Then there was the place itself. A monument to human grossness. From his strategic spot, he had a perfect view of the decor. What would somebody call this style, exactly? Neobaroque-cheesy? Prepostmodern-garish? Everything was gold and maroon—gilded with little flowers and cherubs. All the furniture was covered in velvet. Ed had assumed that velvet had gone out of style during the seventies, but apparently it all just ended up here. Plus you couldn’t move ten feet in any direction without catching a glimpse of yourself in a mirror. That made sense, though. Rich people were vain, and vain people liked to look at themselves. Blane sure as hell did. In the five minutes Ed had been here, Blane had already adjusted his goop-filled hair four times.
But Ed could deal with his future brother-in-law, the Plaza—even his ill-fitting tux. He’d expected all that. That wasn’t the true root of his misery. No, the true root of his misery had nothing to do with the event itself.
It had to do with Gaia.
He swallowed, feeling queasy. Obviously she was mad at him for some reason. That e-mail had been … well, curt, to say the least. She hadn’t even signed it G$. She’d used her real name. On purpose. To be stiff. Formal. Distant.
And Ed had absolutely no clue what he’d done.
Of course, he knew from long experience that there was no point in trying to figure out Gaia’s bizarre mood swings. But at the very least he usually had some clue as to why she might be annoyed with him. Not this time, though. This was a total mystery.
The only possible reason he could think of was that Gaia had somehow found out that he was taking Heather to this party. His mom had mentioned that she’d stopped by the apartment … but he was pretty sure that was before he’d even invited Heather. Or rather, Heather had invited herself. And who would have told Gaia, anyway? Maybe his mom had said something about his hanging out with Heather….
Whatever. Best to buck up. Maybe eat another of those shrimp things. Why ruin a perfectly terrible time?
Movie star
AS THE TAXI PULLED INTO THE circular driveway at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Central Park South, Heather couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement. There was just something so undeniably glamorous about the moment. The Plaza looked like a giant, fairy-tale castle, with its little turrets and chimneys and flags.
A doorman in a top hat and shoulder epaulets rushed out and opened the door, offering a hand to help Heather slide out of the cab.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
This must be what movie stars feel like, she thought, carefully lifting the hem of her black dress as she walked up the red-carpeted stairs. She had smiled to herself. She’d seen a bunch of actresses lifting their hems in the exact same way at last year’s Oscars. She’d always secretly wanted to do it, too.
And now she was. It was funny: A dream of hers had actually come true. How often did that happen in real life?
Thank you, Ed.
If the outside of the Plaza was impressive, though, the inside was awe inspiring. Heather tried not to gape as she drifted through the revolving door. Everybody was dressed in designer clothing. Everybody. The walls were lined with hand-painted murals and jewelry-box-size boutiques selling cigars and watches and expensive imported lingerie. She found herself eyeing the crowd for any celebrities. If there was anyplace in New York to spot a rock star or actor, this was it.
A sign near the grand staircase caught her attention.
FARGO-HARRISON ENGAGEMENT
5 P.M. to 8 P.M.
MAIN BALLROOM
That’s me, she thought dizzily. She headed quickly toward the ballroom’s double doors, then paused under a vast, crystal chandelier. Maybe she should go to the ladies’ room and freshen up a little bit. Yes. She was going to make an entrance. A dramatic entrance. She would dazzle Ed, knock his socks off. And not just at the start. She was going to make sure this evening was as magical for Ed as it was for her.
Transformed
YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME, ED thought with a snicker.
He’d parked his wheelchair at the edge of the dance floor for purposes of amusement, and he could see that it had been an excellent decision. His parents were out there, swinging up a storm. Or trying to. He didn’t think he’d ever seen them dance before. Now he understood why. They looked like buffoons. His dad kept trying to lead his mother one way, but she kept trying to go another. They had absolutely no rhythm, either. But still, he had to hand it to them: Their smiles were still in place. A little strained, a little wary … but hanging on.
