Fifth Avenue #1

by Fifth Avenue 1 (retail) (azw3)

  “It won’t hurt,” the male officer said as the cold metal snaked around India’s wrists and locked with a sickening clank.

  “Okay, party’s over,” the female officer announced to the crowd. It wasn’t necessary. Everyone was already running in all directions.

  “After party at my place!” Malik yelled into the melee.

  Both officers led India out the door and into the back of the police cruiser. The red and blue lights cast an eerie glow over the deserted street. India heard her own desperate sniffles as she shuffled down the regal brownstone steps and toward the cruiser.

  “You don’t really need to wear those.” The male officer gave India a sympathetic look as he unlocked the handcuffs and helped India into the backseat. India nodded gratefully, flexing her hands. She sat back in the police car, her head thumping numbly, fingering the custom-made necklace she had worn under her dress for good luck. As the car came to a halt at a stoplight, she pulled it off to examine it. The letters read I = SLOB in elegant cursive.

  India stared at it, then broke into noisy, wracking sobs. She might as well get thrown in jail forever, because her life at Willard and the Upper East Side was absolutely and completely over.

  “We’ve got a live one,” the male officer sighed.

  Wait till she hurls all over them.

  30

  Dazed, Trey watched his sister get driven away in a police car. He pulled out his cell and called his mother, feeling bad for bothering her on the opening night of her big Brooklyn exhibition.

  “Trey?” Edie answered, sounding kind of pissed. The roar of laughter and clinking glasses echoed in the background. She was obviously having way more fun than they were.

  “Hi, Mom,” Trey cringed. Part of the reason Edie let the triplets do whatever they wanted was because things like this didn’t happen to them.

  “I received a phone call from the police about the party. The precinct is right there, so I told them you and Baby would come for her.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Trey mumbled. Where was Baby, anyway? He hadn’t seen her all night. Or last night, for that matter.

  “Call me as soon as you all get home.”

  Unable to locate his tiny rebellious sister anywhere, Trey made sure the guests had scattered, and locked up Grandmother India’s house. Then he jogged down to the police precinct, just a few blocks away.

  He felt nervous when he first walked in, but quickly found that the precinct was less like Law & Order and more like the Nantucket police station he’d once visited on a school field trip. One cop sat behind a heavy wooden desk. A grainy black and white television was on in the background, its sound interrupted every so often by a staticky noise from one of the police radios. The female officer who’d arrested India sat in a chair by the holding cell, filing her nails.

  India sat in a corner of the cell with her ankles crossed, crying hysterically. She held her wrists together in her lap as if they were still encased in invisible handcuffs. On the opposite wall of the cell stood a toilet and a small, grimy-looking sink.

  “Wipe your nose, honey,” the female officer called to India in a bored voice. India sobbed incoherently, her entire face red and wet with tears and snot. Trey was mesmerized. He had never seen India like this, not even the time when she was second-runner up for Miss Lobster Queen Junior in the seventh grade. Not even when they were little.

  “My family has the most powerful lawyers in the city,” India slurred, not noticing Trey. “I also really have to pee, but I am not using that toilet, and if I got a urinary tract infection, I could sue, you know.” She rattled the bars for dramatic effect.

  “That your sister?” the police officer asked Trey. “You can take her home. We spoke to your mother. She knew about the party, so there are no trespassing problems.”

  Trey grinned, relieved they weren’t in any trouble. He knew he should feel bad, but seeing prim and proper India sitting in the drunk tank was kind of hilarious.

  “Hey, India!” he yelled, his voice echoing across the concrete and linoleum. She looked up. Trey pulled out his iPhone and snapped a photo of her behind bars for posterity.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Prissy has a great mug shot she’ll be thrilled to submit to her yearbook,” the cop behind the desk laughed.

  The female officer unlocked the door to the cell, and India tripped into Trey’s arms. “Trey, you saved me,” she slurred.

  “Okay, we’re going home. Say goodbye to the nice police officer,” he couldn’t resist teasing.

  The officer behind the desk looked almost sad to see her go. It must have been an entertaining evening.

