Grace and the Fever

by Zan Romanoff

  —

  Grace rounds up her friends and walks out front with them, trying not to be self-conscious about how easily Cara is already leaning against her side, loose with booze, pink-cheeked and giggly. Lianne is a little more reserved, but she sometimes gets quiet when she’s drunk, so it’s not like it means anything in particular. She hands her keys over to Grace without comment. The car’s a few blocks away, so Grace leaves them to collect their phones while she drives it over to pick them up.

  She can feel Jes everywhere again, his body and his breath, the ache of his absence, the promise of his touch. She’s pretty sure she’s about to do the most reckless thing she’s done all summer, which means ever in her life. She doesn’t remember making the decision to step over the edge; she just knows that she’s falling, and that she wouldn’t stop herself even if she could.

  Jes’s suite is in the same state of barely controlled chaos as last time Grace visited, but it makes more sense with everyone in it. It’s like if he can cover every surface in his friends, his clothes, his noise, and his stuff, he can forget about what’s underneath it, which doesn’t belong to him or anyone. It’s a little bit like Rick’s house that way. All of the trappings of luxury left empty just start to look like traps: gleaming, but never meant to be touched.

  Everyone else is in the suite’s living room when Grace and her friends walk in. Row, George, Cricket, and Kendrick are standing by the open windows, smoking; Jes and Land are smoking on the couch. The bathroom door is open and past it Solly is fussing with his hair again, exactly the way he was the first time Grace saw him for real.

  “Oh, we should have asked if you wanted stuff,” Land says when he sees the girls. “We just sent Raj on an everything run.”

  “I think we’re good,” Grace says. “Thanks, though.”

  Jes pulls his knees up to make room for her, so she sits next to him on the couch. He looks like a different person than he did backstage: he’s wearing sweats and his hair is a wreck, but it’s not just that. It’s a sense that he isn’t looking for anything, or trying to be seen by anyone.

  He drops a small, comfortable kiss against her cheek, and Grace wrinkles her nose and smiles at him. She’s almost glad there are so many people around. It keeps her from thinking too hard about what might happen later, when there aren’t.

  Cara and Lianne arrange themselves on the floor at their feet. “Can I bum a cigarette?” Cara asks the boys.

  “I’m out,” Land says. “That’s on the list, right? More smokes?”

  “Raj knows,” Jes says. “How do you guys feel about American Spirits?”

  Grace can’t tell if Cara’s shrug means I don’t know or I don’t care. Either way, Jes shakes two cigarettes out of his pack and offers them first to Cara and then to Lianne. Next he turns to Grace. “You want one? Sorry, I realized I stopped offering at some point.”

  “That’s fine. I’m good.”

  “So Grace doesn’t party with you guys, either,” Lianne says. “That’s actually kind of comforting.”

  “Jes has been keeping her to himself,” Land says. “So I can’t say whether she parties or not.”

  Grace doesn’t like the way his smile looks: like it’s been dipped in something dangerous. Cara and Lianne exchange a glance that knows something, too. Grace realizes she’ll only make it worse if she defends herself, so she doesn’t.

  Luckily, Jes’s whole life is making people feel comfortable in unlikely situations. “Tell me stories about Grace,” he says. “How long have you guys known her?”

  “Elementary school,” they chorus. Cara gestures for Lianne to take the lead on the story. Lianne takes a drag from her cigarette and her first sentence comes out in the cloud of her exhale. “The three of us were paired up for a science project.”

  “Sol and I were reading partners in the first grade,” Land says.

  Solly, hearing his name and apparently done with his hair, saunters out of the bathroom. “For the record, it’s not my fault that Landon is functionally illiterate,” he tells them. He knees Land’s thigh. “Scoot, dude.”

  “There’s no room!”

  “Four of us sit on couches all the time, and Grace’s ass can’t be bigger than Kendrick’s.”

  Kendrick calls from across the room, “Don’t talk about my ass!”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to ignore,” Land says. “Anyway, Grace, why don’t you just sit in Jes’s lap?”

  “Why me?” she shoots back.

