Julia takes the clothes obediently. “Turn around. I don’t do the public nudity thing like you and Pia. And I like my ponytail. I get a headache when I take it out.”
“That’s your hair follicles going, ooo, finally! We can stretch!” With my back to Julia while she changes, I do an imitation of hair follicles stretching, and she cracks up.
“You are not the cool bitch I always thought you were, Angie James.”
“And you’re totally the tactless sweetheart I always thought you were, Julia Russotti.”
“Okay, you can turn around now. Is this right?” She’s trying to tie the dress, but she’s doing it all wrong. I take over. “Thanks,” she says, suddenly relaxing a tiny bit. “I’m not good with the whole fashion thing. I fear change. You won’t believe me, but I wore the same jeans every single day in high school. I washed them at night.”
“I believe you, trust me.… So who’s this Lev guy?” I ask, arranging Julia as though she were a doll.
“Lev? No one. I mean, he’s my friend, kind of. I sit next to him at work. I like him, but I don’t like like him.… Apart from him, I don’t like any of the guys I work with at all. There are twenty guys on my team, and all of them except Lev treat me like I’m invisible and don’t have a voice, like nothing I say is worth listening to.” She’s babbling now, her nerves kicking in. “Do you know what it’s like to say something and have everyone act like no one has spoken? It fucks with your mind. Um, but I like Sam, I really do. In fact, he’s the first guy I’ve liked since Mason, remember him?” I don’t, but I nod anyway. “Sam is so fucking gorgeous, don’t you think?”
I shrug. “He’s a bit … clean-cut, isn’t he? You know. Preppy. Square.”
“Classic, you mean! He’s like a Ralph Lauren model. Or Abercrombie & Fitch.”
“Julia, Abercrombie & Fitch models are like, twelve years old.”
“Well, whatever. He won’t like me, I know he won’t, they never do. I’m going to be single forever and I will never get any action ever again. My sugar is never going to see another wang.”
“First, if you call them wangs and sugars, then, fucking hell yes, you’re never going to get any action.”
“May I call them both junk? Just generically?”
“No, you may not. Let’s start with penis and vagina and take it from there. Or you can say dick and p—”
“Don’t say that word! I hate that word.”
“Fine. Second, of course he’ll like you! Just be yourself.”
Pretty rich coming from me since I’ve always found my personality at the bottom of a vodka bottle, but whatever.
“Really?” she says. “I just, ugh, it’s so weird.… Putting myself out there is totally out of my comfort zone.”
She’s never talked to me like this before. In the past I would have assumed it’s because her go-to confidante, Pia, isn’t around much, but actually, I know that’s not true anymore. Julia and I are friends now. Real friends.
“I haven’t liked anyone like this in ages. What if he doesn’t like me back?”
“Of course he’ll like you back!” I say. “Sit down. You need eyeliner. When you look tough, you’ll feel tough.”
“Is that your secret to success?” she says, sitting down and closing her eyes.
I take out my eyeliner bag. “Right on. My success.”
Julia glances down. “Whoa. You have, like, sixteen black eyeliners?”
“Yeah. It really depends on my mood. Gel, cake, liquid, pencil…”
“Just make me pretty. Prettier, anyway.”
“You have amazing eyelashes.”
“Why do chicks always say that to each other?”
For a minute or two, while I draw punk-yet-pretty eyeliner around Julia’s eyes, we sit in silence. I’m good at eyeliner. The secret is getting it right into the lashes and waterline, and if you mess it up, just smudge it a bit. Perfect eyeliner is too amateur makeup blogger, you know?
“Look up. Okay, close your eyes.”
“How’s the job stuff going?” asks Julia.
“Hashtag fail. I have officially been rejected by every fashionista in New York City. Okay, open your eyes, look up.”
“You can always get a job at the Gap.”
“Double ha,” I say.
“Madeleine was just kidding, you know,” says Julia. “She thinks you’re still pissed at her.”
“I am, a little,” I say. “That Gap comment the other day was so bitchy and demeaning.”
“She’s lovely, she really is. You just have to get to know her, that’s all.”
“I don’t want to get to know her. She says that shit and it just … it cuts.”
Julia looks at me funny.
