Upper East Side #9

by Ashley Valentine

  “That’s Kaliq,” Chanel announced casually.

  “Straight Kaliq?” Thaddeus wanted to know.

  Chanel shrugged. “He’s up for anything,” she giggled. “But it looks like he’s not alone.”

  A very tacky, very blond girl was clinging to Kaliq’s arm as though he were a life preserver, digging into his bicep with her long, fire-engine-red nails. Her eyes were wide open and darting around excitedly like she was on drugs.

  A distinct possibility.

  “Please tell me that’s his sister,” Thaddeus whispered. “Is she wearing teal eye shadow? Wait till I tell Serge when I get back to the hotel.”

  Chanel studied the new girl. She was indeed wearing blue eye shadow. She was also wearing head-to-toe peach, which was so...peach. Her hair was blond and vaguely frosty looking—she looked like Stripper Barbie at the beach.

  Stripper Beach Barbie? Now that’s catchy.

  “And where did she get that outfit?” Thaddeus gasped bitchily.

  Chanel didn’t have time to indulge in more catty gossip. Porsha was racing toward her, a panicked look on her face that Chanel knew all too well.

  “Shit,” Chanel muttered in a low voice.

  “Who. The. Fuck. Is. That?” Porsha hissed angrily, pushing through the gawkers and into the narrow kitchenette.

  There was no need for Chanel to ask who she was talking about.

  “Oh, honey,” Thaddeus declared kindly. “She’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “I cannot believe,” Porsha snapped, “that Kaliq had the balls to show up tonight with that trash. Where did he pick her up—the mall?”

  Well, there are plenty of those on Long Island.

  “Sit,” Thaddeus ordered, patting the countertop. “Relax.”

  “Shit!” Porsha took his advice and pulled herself up onto the kitchen counter. “I need a drink.”

  “Just stick with us,” Thaddeus suggested, leaping onto the counter himself and draping a protective arm over Porsha’s bare shoulders.

  “I didn’t think it was true.” Jaylen Harrison squeezed past Chanel to join the threesome in the kitchen. “But I guess seeing is believing, huh, ladies?”

  “Hey Jaylen,” Chanel sighed, leaning against the counter-top between Thaddeus’s widespread legs. The last thing she wanted was for Jaylen to get his claws into her gorgeous costar.

  “Porsha, back stateside!” Jaylen cried. “Good to see you.” He leaned in and dropped a quick kiss on each of her cheeks.

  “Hello, Jaylen,” Porsha replied, receiving his kisses dutifully. “Who’s the mystery bitch?” She might as well take advantage of the one good thing about Jaylen Harrison: he could always be counted on for the scoop, however inaccurate.

  “I heard about her but I’ve never actually met her,” Jaylen explained proudly. He took a swig from a freshly opened bottle of Dom Perignon. “Oh! Don’t look now,” he whispered loudly, clearly enjoying the moment, “but I think we’re about to meet and greet.”

  Kaliq led Tawny through the thicket on the dance floor toward the cluster of familiar faces in the kitchen.

  “Hey,” Kaliq shouted over the din. “Chanel. Porsha.” They looked even more gorgeous than he remembered. Like they’d been sprinkled with fairy dust.

  “Kaliq!” Chanel lunged forward to give her old friend a warm hug, trying to prevent the moment from being too unbearably awkward.

  Too late.

  “Hello,” Porsha seethed, crossing her legs and brandishing her comically long cigarette holder like a weapon. “Can I please have a light, someone?”

  Thaddeus produced his silver monogrammed Zippo and lit Porsha’s cigarette for her. The song faded into Rihanna's “Work,” and some of the ultra-hyper extras jumped into the middle of the dance floor, pretending to sing with imaginary microphones.

  “A real gentleman at last.” Porsha sighed dramatically. “Has anyone seen my date?” Just wait until Kaliq saw her French-kissing with Trey. Hah!

  “Porsha,” Kaliq stuttered. “You look great. Welcome back.” He didn’t know what else to say. He felt like an asshole.

