“Oh yeah. That little calligrapher gave you an invitation, right?” Porsha said, smiling fakely. “She’s good, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she did a great job,” Chanel responded evenly. “And it was really nice of her to notice that mine had the wrong address on it. She said the address you gave her was my dorm room at Hanover.”
Porsha tucked her hair behind her ears and shrugged her shoulders. “Oops,” she said, feigning cluelessness. “Sorry about that.”
“So tell me about the party,” Chanel went on. “What’s it for again?”
Porsha couldn’t talk about the cause without smiling self consciously because it sounded so lame and unsexy. That’s why she’d named the party Kiss on the Lips. To give it some allure. “It’s for those two peregrine falcons that live in Central Park. They’re an endangered species, and everyone’s worried that they’re going to die or starve or the squirrels will raid their nests or whatever. So they set up a foundation for them,” she explained. “Shut up. I know it’s kind of stupid.”
Chanel blew out a puff of smoke. “Well, it’s not like there aren’t people that need saving. I mean, what about the...I don't know...homeless?”
“Well, it’s as good a cause as any. We wanted something that wasn’t too heavy to start the season off,” Porsha huffed, annoyed. It was fine for her to laugh at the cause she’d chosen for the party, but Chanel had no right.
Chanel steered the conversation back on course. “So is the party like, just for us, or is it for parents, too?” she asked.
Porsha hesitated. “Just...us,” she said finally. She downed the rest of her drink and looked at her watch. “Um, I kind of have to take off.” She slid the handle of her Birkin bag over her arm.
Chanel frowned. She had taken her time getting dressed, hyping herself up for a wild night out with her friends. She’d expected a big group—Porsha and the girls, Kaliq and his gang, Jaylen and his boys—all the people they always used to hang out with. And once Porsha got drunk enough, Chanel would just blurt it all out, confess to sleeping with Kaliq that one time—oops, those two times—and then they could start over as best friends and make a movie together. Chanel might even start taking an SAT prep course so they could take practice SAT tests together. It would be fun.
“But I thought we would stay here for a while. Wait for everyone else,” Chanel said. “Where are you going, anyway?”
“I have a practice SAT tomorrow morning,” Porsha said, feeling extremely superior, even though she was lying her ass off. “I need to prepare for it, and I want to go to bed early.”
“Oh.” Chanel crossed her arms and sat back on her stool. “I was hoping we’d all wind up partying in the Harrisons’ suite upstairs. They still have it, don’t they?”
Back in tenth grade, Chanel and Porsha used to drink themselves silly in Jaylen’s hot tub and do all sorts of crazy things. When their bodies had turned into prunes they’d climb out of the tub and pass out on the king-sized bed, sleeping there until their heads cleared, or the maids kicked them out, whichever came first.
Once, during a very drunken night at the end of tenth grade, Chanel and Porsha were soaking in the hot tub, and Porsha had kissed Chanel full on the lips. Chanel hadn’t seemed to remember it the next morning, but Porsha never forgot it. Even though it was just an impulse move that didn’t mean anything, thinking about that kiss always made her feel hot and itchy and uncomfortable. That was another reason why it had been such a relief when Chanel went away.
“The Harrisons still have the suite,” Porsha said, standing up. “But they really don’t appreciate people using it. This isn’t tenth grade anymore,” she added coldly.
“Okay,” Chanel responded. She couldn’t say anything right, could she? At least, not to Porsha. Her lower lip started trembling again and spots appeared on her eyelids beneath the powdery blue eye shadow.
“I really have to go,” Porsha said, eager to get the fuck out of there before Chanel went ballistic.
“Wait!” Chanel cried, her eyes huge.
Porsha looked at her Rolex and sighed impatiently. “What now?” she demanded, tapping her foot.
Chanel downed the last dregs of her second drink. “Don’t you get it?” she demanded, her voice quavering. “We're supposed to be best friends, that's the whole reason I came back—”
“Save it,” Porsha snapped. She stood over her, hands on her hips, shaking her head. She was about to have sex. She didn’t have time for another pathetic, corny speech about how much Chanel missed her. “Have a great weekend,” she said with a final stiff smile, as if they’d only just met. As if they hadn’t known each other all their lives. Sex with Kaliq was so much more important than any of this bullshit. Porsha dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table for their drinks. “Excuse me?” she asked the three tall boys who were blocking her path. “Do you mind getting the fuck out of my way?”
