The Bake-Off
Page 14
“Second of all, while I may be annoyed with Jill for overspiking the punch, you’re the grown woman who drank it, mugged me for mascara, and got me arrested. So if I’m kicking anyone out, it’s you.”
“Fine by me,” Linnie said. “I’m too much of an independent thinker to be in a clique, anyway.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Amy peered down at the halfmoons of grime beneath her fingernails. “Ugh, I’m going to bathe in Purell when we get out of here. And I’m burning everything on my body. This place smells like Satan’s sewer.”
They heard the dull thunk of the door at the main entrance, followed by an auditory tsunami of high-pitched weeping, whining, and the staccato clicking of stiletto heels against concrete. Amy leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the action through the thick glass embedded with wire mesh that ran along the front wall of their holding cell.
A gaggle of willowy, well-dressed teenagers came into view, each more drunk and distraught than the last.
“What happened to my bag?” moaned a whippet-thin brunette in a shimmering silver minidress. “Ohmigod, you guys, I might have left it back at the club.” She addressed the arresting officer with beseeching eyes. “Excuse me; I left my python Gucci clutch at the bar. You have to go back and get it before somebody steals it.”
“You can get ask your parents to take you back to that club,” the officer drawled. “Right after you explain to them why you were there with fake IDs and a bottle of vodka.”
“I’m going to kill Sabrina,” vowed a WASPy blonde in artfully ripped skinny jeans. “She swore those IDs would work.”
“You guys, it is so bright in here.” WASPy blonde number two clasped her palms to her forehead. “I’m seriously going blind right now.”
The brunette wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”
“Ew w w w, ohmigod, there’s vomit on my shoes from when you hurled in the squad car.”
A chorus of squeals. “Eww!”
“These are Balmains, Colette. You owe me nine hundred dollars.”
Amy nudged Linnie and muttered, “Now, that is a clique.”
Linnie looked horrified. “What in Sweet Valley High hell is this?”
“Your cellmates,” the officer announced as she slid open the metal door and ushered in the teenagers.
“They’re going to be in here with us all night?”
The officer nodded. “Judges are pretty backed up right now. They’ll probably get to your case in, oh, four or five hours.”
“Four or five hours?” Linnie started to panic.
“Don’t worry.” Amy patted her arm. “We’ll go deaf long before then.”
“I cannot believe this,” Linnie said. “We’re spending the night in a New York City precinct and we’re stuck with a pack of prep school princesses from Connecticut? Where are all the prostitutes and junkies and sociopaths?”
“You’ve watched too much Law and Order,” the officer replied.
“Wait!” Linnie cried as the cop closed the cell door. “What would we have to do to get thrown in solitary confinement?”
“Excuse me? Hello?” One of the girls banged on the glass wall with her impeccably manicured fist. “I have to pee.”
“Toilet’s in the corner,” came the reply.
The teen regarded the small metal toilet in the corner with horror and revulsion. “I’m getting an STD just looking at that thing.”
“My mom is going to kill me,” wailed the Gucci-less brunette.
“Excuse me, could we get some Gatorade, please?” More futile pounding on the front wall. “I can’t be hungover tomorrow. I’ve got an SAT prep class at nine.”
“Gatorade doesn’t work,” said the brunette with a put-upon sigh. “You’ve got to mix Diet Coke, skim milk, and a bunch of crushed ice and then sip it through a straw. Everybody knows that.”
“Am I this annoying when I’m drunk?” Linnie asked.
Amy just smiled. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
Linnie stood up, stretched her lower back, cleared her throat, and took the floor like a professor launching into a lecture. “Gatorade might help, since your salt and potassium levels are low,” she informed her captive audience. “But you could also try plain old orange juice. Freshly squeezed, if possible. The vitamin C increases the rate at which your body breaks down and eliminates alcohol.”
The underage drinkers stopped bickering and regarded Linnie with sneers and exaggerated ennui. “Who are you?”
“I’m the Hangover Fairy. Listen and learn, ladies.”
