by Kim Karr
I shook my head.
She pulled out her phone, tapped a few buttons, and showed me. “May our ideals RIP. #Bestfuckingfriends #Somethingsshouldneverdie.”
“I really have missed him,” I sighed.
“Me too but at least his social media obsession keeps us up to date with his daily life,” Lily replied with a wink.
“That’s true.”
“Last chance,” she said.
For one moment, I thought about backing out but I plastered a smile on my face instead. “I’m fine. Now let’s go have some fun.”
The door opened and a big black umbrella was held above it. I placed my hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “I’ll take a cab home, so don’t wait up for my call.”
Hugh had been our family’s driver since I was eight years old.
“Miss Phoebe,” he said in his heavy English accent. “You know your father insists I see to it that you make it home safely.”
With one foot out the door, I tried not to laugh at the irony that even from his jail cell, my father still felt the need to watch over me. “I promise I will.”
He shook his head with a heavy sigh, conceding quickly before an argument arose that he knew he’d never win.
I gave him a little squeeze before dropping my other foot to the ground. “Have a good night.”
As of that morning, Hugh’s duties had been transferred from our family’s personal driver, to a driver for the Saint Hotel. He’d still drive my mother as well, of course. Poppy had all but refused to cut back and I knew losing her driver wouldn’t sit well. Soon enough she would be feeling the repercussions of not doing as I had suggested. The Hamptons house went on the market last year and sold right away so that kept her bank account full over the past year. But with no money coming in from The Saint Corporation, I estimated within a year she’d have nothing left.
The trust fund I had access to was also almost empty. My grandfather had divided the money in half—I got the first half when I turned twenty-one and the second when I turn thirty-one, which was still five years away. Most of what I had was used for my father’s legal defense when all of his and my mother’s assets were frozen. I was surprised that my father dragged the proceedings out as long as he did. I knew he was guilty. Everyone knew he was guilty. He’d been charged once before though, when I was little, and had gotten off. I think that’s why he refused to plead guilty. But this time it cost him—no us—a fortune. And he wasn’t acquitted as he was over twenty years ago. I had never thought of my father as selfish, but I did now. After everything, in the end, to receive a lighter sentence, he finally did plead guilty.
By then the St. Claire fortune had been nearly depleted. My parents had been living beyond their means for years anyway, so it didn’t take much to empty them once their accounts had been released.
I had to turn the company around. If not we were not only going to be penniless, we would be homeless. My apartment was a rental, with a steep rent. My lease would be up next month and I planned to move out of the Park Avenue apartment my mother had insisted on when I went to grad school. But my mother would never leave her home on East Seventy-Sixth Street until she was forced to. And a small part of me didn’t want her to. It was my childhood home after all. But the reasonable side of me knew that even after the second mortgage was paid off, the five-story home would sell for enough that she’d never have to worry about money.
And then I wouldn’t have to worry about her.
The open velvet rope was only a few feet away but it seemed so much farther. I grabbed on to Lily’s arm to steady myself. I was feeling slightly tipsy from the wine and my mind was running in a million different directions.
My mother.
My father.
My job.
I took a deep breath.
The cool air felt good in my lungs. It helped to shift my mind away from my problems. I looked at Lily; she was worried about me, I could tell. But I knew I’d be fine. Today I was allowed to be down but tomorrow I would pick myself back up. Still, I wanted to ease her mind. With thoughts of the flick we had just watched, more specifically of the very hot, very sexy Captain America, slamming into my head, I decided to do something to convince Lily I was okay.
So I held my phone to my ear in mock conversation and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Hello, Marvel Studios, I really want to play the Black Widow in the next Captain America movie.”
She looped her arm through mine and her dirty-sounding chuckle was loud. “Gorgeous, all legs, and sexy vixen with a husky voice—yeah I’d say that part works for you.”
