by Tara Brown
“I’m so sorry.” I go back to old faithful.
“How long have you known?” Her eyes narrow.
“Since last month. I was about to tell you, but you guys were broken up, and then you got a job and you were doing so well so I didn't want to say anything. Then you got back together with dipshit, and I knew I would have to tell you.” I try to lie and tell the truth. “Two days before you got the job was when Rich told me everything. He said you deserved so much better and neither of us knew how to tell you.” The truth is this is the reason I helped her get the job.
“Oh my God. I am such an idiot. He’s been playing me all this time, and I’ve been acting like it’s cool because my mom wants me to marry him.”
“You’re perfect. He’s an asshole. An entitled dick. Screw him.” I plead with her to see reason.
“You’re right. He’s an entitled dick. But I’m an idiot.” She chugs back her drink the moment it touches the tablecloth.
I decide to spin this around, go for the kill, and deflect from William. “You have an awesome job. A super-cute roommate who is the perfect guy to get under for some rebound. You have your own things going on. You don't need William Fairfield. Screw him!”
She looks as though she might throw up but still reaches across me for my drink to down. When she’s done it she shudders. “I need some air.” She jumps up abruptly. I toss some cash on the table and follow her outside. I don't know what she’s thinking or feeling, beyond shocked.
She’s trashed and looking crazy as she heads for the park, nattering, “I almost told him I loved him, like five times.”
“I know.” I don't know what to say to make this better. I’m the wrong person to do this.
She pauses, giving me the worst look ever. “Did you hook me up with Brady as my roommate and hope I would screw him and realize what a knob William is so you wouldn't have to tell me?”
Busted. The lump in my throat springs up, filling my eyes with tears. I refuse to blink them out.
“Does Brady know this?” She sounds as if she’s completely betrayed and destroyed.
“No. He’d be pissed if he did. He’s not like that. He’s just slutty and we thought that maybe—”
“Oh God, you and Matt thought. You and him talked about this. You talked about me being a loser.”
“Never! Nat. Never!”
She pushes away from me, staggering a bit. “Go back to Manhattan, Sami. I don't even—I can’t even right now.”
“Nat!”
“GO AWAY!” She runs away, leaving me standing on the road with tears flooding my vision.
I slump, devastated I totally blew it.
She’s going home and her mom and William will convince her that he’s not the devil and in fact I am. And she’ll lose her only ally in this and I’ll lose my only real friend.
Chapter 11
The Princess and the Pauper
March 30, 2016
Natalie
“This isn’t a house a pauper would buy.” I cock an eyebrow and shoot death stares at Sami, hoping I’m really throwing an unimpressed vibe.
“This is a hovel. There’s no way this is a whole house for this price.” She searches the place like she’s chasing after a white rabbit. “There must be more, maybe another floor?” She isn’t hearing me.
“It’s the neighborhood,” I repeat myself for the tenth time since we started looking for my version of a great place to buy after moving out of one’s parents’ basement because the economy is in the toilet. “If I got something more like an apartment, which would suit our age and finances”—I brace myself for the onslaught of judgment as I say the last part—“somewhere up-and-coming like Bushwick.”
“Oh my God, you can’t buy in Brooklyn,” she groans. “How is that inspiring to anyone?”
“Says the diva buying on the Upper East Side with an unlimited budget. The whole point of this is to find something for me and my budget. I can’t even buy with my wages unless I go to Queens. And even then, it’s a condo.”
“Queens?” Her cheeks redden and she says it like it sours her mouth.
“Yeah, Queens. Or maybe Washington Heights.”
“There was a shooting there yesterday.”
“There’s shootings in New York every day. You have to understand, my budget and yours are not the same, but we have to make people still want the dream.” I laugh a little. “Imagine you were a little poor girl and your only dream in this world was to go to New York and become a Broadway star. You get a regular job and start going to auditions or classes. It could be years before you make it. But the point of this show is that while you’re schlepping food to rude assholes who grab your butt and leave lousy tips, you can live in style.”
“That sounds like a nightmare.” She snaps her eyes and glances at the hovel. “Let’s go see what they have in Harlem first, at least that’s in Upper Manhattan. It’s better than Queens. I need a shower, that house was disgusting.” She clicks out in her boots, headed for the limo and ignoring the film crew and photographers following us.
When we get in the car she gives me a worried sigh. “How was that?”
“A little too snobby. You’re trying too hard. Were you acting though?”
“No. I was just saying everything I thought, no filter.”
“I see.” I wrinkle my nose. “Maybe filter the tiniest bit.”
“Okay. And you were great. Loved the whole realism you had going there. I think people will connect with that.” She’s completely serious.
I don’t bother telling her I was being real.
At the next stop we actually make it all the way through the apartment with her not saying much. There isn’t much to say, it’s fairly bland. Personally, it’s even a bit bland for me. When we are about to leave, she pauses in the kitchen, staring at the wall.
“You okay?” I don’t know what she’s doing.
“I can’t figure out what that appliance is.” She points at the washing machine.
“It’s a washing machine.” I don’t mock her; she’s being serious.
