Fifth Avenue #1

by Fifth Avenue 1 (retail) (azw3)

  “I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Kiara Addison Talmadge. I never told you my name was Kat, remember?” A slight smile curled her lips, then disappeared as a serious look came over her face. Her skin was gorgeously golden against her deep green V-neck tank top. A hint of her perky B cups winked up at him. God, she was fine.

  “I’m sorry. I needed to see you.” Kiara played with a large silver ring on her finger. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that night on the beach. But then I felt so guilty, because I’d never cheated before—and never thought I would.” Her eyes flashed earnestly. “I just really felt something when I met you, but the timing was all wrong and I was scared and we lived in different places...That was why I didn’t tell you my name; I just gave you my bracelet. I guess I hoped you would somehow find me,” she finished with a shrug. Her eyes were pleading. “I’m sorry I lied. I’m not a bad person, really.”

  She looked so beautiful and sweet and sincere, and before he knew what he was doing, Trey pulled her into a tight embrace. He could feel her heart flutter against his chest. He put his hand on her cheek and breathed in her apple-scented shampoo.

  “I’m glad you found me,” Trey said simply, not quite sure what to do next. Right now, hugging her was even better than all of the dirty dreams he’d been having.

  Oh, really?

  Trey’s iPhone started to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the display. Just as quickly as his heart had soared, it sank. “It’s a text from Reese,” he said, looking into Kat’s eyes.

  “You’re friends with him?” she asked in confusion.

  Trey shrugged. He read the text and wordlessly handed the phone to her.

  WANT TO JUMP OFF A FUCKING BRIDGE. WILL SETTLE FOR COCKTAILS. YOU HOME? I’M NEARBY.

  A look of concern flashed across Kat’s face. “I guess I shouldn’t be here,” she murmured.

  Trey nodded in agreement, even though he wanted nothing more than for her to stay. “Kat—I mean, Kiara...” he corrected.

  “I like being Kat with you,” she whispered. “We can be whoever we want with each other.”

  Trey nodded. What she was saying didn’t even make that much sense, but it did seem romantic.

  The downstairs buzzer suddenly rang and they both froze and stared at each other. Trey’s mind raced. “Wait in here,” he said hurriedly, pulling Kat toward India’s immaculately decorated room, a tasteful blend of beige and white and pink that India had ordered from some designer as soon as they moved in. He pushed Kat inside.

  The buzzer rang again and he leaned in closer. Finally, they kissed. He’d meant it to be a peck, but by the time their lips met, it was urgent and passionate, and he wished he could just close the door and lay her down on the bed and...

  Right, because that would be the perfect way to christen his sister’s new six-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheet set from Bergdorf’s.

  His phone vibrated with another text.

  AT YOUR DOOR. WHERE THE F ARE YOU?

  “I have to go. Wait here until you hear us leave.” Trey felt giddy with excitement and guilt.

  “What are we going to do?” Kat asked, sounding like the damsel in distress Trey would do anything to rescue.

  “We’ll figure it out,” he said determinedly. He kissed her one more time, and closed the door to India’s room, his heart pounding.

  * * *

  “Hey, man.” Trey opened the front door and grinned at Reese way too eagerly. Reese’s eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was unbrushed. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, even though it had only been a day since Kiara broke up with him. “Cocktail hour?” Trey coaxed.

  Reese cocked his head at his newfound friend, who was smiling and trying so hard to make him feel better. As if a bad draft beer would make him feel any better. He felt like dying. “I was standing outside her apartment for an hour. I saw her go out and walk uptown, but then I lost her, so I decided to come over here. I know I sound like a stalker,” Reese admitted.

  Trey winced. Kat was probably listening in the very next room. And Reese did sound pretty stalkerish.

  “I don’t know where she could have gone,” he continued.

  “You’re obsessing,” Trey said, not unkindly. He leaned against the tall mahogany doorframe. “She was probably just going to a friend’s house or something.”

  That’s one way of putting it.