  Trey navigated India into a cab. “72nd and Fifth,” he said. He noticed the cabbie staring at India in alarm. Her face was smeared with makeup, her eyes were bloodshot, her nose was running, and her mouth hung open in a gaping, drunken way, as if just breathing took enormous effort. “She’s fine,” he assured the driver. India fell onto his shoulder and began to snore.

  Tsk, tsk. What would Grandmother say?

  The cab pulled up to their twenty-story stone apartment building, and Trey helped navigate India to the green-awninged front door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kat sitting on the wooden bench to the right of the entrance, in the shadows of the landscaped bushes.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “I’ll be down in a second.”

  Trey dragged India into the elevator, hauled her inside the penthouse, and lifted her onto her perfectly made bed. He pulled off her shoes and practically sprinted to the elevator, out the door, and to the bench downstairs.

  “Hey,” he whispered, suddenly feeling exhausted.

  “Is she okay?” Kat asked, twirling a strand of caramel-colored hair in her fingers.

  “She will be, eventually,” Trey shrugged. “Her pride’s going to be more hurt than anything.” He noticed goose bumps forming on Kat’s slender arms and wanted so much to wrap his arms around her. “Are you cold?”

  “A little,” Kat admitted. She pulled her knees up to her chest, suddenly looking like a vulnerable little kid. “I thought I’d never see you again after Nantucket,” she said with a small smile. The doorman looked over at them, then turned away.

  “Let’s take a walk. I’ll bring you home,” Trey said gruffly. Kat stood up and he saw her reaching her hand over to him. He crossed his muscular arms over his thin gray T-shirt so she couldn’t grab his hand. If she did, then he wouldn’t be able to do what he had to.

  “It was a fun party,” Kat continued as they made their way up Fifth Avenue. The street was empty, except for the doormen flanking each building. “I was glad to see Reese with someone.”

  Trey felt a lump form in his throat but began walking faster, trying to walk Kat home before he began kissing her all over again. He could feel the heat from her body. He made himself think of Reese, heartbroken and soaking wet at the party. Reese needed Kat, and there was no way Kat would go back to him if Trey was still in the picture. He steeled himself and looked straight ahead. They were almost at her building.

  He stopped and took her hands as they stood on the corner. The sign said DON’T WALK, but it didn’t matter, since there were no cars around. He looked into her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The night in Nantucket didn’t mean anything. I know you want me to have feelings for you, but I don’t. It was just...a one-night stand,” he lied. He couldn’t believe how assholic the words sounded when he actually said them.

  “You don’t mean that,” she said steadily, her eyes boring into his.

  Trey tore his hands away and crossed his arms over his chest again. “I do. It was a one-night stand. I don’t have feelings for you,” he repeated, then quickly turned and began to walk down the street in the direction of his apartment.

  “Wait.”

  Trey stopped walking and turned around. Kat’s eyes glinted. She held her hands on her hips like an Amazon warrior. She wasn’t crying. Actually, she looked more pissed than brokenhear
ted. “So everything you said—”

  “Get over it,” Trey spat, trying to channel India when she was acting annoyingly self-righteous. He dug into the pockets of his True Religion jeans and pulled out the Tiffany ID bracelet, feeling its familiar grooves as he handed it to her. He couldn’t resist closing her fingers over it before he turned and walked the five blocks back to his building, the image of Kat’s confused, pleading eyes burning a hole into his brain.

  He nodded woodenly to the doorman and walked toward the elevator. His own heartbroken face stared back at him from the shiny mirrors lining the lobby. If everything went according to plan, soon Reese and Kat would be back together, and they would both be happy. As for Trey, he was ready to find out what else Manhattan had to offer.

  Ladies, the line starts here.

  31

  Baby tossed and turned uncomfortably on the sand on Sunday morning, trying to stay asleep. She had spent all of Saturday on the beach and had eventually fallen asleep by the water. Her summer hammock had been taken down by the family friends Edie had invited to take care of the house, so she ended up finding an old sleeping bag in the shed and dragged it down to the water’s edge. Finally, she was able to cry herself to sleep. The last thing she wanted to do was wake up and start crying all over again.