  Porsha hopped down from her perch on the countertop, wobbling drunkenly in her pointy black Louboutins as she landed on the cracked tiles of the kitchen floor with a thud. “Yes, thanks.” She nodded. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m really in the mood to dance. I just need to find my partner.” She strode back into the packed living room.

  Chanel smiled apologetically at Kaliq. “I’m Chanel, by the way.” She offered her hand to the new girl and noticed that she did have pretty eyes and adorable freckles on every inch of her skin.

  But isn’t she always thinking of something nice to say?

  “I’m Tawny,” the girl said in a thick accent that made it sound like Tauh-awe-nie.

  “Right, sorry,” Kaliq mumbled. “Chanel, this is Tawny.”

  “And Thaddeus.” Chanel squeezed the movie star’s arm. “This is Kaliq and Tawny.”

  Thaddeus jumped down from the countertop and shook hands warmly, first with Kaliq, then with Tawny. A drunk girl wearing a purple off-the-shoulder minidress backed into him accidentally. He gently pushed the dancing girl away from the kitchen.

  “It’s great to meet you both,” he responded charmingly.

  He really is a good actor.

  “Ahem!” Jaylen cleared his throat dramatically. “And I’m Jaylen.”

  “Tawny.” The girl adjusted the straps on her teeny peach purse and offered him her hand before turning back to look at Thaddeus, wide-eyed and practically drooling.

  “Enchanted,” Jaylen cooed, kissing her hand and bowing deeply. “Let’s get to know each other, darling. You don’t mind, do you, Kaliq?”

  Kaliq would have told him no, go right ahead, but he was distracted by the sight of Porsha, holding hands with some tall banker-type, laughing with her head thrown back. She was introducing him to an older, impeccably dressed short man, and there was something familiar in the excited way she was flirting with both of them that filled Kaliq with longing.

  “Excuse me,” Kaliq stammered. “I have to go.”

  As he headed for the door, he heard Jaylen say, “By the way, you’ve really got some tan.”

  Tawny, indeed.

  43

  “Darling! Dar-ling!” Bailey Winter screeched at Porsha. “You must—I repeat, must—stay with me on the island this summer. You are perfection.”

  They were standing in the bedroom doorway, which was as far away as Porsha could get from the kitchen without actually losing sight of it. She tucked her dark, almost shoulder-length hair behind her ears self-conciously. She’d always liked getting a compliment, but what did you say when someone called you perfect?

  How about “thank you”?

  “I’m starting a new collection. It’s called Summer/Winter.” Bailey made a motion with his hands that Porsha suspected was supposed to convey the seasons but instead looked seizure-like. “And you, my love, are Winter.”

  Trey placed his big, soothing hand on the nape of her neck. “That’s incredible, Porsha,” he said sweetly.

  It was incredible, but out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but watch Kaliq, with his glittering green eyes and perfectly worn baby blue Polo, backing away from Chanel and Jaylen and that townie whore and exiting the party. Where the fuck was he going?

  “And Chanel is Summer!” Bailey cried, snapping Porsha back to attention. He snapped his mirrored aviator sunglasses off his face and stared excitedly into the overhead light.

  Porsha made eye contact with Chanel across the dance floor. Of course, being one of two muses hadn’t exactly been part of the fantasy, but if she had to share the limelight with anyone, then it should be her best friend.

  How generous.

  “I’ll need you both to live with me, of course. For inspiration, darling! Don’t worry—there’s plenty of room for visitors in the beach house!” he singsonged, winking at Trey.

  Porsha watched Kaliq bump fists with Jeremy Scot
t from his lacrosse team out in the hallway. She sometimes wondered how much guys really told one another in the locker room. Had he told them all about the first time they’d had sex? What about how he’d done it with Chanel? Porsha looked down to see that her hands were suddenly clenched in little fists.

  “Well, I’d love to visit.” Trey pulled Porsha closer. “If she wants me to.”

  Bailey put his aviators back on and pushed them down the bridge of his nose. “I’ll take you if she won’t!” He laughed and then clapped his hands together. “Oh, that must terrify you! Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you ask me to!” Bailey squealed in delight.