  “I just want to know who’s she’s with.” Reese shook his head. “She said she’d met someone else. Who could it be?”

  “Bro, I don’t know,” Trey said helplessly. He shrugged, and the sweat-sticky T-shirt suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable against his skin. “Let’s go out. Everything always makes more sense over a few beers.”

  Cocktail therapy, anyone?

  18

  The setting sun cast patterns of light on the dark blue, late-nineteenth-century carpets covering the gleaming parquet floors of Grandmother India’s townhouse. India sat with Sydney Miller. Sydney Miller of nipple-piercing fame. Sydney Miller, the only guest at her tea party.

  Just last year, this very room had been featured in Vogue after a Drama League party the elder India had hosted, and now, with files from the lawyer’s office stacked in messy piles on the ground, it looked more like a museum installation that was in the process of being taken down.

  Except with fewer people.

  “Give me those.” India pointed to the collection of delicate mini tarts decorated with tiny raspberries that sat untouched on a tray. The pink tray perfectly matched the Chanel suit she had borrowed from Grandmother India’s closet.

  Wordlessly, Sydney handed her the tray. Glasses of carefully prepared homemade iced tea sat untouched on the side table, condensation fogging their outsides. India had thought people could take them as they came in, and that serving iced tea would be a cute way to modernize the time-honored tradition of the tea party.

  If cute servers came with the iced tea, that is.

  “I don’t think anybody’s coming,” Sydney said finally as she gazed around the room. The antique chairs India had dragged over from the dining room were all lined up, facing the small wrought-iron balcony that jutted into the sunroom from the second-floor study. Grandmother India had had it constructed for its sight lines—when the sun set, whoever stood there appeared to be illuminated. Edie had always scoffed that her mother had gotten the idea after seeing the musical Evita. Still, it was dramatic, and India had been planning to go up there and give a short speech, and then use the rest of the time to mingle and get to know the other Willard girls.

  The doorbell rang. India shot an I told you so glance at Sydney and her matte-black lipstick, and sprang up from the oversize armchair. She winced in pain as her size nine feet strained Grandmother’s size seven Ferragamo pumps.

  If the shoe fits, wear it. But if it doesn’t fit...don’t.

  She opened the heavy oak door to greet Baby, flanked by three dogs lined up in size order. “Surprise!” Baby smiled mischievously as a large labrador wiggled his butt against India’s bare leg, grinning and slobbering maniacally. Two tiny pugs were winding their leashes around the bigger dog’s legs.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” India blurted, pushing the dog away with her knee. Was this Baby’s idea of a joke?

  “Nemo, you freak, didn’t you get enough of that in the park?” Baby wrestled the dog away. “I’m just heading back from the park. I was so close, I thought I should stop by. Do you want me to come back after I drop them off?” Baby held up the leashes. The large dog lunged toward India’s crotch once more.

  “No!” India cried, slamming the heavy oak door. She sighed wearily.

  “Who was that?” Sydney yelled.

  “No one,” India replied woodenly as she reappeared in the sitting room. She grabbed another tart and nibbled on its edges.

  “I told you, Bitch Central.” Sydney joined India next to the dessert tray and popped a whole mini tart in her mouth. India could see flashes of her silver tongue r
ing as she chewed. At least she came, India thought. “And there’s no booze,” Sydney remarked, picking up another tart. “These fuckers are good,” she commented, grabbing two more.

  “A kegger just didn’t seem like an appropriate venue to discuss my plans to run for a school-sponsored position,” India declared indignantly, pinning a stray lock of glossy hair back into her bun. She collapsed onto a peach wingback chair in exhaustion.

  “Are you kidding? People would have come for a kegger. A tea party to talk about a school-sponsored position? Do you know how lame that sounds?” Sydney laughed dryly, then saw India’s hurt expression and softened her tone. “Generally, around here, a party has boys, alcohol, a few girls passed out in the bathroom, and some majorly sketchy hookups going on,” she said matter-of-factly. “They didn’t do that where you were from?”