  She wiggled her butt into a small depression in the sand and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out any rays of light. As she drifted off, she felt a warm tongue licking her face. Ace? she thought as her large brown eyes popped open. Instead of her remorseful ex-boyfriend, she gazed at Nemo’s blond, enthusiastic, very furry face.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded in astonishment, petting Nemo’s fur. She wondered if this was some weird, subconscious post-breakup dream, but Nemo felt very real to her.

  “Well, you know, big dog’s gotta run.”

  Baby shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand and saw Marcelo’s face break into a wide grin. He wore green pants with tiny frogs and fish embroidered on them.

  She extracted herself from the puffy red sleeping bag and stood up, brushing sand from her Emma Willard uniform skirt. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or just pull Marcelo into a hug. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at him and put her small hands on her tiny hips.

  “Big dog’s gotta run on my beach?” she challenged. A flush of red rose up Marcelo’s face.

  “He missed you,” Marcelo said simply, watching Nemo lick her tiny ankle. “The dogs didn’t want you to leave.”

  Baby knelt down and buried her face in Nemo’s soft fur. He panted appreciatively in her ear. “Well, your girlfriend certainly wanted me to leave,” she retorted, her head still buried. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. A wave crashed noisily against the shore.

  “That’s sort of why I came,” Marcelo said, suddenly sounding serious. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his frog-embroidered pants. “I’m sorry I was an asshole to you the other day. With Vanity,” he clarified. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  “Can you apologize for your pants, too?” Baby’s face suddenly broke into a smile. She pushed her stiff, salty hair back behind her ears. Who even bought, much less wore, critter pants? In a way, it was almost as who-gives-a-fuck as her own style. The morning sun beat down on her face, and for the first time in twenty-four hours she felt warm all over.

  “Anyway, the reason I’m here is...will you come back to New York?” Marcelo asked tentatively. “I mean, the dogs need you,” he finished abruptly, coloring a little.

  Baby paused, gazing out the expanse of ocean licking into the sand. Could she leave her tiny island paradise? She thought of the party she had missed last night and felt a wave of sadness that she had so thoughtlessly left India and Trey and her mom. She missed them. She turned back to Marcelo, looking at her so hopefully, and looking so good. Maybe New York wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “You brought the chopper?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he admitted. Then he pulled out two rumpled tickets from his pocket. “But I also bought ferry tickets. My dad needed the chopper this afternoon,” he explained. “I thought we could take the long way home.”

  Baby didn’t know what to say. Cashman Junior stopping at the island’s tiny ferry terminal to buy tickets?

  “There’s a car waiting in Boston,” Marcelo continued. “Unless you want to take the bus?”

  Baby grinned. “Not necessary,” she said, feeling like she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She was going home. To a new home. And this time she was actually a tiny bit excited about it.

  Hmm...wonder why?

  32

  When India woke up she was lying fully dressed in last night’s clothes, on top of her pink bedspread. It was almost noon, she had a pounding headache, and her long hair was matted to one side of her head. She felt like she had been run over by a truck.

  Good morning, Miss Drunky.

  She swung her legs off the bed and trudged slowly to her bathroom, desperate for water to get rid of the old-sock taste in her mouth. She opened the door to the adjoining bathroom and almost screamed when she saw herself in the mirror. Her black dress was hopelessly wrinkled and had a weird, scummy stain on the bodice. There was a small chain of bruises around both of her wrists. Terrible images from the previous night flooded her memory. She remembered getting drunk. The police lights flashing. The smell of throw-up on the ivy surrounding the townhouse as she was escorted out by the cops. She leaned in closer to the vanity mirror and stared at her reflection. She looked like death. Death with a gold necklace on it. A necklace that read SLOB.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Edie trilled, walking into her bedroom wearing an all-white jumpsuit that made India’s eyes hurt. Edie threw open the gauzy green curtains and opened the window, leaning out and breathing deeply. India closed the bathroom door and dove back under her covers before her mother could see what a mess she was. Yes, her mom was always preoccupied, but not so much she wouldn’t notice India was in worse shape than the free sculptures Edie picked up off the street.

