“Did you guys do it? Tell me that, at least.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She rolls away from me.
I can’t believe she’s leaving me hanging like this. It must only mean one thing. She really likes him.
“Fine.” Juliet turns back around. “I’m just going to tell you one thing about tonight and that’s it.”
I wait impatiently.
“If I were Peyton and he did to her what he did to me tonight, I’d never let him go.”
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for a few moments. I listen to Juliet’s breathing and I know that she’s not asleep yet. And even if I’m wrong, I don’t care.
“So, what does this mean then?” I ask. “Are you two, like, dating?”
“No. I can’t date him! He’s a mess. Plus, I don’t date,” Juliet says.
“Oh, c’mon. I think you like him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do!” I insist.
“Well, you like Tristan. Are you two going to date again?” she asks. She shuts me up and falls asleep.
I flip over on my stomach and stare out of the window. The sun won’t be up for a bit, and New York is still asleep. I’m not much of a morning person; I can barely drag myself out of bed at 9 o’clock. But I no longer feel the least bit sleepy and I decide to go for a walk.
I’ve never seen New York at this hour. Riverside Drive is wet from last night’s rain and it glistens in the morning sun. There are a few joggers and dog owners out braving the world, but otherwise the park is empty and feels like it’s all mine. I sit down on the bench and search my purse for a pen and a new thank you card.
* * *
Dear Tristan,
Thank you for walking in on Simon and me. Things were moving too fast and I think I would’ve regretted what was about to happen if you hadn’t walked in. I can’t tell you this in person, out of fear that your already enormous head will get even bigger, but it was nice to sleep with you again. I hate that you didn’t get my permission (though I wouldn’t have given it) and that Simon found us, but it was nice. It reminded me of all those sleepovers we used to have when we were kids. Back when we were really friends. I hope we can get back to being those kids again, sometime. I don’t know what I will do if we can’t.
Love,
Alice
* * *
A bird prances to me just as I finish the letter. The pigeon looks at me inquisitively, tilting her head from side to side. I spread my arms open to show her that I don’t have any food. When she convinces herself that I’m not lying, she walks away.
I come back upstairs with fresh bagels and donuts. The bakery on the corner just opened and I couldn’t resist not getting something from their first batch of the day. When I walk in our suite, I expect to have some time to myself to enjoy a cup of coffee over some morning news. Instead, I find Tristan studying at the dining room table.
“That smells amazing,” he says.
“You can have some. I’ve got plenty.”
He had made a fresh pot of coffee and pours me a cup. We don’t speak for some time while we eat the sugary goodness and drink our coffees. The silence between us is comfortable. We have known each other long enough to not have to talk all the time. I relax and lose myself in the moment. When I come back to reality, I glance over at Tristan, who has buried himself in his Econ notes. None of the formulas make any sense to me and I’m grateful that I’m not taking that class.
“So I’ve given it some thought,” I say. “And I was wondering what I’m supposed to wear to this masquerade ball of yours.”
His eyes light up and a wide grin spreads over his face.
“Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you!” Tristan pulls me up to my feet and gives me a big hug. He then presses his lips onto mine and gives me a big kiss. I taste the sweetness of a chocolate donut on his lips and inhale the aroma of fresh coffee.
At first, the kiss feels like something a friend gives another. A friendly kiss without much meaning. But as I try to pull away, it suddenly morphs into something else. Tristan seems to be just as taken aback by it as I am, but neither of us pull away. At least, not in time. Instead, we linger. A little too long. When we finally do pull away, the tone of the morning has changed. Clouds blow in and kill the sunshine outside. Darkness descends on us and we stare at each other without saying a word.
“So, what should I wear?” I ask, trying to change the subject. Something deep within me tells me that if we were to talk about this, what had just happened, the whole world would disappear. I know this to be true the way I know that I will come back down to Earth if I jump up in the air.
“Um, it’s black tie. So a gown and a mask should be fine,” he mumbles.
I nod and leave.
31
Juliet and Dylan are so annoying. Now that they’re sleeping together out in the open, Tristan and I have to sneak around to make sure that we don’t disturb them! Luckily, for me, though, they stay locked in Tristan and Dylan’s room, not Juliet’s and my room. I don’t know how Tristan puts up with it, but he has been a good sport about it so far.
Simon and I have also managed to mend fences. The day after the incident, I looked for him everywhere on campus and finally managed to track him down in the coffee shop on Amsterdam Avenue. After an hour of talking about it, he agreed to give me another chance, which I know I don’t deserve. I don’t know why I pushed for the second chance so much.
Do I really like Simon? I do. But something about us also seems off. Perhaps it’s all the guilt that I feel about the kiss. I didn’t tell Simon about the kiss. I couldn’t. I can’t. Our relationship, if I can call it that, is in this fragile state where it feels like if I breathe wrong it might dissipate entirely. And the kiss between Tristan and I – well, that’s much more than breathing.
The kiss. It has been days since the kiss. The kiss that Tristan and I still haven’t talked about and probably never will, if I have any say in it.