  “Yeah, but that was Nantucket.” India wrinkled her nose in distaste. She’d assumed she’d left those types of parties behind. Wasn’t New York City supposed to be more sophisticated? Was that all her classmates cared about? Hookups and drinking?

  In a nutshell, yes. Although we’re very discriminating about who we hook up with and what we drink.

  Sydney nodded and sat down on one of the chairs in front of India, as if she were a kindergartener listening to story time. “Why do you think I want to get out so badly? People here are so unimaginative.”

  “Then why did Brittany and all those other girls say they’d come?” India stood to grab a cucumber sandwich. She couldn’t bear to see the food trays looking so full.

  “Because they assumed there would be boys and booze and the same type of thing they’re used to at every party. Probably one genius was tipped off by the teacups, actually read the invitation, and spread the word.”

  India sighed.

  “Can I ask you something?” Sydney continued without waiting for India’s answer. “Why do you even want this position so much?”

  India paused to think about it. She wanted to be SLBO because it seemed like something her grandmother would have done. Then again, maybe people were different in Grandma India’s days—maybe they had a different idea of what constituted a good party, a good life, a good time. She remembered when Grandmother India brought her as a date to a holiday charity ball at the Met. She was six, and had worn a dark blue velvet dress from Bergdorf’s. Impossibly tall Christmas trees surrounded the dance floor as Count von Arnim, a dapper Bulgarian royal and a friend of Grandmother India, whirled her round and round. She remembered peeking outside and seeing puffy snowflakes fall in the dark expanse of Central Park and thinking that Manhattan was the most magical place in the world. Did that world still exist?

  “It’s just important,” she said softly, twirling the diamond pendant at her neck. Maybe New York had changed, or maybe she was going about things all wrong.

  “Also, the outfit’s cute, in this ‘I’m on the board at the Met’ way...” Sydney commented, gesturing to India’s skirt. “But unless you have plans to host a charity luncheon, you should probably lose the suit.”

  India sighed and took off the beautiful pink suit jacket, laying it against the pink embroidered chair. She pulled the pins out of her hair and shook it out so the long locks cascaded down her shoulders. She no longer knew what her grandmother would recommend.

  “Want to grab a beer?” Sydney offered, making one more trip to the food table. “I sort of want to check out some strip clubs downtown. I’m thinking of doing some sort of independent study on female objectification this semester.”

  “No thanks,” India declined, barely listening.

  “Okay,” Sydney said, unfazed. “Call if you change your mind—I’m starting at Scores!”

  She made her way out the door, leaving India alone in the already-darkened sunroom with the trays full of delicate tarts. India grabbed one more and glared, defiantly, at the still-full iced tea glasses, thinking of all the Willard girls who were supposed to be here, drinking out of them. She idly wondered where Vanity Laurent and her bitchtastic friends were at this very second. Probably having cocktails somewhere and laughing at her sad attempt at popularity.

  Then, just as quickly as her self-pity had come, it went. She stood and tossed the entire tray of tarts into the trash. She wasn’t the Queen of Tarts, she was India fucking Cartwright, and she’d let those bitches know it.

  Off with their heads!

  19

  On Wednesday morning, India changed into the gross blue and white gym uniform for her first gym class of the year. It was the day after her tea party disaster, and she was determined not to let that little blip color her entire Willard career.

  She walked out onto 93rd Street, where the rest of the girls had gathered to jog over to the Central Park Reservoir. The gym teacher, Coach Crawford, was swinging a whistle around one finger. She had stringy black hair with gray streaks in it and was wearing a way too small tank top that showed off her cleavage. It looked like she had stuffed two grapefruits down her shirt.

  “Hey.” India was surprised to see Baby wearing a Willard T-shirt and athletic skirt, especially since she had skipped French class that morning. On Baby, the gym outfit was so big it looked ridiculous but cool. India glanced down at her own uniform. Her T-shirt hugged her chest uncomfortably, making her look like a slutty cheerleader. They must have gotten their uniforms mixed up. “How’s it going?” India asked.