Flashing a smile at the bouncer, I stopped. “We’re Danny Capshaw’s guests, Phoebe St. Claire and Lily Monroe.”
He glanced down at his clipboard and nodded for us to pass.
Danny belonged to some entertainment circuit that had come to the city last year, called Jet Set. It was the hottest new thing—membership not only allowed exclusive weekend access into some of the city’s hottest clubs, it was the only way to gain VIP status. It was brilliant. Nothing the rich and famous valued more than exclusivity. And they were more than willing to pay—a lot. Membership fees were ridiculously high.
The soles of my high heels clicked on the red and white checked floor, and as soon as we entered the club, my vision blurred as the pink walls coated everything in my sight with a slight blush. I looked over to Lily. “By the way, I was thinking more like a pistol-toting badass, but I’ll take sexpot.”
Right in front of a fifteen-foot Rorschach print by Andy Warhol, Lily snorted, “You’d have to remove the cobwebs from your vagina to even remotely gain that title.”
“It hasn’t been that long.”
She rolled her eyes.
“What? It hasn’t. Just because when you and Preston are on, you do it morning, noon, and night doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”
She shrugged. “I can’t help it if I have an overactive libido.”
I had to laugh.
“And besides, most younger couples do it more than once a week.”
“Dawson and I did it more than that but even if we didn’t, I’m sure we’d be considered way more normal than you and Preston.”
With a tug of my hand, Lily led me toward our table. “Let’s see what everyone else has to say about it.”
“Oh God, let’s not.”
Everyone else was our four best friends. We had pledged growing up we wouldn’t turn into our parents but as of that very morning the last of us entered the ranks. Now, each and every one of us had joined our prospective family businesses. Making it official, we’ve broken the vow. And now we’re doing the only thing we can—gathering together to bury it.
Morbid yet true.
Making our way through the crowd, I noticed the way the glass shelves that towered over the bar seemed to shimmer with the aged scotches and exotic liquors. It was a Saturday night, and like most Saturday nights in every nightclub all around the world, the patrons were out to celebrate. But unlike everyone else, we were coming together to mourn the death of our young ideals.
Coincidence the burial was taking place on the same day as my canceled wedding?
I hardly thought so.
It had to have been a sign that it was time to put them both to rest.
The Rose Bar was the newest addition to Jet Set. Danny met the owner of Jet Set last year while he was partying in a club in Miami. Under its new management, the Rose Bar had been touted as one of America’s swankiest clubs. It even had a fleet of white cars, including Hummers, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Porches, used to pick up and drop off Jet Set members.
The club was packed and brimming with wealthy men and women, some of whom I was sure would turn up on Page Six. Because the men and women inside weren’t just anyones, we were all someones—the great-granddaughter of Eisenhower, the great nephew of Ford, a great cousin of Kennedy. No one needed to know how many greats were before our name—it was irrelevant. The bloodlines were all that ever mattered.
I rolled my
eyes at the thought and draped my leather jacket over my arm. My little black dress fell a few inches above my knees and the vertical lines of crystals gave it some shape. I preferred comfort to style in a way that seemed to separate me from my peers whose motto was all fashion.
Lily and I passed a brilliant red billiards table and a loud cackle of laughter caused me to look up. At the center booth, in the middle of the VIP section sat a bunch of guys. Even as Lily continued to pull me along, my eyes stayed locked where they were, as if some kind of magnetic force wouldn’t allow my gaze to shift.
The guys in the booth toasted one another and then slammed back their drinks, laughing boisterously. However, when a group of scantily clad women walked by their table, they all stopped talking. The women eyed the guys as languorously as they possibly could, hoping for an invitation to join them, I was sure. The guys stared back with equal vigor.
I knew those guys.
I dropped Lily’s hand and walked closer. Standing at the edge of the stairs, I recognized a few of the girls’ faces from grad school at Stern. My eyes redirected to the horseshoe of men in the booth, also from Stern. Lars Jefferson was the bookend to the group. In grad school he was always the loudest, most obnoxious, and most arrogant guy on campus. He held his elite social status as a pass—a pass to do and say anything he wanted. Unfortunately, he was also Dawson’s best friend.