“What?” I say.
“Pia told you,” she says in a low voice.
“Told me what?”
“About Madeleine and the … Oh. She didn’t.”
“What?” I cast my mind back. What did I just say? “Cuts? Madeleine cuts herself?”
“Not anymore,” says Julia quickly. “Please, forget I said anything.”
I can’t believe Pia didn’t tell me something so big.… Though really, it figures, it’s not like she talks to me lately anyway. But if Madeleine doesn’t do it anymore, then it’s not a problem, right? And why should I worry? She’s not even nice to me. She’s always so goddamn standoffish and sarcastic. I guess I can be, too, but … never mind.
“Look! Beautiful!” I say, handing Julia a mirror.
She takes a moment to gaze at herself. “Wow. If I could press a ‘Like’ button, I would. Thank you, Angelface.”
“You’re welcome, Ju … Ju…” I try to think of something cute to do with her name. “Juicy Fruit?”
She wrinkles her nose at me.
“Don’t make that face or you’ll never get laid.”
At that moment the doorbell rings. Coco whizzes past my door heading upstairs.
“Oh, my god! It’s Ethan! I know it is! Sugar! I’ll be back in a minute!”
“What if it’s Sam? I need to brush my teeth!” Julia runs to the bathroom.
I walk downstairs just as Madeleine opens the front door. It’s Sam and Madeleine’s date, Heff the musician guy. He’s hot, in a skinny, put-the-crack-pipe-down-and-eat-a-fucking-burger kind of way.
“Mad!”
“Heffy!”
Madeleine and Heff hug, leaving Sam and me awkwardly not hugging.
“Sam.”
“Angie.”
Sam leans down to kiss me hello on the cheek. I’m not expecting it, so I sort of jump, and then frown because goddamnit, I am cooler than that.
“Don’t you look all cute when you make an effort,” I say. Sam is all stubbly and scruffy, very different from my first impression of the Nazi Youth, slick, boat-boy (sorry, crew) hair.
“I was just thinking the same about you,” he says.
Yeah, right. I am not looking my best. I’m wearing a secondhand blouse I customized by cutting the sleeves off, the only cheap-ass jeans I could find that weren’t too wrinkled to wear, and Converse, and I braided my hair instead of washing it.
Compared to all my roommates in heels and shiny blowouts, I look boring as hell. Which is new for me. And kind of nice. I realized today that I used to make clothes do the talking for me. I let my leather pants or four-hundred-dollar jeans tell people that I was a tough, important bitch they’d better not fuck with. But for the way I’m feeling at the moment, I don’t want to be noticed at all.
And I don’t own any four-hundred-dollar jeans anymore, anyway.
Sam hands over two bottles of wine just as Coco and Julia bounce downstairs, flushed with excitement, and immediately attack Sam with giggles and bashful questions. I look over at Madeleine, who is talking to Heff about some new band in Williamsburg, but he’s one of those cool types who talks in a low monotone drawl so no one farther than fifteen inches away can hear a goddamn word.
God, where is Pia already? She’s one of those people who makes a part
y work. She’s the ultimate mixer, like tonic and lemon. I usually hide in the corner at parties, ignore everyone, and drink until I find my personality and/or a guy chats me up. But not tonight.
Julia claps her hands like a headmistress. “Right! Who’s thirsty?”
We dole out Julia’s punch—vodka, canned peach juice, sparkling white wine, and crème de cassis. Sam takes one sip, chokes slightly, and wordlessly accepts the beer I slip him.
Coco is positively flying. “Woo! This punch is punchy! Am I right?”
The doorbell rings, and she leaps to get it.
“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”
Coco leads Ethan into the room like a proud owner at a dog show.
“Everyone, this is my date!”
“I’m Ethan,” he says in a Kermit the Frog voice. “Enchanté.”
Ethan is a short, stocky guy wearing a blue plaid shirt and red plaid trousers. Without irony. (You always need to check for sartorial irony, especially in Brooklyn, but trust me, I know this guy is not being ironic.)