Besides the kiss, there’s something else that has been weighing on my mind: the masquerade ball. I am going with Tristan to his stupid event and that’s yet another thing that I haven’t told Simon about. I’m not sure I owe it to him. He’s not my boyfriend or anything, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that I’m wrong. I should tell him. I just can’t.
I’m pretty sure that if Simon knew about the ball, he’d never want to see me again. And I like him. I hate to admit it, but the fact that Tristan hates him makes me like him even more. Simon’s the first guy I had really liked in a long while. I don’t know where this thing with him is going, but I don’t want to ruin it before it gets the chance to get off the ground.
I shouldn’t feel bad about not telling, right? This masquerade ball isn’t anything. Tristan’s with Tea. And I’m with Simon. Tristan and I are friends who are going to a party together.
I pound on Dylan’s door. I can hear them inside. They sound as if they’re reinventing sex in there.
“Go away,” Dylan mumbles through the moans.
“I need to talk to Juliet,” I say.
“Go away,” he says, louder this time.
I refuse to give up. I need expert advice. I can’t do this without her.
“Juliet, I need your help,” I plead. “I need to get a gown for that masquerade ball and I don’t know where I should go or what to get.”
Suddenly, all sounds disappear.
“You’re leaving? Really?” I hear Dylan’s shocked voice through the door.
“She needs me,” I hear Juliet say through the rustling of clothes. I smile. Girls before bros! Juliet’s my girl.
After a few hours of extreme shopping – searching through 5 stores and trying on at least fifteen dresses before I stopped counting – we finally get back home with my entire outfit. We found the dress in the last place we looked – a little nondescript boutique in Soho called Francesca’s. The dress is a gold Ralph Lauren sequined v-neck gown that “catches the light in all the right places
and doesn’t make your hips look any bigger than necessary,” according to Juliet.
I don’t buy a pair of shoes because Juliet has again insisted on lending me a pair of hers. And as for my mask, since this is a masquerade ball, after all, it’s a black mask with jewels and feathers that Juliet found at this posh Halloween boutique in the East Village.
“That mask makes your eyes look amazing!” Juliet says. “Wait till I do your make up – you won’t be able to keep Tristan’s paws off you.”
She’s talking like that and she doesn’t even know about our kiss.
“I don’t want Tristan’s paws on me,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “No, you want his paws on you, but you want to get to reject them.”
I can’t stand this anymore. “Okay, can we stop talking about paws, please?” I ask.
The following evening, Juliet and I spend two hours getting me ready for the ball. I tell her that she doesn’t have to help if she doesn’t want to, but she insists. She reminds me a lot of Cher from the movie Clueless – she can’t walk away from the chance of giving someone a makeover.
The door to our room is open due to all the hairspray fumes, which would undoubtedly kill us otherwise. I sit in the chair in front of Juliet’s mirror while she blow-dries and then curls my hair. From here, I can somewhat make out the conversation taking place in the other room.
“I’m so glad you’re in,” I hear Dylan say to Tristan. “You’ll see you can’t go wrong working with this guy. He guarantees a 15% return on investment, no matter what.”
“I didn’t know that was possible,” Tristan says.
“Oh yes, it is. Bank says that it’s not to the public, but it’s a complete lie. They just don’t want to get in trouble in case something happens.”
“So then something can happen?” Tristan asks.
“No, that’s the beauty of it. This deal, it’s just for insiders. Everyone’s doing it. At least, everyone who’s connected,” Dylan says. “My dad made $8 million last year with this guy. He’s the man.”
“Are you hearing this?” I ask Juliet. She shakes her head and shrugs.
“Do you know how much Tristan has invested?” I ask.
Juliet shrugs again. “I don’t know, Alice. You know me. I don’t much care for how money is made, only how it’s spent.”
My heart grows heavy as a thick black cloud descends around me. Whatever this investment thing that Dylan has going, it’s not good. Tristan doesn’t have much money. Definitely not enough to lose in some Ponzi scheme.
Finally, I’m dressed. Juliet’s five-inch heels are pinching my toes and my heels are already aching even though we haven’t even left the building. I complain to Juliet.
“It’s because you don’t wear heels enough,” she says. “If you wore them at least a couple of days per week then your feet would get used to them and just go numb like other women’s feet.”
The thought of wearing heels a couple of days per week scares the shit out of me. I can make it through tonight (I think), but there’s no way I’m subjecting myself to this punishment for eight hours a day a couple of times per week!
When I look at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but admit that I do look beautiful. My hair falls around my shoulders and frames my face in waves. It minimizes my strong jaw in just the right way while, at the same time, bringing out my eyes. My eyes look about twice as big as they ever have thanks to Juliet’s expert make up and eyelash application. It requires a lot of strength to keep my eyes open, but when they are open, they look magnificent.
“Oh my God,” Tristan says when he sees me. “Alice.”
I look at him. He takes a step back and catches his breath. The sight of me has literally taken his breath away. Honestly, I didn’t know that was possible.
“You’re enchanting,” he whispers and kisses me on my cheek.
Enchanting? I was expecting cute, pretty, perhaps beautiful. But not enchanting.