Amy raised her hand. “What if orange juice makes you hurl even worse than a Diet Coke–and-milk slushy?”
“You still can’t drink orange juice?” Linnie asked.
Amy shook her head. She’d been prone to carsickness in her youth, but whenever the family set out for an early morning drive, their mother would insist that both girls consume a hearty, balanced breakfast—which invariably included orange juice. Which invariably reemerged across the station wagon’s backseat and Linnie’s lap. “Just the smell of it turns my stomach.”
“Try hash browns,” Linnie suggested. “Potatoes have a surprising amount of vitamin C.”
“Is that really true?” one of the high schoolers asked.
“Yes.”
They gazed at her with bleary, makeup-smeared eyes. “Are you, like, an alcoholic?” one of them asked.
“No, but she is a certified genius,” Amy said. “Take a good look, girls—this is what happens when Mensa members go bad.”
“I work in Las Vegas, so I’ve had lots of experience dealing with hungover tourists,” Linnie explained, glaring at her sister.
“See?” The sun-kissed blonde nudged the brunette. “They are. I told you.”
“We’re what?” Amy asked.
The girls all giggled, but no one spoke up.
“What, exactly, are we?”
“You know. Escorts.”
Amy started laughing and couldn’t stop.
“Is that why you’re in jail?” the brunette asked, wide-eyed and earnest. “’Cause I know the rules are different in Vegas, but that’s not legal here.”
“If you’re a professional escort, you need to hit the makeup counter at Bergdorf before you go home,” said the one with the shredded jeans. “You’re wearing the wrong shade of blush for your skin tone. Go to the Chanel counter and ask for Nanette. She’ll fix you up. And also, no offense, but your dress looks kind of cheap.”
Amy gasped for breath.
“That’s because I found it on the clearance rack of T.J.Maxx for eighteen ninety-nine,” Linnie informed them with pride.
“Ew.” The girls recoiled at the thought of such a garment touching their skin. “After you’re done at the Chanel counter, ask Nanette to walk you up to the dress department.”
Linnie planted both hands on the door and called out to the officer at the end of the hall, “Move us to a quieter cell. I’m begging you.”
“When the judge is ready for you, you’ll be the first to know.” The officer didn’t take a single step in her direction. “But you and your sister can each make a phone call before then.”
“Great. Yes. Here we go.” She turned to Amy. “Call Brandon.”
“No way.” Amy shook her head. “My mother-in-law is spending the week at our house. I’m not waking her up in the middle of the night with a call from the drunk tank. She already thinks I’m a bad influence on her precious son.” She grinned. “Which, of course, I am.”
“Well, then call his cell phone. Be stealthy. Your mother-in-law will never know.”
“No.” Amy held firm. “He’s got to be at the office tomorrow by seven; the man needs his sleep just as much as I do. You’re the one getting it on with a swanky hotel scion—why don’t you call Mr. Moneybags to bail you out?”
“The man doesn’t even know my full name. I’m not calling him from jail.”
“Well, you got us in here; you get us out.”
<
br /> Linnie looked at Amy. “Dad?”
Amy shook her head. “Mom?”
Both said in unison, “No.”
“Well, that leaves only one other option.” Linnie stood up and squared her shoulders. “Let’s hope they have cell phone reception in Alaska.”
“Linnie, darling!” Grammy picked up the phone on the very first ring. “I’m so glad you called. I’ve been dying to know how everything’s going in New York.”
“Well. It’s been an interesting couple of days.” Linnie cupped her hand over the phone’s receiver to muffle the ambient jailhouse noise.
“I can’t wait to hear what’s going on with you girls. Did you meet Ty and Tai yet?”
“We did. They’re thuggish and underhanded, but I can handle them.”
“I have every confidence, my dear. And how are you and your sister getting along?”
Linnie mumbled a few platitudes about sisters being different flowers from the same garden.
“You’ll have to speak up; I can barely hear a word. My, it sounds like a lively group of contestants this year. Are you at one of the cocktail receptions?”
