The Accidental Socialite

by Stephanie Wahlstrom

  Jason took the whole thing in silence and when Lucinda was finished, turned around and walked away without a word.

  “You have a boyfriend you didn’t tell me about?”

  Lucinda rolled her eyes at me. “Of course not, but he needed to be put in his place. Now let’s go party. Those men aren’t going to ruin my day and I won’t let them ruin yours.”

  I love her.

  We made our way back to the China White tent and headed for the bar.

  “Two glasses of champ—” I started to order.

  “Tequila, please.” Lucinda had a better idea.

  ***

  A small ray of sunshine pierced my left cornea. I turned over to rescue what was left of my sight but my stomach seized and my priority shifted to trying not to vomit in my bed.

  Except it wasn’t my bed. I opened the eye I could still see out of to find I was lying in soft blue sheets.

  Something big stirred next to me. Now, I drank a lot, obviously. But in all my years I’d never woken up next to someone having no idea who they were or where I was and was a little unsure of the protocol.

  Turns out though, that wasn’t a worry. The big thing next to me rolled over and threw his arm around my waist.

  “Morning, Paige,” murmured Jason.

  And … I hate myself.

  “I don’t know how this happened, Jason, but I just want to make it clear that it’s now officially the biggest lapse in judgment I’ve ever had. And I’ve written an award-winning article on dog shit.”

  “Glad to see you too.” My comment clearly annoyed Jason because he rolled away from me.

  I scanned the floor for my clothes, praying they were within reaching distance. My dress and fascinator were lying on the floor, just out of reach next to my dignity. I must have been a real jerk in a past life.

  I got up buck naked and walked as confidently as I could to my clothes without puking, passing out, or being weighed down by my own shame.

  “We’re good together, Paige, and you know it,” said Jason as he walked towards the shower. That’s when I realized it was Monday and checked my watch. I was supposed to be at work fifteen minutes ago.

  The you-are-important-and-people-are-trying-to-get-a-hold-of-you light was going crazy on my Blackberry. I had eleven missed calls from Lucinda, half a dozen texts from her where the general gist was “where the fuck are you?!?!?!?” and four messages from Carlos: I don’t know what gutter you are lying in but you better get your pretty little butt to work. xx P.s. put on lip gloss, you can’t walk in here looking like crap. xx P.p.s you are welcome for covering for you. Emma thinks you’re getting everyone Starbucks xx. P.p.p.s. bring everyone Starbucks. xx

  I finished getting dressed, fixed my hair and makeup as best I could under the circumstances, and tried to sneak out of Jason’s when I thought he was still in the shower only to be intercepted at the door by a hot naked wet guy. Dammit!

  “I’m serious. I really like you and I want another chance. I deserved everything Lucinda said to me and you are right. I shouldn’t have used you, but I honestly thought it would help you to have a little publicity. What do you say? Dinner tonight so we can talk about it?”

  Jason seemed genuine and he was so hot standing there trying to make up for things. Maybe one more try?

  “Jason, I—” His left eyebrow perked up.

  Let’s be honest, I clearly don’t make good decisions when I go with the first thing that comes to mind. Try again, Paige.

  “You know what, Jason? It’s a no. I make mistakes and I accept that but I can’t make this mistake. Again.” I brushed past his excessively toned bicep and walked out the door. I didn’t know what I wanted but I knew what I didn’t want and that was an egomaniac drama queen boyfriend.

  But, although I felt much better asserting my decision with Jason, Alex still occupied every third thought I had. Why did my stomach flip when I saw an ambulance speed by on the off-chance that sick person might get to see him? I hardly knew Alex and he dine ’n dashed me on a Valentine’s date. But at the same time he wanted nothing to do with the “D-list pseudo celeb” Paige Crawford and to be honest, neither did I. If he got to know the “modest hometown girl who writes articles about dog poo” Paige, he’d really like her.