  “Another fun class with the hoe-bags,” Baby said lightly. “What could be better?” She nodded at Draya and Brittany. Surprisingly, Vanity was nowhere in sight. Coach led the group down 93rd Street toward Fifth Avenue.

  “So, I was thinking we should have a party this weekend,” India decided, glancing at Draya and Brittany out of the corner of her eye. She liked the idea of having a second, real party. She would get Trey and Baby on board, so it would be just like old times, and India could use that night to lock in the student liaison votes. “No dogs allowed. But you have to come or else I’ll disown you as my sister,” she added.

  “Sure, okay.” Baby nodded, wondering how they were going to have a party when they didn’t know anybody yet. The only person she’d really talked to here was Marcelo. But actually, maybe she could bring him to the party.

  “Tall Girl and Shorty! Come on!” Coach growled as she herded the group to the crosswalk, her whistle twirling.

  Tall Girl? India sniffed. This was what they called personal attention in private school? There were certainly going to be some changes made when she got into power. Ahead of them, Brittany and Draya bounced across the cross-walk.

  “Hey, girls. Sorry you couldn’t make it to my meeting the other day, but I’m having a party on Saturday night if you’re interested,” India announced, cornering them as they crossed into the park and the group started to jog up the concrete path to the reservoir.

  Brittany’s eyes widened and she glanced at Draya, who smirked. “Who’s going?”

  Baby rolled her eyes and took off down the reservoir path, her hair streaming behind her. How could India go from hating these bitches to turning into their total best friends? She had never seen that side of India, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She didn’t like anything about Emma Willard—or New York, for that matter. Although the reservoir was actually really pretty—there was something dramatic about the skyscrapers towering above an expanse of lush green trees. It sort of expressed all the contradictions of New York: it was modern yet classic, enormous and yet so, so small. Not that she was actually starting to appreciate the city or anything.

  Of course not.

  “Well, I’m inviting a bunch of Willard girls and then some St. Jude’s guys. My brother and I thought it would be fun if we could all hang out,” India invented as she watched Baby tear down the path as if she really cared about running. The girls climbed the stone steps leading up to the reservoir and paused by the water fountain, pretending to get ready to run.

  “You have a brother?” Brittany demanded excitedly. India nodded. It was the same story back in N
antucket. Mention the promise of a boy, and suddenly all the girls came running.

  “Yeah, Trey—he’s on the swim team at St. Jude’s, so a bunch of them will be there too,” India mentioned casually. She shook her jet black hair out of its ponytail and tied it tighter at the crown of her head.

  Trina sidled up. “So, where is the party?” she asked India, stretching her leg on the wrought-iron fence surrounding the reservoir.

  “My grandmother’s townhouse on 61st and Park. I hope you can come.” India flashed a smile. “My brother is really looking forward to meeting all my new friends.” And with that, she took off after Baby. She could feel Brittany, Draya, and Trina watching her curiously as she sprinted around the reservoir, and easily caught up to her sister. Popularity was sort of like fishing: all you had to do was bait the line.

  Hook, line, and sinker!

  20

  Baby made her way to the Cashman Complexes Wednesday after school, looking forward to some alone time with the dogs. Of everyone she’d met in the city, they were by far the most human.

  Because that makes sense.

  She spotted Marcelo standing outside the building, his three dogs straining on their leashes. He smiled when he saw Baby, and she walked toward him, bending down to greet the eager pups.

  “Well, they’re all ready for you—they’re so excited, it’s almost as if they knew you were coming.” Marcelo smoothed a nearly invisible wrinkle on his olive J.Crew pants. “Mind if I come with you?”

  “Kind of,” Baby countered gruffly, straightening up. She thought getting back to nature with the animals might help her relax, but not if a pretentious tycoon-in-training was following her. She grabbed the three leashes and began walking ahead of him.