“Not quite.” Linnie screwed up her courage. “That’s what I’m calling about—is there any way you could wire me a thousand dollars? Like, immediately?”
“You need money? Again? What’s going on?”
Linnie gnawed the inside of her cheek. Amy definitely should have made this call. She could handle people so much better. “Don’t worry, Grammy; it’s no big deal; we just—”
“Don’t try to fob me off with that nonsense.” Grammy’s voice went steely and stern. “Last month you called me and asked for forty thousand dollars, and now you need more? What on earth am I supposed to think?”
“Well, when you put it that way, I admit it does sound shady. But I swear to you—”
“Cut the bullshit, Vasylina, and answer me right now.”
Linnie sucked in a breath. She’d never, ever heard Grammy Syl swear.
“Are you buying drugs?” her grandmother demanded.
“What? No! How could you even think that about me?”
“Look at the evidence: You’re so thin and pasty; you don’t return my calls; you always seem so jittery.”
Linnie went to massage her temple, then stopped herself as she considered the exotic variety of surfaces and substances she’d handled in the last few hours. “I’m antisocial; I’m not a crackhead.”
“I was thinking heroin, actually.”
“Grammy, be serious. I don’t even drink alcohol, let alone shoot heroin.”
“Well, something’s going on,” Grammy said. “Out with it. Have you developed a gambling addiction? Do you have a mob enforcer threatening to cut off your fingers?”
Linnie slumped back against the peeling plaster wall. “Amy and I need to post bail.”
Grammy gasped. “You’re in prison?”
“No, no, no. Prison is for convicted criminals. We’re just spending a few hours in the holding tank due to an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“Oh Lord.” Grammy sounded defeated. “What did Amy do this time?”
“Nothing.” Linnie closed her eyes. “It was me.” She delivered a bullet-point summary of the evening’s adventures, concluding with, “And you know how I feel about phonetic spelling.”
Grammy digested this information for a few seconds in silence, then said, “Well, you had to act out sometime, I suppose. You did miss most of your adolescence. But this all sounds very worrisome. Do you need me to come to Manhattan? I can be there by morning.”
“You can?” Linnie frowned. “Aren’t you in Alaska right now?”
Grammy paused again. “I’m still here in Connecticut, actually. Slight change of plans.”
“But I thought you and Harriet—”
“Don’t concern yourself about me; I’ll explain everything later. Right now, let’s worry about you.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Linnie assured her. “We just need you to post bail. We’ll pay you back as soon as we get out of here, and then we’ll never speak of this again. It’ll be like the whole thing never happened.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Grammy clicked her tongue. “Your sister’s there with you?”
“Yes. She didn’t technically do anything wrong, but she made the arresting officer take her in, too, to make sure I didn’t fall in with the wrong crowd.”
“That’s my Amy. Such a trouper.” Grammy sounded aglow with pride. “You know, I can’t think of a better way for you girls to reconnect than spending some time together behind bars.”
“Grammy!” Linnie’s eyes flew open. “You can’t do this to me. We have a national baking championship to win, remember?”
“Bonding takes precedence over baking.”
“You’re just going to leave us in here to rot?” A note of hysteria crept into Linnie’s voice.
“Don’t fret, my lamb. I’ll come down and arrange for your release. Eventually.”
“This isn’t funny. We’re dying in here. The stench alone is going to give me permanent neurological damage.”
“Kiss, kiss, darling. Talk soon!”
“Grammy, please. If you’ve ever loved me . . .” Linnie trailed off, remembering Amy’s warning about not asking questions she didn’t want to hear the answers to. “If you’ve ever loved Amy, you’ll wire money right now.”
“Let me ask you something.” There was a clinking noise on Grammy’s end of the line, and Linnie imagined her stirring a mug of hot tea. “Do you love Amy?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Don’t be evasive. Do you love Amy?”
Linnie frowned. “Is this a trick question?”
“Why must you be so prickly?” Grammy Syl sighed. “Of course you love her. She’s your sister.”