  Porsha set a prim smile on her lips. She was having a hard time concentrating on Bailey’s voice. He’d called her perfect—she’d heard that.

  Of course she had.

  But what was this about living with him? Well, that could work. Although she’d just told Trey she’d be staying here, Bailey’s palatial townhouse on 62ndand Park would suit her just fine before jetting off to Yale in a couple months. Surely Audrey Hepburn had had some similar set up as a muse? “I have a feeling my mom will be dropping by for ‘tea’ every afternoon,” she offered.

  “Will she be on Georgica, too?” Bailey asked, arching his unnaturally high, dark eyebrows even higher. “How wonderful!”

  “Georgia?” Porsha creased her forehead. Did Bailey always have to be so strange?

  “No darling, Georgica. At the beach house? In East Hampton? Where we’ll all be?” he explained. “Are you feeling all right, dear?”

  Wait, the Hamptons? As in, the Hamptons where Kaliq and that little townie slut were going to be all summer long? Why hadn’t he mentioned that before?

  Well, he had.

  “Yes,” Porsha confirmed, although she was shaking her head no. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m afraid the guest house is set back on the property and it’s a bit close to the neighbors, although they’re hardly ever there. Perhaps you know them, dear? The Braxtons? Their son seems to be around this summer. About your age. Devilishly handsome?”

  Oh, she knew him, all right.

  You know what they say: love thy neighbor!

  44

  Mekhi clambered up the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor to the roof, climbing outside and into the night. The building wasn’t high enough to see the East River, but he could smell it, rank and fishy. Still, there was something magical about dusk in New York in the summertime.

  He lit a Newport and puffed on it greedily. Through the uneven tar roof he could feel the beat of the bass and hear the dull roar of the crowd. He needed to sit and think things through in solitude. Strolling to the edge of the roof, he peered into the back garden and in the pitch darkness he almost stepped on Nicole, seated near the roof’s edge in a lotus position, eyes closed, her turquoise skirt fanned around her.

  “Nicole, are you okay?”

  “Mekhi,” she replied calmly. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “You’re smoking.”

  Shit.

  He tossed the burning butt into the night. “Sorry,” he appologized sheepishly.

  “You don’t need to apologize,” she said in a voice so neutral it was condescending.

  Mekhi took a seat next to her on the roof as darkness descended. The backyard was so dark he could just barely make out the sparse tops of lilac bushes and the burning embers of people’s cigarettes. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend they were on top of a mountain in the Pacific Northwest, but even his poet’s imagination wasn’t quite that strong.

  There’s no oxygen up here. Not enough for two...

  “I won’t mind if you want to smoke,” Nicole continued. “I wish you wouldn’t, because it’s bad for your body and it’s bad for the earth, but you’re an individual. You can do what you like.”

  Mekhi didn’t feel like arguing. He shook out another cigarette and lit it. There. He felt better already.

  “I’m sorry you had to come up here after me,” Nicole apologized.

  Mekhi decided not to mention that he hadn’t been looking for Nicole, just a minute of peace and nicotine.

  “Anyway, I thought you’d be downstairs talking to Yasmine. It certainly seems like you two have a lot of things to say to one another.”

  Mekhi didn’t know how to respond. The truth was, he didn’t really believe he and Yasmine were going to be living together for the rest of the summer as...friends.

  Friends with benefits, maybe?

  “I’m not mad or anything,” Nicole assured him, and she sounded like she meant it. “We’ve had a nice time together these past few weeks, haven’t we?”

  “Definitely,” Mekhi agreed, nodding. He knew what was coming.

  “I’ve really enjoyed the experience of getting to know you, getting to understand you a little, as a person. That’s always a magical journey, don’t you think?”

  Oh boy.

  “Right, right,” Mekhi replied. Her philosophy-of-life mumbo jumbo was getting kind of old. He’d be glad when he didn’t have to listen to it anymore.

  “And it’s okay to be sad when the journey ends,” she said. “But our paths are diverging. Your life path has taken you to a big Hollywood party. That’s just not something that I understand. My path is leading me elsewhere.”