“In the kitchen?”
“Yes.” I smile. “When there’s no room, and no other plumbing, they put it in the kitchen.”
“Where’s the dryer?” She glances around, still visibly struck by this.
“They hang dry and iron.”
“Everything?” Her jaw might as well hit the floor.
“Yeah.” I can’t even with her sometimes.
“I would just dry clean everything.” She links her arm in mine and shakes her head. “No.”
We see three more apartments, and I am so bored I could cry, when finally, we strike gold. It’s a prewar building on Fifth Ave, about seventeen blocks from Central Park. It has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an actual kitchen and in suite laundry that isn’t in the kitchen.
“This is the first reasonable place we’ve seen,” she mutters, turning in a circle before giving me an inquiring smile. “What do you think?”
“We could easily make this into a mid-twenties, early thirties haven.” I have to agree.
The cameramen and team look pleased too. They all tour around, setting up lighting for some intense before photos.
Sami links her arm into mine. “Now, we get a drink. One house down, five to go.”
We both sigh. It’s been two days of house hunting with her father’s realtor.
“A drink sounds delightful,” the realtor, Maxine Su, a New Yorker who knows it all, mutters from her phone. She texts faster than anyone I have ever seen. “We can sit and go over the itinerary for tomorrow. I have us looking at a Fifth Avenue three-bedroom in a prewar building and another prewar three-bedroom on East Seventy-second street. And we will finish up with a townhouse on East Seventy-eighth.”
“Only three?” Sami asks.
“I have three more lined up for the next day. We can’t possibly see more than three, between traffic and the size of those homes, compared to the ones we’ve seen these last couple of days.
” She texts and talks over her phone.
“Will that be enough, six houses?” Sami asks the cameraman next to us.
“Should be great, Ms. Ford. The houses are so large, when we feature them they’ll take up a ton of time, really driving home the fantasy of owning one of these lush places.” He laughs. “I know I’m fantasizing.”
We all laugh with him, except Maxine. She continues texting.
When we finally get home from the long night of drinks and real estate prospects, I’m done. I crawl into the bed, wrapping myself in blankets, and close my eyes.
My phone rings and I cringe until I see Liz’s name. I answer, smiling and trying not to sound completely dead. “Hey!”
“Hey, how’s it going?” She sounds funny.
“Good. Just chilling. What’s new with you?”
“Not much. Bored.”
“Yeah, Brady said they’re still in Carolina, waiting for flights home. I didn't watch the game but saw they lost when Sami was watching the highlights. Brady’s going to be grumpy. He always is when they lose.”
“Oh my God, Mike too. But he loves playing with the team. I can’t actually wait for the season to end. I don't tell him that, but the constant travel and working out and practice keeps him away ninety percent of the time. I almost never see him now. It’s been hard having a relationship that's so distant, but I knew what I was signing up for.”
“I know what you mean.” I nod. “For me it’s been kinda good. It’s made the irrational decision of moving in together so early easier to adjust to. We don't spend too much time together. When he’s home, I’m excited. And when he’s gone, I miss him, I think about him nonstop, but I still have my own space.”
“I’m ready for summer and free time and us being alone together in the same town. Did Brady tell you one of the Florida teams is looking at Mike?”
“No, oh my God, that’s what he wants. Some hot spot.”
“Yeah, he’s pumped. And the guys here said I can work from home starting this summer. So it looks like I’ll be going with him.” She still sounds down. “How’s things with the Princess and the Pauper?”
“Good. Busy. Sami and I need to wrap up the shoots for the houses and start the design teams on redoing everything in the places we buy, and then we’ll finally have free time too. I’ve completed all our designs and website launches. All social media is tied to her already existing fan base. We have more photo shoots in a week for the clothes, her wearing designer and me wearing a cheap knockoff.”
“Clothing and houses too?”
“Lifestyle. Everything from houses to clothes to relationships and where we like to get our favorite lattes. I can’t have a bowl of pasta in a café without it being Instagramed with location and cost.”
“Oh yikes. That sounds awful.”
“It has its moments. This next bit will be horrid, doing all four seasons in one week.”
“They shoot all the seasons at once?”
“Yeah. They have sets and I can Photoshop us anywhere we need to be. And it makes sure we don't have any issues. Like a car accident or getting fat or anything like that. It keeps consistency. Sami is getting the designers she loves to fly in clothes from around the world. All the new trends they’re planning for the up-and-coming seasons. And I’m going to Nordstrom.” I laugh.
“You don't mind being the poster girl for mediocrity?” She laughs with me.
“No, that’s literally my life. Who else could have the glimpse into the rich and famous that I have had? I know how to mimic their lives better than they do. The only thing I think will take some getting used to is the photographers up our butts during our free time. Sami has always had that, but I’ve had escapes, like my house.”
“That sounds awful, no offense.”
“None taken. It will be. But the success of the company is based on us, our lives. Small sacrifice to make something cool of myself.” The sentence reminds me of something. “Speaking of which, Sami and I were discussing you and the whole work thing. We were wondering if you’d be available for contract design work and maintenance. We started the plan with me being the design and maintenance person, me in the background. But her dad’s genius has me too busy now, with also doing my old job until I fulfill my commitment to Jane. I can help but I can’t do it all. I’ll go nuts. And I trust you.”