And his conversation is worse than his fashion sense. “So I thought, well, I’ll take the L train, and descended a stairway that led me to a train heading in the wrong direction! I had to ascend to street level and cross to find the train that would take me to the correct destination! Now, take it from a Chicago man: there’s a flaw in the system! In fact, as I was—”
That’s it. I’m having a smoke to kill some time. I sneak out to the front hallway, pull on my fur/army coat, and head outside to the stoop. I can almost-but-not-quite feel the thaw in the March air. Time to lose the fur/army coat soon. Yay. I mentally start going through my jackets and blazers.… Ah, clothes. Always a comfort, especially when I’m feeling alone.
“You know, smoking is bad for you.”
I glance over. It’s Sam, standing next to me, looking out at the night.
“I heard that.” I take a drag and frown. “I don’t actually like cigarettes that much unless I’m drinking.”
“You’re not drinking?”
“Not really. I mean, I haven’t officially ‘quit’ drinking or anything. I hate it when people do that.”
“Yeah, it’s so annoying.”
“I’m just dialing it down for the foreseeable future. Vodka applies pressure to my self-destruct button.”
“Good to know.”
Sam glances over at me, a tiny smile on his face. He’s very self-assured, but not arrogant. An unusual combination, at least in the dudes I’ve known. His nose is ridiculously straight. Like something from a coin. Regal. Or whatever you call noses you see on coins.
At that moment we see Pia and Aidan walking up Union Street toward us, gesturing intensely. Pia looks upset. They’re fighting?
“I can’t believe you’d do this to us—” she’s saying, then glances up. “Angie?”
“Um, hi!” We have to continue the surprise party charade. “Pia, pretend to be shocked, okay? Just count to thirty, come in, and be like, ‘Holy shit!’ Dial up the drama, okay?”
“What? A surprise party? It’s not my birthday!”
Before she can say anything else, I stub out my cigarette on the stoop, grab Sam’s arm, and pull him back into the house. Pia and Aidan might be fighting, but I’ll find out more later.
Sam raises an eyebrow. “It’s not her birthday? This is a pretend surprise party?”
I smile at him and shrug, just as Julia lurches around the corner and pounces on Sam. “There you are! Would you like some more punch?” Then she cocks her head. “I hear them! Everyone hide! Hide!”
We all scramble to our assigned hiding places. Julia’s date, the guy she works with, hasn’t even turned up yet, I realize. Not that she’s noticed. Sam and I are both behind the sofa. Our eyes meet, and he gives an incredibly dorky pretend-excited face. I try not to laugh and make a bursting sound.
“Angie!” hisses Julia.
Sam shakes his head at me and makes a “shh!” sound.
A few seconds later, as we’re all crouched in the dark, Pia and Aidan walk into the living room.
“SURPRISE!”
“OH, MY GOD!” Pia screams, jumping up and down in pretend shock.
“Great acting skills,” says Sam under his breath, as Julia and Coco yell and clap in delight.
“You should see her do an anxiety attack, seriously,” I reply.
“She’s a faker?”
“Oh, no,” I say. “I think her emotions are real. I’m just saying that she really lets you know what she’s feeling. She’s highly expressive.”
“Jeez, I could be collapsing inside and my face would look just the same to everyone around me,” says Sam.
“Me too,” I say. “It’s my curse.”
Sam’s perma-frown turns into a grin, just as Julia walks up to us and downs her punch in one gulp. “Let’s eat!”
Coco’s face falls. “Oh, my god, the pies.”
At that moment the smoke alarm goes off.
CHAPTER 16
Okay, the kitchen stinks of smoke, the house is now freezing because we opened all the windows for fresh air, and the pies are charred beyond saving. But the party is going strong. There was a team decision to have ice cream and cheese for dinner, and as a result, everyone is shitfaced and acting—to use a phrase I was fond of in my teens—totally wack.
Pia is ignoring Aidan. This never happens, they’re usually sparkling at each other all night like two little birthday candles. I am waiting for the right time to ask her if she’s okay, but right now, she’s ranting at Madeleine and Heff, who are so stoned they can’t respond. That never ever happens. I’d bet money Madeleine’s experience of drugs up to now doesn’t even extend as far as Midol PM.
Julia has stopped talking entirely and is just staring at Sam like he’s television.