Shaking, Chanel collapsed onto the black velvet ottoman and swallowed an ice cube, whole, as she watched Porsha leave. It burned her throat and tasted like lemons.
Porsha kept pushing her way through the crowd and out the door to the street. Gasping for air, she walked over to Sixth Avenue to catch a cab uptown. It started to rain and her hair frizzed. A bus roared by with Chanel’s picture on the side of it. Was it her belly button? It looked like the dark pit at the center of a peach. Porsha turned her back on it and waved her hand in the air to flag down the next taxi. She couldn’t get away fast enough. But the first taxi that stopped for her had the same poster in the lighted advertising box on its roof. Porsha got in and slammed the door. She could never get completely away—Chanel was fucking everywhere.
And she wanted her gone.
22
Chanel reached for another cigarette and stuck it in her mouth with trembling fingers. Suddenly a pinky-ringed hand offered a Zippo and lit the cigarette for her. The lighter was gold, with the monogram J.H. So was the ring.
“Hey Chanel. You look seriously sexy,” Jaylen Harrison said. “What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?”
Chanel inhaled deeply, quelling her tears, and smiled. “Hey Jaylen. I’m glad you’re here. Porsha ditched me and now I’m all alone. Is anyone else coming?”
Jaylen clicked his lighter shut and put it in his pocket. He glanced around the room. “Who knows?” he said casually. “They could come, or they could not come.” He sat down in the armchair where Porsha had been sitting. “You really do look sexy,” he said again, staring at Chanel’s legs like he wanted to eat them.
“Thanks.” Chanel laughed. It was kind of a relief to see that Jaylen was still exactly the same, even if everyone else was acting brand new. She had to love him for that.
“Hey Missy,” Jaylen called to the waitress. “Bring us two rounds of my special shots. And put everything on my tab.” He handed Chanel the hundred-dollar bill Porsha had left on the table. “You keep that,” he said.
“But it’s Porsha’s.” Chanel took the bill and examined it. The bland, ugly face of Benjamin Franklin stared back at her.
“Give it back to her, then,” he offered.
She shrugged and stuffed the bill into her red velvet handbag.
Missy brought over four brimming-over shot glasses full of nondescript clear liquid. Jaylen pushed two of them toward Chanel. “I call this Bloody Sunday, because you drink it and the next thing you know it’s Sunday and there’s blood all over your shoes and you can’t remember how it got there.” He clinked glasses with Chanel. “Bottoms up!”
The shot tasted like pickle juice. It was delicious. Chanel reached for the second one and tipsily poured it half into her mouth and half down her front.
“Oops,” she said, as the shot sloshed all over her. “Damn.”
Jaylen dove for the spill and sucked it right off her chest. “There. Got it,” he said, licking his lips. “You can’t even tell.”
Chanel giggled and pushed him away. “Thanks, Jaylen. You should come out with me more often. I’m always ma
king messes.”
Jaylen leered at her and grunted before downing his second shot. “I bet you are.” He signaled to Missy to bring another round.
Chanel closed her eyes and opened them again, giggling drunkenly to herself. The designs in Jaylen’s parted box fade swam before her, looking even more ridiculous now that she was drunk.
“Why don’t we take this next round up to my suite?” he offered smoothly, his face all teeth.
Chanel hesitated, thinking about what Porsha had said about the Harrisons not liking people in their suite anymore. “Are you sure it’s okay with your parents?” she asked.
Jaylen snorted and held out his hand. “Them?” he said disparagingly. “They’re in Puerto Rico. Come on. It’s Friday the thirteenth, I’m sure the TV’s got good movies to watch. The hot tub’s nice and hot. We can order room service. I’ll put on your underwear, you can put on mine. Anything you want.” Jaylen wasn’t even a tad embarrassed. He was unembarrassable. “I’ll tell the bar staff to tell anyone who comes to meet us up there. They know who my friends are.”