I never could stand him.
He leaned forward and that’s when I saw the blond hair I’d have known anywhere.
Dawson.
I froze, glued to the spot I was standing in.
It had been three months since I’d broken up with Dawson. Six weeks after we set the date. The day I was supposed to move in with him. Now I couldn’t help but stare. Of all the places to run into him, I never thought I’d see him here.
Lars stared at the women. He took his time choosing the girl he wanted and then beckoned her with his smile. I watched as it went down, needing to see if my ex-fiancé did the same. Lars tipped his chin and sure enough the woman beamed with glee. Dawson just sat there while a few of the other guys followed Lars’ lead.
The girl Lars showed interest in brushed her jet-black bangs away from her face, patted her hips with her hands, and walked slowly to the table. I was certain she must have known who he was and probably also knew he was involved with someone, but from the white-toothed smile Lars gave her as she walked over, she must have been confident that didn’t matter.
“Hi,” she said to him.
I was good at lipreading. I’d spent a great deal of time watching people. No, I’d studied couple’s interactions. It was an unhealthy habit I had picked up when I was lost. But it was Dawson who had helped me stop. It was Dawson who helped me live again. It was Dawson with that group of men looking to fuck any girl they could. And it was Dawson who I had let go.
Ice formed in my belly.
Lars ran his eyes up and down the girl’s body, as if he was trying to assess her dress size. Then he gave Dawson a sideways look. Dawson shrugged. If it was because he wasn’t interested or didn’t care, I couldn’t tell. But then Dawson shifted his eyes toward a pretty blonde who walked by and Lars did the same. I had to assume Lars maybe just wanted what Dawson was interested in.
Prick.
Hand on hip, the woman did a runway turn, like a schoolgirl in front of her bedroom mirror and started to walk toward them again. When she passed, Dawson nudged Lars. Comically, Lars got up and chased her.
My eyes settled on Dawson. There were so many guys in the club and they were just as handsome as the ones at that center table, but none of them were as eligible as those bachelors sitting together. None of them had ever been married, each was under thirty years old, and surprisingly, each was very gainfully employed. They were New York City’s biggest catches and every Eloise could only hope to land one of them.
Why had I been the exception?
“Stop shooting daggers his way. He’s not doing anything wrong,” Lily barked at me.
I blinked a few times, suddenly realizing I was doing just what she said I was. The shock I felt that Dawson would join that crowd looking for a meaningless hookup was quickly replaced by hurt.
Over the thumping bass of the music, Lily said, “Come on. You’re staring.”
I gaped at her. “I’m not staring,” I snapped.
She took my hand. “Hey, are you okay?”
I nodded.
“Do you remember why you broke up with him?” she asked.
I nodded again.
“Then let’s go.”
I didn’t move. “I just feel a little confused right now.”
Her grip around my fingers tightened. “I know. And you know I love you and I’m only looking out for you when I remind you again that you broke up with him for a reason, and a good one. So quit looking like you wish you were still together.”
My eyes focused on my best friend. “I don’t regret the breakup.”
She dropped her hold on my hand and moved to stand in front of me, blatantly blocking my view. “I know you don’t and you shouldn’t. He wasn’t right for you.”
I pursed my lips. “I wasn’t right for him.”
Her face filled with concern. “You weren’t right for each other. So why the sad face?”
I bit my lip in contemplation. “This is the first time I’ve seen him since he brought over my stuff. He looks happy.”
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Good. Now you can stop feeling guilty.”
I nodded.
I wished it was that easy.
She turned on her heels. “Come on, tonight’s the last night we’ll all be together for a long time.”