I look Tristan up and down. He’s also dressed to the nines in a black tuxedo. With his tan, gorgeous hair, and twinkling eyes, he looks a little bit like James Bond. I’ve never been attracted to James Bond, didn’t really know what all the fuss was about, but suddenly I catch myself hoping that Tristan’s carrying a sleek, sexy gun and is about to assassinate some oppressive dictator.
“You’re quite handsome yourself,” I say.
Dylan looks up briefly from his Xbox game. “Well, well, well. You both clean up well,” he says.
32
Tristan led me down 116th Street to a large brownstone on the corner. Frat row in New York is a little different from other places – here, frats have brownstones. Tristan knocks on the door, but no one answers. We can hear music blasting inside, so he tries the handle. It’s open and we walk in.
Inside, the party feels like a whole different world. It’s as if college and Amsterdam Avenue and 116th Street and New York in general don’t exist at all. Instead, all that exists is this magical world where everyone’s dressed in lavish gowns, tuxedos, and masks. Ah, the masks! The masks are everywhere. Some people are wearing masks that cover their whole faces and others wear the ones that cover just the eyes. The masks are nearly as lavish as the gowns. Most are covered in feathers and beads and silk, and each one is more ornate then the next. Do these people actually go to school with me?
I’ve been to many Halloween parties, but this one seems entirely different. There’s something mystical about people wearing masks and gowns – they appear so normal and yet extraordinary.
I follow Tristan along the wall as he greets his new friends and introduces me around. Much to my surprise, all the guys are quite polite and charming. Do I dare say it? Classy. They shake my hand and tell me how beautiful I look. A few poke fun at Tristan by saying that I’m slumming it by hanging out with him. He laughs, of course, and in that laugh, I don’t hear a hint of annoyance.
While we wait for my Long Island Ice Tea and his whiskey, I look around the room and start to look at Tristan in a whole new light.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
“I don’t know. It’s just not what I expected,” I say with a shrug.
“And what did you expect? Keg stands and red cups? Beer pong?”
I nod. Of course. This is a frat party. Isn’t that the reputation?
“You shouldn’t be so judgmental, Alice,” he says. He hands me my drink and takes a sip of his. I didn’t think he would take this so personally.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I know you’re biased against frats. I know you think they’re lame. Or just some excuse to drink all day or something. But they’re so much more.”
I nod. Maybe he’s right.
“You know, I brought you here to show you that your view of frats, it’s not the only one. They also have parties like these.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Perhaps, I was a little too quick to judge,” I finally say.
“Oh my God. Are you actually admitting fault?” he grabs his heart in shock.
“Yes, I did. I am wrong sometimes. Not often, but sometimes,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Now, let’s go dance.”
The dance floor is crowded and the music is so loud I can barely hear myself think, let alone hear anything that Tristan says. Quickly, we let go and lose ourselves in music. My dress isn’t too tight and I love the way it sparkles in the light.
Tristan sways his hips as he dances across from me. He’s an amazing dancer with a great sense of rhythm. When he was younger, his mom made him take dance classes. Those classes are one of Tristan’s deep dark secrets, but watching him dance in front of me – so effortlessly – makes me want to write his mom a thank you card.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” I scream at the top of my lungs just as the music dies down and switches to a slow song. Everyone around us turns to look at me.
“Sorry,” I say, cracking up laughing.
I’m about to walk away from the dance fl
oor, but Tristan stops me. He takes my hand and puts it on his shoulder. He places his hand around my waist, pulling me close.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Dancing,” he says as he starts to grind to the slow rhythm of Alicia Keys. He guides one of his legs in between my thighs and presses his hard body against mine. I want to pull away, but I can’t. Physically unable to. I know he’ll stop if I ask him to, but I can’t do that either. I take a moment to catch my breath. I shouldn’t be doing this because of someone else. But, suddenly, I can’t remember his name.
We dance for a while, if you can call it dancing. What it really feels like is grinding on each other in public. It reminds me of our senior prom. Tristan flew down to go to prom with me and our friends. We spent the whole night pasted to each other, grinding completly inappropriately in front of our teachers and the principal.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks.
“What?” I ask. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I look up at him. We’re so close that I can smell his face. It smells like vanilla and honey. I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to lick him.
“You said you wanted to talk to me about something?” he says.
“Oh yes, I did. But we can talk about it later,” I say cautiously.
“No, now’s fine,” he whispers and pulls me closer.
“Okay,” I say with hesitation. “It’s about earlier. About what you and Dylan were talking about in the living room while we were getting ready.”
He stares at me for a moment. Slowly, disappointment creeps onto his face. Clearly this was not what he thought I was going to say.
“Sorry, we can talk about it later,” I say. The song ends, and he pulls away.
“I’m going to get another drink,” he says. “Want one?”
I follow him to the bar.
“You mean about my investment?” he asks after putting in his order. “So I’m investing with Dylan’s guy. So what?”
“So what? He promised you 15%. That’s crazy. It sounds like a Ponzi scheme.”
Auctioned to Him 2: His for a Week Page 106