  Hi Alex. Sorry about yesterday, my friend has Tourette’s. It would be great to get coffee sometime soon. X Paige

  I sent it while in line at Starbucks, ready to spend my full day’s salary on coffee. But they say it’s fair trade, so at least I was helping poor people and a multinational conglomerate. It’s not like today could get any more embarrassing anyway and the worst that could happen is he either doesn’t answer or says no, both resulting in me not talking to him which was pretty much the situation I was in now anyway.

  Then I remembered Lucinda. She was going to kill me, resurrect me, and then kill me again. I sent her a vague text saying I was fine, sorry for ditching her, and that I owed her, well, pretty much anything. I was a terrible friend.

  Ten minutes later I was holding ten skinny vanilla lattes when my phone vibrated in my bag. Nerves attempted to force last night’s champagne and tequila up my esophagus. I sat on the nearest faux leather covered chair and put the coffees down. I did not want to read a text from Alex in front of Carlos; he would totally murder me if he found out I even sent it.

  You have the wrong number. This is Deepak.

  Letting out a deep breath, I put my phone back in my bag. It just wasn’t going to be easy for me, huh?

  My article hit the newsstands amongst a furor of publicity, which quickly died down once everyone realized I hadn’t actually written an article about vaginas. But Lucinda wasn’t going to let a little thing like me being a complete failure ruin her plans so, to celebrate my first real article being published in a real magazine, she decided we should go on a trip.

  To my surprise, Lucinda immediately booked her flight to Munich for the last weekend in September to go to Oktoberfest.

  “You mean to tell me they named an entire festival Oktoberfest and it actually takes place in September? That’s just poor branding.”

  “Yes, chicken, very funny. Show me your flight confirmation please.” Lucinda had her arms crossed and eyebrow raised. Unfortunately the concept of me being broke wasn’t sticking to that wrinkle-free forehead of hers.

  “We will be staying with my friends. The trip is practically free,” she explained to me like I’d recently had a lobotomy.

  “Three hundred quid for a flight to Munich is not ‘free,’” I said, using air quotes again. Note to self: air quotes make you look like a jerk.

  We were drinking a bottle of Tesco’s finest (my buy, obviously) sauvignon blanc in my room with the door locked just in case Philip came home.

  “You have an eleven hundred pound bag and your shoes are worth at least a thousand quid.” She walked to my closet and pulled out my new red, military-inspired Topshop peacoat. It still had the tag attached. “Broke?”

  “Three hundred pounds can almost get me to Canada.” It couldn’t, but she didn’t need to know that. And besides, most of that stuff was free.

  “Canada doesn’t have beer by the liter and hot German men.”

  “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

  Several days later, I was halfway through a dazzling advertorial about a new fancy French champagne and thinking about Alex. Should I go back to the hospital? This “wanting answers” was turning into a creepy stalker obsession.

  I was thinking of how I could hurt myself in a cute way when Emma walked by.

  “How’s the champagne, Paige?”

  I pulled myself out of the daydream and started typing random words. QWERTY …

  “Oh, it’s fabulous, really.” In truth, it tasted like horse piss.

  My phone was vibrating for the third time in less than half an hour. The text was, once again from Lucinda: Darling, I can’t handle all those men myself. Believe me, I’ve tried ;) Please book the flight? xx

  Even Carlos wa
s getting annoyed so I broke down and Googled cheap flights to Munich. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and knowing Lucinda, we wouldn’t be slumming it. Several sites appeared at the top of the search claiming to have tickets “from £5 each way” but when I clicked it was written in broken English and valid for same day travel on a Thursday.

  Clicking around some more I found FlyGerm that apparently had very attractive flight attendants and a round-trip ticket over the last weekend of Oktoberfest for £153. It was booked before I realized what had happened and brought to my attention that I might be shopping too much if I have my Visa number memorized. Either way I was able to text Lucinda my flight information, and save for the “are you still alive?” email from my mom, my phone was at rest for the remainder of the day.

