck. “And I can guarantee you I’m better than he is.”

  “You are?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said coolly, smiling at her.

  “What grade are you in?” she asked.

  “Eleventh.” He looked up at the ceiling. “And my mom knows all about it, and I have an A-minus average. Okay?”

  “Fine,” she said. “But you’re seriously better than him?”

  Just then the groovy French hip-hop was replaced with a remix of a Bee Gees song. They looked over and saw Matty standing behind the turntables, wearing his headphones.

  “Now that’s original,” Alex muttered under his breath. “Look. If you really want someone good, you should have me do it. And if you’re still not sure, then here. I’m spinning tomorrow. Come see me and decide for yourself.” He pulled a flyer out of the pocket of his jeans and gave it to her. The headline said TUESDAYS WITH DJ ALEXX AT CLUB NESHKA.

  “You have two x’s in your name?” she asked skeptically.

  “It’s my stage name.” He shrugged. “You gotta do something.”

  “Club Neshka?”

  “It’s one of the coolest places in the city. Trust me.”

  “I thought this was the coolest place in the city,” she said.

  Alex shook his head. “Then all the more reason you need to come to Club Neshka.”

  Carina dropped the flyer in her bag. “Okay, I’ll see you there. Tomorrow. Eight o’clock. And you better be good, Alex with the two x’s.”

  “Don’t worry, I will be,” Alex said simply, and walked away.

  As she headed to the velvet-curtained exit, she couldn’t quite put her finger on Alex Suarez. Sure, he was a little bit of a know-it-all, and cocky as hell, but he seemed smart and to have a good heart. And talking to him was weirdly comfortable. Almost as if she’d known him her whole life.

  She looked down again at the flyer. It seemed a little sketchy, hiring a guy her age for a party that Ava wanted to have mentioned in the Times’s style section. But maybe this guy was better than Matty Banks. And at least he wasn’t wearing a Howard Johnson T-shirt and singing out her name to the ceiling, she thought as she stepped through the front door.

  chapter 13

  “So you just walked into this place and nobody even carded you?” Hudson asked incredulously, her chopsticks poised over a cucumber roll.

  “Matty had me on the list. I told you guys he’d give me a meeting right away.” Carina looked down at her soggy turkey and Swiss sandwich. She’d been so proud when she’d made it herself last night in the empty kitchen—spreading Dijon on the bread, folding in the lettuce, deseeding the slice of to
mato. Now it looked and felt like a wet sponge.

  “So is Million Dollar Matty gonna do this dance for free?” Lizzie asked.

  “Well…” Carina hedged. “He turned out to be all booked up.”

  Just as she expected, Lizzie and Hudson gave her a We Told You So look.

  “You guys, please,” Carina groaned. “Stop.”

  “Okay, fine,” Lizzie said, biting off a piece of her delicious-looking spinach and turkey wrap. “But we’re just worried. Especially since Ava’s already paid you.”

  “Okay, first?” Carina said. “Everyone’s taken a meeting with me right away. The chef from Café Luz? Filippo? He’s meeting me tonight. And as for the DJ, I’ve already found a replacement.” She closed her eyes and bit into her sandwich. It didn’t taste nearly as bad as it looked.

  “Well, that’s good,” Hudson said. “Who is he?”

  “This really cool guy I met at the Luxelle. He’s our age. And he’s DJing tonight at some place on East Broadway, if anyone wants to come with me.”

  “East Broadway?” Lizzie waggled her eyebrows. “Where is that?”

  “Somewhere downtown,” Carina said knowingly, even though she wasn’t sure where it was either.

  “Well, you know I would, but I’m still grounded,” Lizzie said.

  “And I have some last-minute studio stuff to do,” Hudson explained. “And then I have dance practice.”

  “Wow,” Carina said. “Your mom’s really turning up the pressure on you.”

  “I know.” Hudson put down her chopsticks. “I don’t know if I can do this, you guys.”

  “Do what?” Lizzie asked. “Finish the album?”

  “No,” Hudson said carefully, picking the sesame seeds off her roll with the pointy edge of a chopstick. “The performing. The singing and dancing. The stuff in front of people,” she said, her voice so low it was practically a whisper.

  “H, if there were ever anyone who was cut out to do this, it’s you,” Carina said, finishing her sandwich.

  “It’s normal to have jitters,” added Lizzie. “You’d be weird if you didn’t. But you can totally do this. And it’s not like you’re going to be doing your first show at Madison Square Garden. You’ll have time to work up to it.”