With a genuine smile forming on my lips, I shifted my eyes to find our friends. Jamie was lounging in a booth on the other side of the VIP section. The neon lights from the disco ball above the dance floor flickered all around him as he took a large gulp of his scotch, maybe trying to wash down the bad taste of the last foreclosure he had to make that put someone on the street.
Emmy was filming him with a video camera, probably wishing she could film the two of them together. When we were younger, she had aspirations of going to Hollywood and being an actress. She settled on home movie production for the time being and brought her video camera everywhere. Her parents held her trust fund over her head to keep her in New York. Soon though, when she turned thirty, she would have complete ownership and then, we were sure, she’d be gone.
Logan was in a deep discussion over in the corner of the bar, about what was anyone’s guess—he never discussed his job or his life. Although a good friend, I knew very little about him. He was the quiet, secretive one.
A lot like me.
But his reasons for remaining quiet were different from mine—mine were internal, the way I felt about myself and this world of ours. His were more external. He’d grown up in two very different worlds and I think he struggled with which one he belonged in.
Danny made me laugh. He was dancing with some guy I’d never seen before. Throwing his hands around like a rapper, more than likely mourning the loss of his freedom. Always the happy-go-lucky one in the group, he’d recently joined the ranks of the employed, sitting beside his father and learning the ropes of the gaming industry that had made his great-great-grandfather billions. Of all of us he had held out the longest. Went on sabbatical after grad school to find himself but when he came back he found himself all right, right beside his tycoon father being groomed to run the family-owned business.
These people gathered here tonight were like my family. We grew up together, went to the same parties, to the same schools, and once upon a time we all hated the life that having money brought. Those days were long over. We’d tried our best to hold on to them, but life took over and crushed those ideals. We had all decided further education was the quickest and easiest way to avoid the family binds that awaited us. Me, it wasn’t the business I was avoiding. I just didn’t care what path I took and where it led. But none of
it had mattered because when we graduated, whether it was with an MBA, law degree, or other certification, the family calling was inevitable.
Lily Monroe, textile heiress, was learning the apparel business that had been started by her great-grandfather. She loved to shop, knew clothing well, what fashions worked and what didn’t. She would make a great figurehead for the House of Monroe someday, but running the company didn’t interest her. Her goals were all short-term. She had become the true socialite of the group and hated working more than any of us. Her passion was ballet and what she wanted more than anything was to be a ballerina. But a knee injury in her freshman year at Julliard changed all that, and as time passed, Lily’s dream had too. I prayed Lily would never have to take over the family business like I had, and so did she.
Logan McPherson was the grandson of a hedge fund manager and philanthropist worth an estimated twenty billion dollars. His grandfather was one of the wealthiest men in the city, but Logan never seemed to care and he never discussed money. He was an attorney who spent most of his time in Boston. I knew he was licensed in both states but wasn’t sure if he was practicing in either. No one knew much about his work.
Emmy Lane, publishing heiress, refused to learn what it would take to run a long list of publications owned by her family and because of her resistance, her parents were not on board with her plan to relocate to LA. She hadn’t gotten the big break she was waiting for but she still continued to audition for parts here in the city. Swan Publishing might have been her family legacy but her passion was acting and she still hoped someday she would be a star.
James Ashton, Harvard graduate and real estate heir, acquired his real estate license shortly after grad school and learned quickly how to wheel and deal with the bigwigs.
And Danny, poor Danny just recently settled into his destiny, marking day one of the rest of his life. Danny had choices though. His father was a gaming heir from very old money and his mother was of the European “fast set.” Her family had founded Fiat and led a glamorous life that included elaborate parties, streamlined yachts, fast cars, and luxurious villas. Although Fiat was no longer family owned, he could have joined the board. In the end, he opted for the gaming industry. Churchill Downs was where his training would begin and he’d be based in Kentucky for the next year. He had mixed emotions about leaving the city but since he’d been back and forth for the last two years, what was one more? Well, that’s what he said anyway.