  “How are you feeling?” Edie asked lightly, but there was concern in her voice.

  “Not good,” India croaked, gripping the covers.

  “Want to tell me about it?” Edie sat down on the silky pink cover, stroking Roko, who had come to say good morning. He nuzzled India’s covered feet with his whiskered nose. Edie looked at India expectantly. “Actually, you know what?” She stood and wandered out of the room, coming back a minute later with nine red candles. She set them up on the white antique dresser India had brought over from Grandmother India’s house and lit them one by one. “This is to wish you luck this year in school, and remove all the bad energy from last night. I heard what happened.”

  India poked her head out from under the covers, wondering just how much her mother knew.

  “I have to say I’m disappointed. Not so much with you three, but more with the whole police system. It seems that things are just different here than when I was growing up.” Edie’s brow furrowed as she lit the candles. India sat up and looked at her mother in amazement. That was it? The candle flames moved back and forth in the morning breeze. “I should have done this earlier, but I’ve been so busy,” Edie sighed apologetically.

  India hid her face under her monogrammed pillowcase. She didn’t want to deal with her mother’s mystic enchanments, not today. Couldn’t her mom just be helpful and bring her an Advil?

  Or a Bloody Mary?

  “Actually, where’s Baby? I’m sure this would help her as well,” Edie said thoughtfully. India sat up. Where was Baby? She had never even shown up at the party last night, and had ignored all India’s texts.

  “Um,” she began brilliantly. She pulled her cell phone from under her pillow. Had she slept on it? Ugh. There were no messages from Baby, only one from Sydney.

  KILLER PARTY—I KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU!

  India buried her phone under the covers again. If the Emma Willard freak thought it was a great party, her social life
must be over.

  “Where is she?” Edie pressed. “I didn’t see her this morning.”

  “She’s at...a protest,” India babbled, not sure where the lie was coming from. She thought of Sydney. “About...wallabies in captivity. Like at the zoo.” Wallabies? Was she still drunk?

  Quite possibly.

  “Oh!” Edie said. “She must have taken my conversation to heart!”

  India looked at her mother, surprised.

  “She’s found a cause,” Edie explained vaguely, waving a turquoise-laden hand.

  “I guess so,” India mumbled.

  “But then she won’t be at the brunch,” Edie observed, sounding disappointed. And I just lost the only other vote in the election, India realized. As if it even mattered after last night’s disaster. “I’ve so been looking forward to reconnecting with my old high school friends. Although, come to think of it, we never really got along in high school,” Edie sighed. “Will you be ready in ten minutes?”

  When India dragged her unshowered, Fendi dress-wearing self out of a cab and into Tavern on the Green behind her mother, her stomach had only slightly settled and her head was still pounding. The lights at Tavern on the Green were twinkling, and the girls were all assembled in the Crystal room, which had huge floor-to-ceiling windows and felt a bit like a greenhouse. The room was filled with round, white linen-draped tables topped with arrangements of lilies and white orchids, and pure sunlight streamed through the windows. Normally, it would have looked pretty, but viewed with a hangover, the whole setting seemed like some sort of torture device. Around them, girls wearing enormous Gucci sunglasses stumbled over to the linen-covered table where the SLBO votes were being cast. There, a Tiffany blue box with a hole cut in the top was overflowing with ballots—all of them no doubt calling for Vanity Laurent to be SLBO. India wondered if she should even bother to put her own vote in and decided against it. That would be too, too pathetic.

  “I wonder if I should talk to Mrs. McLean about setting up some sort of artistic endowment from your grandmother’s trust,” Edie mused, looking around the room. She was clad in a flowy blue dress she had hand-dyed herself. “It would be great to encourage creative expression. Everyone here looks the same.” She frowned in disappointment at the crowd of hungover, sunglasses-wearing, simple sundress-clad girls.