  Solly nods. “She has a point,” he says, and drops himself on top of Land.

  Grace almost chokes on her own tongue. Land grumbles but rearranges himself so that they’re both comfortable. “You’re so heavy,” he says.

  “You love it,” Solly reminds him.

  Jes says, “Gross,” but he sounds fond. He turns to Grace. “What’s wrong with my lap?”

  Before she can answer, Cara and Lianne shake their heads. “We’re going over there now,” Cara says. “Away. From here. And you. And this.”

  “Cricket and Kendrick might make out at any time,” Solly calls after them. “Nowhere is safe from public displays of affection!”

  “Ken, Crick, kiss!” Land cries. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

  “Only if you do,” Kendrick says.

  Cricket rolls her eyes at him. “Honey, don’t be shy.” She leans in to give him a peck; at first, it seems like he’s just faking the little leap backward that he takes to avoid her mouth.

  Cricket seems to think so, anyway. She grins and grabs him, pulling him into a deep, swooning embrace, dipping him like they’re on the cover of a romance novel. There’s no way he can miss her mouth when it comes for his.

  But then Cricket lets go of Kendrick so suddenly that he stumbles and has to reach out to steady himself against the windowsill.

  Cricket touches her fingertips to her lips and looks down at them, almost as if she’s expecting to see something there: a stain to mark what Grace suddenly realizes must be the taste of alcohol lingering on Kendrick’s breath. Cricket looks at her fingers, her palms, and then flips her hands over, and looks at her ring.

  Everyone else in the room holds completely still. Even Cara and Lianne, who don’t understand what’s going on, are stunned into silence. It’s such a private moment. Grace wishes she wasn’t there to see it.

  Jes’s hand falls to her thigh and squeezes. She isn’t sure whether he’s comforting her or himself.

  “You promised,” Cricket says. “You said—”

  “It was just—” Kendrick starts. He darts a look around the room, and everyone’s face flees his gaze. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

  “I’m not doing this anymore,” Cricket says. “That’s the point. That was the deal!” She pinches the bridge of her nose and tilts her head up like it will keep her from crying. “So. Yeah. Not here.”

  Grace read a whole article about the diamond Kendrick bought her when they got engaged: estate, it said, owned by a duchess or someone, the kind of stone whose history makes it more valuable every year. It’s a mound of a thing, glittering frantically in the hotel’s strange, pale light, as she works it off of her finger. She doesn’t throw it, or move to hand it back. She keeps it cradled in her palm as she turns to go.

  “Not anywhere,” Cricket says with her back to them. “Not anywhere anymore, Ken.”

  She manages to leave without making anything dramatic out of it.

  In pictures Grace always thought she looked like a frosted tea cake: caramel tan with honey hair and dark eyes, white teeth. Now, though, she looks like steel and stubbornness, walking away from someone who loves her and needs her, because staying would mean losing herself to that love and that need.

  Grace doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do. All she knows is that Cricket is brave to do it.

  Kendrick collapses onto the floor. It’s like his legs won’t hold him up anymore. He doesn’t cry. He just can’t stand.

  Jes looks at Land and Solly and Grace, and then at the rest of
the girls, still standing by the window.

  “Okay,” he says softly, almost to himself. He gets up and makes his way over to Kendrick. “C’mon, man. Let’s go find a room where we can have a chat. Leave these guys to the party.”

  “Can’t have Kendrick at a party,” Ken says. “Can’t let him see anyone drinking, heaven forbid, Kendrick can’t control himself around a drink, so make sure the bartenders don’t serve him, have George keep her little bottles out of the way, ask if the party will have a virgin cocktail. Everyone, make sure, be careful, because we know Kendrick won’t be.” He holds his arms up to Jes like a baby asking to be picked up. “Sure,” he says. “Go ahead. Put me somewhere. I’m done causing trouble for tonight, anyway.”

  Solly stirs himself from the couch and goes over to stand with them. “It’s not like that,” he says. “You know it’s not. We’ve talked about this. And we can talk more about it. Just. In private, Ken.”