His sister and Blane, though—they were the real tragedy. Mom had mentioned that they were taking ballroom-dancing lessons, and it was very clear that they should have spent that money elsewhere. For one thing, Victoria was already clearly bombed. She must have started drinking at nine this morning. Otherwise she would not be trying to improvise with those disco moves. Blane was oblivious, though. He kept counting to himself out loud: “One-two, three-four …” Every time Victoria tried to wriggle free from his grip, he would glare at her.
These two were something, weren’t they? A match made in heaven.
Incredibly enough, watching all the bullshit unfold was pretty enjoyable. Ed had thought he would miss not being able to dance, but for once in his life, he was thankful he had an excuse to sit out. The Sinatra wanna-be crooner was singing some song about how this chick wore her hat and sipped her drink and how they (who?) could never take the memory of that away from him … or something.
There was a delicate tap on his shoulder.
He glanced up—and nearly fell out of his wheelchair.
Heather had arrived. No, that was a massive understatement. Heather had transformed. She was hardly recognizable. Her long, shiny dark hair was parted in the middle, cascading over her bare shoulders. She was wearing a sleeveless black gown that hugged every curve of her body…. It was almost as if she wasn’t wearing anything, as if she’d simply been dipped in a vat of black ink from the chest down. It was actually a lot like the dress his sister was wearing, only on Heather it actually looked good. Best of all, she was the only female in the room whose makeup didn’t look clownish and overdone.
“Well, aren’t you going to say hello?” Heather asked, cocking her eyebrow.
“Oh—sorry, hey,” he mumbled, trying not to stare at her. If he’d been hot before, he was practically sweating now. He glanced around the dance floor and gestured awkwardly. “So, welcome to the lamest party ever. You can thank me later.”
She grinned down at him. “Oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Uh … you didn’t take drugs before you came here, did you?” he asked sarcastically.
“Very funny.” She laughed and gave him a playful swat on the shoulder. “I just think it’s kind of neat when people dress up really nicely. It’s a change, you know?”
He shrugged. Actually, she might just have a point. He stole another quick peek at her hips as she swayed in time to the music. Heather’s look was certainly a change. He wouldn’t have imagined it possible that she could make herself even more beautiful than normal. But that was Heather. A constant kaleidoscope of surprise. It was weird. Sitting here in this bizarre ballroom, he almost felt like he was looking at her with fresh eyes. As if they’d never even met before. He could almost pretend there was no baggage, no history, just a clean slate—
Stop it.
Ed’s face suddenly darkened. He wouldn’t allow himself to fantasize, to live in a dream world. The setting might be highly surreal, but the reality remained unchanged. Heather was his ex-girlfriend. Far more important, Heather supposedly had a boyfriend. Besides, she’d hurt him too much in the past. Nothing could heal that. And unfortunately, his heart belonged to someone else. Pathetically enough, that someone else was probably even less attainable than Heather.
“Cheer up, Ed,” Heather teased. “You might just have to go through something like this yourself someday.”
“Yeah, right,” he grumbled.
She flashed him an
other smile. “You look great, by the way,” she remarked.
He swallowed. He was definitely sweating now. No doubt about it. He could feel the dampness on his stupid dress shirt. By the end of the night he’d probably look like he’d gotten into a shower, fully clothed.
“Thanks,” he finally muttered. “So do you.” He turned away, then glanced back up at her again. She hadn’t looked away. She was still smiling at him. Still staring at him. And this time he couldn’t break from her gaze, either—
“Oh my God!” a high-pitched voice shrieked, shattering the moment. “Heather Gannis? Is that you?”
Victoria. Ed hung his head. He could hear Victoria’s heels clattering on the dance floor as she ran over to them. Wonderful. He’d known this was going to happen. He was kind of amazed it had taken her this long to embarrass him. His eyes flashed back to Heather. She was still looking at him but in a knowing, conspiratorial kind of way. He had to smile. Heather could relate. She, too, knew about Victoria’s behavior.
“Wow!” Victoria exclaimed.
She teetered in front of Ed, staring Heather up and down, then reached out and snagged a champagne flute from a passing waiter. A couple of drops spilled on Ed’s pants. She didn’t notice, of course.
“Congratulations, Victoria,” Heather said with a polite smile.
“Wow!” Victoria said again.