  The £150 ticket got me cattle-class to Munich in a plane meant to seat less than a hundred people with seats arranged to fit over one hundred and fifty. Beer and pretzels were eight pounds and, although I had to pee so bad I gained a dress size, I was not willing to move towards the end of the plane emitting a smell not unlike the outhouse at my cousin’s farm. However, once I got past the very efficient German customs and saw all of the incredibly handsome and manly men, the flight was a distant memory.

  Lucinda had come in the night before and was waiting for me at the airport with our chauffeur, who was actually an engineer friend of hers named Franz we were staying with. She was totally doing him.

  “Darling! Did they put you in the carriage hold? You look absolutely shattered!”

  Thanks.

  “Yup. I left right from work and the plane was crammed.”

  “No worries, we have to go get your outfit anyway and then we can get ready.”

  “Outfit?”

  “Your dirndl.”

  “My what?”

  “Oh my, chicken, you are so cute. It’s like lederhosen but for girls. I have been wearing it for the last twenty-four hours straight.”

  So the ten different outfits I packed were unnecessary?

  We got into Franz’s Mercedes—obviously—and drove into Munich. Stopping on a cute tree-lined street full of kitschy shops, Franz let Lucinda and me out of the car in front of a dirndl store. Women were rushing in and out of the store, all carrying large bags of black and brightly colored garments. Lucinda had already been here so knew exactly where I should go. A large Bavarian woman looked me up and down, handed me a glass of champagne, and walked away. This was my kind of place.

  When she came back, her arms were full of black or green dresses with intricate embroidery and several different colored aprons and ribbons. My instructions were to go behind a poorly set up change room, which was actually a clothes rail with sheer white fabric draped over it, and get naked with the two other women in there with me.

  Unsure of what order things went on and exactly where they were supposed to go, I pretended I was having trouble getting my boots off while I was actually watching the other girls to see what went where. From what I gathered, the outfit consisted of two undergarments: A white cotton skirt and white crop top which left very little to the imagination. On top of that went the black dress, which came right underneath my breasts so the barely there white top was the only thing protecting whatever modesty I had left. Then there was the red ribbon, which worked like a corset woven through the hooks at the front of the dress and the red apron that went over everything at the end and conveniently had pockets.

  I was a beer maid! And I looked fabulous. We rung it in, and although a hundred euro was a ridiculous price to pay for a dress that didn’t exactly have “any occasion” written all over it, I reminded myself that this was to be my uniform for the next four days. So cost per wear, it was on par with that Primark blouse that didn’t even make it through one night before falling apart. And if I went back home for Halloween one day, I had the best costume ever.

  We dropped off my bag and managed a quick dry shampoo and change at the flat before we were on our way to the tents. The first one we arrived at was called Schutzen Festzelt, which I affectionately referred to as Shits ‘n Fest because that’s exactly what it was. There were a thousand people in the tent drinking beer by the liter with the vast majority of them in lederhosen or dirndls.

  Two steins into the festivities Franz’s friend, Heinrich, came over. He looked like Patrick Swayze when he was in Dirty Dancing and if he would have called me Baby, I’m sure I would have thrown myself at him right then and there, not that I didn’t eventually.

  “Hi, I’m Paige.”

  “I know. Lucinda’s been announcing your arrival since last night. So, Paige, how do you like Germany?” His voice was deep, cutting through the noise in the tent, and his eyes were a crystal blue I’d only seen on movie stars.

  “You guys have fantastic outfits and drink beer all day. So far, it’s awesome.” I cheers’d his stein a little too hard.

  “You know, German people don’t dress like this all the time.”

  “Shut up! You mean I spent a hundred euro on a dress and if I was to come here in two weeks, it would already be out of fashion?”

  He furrowed his brows. “You don’t really think we all dress like this, do you?”

  Well, that wasn’t awkward.

  We were kicked out of the tent at one in the morning, but apparently that’s just when things got good. We were outside in the fairgrounds when Heinrich had the most amazing idea.