  “What does that even mean?” Kendrick asks, but he stands up. Jes touches Grace’s shoulder, indicating I’ll be back, maybe, as the three of them leave the room.

  The door closes behind them.

  George bursts into hysterical laughter.

  Land says, “You’re a bad person, Georgina.”

  George narrows her eyes at him. “Did you go with them? Your band? Your brothers?”

  “They don’t need me for this one,” he says. “I think we could all do this particular intervention in our sleep. And I couldn’t leave the pack of you alone in Jes’s hotel room. Lord only knows what kind of trouble you might get up to in here.”

  Row smirks. “I think we’re all pretty familiar with your taste in trouble, Landon,” she says.

  Grace doesn’t like the way George and Land look at each other when Row says it, too familiar by half. Land had Solly in his lap, like, thirty seconds ago, and there’s no one here to see him flirting with her, not really. So why is he bothering? Is he just so used to it that he forgets to turn it off, sometimes?

  Or maybe they’re talking about a different kind of trouble.

  Grace is saved from the inside of her mind by Raj coming in loaded down with grocery bags.

  “Kendrick already had his little breakdown,” George says when she sees him. “Whatever booze you squirreled away for later can come out and play right now.”

  —

  The night only gets stranger. The energy in the room goes from awkward to manic: George is in charge of the fun, now. She slices limes and calls down to room service for a saltshaker so that she can slurp a shot of tequila out of Row’s belly button. Once Land has watched her do it, he decides he needs to have a go.

  “I feel like one of those sushi platter girls,” Row says. “Cara? Grace? Want your turns?”

  Everyone drinks too much too fast. Grace sips water and watches the night get blurry anyway. She’s in a room of slurred words and loose limbs. Even her friends’ faces seem softer, slack and round. It’s like they’re bent on proving that whatever demon has possessed Kendrick is one they can still outrun.

  Lianne teaches Row how to roll a joint with some loose weed Raj has on him, and after they smoke it, the two of them spend half an hour touching their noses, their cheekbones, the tips of their ears. “Whoa,” Lianne says. “I feel like your bone structure is written in hieroglyphics.”

  Grace watches and watches. She sees George start to get annoyed when Cara drifts over to sit with the other girls and Land’s gaze follows her.

  “This is boring,” George says. “Let’s go out. My friend says Funhouse is pretty decent right now.” Grace recognizes the name of a Hollywood club where the boys have been spotted partying from time to time.

  “Can’t,” Lianne says. She swivels around to face George and knocks their makeshift ashtray so that it spills all over the carpet. “Oh. Whoops? Anyway. We don’t have IDs.”

  George shrugs. “Land? Raj? Sol and Jes should be done soon, too.”

  Land’s sitting next to Cara now. “We can probably get you guys in with us,” he says to her. “If you want to come.”

  “We have everything we need right here, though,” Cara says.

  “Girl has a point,” Land agrees.

  George pouts. “Fine, then. Your turn. What’s next?”

  Cara and Lianne look at each other. “Shoot and slap?” Cara says.

  “Shoot and slap.”

  Land finishes the joint and crushes it against the windowsill, where it leaves a dark stain on the pale stone. “What’s that?”

  “A game,” Cara says.

  It’s hardly a game, though, or it doesn’t have rules or a point, except to get everyone even drunker. You take a shot, and then someone slaps you across the face as a chaser. George pretends to think it’s dumb—probably she does think it’s dumb—but she gets into it once the slapping starts.

  Grace watches manic tilt into unhinged: Cara’s face snaps back when Land hits her too hard. She goes easy on Lianne, next, who laughs so hard she cries. Her face is still tear-stained as she says, “No, again, harder, come on.”

  “I can do that,” George says, and her rings leave a mark on Lianne’s cheek.

  “Jesus,” Solly says when he walks in again. “We leave you animals alone for, like, an hour, and this is what we come back to?”

  Land asks, “You want a turn?”

  “Probably.”

  Jes doesn’t say anything. He finds Grace on the couch and curls up at her side.

  “You okay?” she asks quietly.