Even though it was raining out and he was freezing his ass off, Kaliq was in no hurry to get to Porsha's house. It was pretty ironic, really. Here he was, a seventeen-year-old guy, about to have sex with his girlfriend for the first time—hers, anyway. He should have been running.
She must know by now, he kept telling himself, over and over and over. How could she not? The whole city had to know by now that he had had sex with Chanel. But if Porsha knew, then why hadn’t she said anything?
Thinking about it was driving Kaliq insane. He ducked into a liquor store on Madison Avenue and bought a half pint of Jack Daniels. He’d already smoked a little joint at home, but he’d need a shot of courage before he saw Porsha. He had no idea what he was in for. His hands were shaking so badly he wasn’t sure he could even take her clothes off.
That’s okay. She won’t be wearing any.
Kaliq walked the rest of the way as slowly as he could, taking surreptitious sips from the bottle. Just before turning down 72ndStreet to her apartment, he bought Porsha a rose.
Staggering, Chanel followed Jaylen into the elevator and up to the Harrisons' ninth-floor suite. It looked exactly the same as it always had: living room with entertainment center and bar, huge bedroom with king-sized bed and another entertainment center (as if they needed two), and a huge marble bathroom with a hot tub and two fluffy white bathrobes. That was the other great thing Chanel loved about hotels―the bathrobes.
On the coffee table in the living room was a pile of photographs. Chanel recognized Kaliq’s beautiful face in the top one and she picked them up and shuffled through them.
Jaylen glanced at the pictures over her shoulder. “Last year,” he said, shaking his head. “We were pretty crazy.”
Porsha, Kaliq, Jaylen, Imani, Alexis, everyone was in them, naked in the hot tub, dancing in their underwear, drinking champagne in bed. They were all party shots from last year―the date was in the corner of each one―and they were all taken in the suite.
So Porsha had lied. Everyone did still party in the Harrisons’ suite, same as always. And Porsha wasn’t the little goody-goody she pretended to be either with her mock SAT and her prim black cardigan. In one picture Porsha was wearing only her underwear, jumping up and down on the bed with a magnum of champagne in her hand.
Chanel gulped her drink and sat down on one end of the couch. Jaylen sat down at the other end and pulled her feet into his lap.
“Jaylen,” Chanel warned woozily. “I’m really drunk.”
“Let’s take your boots off then,” he said helpfully. “I know reflexology.”
“Sure you do.” Chanel lay back on the couch and allowed Jaylen to remove her boots and ply her tired feet with his greedy hands. She reached for the remote and clicked on the television. Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday was on—the scene where the autopsy doctor eats Jason’s heart.
Oh, goody.
Chanel loved this part. Eyes fixed on the screen, she put down the remote. Jaylen began to suck on her toes. He bit her big toe and kissed her ankle.
“Jaylen.” Chanel giggled, wriggling her legs. The room tilted and the TV screen went fuzzy. She never could hold her liquor.
Jaylen worked his hands up her legs. His fingers massaged the insides of her knees.
“Jaylen,” Chanel slurred again, sitting up in annoyance. “Do you mind? I’m pretty drunk, okay? Let’s just hang out on the couch and watch Freaky Friday or whatever this movie’s called. You know, like girls.”
Jaylen crawled toward Chanel on his hands and knees until he was looming over her and she was pinned beneath him. “But I’m not a girl,” he growled hungrily. He lowered his face to hers and began to kiss her. His tongue tasted like a big dill pickle.
“Shit!” Porsha shrieked when she heard the doorman buzz from downstairs. She was still wearing her clothes, and she had just spilled red candle wax all over her rug. She switched off her bedroom light and ran to answer the buzzer in the kitchen. “Yes, send him up,” she told the doorman quickly.
She unbuttoned her jeans and flew back to her room, wriggling out of them. Then she pulled the rest of her clothes off and tossed them into the closet. Naked, she spritzed herself with her favorite perfume, even spritzing once between her legs.
Oooh, bad girl.