“That would be amazing. I’d be all over that.” She sounds happier, perkier. “The idea of the Princess and the Pauper is genius. Her dad is an incredible businessman. I’d actually be honored. Shoot me a contract and the general proposal so I know the list of demands.” She chuckles, sounding lighter. “Thanks, Nat.”
“No, thank you. We won’t be able to do this without a good team. And you’re the best.”
“That just made my night, honestly. I was kinda bummed with the whole not seeing Mike for a full week with the three away games in a row. His job has sort of claimed my life. It’ll be nice to have something for me besides the easy shit here.”
“I’m glad you called then.”
“Me too! I miss you being so close. And Mike being gone sucks.”
“Come visit me.” I fight a yawn.
“Okay, let me look at the schedule and see when they’ll be gone a couple of days and I’ll come work there. We can go over all the work stuff then.”
“Sounds good.” The yawn steals my words.
“I’ll text tomorrow.”
“Perfect.”
“Night!” She sounds much better.
“Night.” I hang up and flop the phone onto the bed next to me, losing the battle to stay awake.
Chapter 12
Liquid lunch
September 12, 2015
Sami
My stomach aches as I pace the bedroom, ignoring the fact the sun set ages ago and the city is now alive with the lights and colors that make it so famous. I bite a chapped lip, wondering what she’s doing right now. Matt enters, holding takeout and a bottle of red. He smiles cautiously. “Hi.”
“I’m not hungry.” The food smells divine but I can’t eat. I might be sick.
“And yet you’re going to eat for me, like a big girl.” He mocks me. He’s been doing it for days.
“We’ve never fought before, not like this. It’s been two weeks and she hasn't called me. And Rich texted and said she wanted a list of the girls. She wants to know who they are.” I gulp. “What if she thinks I’m lying?”
“Why would you lie? And if she wants proof, I think I might have some on my old phone from the cabin fever party at my place. I had a bunch of photos on there and dipshit was in them.”
“Do you think Brady listened when you told him not to bang her? I can’t believe we set them up to screw like that. What was I thinking?” I cover my eyes. “I just hope she hasn't told him about the setup. God!”
“You were hoping your tight-as-a-drum friend loosened up a bit. And yes, Brady is behaving. He still says she’s being weird. She works and games and drinks.”
“See!” I point. “She doesn't usually drink a lot. She’s gonna ruin her job. I can’t even.”
“You need to calm down. She’s depressed. The news was bad, she’s been made a fool, and she needs to digest that. I don't blame her. I’d need to play some video games and be alone too.” He offers a smug look. “When you accused me of things I never did, I was depressed. I ate a lot and stayed home alone. Carbs and Benson got me through.”
“Oh my God!” I roll my eyes. “She’s never going to forgive me. My best friend hates me. I don't care that you were depressed when you let some ho play with your dick. Maybe you shouldn't have been so drunk at your slut party.”
His eyes widen, losing the humor. “That’s enough!” He puts the food down and crosses the room angrily. “I’ve had it with this shit. She’s irrational, she’s upset. She’s not going to hate you. She loves you. She’ll see reason when she recovers. Just because you aren’t part of her processing this doesn't mean you aren’t important.”
“Yes,
that's exactly what that means! She doesn't need me!”
“Sami, your whole goal was to get her to the point that she doesn't need you. That she grows up and becomes an adult who isn’t reliant on her parents and makes her own decisions. You can’t have it both ways. She either grows up or she stays an immature moron—”
“Don't call her a moron—”
“And this is me calling it a day.” He turns, grabbing the bags of food and wine. “Call me when you and Nat make up or when you’re feeling less crazy. If that happens.” He storms out, taking the delicious smell of him and the food.
I slump onto the bed and text Nadia to head him off at the door and steal the food, but even she doesn't answer.
I’ve pissed everyone off.
Eventually I fall asleep.
When I wake, my phone is going nuts. I have a horrid feeling it’s Matt telling me off. But the first one is my mom blowing it up about dinner with the Palfreys, God help me, followed by a picture of a conversation. I twinge with anxiety when I realize it’s from Nat and sit up.
My stomach hits the floor. The message she’s sent is to all of Will’s known whores. “Oh shit.” I laugh and call her, letting the relief flood me.
“Hey.” She sounds like she might still be crying.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD, I LOVE YOU!” I lose it. “This is amazing. I am dying! Has he called you yet?”
“No,” she whispers. Jesus, is someone with her? Is she shagging someone else for revenge? If she is, YOLO. She deserves it.
“Stop being so damned dramatic. You caught him being a dickwad, that's all. I miss you. I hate that I have to force Brady to take photos of you randomly so he can send them to me so I see you.” I laugh at myself for even admitting that ridiculousness.
“Dude. Creepy.”
“You’re forcing me to do it. I miss you. I’m sorry.” My heart aches with need to hug her and make this all better.