“Okay, fine. I love her. Can I have my bail money now?”
“After you tell Amy that you love her.”
“Fine.” Linnie threw up her hands. “You win.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. Now go share with Amy what you just shared with me.”
“And you’ll post bail as soon as you can?”
Grammy’s laugh was sprightly and warm. “When have I ever let you down?”
“Hey.” Linnie flung herself down next to Amy on the slab of concrete in the holding cell. “I love you.”
Amy tipped back her head in disgust. “Oh my God, are you still drunk?”
“No, Grammy strong-armed me into saying that. She agreed to bail us out, but first she made me promise we’d spend the rest of the night bonding.”
“The old lady plays hardball.” Amy straightened up as a thought occurred. “Do I have to say I love you, too?”
Linnie plucked at the folds of her baggy black dress. “Do you?”
Amy grinned. “If it gets us bailed out of here, I do.”
“That’s what I said, too.” They both snickered. “But you want to hear something weird? She’s not in Alaska. She’s at home.”
“In Connecticut?” Amy finally looked Linnie in the face. “Why?”
“I asked her, but she got cagey and changed the subject. She sounded fine, but I can’t imagine why she would cancel that trip. Her friend Harriet was counting on her to go, remember?”
“She probably just said that to coerce us to go to New York together,” Amy said. “Maybe the whole cruise was a ruse to begin with.”
“Maybe. Under all that cashmere and pearls beats the heart of a ruthless mastermind.” Linnie glanced over at the teenagers, who had huddled together and dozed off to sleep on the bench on the opposite wall. “So. You, uh, feel like bonding?”
“Sure.”
Linnie opened her mouth, then closed it again, then repeated the motion a few more times while trying to dredge up an appropriate topic of conversation.
“I never knew that about potatoes and vitamin C,” Amy finally said. “Now I won’t feel so bad when the twins are eating Tater Tots fo
r dinner.”
“I had fun tonight.” Linnie had to force out the words, stilted and self-conscious. “Hanging out with the Confectionistas. I mean, I know they’re really your friends—”
“They’re our friends,” Amy said firmly. “We’re a team. A Delicious Duet.”
“Well, in any event, I’ve never really had a lot of girlfriends.”
“Most of your friends are male?”
“Nope.” Linnie shrugged. “I just don’t have friends.”
“Sure you do. What about Kyle?”
“He was my roommate, not my friend. Big difference.”
“Well, you don’t need a lot of friends—that’s one area where quality is way more important than quantity. I mean, sure, I hang out with people from my book club and playgroup and the office, but I don’t share all the nitty-gritty details of my life with them. I know it sounds cheesy, but I think Brandon’s my best friend.”
Linnie nodded. “That’s because you have the perfect life.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m a dental hygienist. People loathe and fear me. I have one patient who has to take Ativan before he can even sit down in my chair.”
“Well, I make my living degrading myself for tips as Blackjack Barbie,” Linnie countered.
“You’re only Blackjack Barbie because you’re slumming it intellectually.” Amy waved her hand dismissively. “But if you wanted to, you could be curing cancer. Let’s face it: You got the brains, the beauty, the good genes, the good name—”
“Objection. By no stretch of the imagination is Vasylina a good name. It’s impossible to spell and impossible to pronounce.”
“Yeah, but you’re named after Grammy Syl. It has history and significance. ‘Amy’ is so ordinary. Do you know how many Amys there were in my graduating class? Four. I had to go through high school as Amy B.”
“I would have killed to be Amy B.,” Linnie said. “When I was little, I told Mom that I was going to change my name to Jennifer Sarah Smith as soon as I came of age.”
Amy laughed. “What’d she say to that?”
“She said that once I grew up, everyone would just call me ‘Doctor,’ so it wouldn’t matter.”
“Figures. Mom always had big plans for you. I think she gave up on me around adolescence.” Amy’s lips twisted into a wistful moue. “Marrying a dentist was the most I could aspire to, in her eyes. Success by association.”