Ed frowned at her. Did Victoria leave her brain at home or something? Her vocabulary seemed to shrink in inverse proportion to the amount of booze she’d had.
Heather awkwardly cleared her throat. “So, um, this is really an amazing—”
“You’re like, this … this woman!” Victoria interrupted. Her words were slurred. “I mean, look at you! The Heather I remember was a little girl.”
Please go away, Ed thought, cringing. He knew his face was beet red. Not only was Victoria making an ass of herself, embarrassing Ed, and humiliating Heather—she was also talking loud enough to be heard in New Jersey.
“Thanks, Victoria,” Heather mumbled.
“You still got it, Ed,” Victoria announced. She clapped him on the shoulder, a little too hard. “You still got the touch. And once you’re on your feet again … whew. Watch out, ladies! Stud on the loose!”
Victoria continued to jabber drunkenly, but Ed no longer heard a word she said. Blood pounded in his ears. He clutched at his armrests so violently, he was worried he would tear them right off. Why couldn’t she just shut up and leave them alone? How could she stand to be so awful? So completely blind to reality? Maybe that’s why she drank like a rock star. To hide from herself.
“… you guys make the cutest couple, too—”
All at once his wheelchair jerked backward.
Whoa. He glanced up. Heather had taken the handles and was steering him toward the exit. A phony smile was plastered on her face. Her eyes were smoldering.
“Hey!” Victoria cried. “Where’re ya goin’?”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Heather called over her shoulder. “I just remembered, there was something in the lobby I wanted to show Ed. We’ll come find you later, okay?” She leaned down by his ear. “Not” she whispered.
Ed leaned back in his chair as they sped through the crowd. That was another great thing about Heather. She was a very fast thinker. Normally Ed hated it when somebody pushed him. Right now, however, he felt he was in good hands.
Attack of the Trustafarian Losers
MAYBE ED WAS RIGHT ABOUT THIS being the lamest party ever. Victoria was certainly the lamest fiancée ever.
Heather peered down at Ed. At least he seemed to have recovered.
She had to say we made a cute couple, Heather thought, deftly maneuvering him down a narrow and relatively empty corridor, away from the lobby. She had to ruin what might have been a salvageable evening. It was astounding, really. Nobody was that socially retarded. Well, not unless they’d had eighty glasses of champagne.
Ed’s wheelchair glided silently on the plush maroon carpeting. Heather picked up her pace as she rounded a corner. Her grip tightened around the handles. The plastic dug into her skin. To think that she’d actually felt lucky to be here—
“Um, Heather?” Ed murmured, glancing over his shoulder. “I think the speed limit in the Plaza is sixty-five miles an hour. At least, that’s what it is in the rest of New York State.”
“Oh, jeez,” Heather mumbled apologetically. She stopped short. Bad idea. Ed grabbed at the armrests to keep from tumbling onto the floor. “Whoops!” She blushed. “God, I’m sorry …”
“Don’t sweat it,” Ed said with a weary grin. He grabbed the wheels and spun himself around so that he was facing her. “I just prefer to be in control of my own wheels. It’s a guy thing, you know.”
Heather stared at him. Much to her surprise, she found herself bursting into laughter. It wasn’t even that funny. It was more that she could finally relax. Ed was incredible that way. He always managed to shrug off any tension with a wisecrack. Then again, maybe she was just laughing because he looked so cute. His hair was all rumpled, and his tie was crooked. His face was flushed and sweaty.
Ed glanced around the hallway, frowning. “Where are we, anyway?”
“Good question,” Heather muttered. She really didn’t care, though. Wherever it was, it was secluded. Maybe it was a service route or something. The wallpaper seemed faded, and there were no mirrors or boutiques. There was a pair of thick double doors at the end of the hallway. Guests probably weren’t supposed to be in here. Which was fine with her. It meant that they were safe from Victoria.
“So,” Ed said, sighing. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”
Heather raised her eyebrows. “I was getting us both out of there.”
Ed looked up at her. A smile spread across his face. Before she knew it, they were both cracking up. It was that or get pissed off.