  “Let’s go on the rollercoaster.”

  Seven of us put the steins we stole from the tents down behind a tree and lined up for the ride. We were some of the only people there stupid enough to get on something that flipped you upside down after drinking all night, so we were on the next round.

  As we got off, I promptly threw up in the bushes. I should have known better than to do something just because all of the cool kids were doing it. Lucinda held my hair and rubbed my back while at the same time, sheltering me from being seen by Heinrich and talking about how he was really interested in me. She was an A-list friend.

  We went back to Franz’s place and after brushing my teeth and putting on my flannel pajamas covered in little penguins, I felt much better. I was buried under several blankets, partly to make the room stop spinning, but mostly to hide. Lucinda had some sexy Bavarian-inspired Victoria’s Secret getup on but she also had a bed to share with Franz. I knew from the beginning I was sleeping on the couch and it’s cold in Germany.

  Heinrich found me in the corner of the couch practically under the cushions.

  “Hello, Miss Paige, how are you feeling?”

  I sat up and tried to fix my hair. “I’m good. Just not used to drinking so much beer then riding a rollercoaster.”

  “You’re cute, you know that?” I could feel my cheeks warm and hid under the cushions again. Why did I turn into a five-year-old when I was drunk?

  He pulled off the cushions, helped me sit up, lifted my chin, and kissed me softly on the lips. I could feel his smile against my face as he pulled away.

  “See you tomorrow, Paige.”

  I was still staring at the doorway with a silly grin on my face for several minutes after he left. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

  The next morning we arrived at the already packed Hippodrome tent at noon on the dot. Those Germans were well-organized, if nothing else. We floated around as Franz and Heinrich said hello to just about everyone there until we hit our final stop, a long table already occupied by a copper haired girl with a pointy nose and two guys Franz and Heinrich seemed to know.

  A husky barmaid who was in her late forties came to the table and Franz spoke to her in German.

  “We ordered food, is that ok?”

  That was more than ok. I could hear my stomach rumbling and wanted nothing more than one of those huge pretzels the women were walking around with.

  Chicken arrived on a plate whole, and seasoned with only salt and pepper. It tasted amazing. When the pretzel lady came by, Heinrich bought two large ones that were so fresh they were still warm. It
was one of the best meals I’d ever had and although we were still drinking beer out of those ridiculous giant mugs, it was at a manageable pace.

  The plates were cleared and more beers were ordered when a commotion behind us drew our attention. There was an old man with a long beard and pointy hat looking like a small troll or unattractive elf challenging another old man to an arm wrestle. The two men sat opposite each other on the edge of the bench and stared each other down. A cigarette hung from the second man’s lips while the troll began to smile and shout in German.

  As suddenly as it had started, it was finished. The cigarette fell out of the old man’s mouth and into his crotch as soon as the troll started to apply pressure, causing the old man to forfeit while howling in pain and grabbing his penis.

  “Paige! I challenge you!” Heinrich stood up and mimicked the troll’s posturing. He took my hand and placed my elbow down on the table.

  “Do you think you can handle this?” he asked me, with a child-like flirtation in his eye.

  “Do you think you can handle being beaten by a girl in front of all of your friends? A Canadian girl, no less?”

  We wrestled and just as I thought, Heinrich feigned duress as he let me push his arm to the table.

  “Rematch! You cheated!” yelled Heinrich while his friends were in hysterics.

  Five hours later we were still in the Hippodrome and I had eaten so many pretzels I thought I would puke if I saw another one. I know, I never thought that would happen either. There was a five-year-old drinking what I hoped was apple juice out of a stein at the table next to us. He looked as hungover as I felt.

  “Lucinda, I seriously can’t drink any more beer. Like, for the rest of my life.” I slammed my stein down dramatically on the table.

  “I know. I need bubbly.” She put her stein down as well. “They have a champagne bar, but it’s really expensive.”

  “It’s fine, I think I need a break anyway.”