And Coco is hopping around like a big-boobed fairy on ecstasy, dancing to one of her favorite CDs (Will Smith’s Greatest Hits, of all goddamn things), turned up to eleven. Sam and Aidan are the only people actually talking: they’re discussing some scandal involving a Yankee or a Jet or something.
“What do you think of Ethan?” Coco whispers, hiccupping into my ear. “I asked Jonah? But he said no, he said no.”
“He was probably just busy,” I whisper back.
“No, he doesn’t like me.” Coco suddenly looks incredibly sad.
The doorbell rings. I head out to answer it.
It’s a tall guy wearing a human-size Mighty Mouse outfit. What the?
“Tricksh and treatsh?” Ah. He’s drunk out of his skull.
“Dude, it’s March,” I say, closing the door.
“I’m Lev.” His eyes are crossing with the effort of getting the words out. “I’m here for a party dinner?”
“Dinner party.”
“There was a party bachelor last night? In City Atlantic? So I’m … late. Where am I? You’re pretty. You’re so pretty. Are you my date?”
“No.”
“Will you go out with me?”
“No.”
I lead him into the living room.
“Jules. Your date is here.”
“He’s not my date! He’s, he’s just my friend from work, uh, a colleague, um, Lev, this is—”
Julia introduces him to everyone, but Lev ignores her, sits on the sofa, and goes straight to sleep.
“Get up, Lev!” Julia is freaking out. “You’re missing a totally sick party!”
“Julia is shouting again,” mumbles Lev. “I’m telling HR.”
Sam catches my eye again and does his ducking-head laughing thing.
“Have you tried the Oregon Blue? I’m something of a cheese aficionado,” says a froggy voice at my elbow. It’s Ethan, Coco’s date. “I once spent a summer making cheddar in Wisconsin.”
“That must have been so exciting for you,” I say.
“It was, it was,” he says. He’s very drunk. “You see, the secret with cheddar is the rennet—”
Ethan the Cheesemaker works for the Department of Health, but
so far tonight has revealed himself to be “something of an aficionado” of wine, bicycles, fly-fishing, yachting, James Bond movies, headphones, the Battle of Brooklyn, typography, hip-hop, and Gothic architecture. He’s the kind of guy who likes to teach people things, i.e., a dick. Worse? Coco thinks he’s amazing.
“Wow!” Coco says now, suddenly standing next to us. “I never knew that about cheese, did you Angie? Did you? Hey! We should get matching tattoos! Saying ‘Rookhaven Forever’! Because we are super awesome!”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was on something.
“Lev!” Julia is prodding Lev. “Wake up!” She looks at Sam and smiles nervously. “He’s really a nice guy, usually.”
Lev opens his eyes. “Julia, can you go to the vending machine for me? Hey? Is that Ruthy?” he says, looking at Sam. “Ruthy! Ruthy!” And then he rests his head back, collapsing again.
Across the room, I see Aidan whispering to Pia.
“No, Aidan, we cannot talk about it!” she snaps. “You’re moving to San Francisco. What more is there to say? Fucking awesome, dude. Awesome!”
“You’re being a baby,” says Aidan.
“You’re being a baby,” she mimics.
“Call me when you want to talk about this,” he says in a low voice, and turns and walks out of the room. The front door slams.
With a loud sob, Pia gets up off the sofa and runs after him. “Aidan! Wait, oh God, wait!” The front door slams again.
Julia runs after Pia. Julia comes from the-more-the-merrier school of drama.
“Bad idea,” I call. “She wants to be alone with him!”
“Pia is a princess,” says Madeleine loudly.
I narrow my eyes at her. Madeleine and Pia have never been that close, but no one bad-mouths my best friend. “She is not a fucking princess, she’s just a bit of a drama queen, and it’s adorable.”
“Adorable?” Madeleine snorts.
Before I can administer the verbal bitch slap I’d like to, Sam is at my side.
“So, Angie, what do you do?”
“What do I do? What DO I do, hmm, let’s see. Well, I am unemployed, Sam. I am trying to get a job and I am failing.” I pause and take a sip of punch. “Miserably. Any advice for me?”
Love and Chaos: A Brooklyn Girls Novel Page 9