Finally she took a deep breath. She shook her head. “You know what’s really pathetic?” she asked.
“That we have to hide?” Ed suggested.
“Well, yes—but that’s not it. It’s just … Victoria and her pals are supposed to represent, like, the crème de la crème, you know? And it just seems—well, it seems like they’re all a bunch of morons. They’re not classy or anything. They’re just these spoiled … brats.”
Ed furrowed his brow in mock surprise. “Wait a minute. Am I hearing what I think I’m hearing? Is Heather Gannis dissing the wealthy, empty-headed, and fashionable? Is she dissing everything she once aspired to be?”
“Ha ha ha,” she said dryly. “I’ll have you know—”
“Shhh!” Ed suddenly interrupted. He put a finger over his mouth and sat up straight, peering behind her.
The sound of a few drunken giggles drifted around the corner from the direction of the lobby.
“… what do you think’s down here?” somebody was asking.
Uh-oh. Heather exchanged a petrified glance with Ed.
“We gotta hide!” he hissed.
Heather’s eyes flashed to the set of double doors. “Maybe those are open,” she said. She ran past him, nearly tripping on her dress. The latch jiggled when she grabbed it. Good sign. With a violent yank she pulled open the door. Hallelujah! She glanced back at Ed. He was already close on her heels. The giggles grew louder. Heather couldn’t help but laugh, too. It was like some absurd horror movie: Attack of the Trustafarian Losers. She held open the door for Ed as he rolled through—then dashed in behind him.
The door swung shut. Bam!
“Uh … Heather?” Ed asked.
She didn’t answer him. Because she knew what he was going to say.
It was pitch black in here.
What’ Everything?
“OOH,” ED WHISPERED, GRINNING. “Spooky.”
“Shut up, Ed.” Heather groaned.
He laughed. Now this was comedy. They’d probably be trapped in this room forever (if it even was a room; it could be a garage, for all he knew). He blinked and squinted in an effort to see something—a
nything—but it was no use. He might as well have been blindfolded.
“I don’t hear anything anymore,” Heather whispered. Her voice sounded strangely echoey. Maybe they were in a garage. Or an auditorium. Or maybe they’d entered some sort of other dimension—which would be great because then he’d never have to see Victoria or Blane again. “Do you think they turned back?”
“Probably,” Ed said dryly. “They probably get nervous if they get too far from the champagne and caviar.”
Heather didn’t say anything for a moment. He could hear her shuffling around blindly—first farther away, then closer. Suddenly she bumped right into his wheelchair.
“Ouch!” she whispered.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
They both laughed. Ed felt his wheelchair shift as she grabbed onto the back of it. She stood there, running her fingers over the seat, probably trying to orient herself. She shifted to the left.
“You know, I kind of like it in here,” she said. He heard her dress swishing as she slowly sank on the floor beside him. “It’s a part of the Plaza you never see,” she added with a chuckle. “Get it?”
Ed rolled his eyes. “That sounds like the kind of joke my dad would make.”
“Yeah, well, I guess wearing an evening gown makes me act like an adult,” she remarked. “Lame humor and all.”
“Too bad dressing up doesn’t have the same effect on Victoria,” Ed muttered.
Heather didn’t reply. He could hear her breathing softly. The seconds ticked by, drawing out longer and longer. Ed shifted in his seat. The combination of utter darkness and near silence was a little creepy, actually. Maybe they should try to feel their way to the door.
“Ed, I’m sorry,” Heather suddenly blurted out.
He grinned. “Hey, it wasn’t your fault. We both wanted to get away—”
“No, no,” she interrupted gently. “Not about coming in here. About … everything.”
Ed tensed. Everything? He didn’t like the sound of that. He felt a prickling on the back of his neck, a dip in his stomach. There was a sadness in her tone—something he’d never heard before … at least not until this weekend. He couldn’t help but feel anxious. Part of him just wanted to bolt. Was she still talking about Victoria? Or was she talking about herself? About the past? About their past? He didn’t know if he could deal with an apology for the past right now. It was too heavy, especially under these ridiculous circumstances. Besides, he didn’t know if he was ready to accept an apology. There was too much to forgive.
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