  “I’m okay,” he says. “But I think I’m gonna kick these guys out in a few.”

  “Oh.”

  “You can—you should stay. If you want. It doesn’t have to be anything—anything. I just really need some company tonight.”

  An hour ago this was all Grace could think about: Jes, this room, the two of them alone in it. Now what he’s asking for is something different, something easier, and sadder. Company. She feels like she should know better than to give it to him, but it’s so easy to do. How can she refuse him when that’s all he’s asking for? When it’s what he needs?

  “Yeah,” Grace says. “Of course.”

  Solly slaps Land so hard that Land spins around with the force of it, drunk and unbalanced. For a minute it seems like he might not be able to catch himself. He stumbles, trips, finds his feet, and takes a theatrical bow. “I think I’m done with this portion of the night,” he announces, enunciating every syllable.

  “Great,” Jes says. “I was just saying you guys should probably go.”

  “I’m not done with the night, though,” Land says.

  “I’m just getting started,” Solly agrees. He and Land share a look that unlocks a little bit of the tightness gathered in Grace’s chest. Okay. Maybe, still.

  Cara nudges Lianne, where she’s closed her eyes with her head on Cara’s shoulder. “I’m in,” she says. “I don’t know about this little napper.”

  “If you’re tired, George can solve that problem for you,” Land says. “Can’t you, Georgie?”

  George shrugs. “Not sure I feel like sharing.”

  “You know I’ll pay you back.”

  “We can pay you back,” Cara says. The fever has caught in her, and it’s burning brightly. She’s going to follow this night wherever it takes her; she’ll have every story in the morning. There’s so much to say yes to, and Cara has always loved saying yes.

  “I don’t think you know what this costs,” George says. “But Land’s good for it, and I could use a pick-me-up if we’re really going to make a night of it.”

  “Not in my room, please,” Jes says.

  “I had security clear out of the ones on either side,” Raj tells them. “I’m going to bed, but the other one is all yours.”

  “C’mon, Raj,” Solly says. He drifts over and nudges Raj with his shoulder. “You don’t want to have a little fun tonight?”

  “I’m exhausted,” Raj says.

  Grace can’t tell what happens, exactly, but their bodies clos
e in toward one another’s the way the band’s did at the show, and their voices drop. She wants to follow the intimacy of the conversation and see where it leads, but Jes is tugging at the ends of her hair. “You aren’t even drunk, are you?” he asks.

  “Nope.”

  “Stoned?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you mind if I have a drink?”

  “Go ahead,” Grace says.

  Jes fixes himself something. Cara and Lianne make a big show of saying good night—“You’re sure, you’re sure you don’t want to come, Grace?”—before hurrying out of the room after Land and George, Solly and Raj.

  When the door closes, the silence is almost palpable.

  Grace looks around at the half-empty bottles and the spilled ashtray, the ashes everywhere, the empty cups and kicked-off shoes, Cara’s forgotten jacket.

  “What a mess,” she says.

  “Yeah.” Jes takes his drink over to the bed, so Grace goes to sit with him, the two of them cross-legged over the pillowy comforter. “Are your friends usually such party girls?”

  “I don’t know,” Grace says. “Like they said, it’s, you know. I don’t usually party with them.”

  “Well, don’t worry—they’ll be all right. Land and George know what they’re doing.”

  Grace doesn’t understand exactly what that is, but she doesn’t want to. This night is too full of unsettling details already—Land flirting with George and then Cara, and Solly’s head dropping to talk to Raj.

  Are they broken up? Is it possible?

  Will Kendrick be okay? Will Cricket leave him?

  It occurs to her that fevers—real fevers—are supposed to break. It’s only when they keep burning that the trouble starts.

  Grace curls herself into a ball on the bed. Jes leans down and kisses her cheek again, like he did earlier. She tilts her face up so that he’ll kiss her mouth, still hungry for his touch, but he’s already sitting back so that he won’t spill his drink.

  “Aren’t you tired?” she asks.

  “I get really wired after shows,” Jes says. “We all do. Takes a while to come down. I’m getting there, though. You can—if you need to sleep—”