Porsha checked out her naked toned body in the mirror. Her legs were too short for the rest of her body, and her boobs were small and not as “pay attention to me” as she would have liked them. Her jeans had left an angry red mark on her waist, but it was barely noticeable in the dim candlelight. Her skin was still smooth and milky chocolate from the summer, but her face seemed young and scared, not nearly as sexy as it was supposed to look. And her hair was sticking up in a halo of frizz from the rain.
Porsha dashed into the bathroom and applied a coat of the lipstick Chanel had left on her sink and ran her brush through her thick hair until it cascaded onto her shoulders in the sexiest way possible. There, instant irresistibility.
The doorbell rang. Porsha dropped her hairbrush, and it clattered into the sink. “Hold on!” she called out. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to say a little prayer, although she wasn’t exactly the praying type.
I hope it goes well. It was the best she could do.
Chanel let Jaylen kiss her for a while because he was heavy and she couldn’t get him off her. She wanted to slap him, but she was too drunk. As he explored the inside of her mouth with his tongue, she continued to watch TV. Jason’s heart had just turned into a demonic baby and crawled out of some guy named Randy’s neck. Chanel turned her head away and closed her eyes.
“Jaylen, I really don’t feel so well,” she said. “Do you mind if I just lie here for a little while?”
Jaylen sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sure, that’s cool.” He stood up and cleared his throat. “I’ll go get us some water.” He went over to the wet bar and filled up two glasses with ice and Poland Spring.
When he turned around, Chanel was already asleep. Her head had fallen back against the cushions, and her long legs twitched. Jaylen sank onto the couch beside her, grabbed the remote, and changed the channel. To be honest, he hated slasher films, and oh look, his favorite show: Glee.
“Hi,” Porsha said, opening the door a crack and poking her face through it.
“Hi,” Kaliq said, holding the rose. His hair was wet and his eyes were glassy.
“I’m naked,” Porsha told him.
“Really?” Kaliq asked, barely absorbing the information. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” Porsha said, opening the door wide.
Kaliq stared at her, frozen in the doorway.
Porsha blushed, hugging her arms around herself. “I told you I was naked.” She reached her hand out to take the flower.
Kaliq pressed it into her hand. “I got that for you,” he said gruffly. Then he cleared his throat and looked at the floor. “Should I take off my s
hoes?”
Porsha laughed and opened the door wider. Kaliq sounded nervous, even more nervous than she was. He was so sweet and so stunningly beautiful, even if he was kind of lacking in the balls department. He was like the quintessential Upper East Side boy—he got cute haircuts and had good skin. He smelled nice, he wore the cashmere sweaters his girlfriend bought for him, he got decent grades, and he was sweet to his mom. He sailed and played soccer. He knew how to tie a necktie. He knew how to dance. He was sexy!
But Kaliq never fully invested himself in anything or anyone. He wasn't a go-getter and he never said what was on his mind. He didn't take risks, which was what made it so risky to fall in love with him
“Just hurry up and take your clothes off,” Porsha said. She took his hand. “It’s okay. Come on.”
Kaliq followed her into her bedroom, not doing any of the things a boy should normally have done under the circumstances. Like check out Porsha’s bare ass, or worry about condoms, or bad breath, or try to say the right thing. He was barely thinking at all.
Porsha’s room was a blaze of candles. A bottle of red wine was open on the floor, with two glasses beside it. Porsha knelt down and poured each of them a glass like a little geisha. She felt more comfortable naked in the darkness of her room.
“What kind of music do you want to listen to?” she asked Kaliq, handing him a glass.
Kaliq gulped the wine, swallowing noisily. “Music? Anything you want. Whatever,”
Of course, Porsha had her iPod mix all cued up. The first song was Bryson Tiller, because she knew Kaliq liked him. Porsha had made and remade the movie of this moment in her head so many times she felt like an actress who was finally getting her big break, playing the role of her career.
She reached up and put her hands on Kaliq’s shoulders. He tried not to look at her, but he couldn’t help it. She was naked, and she was beautiful. She was a girl and he was a boy. There have been plenty of songs written about this.
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