  He’d gambled his education and his entire future on a romance with Yasmine, and he was comfortable with that. But he’d gambled his entire future with Yasmine on Nicole? What had he been thinking?

  Nicole stood and stretched, holding her hands high above her head and exhaling deeply. Only her bright white camisole was visible in the dark, so she looked like she was floating, legless.

  “Oh, Mekhi.” She sniffled a little. “It is hard to say goodbye, isn’t it? I try to remember what my yogi teaches about letting go of things, but it’s hard. I mean, I’m still just a student.”

  Suddenly it didn’t seem hard to say goodbye at all. Mekhi hugged her weakly because it seemed like the right thing to do, then watched her disappear through the trap door. He was kind of glad that they were breaking up, and he was definitely psyched she was going to leave. He’d learned a lot from her, about nature, about exercise, about spirituality, but he’d reached his breaking point. He just wanted a cigarette, a minute of peace, and then he’d head downstairs and go home with Yasmine—in a just-friends sort of way.

  “Bummer,” uttered a male voice in the darkness.

  Why was it so hard to get a minute alone?

  “Who’s that?” All Mekhi could see was a cherry tip and the telltale scent of a joint.

  “Sorry, dude.” Kaliq stepped closer to Mekhi. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I guess you didn’t realize I was up here.”

  “Oh, hey.” Mekhi recognized the preppy stoner guy who’d broken Bree's heart last fall. Bree seemed to have gotten over it pretty fast, though, so there were no hard feelings.

  “You’re taking it pretty well,” Kaliq commented.

  “Honestly, man,” Mekhi replied philosophically, “it just wasn’t meant to be. I thought she was someone I was interested in. I mean, I thought I was ready for a change. But you know what? I was wrong. I think I just fell into the trap of being excited by the idea of someone new, even though we were totally wrong for each other.”

  “Really?” Kaliq coughed. The thing Mekhi had just described sounded sort of familiar.

  “The thing is,” Mekhi continued, waxing philosophical, “there’s a girl downstairs, and she’s the one, man. She’s the one.”

  Which one?

  “I think I know exactly what you mean,” Kaliq added, his voice an octave higher than normal. “And that chick was right, too—there are, like, paths, right, and sometimes they just...diverge. Right?”

  Whoa.

  “I don’t know about paths,” Mekhi replied, even though the whole paths-diverging thing was actually borrowed from Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Less Traveled,” which he’d actually quoted in his graduation speech. “I’m kind of sick of all this New Age bulls
hit, to tell you the truth.”

  “Yeah?” asked Kaliq. It sounded kind of cool to him.

  Of course it did.

  45

  Kaliq pushed past a couple of girls in full-on shimmy mode and scanned the room. It was so crowded he could barely find a familiar face.

  Or maybe he was just too high.

  He hadn’t expected to have any kind of epiphany at this dumb Hollywood party. This was supposed to be the summer when he got serious, when he turned his back on parties and weed and chasing girls who were more trouble than they were worth. This was supposed to be the summer he worked hard and used his hands and did some honest, challenging labor and got to know himself and prepared for his career at Yale. Captain Braxton and even Coach Michaels were determined that Kaliq head off to Yale a different man, a new man, able to handle responsibility. And now, suddenly, Kaliq felt like he already was that new guy.

  That was fast.

  Something Mekhi had said really stuck with him: his life was right here, waiting for him, inside this shitty, overcrowded apartment. The girl he was meant to be with was right here, and the only honorable thing to do was to break the news to the girl he wasn’t meant to be with.

  But he couldn’t find Tawny’s familiar golden mane anywhere; the place was that packed. Kaliq pushed his way across the dance floor, ignoring the beckoning wave of some short, overly tanned weirdo who was wearing sunglasses even though they were inside. There was no time for small talk. He was a man on a mission.

  Kaliq slipped into the tiny sliver of a kitchen and hopped up onto the countertop. From that vantage, he surveyed the apartment, looking for Tawny. The apartment was completely packed. There were faces he recognized—Imani and Alexis huddled in a corner, whispering to each other as usual; that grim-looking bald girl was talking to some little kids—but for the most part, the room was crowded with strangers