“Because it is!” Bitsy said, stamping her foot. “You think you can just have my spotlight after all these years I’ve spent cultivating my seat at the top of society? You were always trying to steal my thunder at the debutante balls and in cotillion. You were always the center of attention, and finally I worked my way onto the right committees and into the right luncheons and was considered the young socialite. I even stole my boyfriend back after you took him.”
“What?” Lipstick said, aghast. “I didn’t take Thad away from you.”
“Liar!” Bitsy cried. “We’d gotten back together for three months before you two started dating.”
“I had no idea, Bitsy,” Lipstick said. “He told me you two were just friends. And it’s not like you and I talk to each other.”
“I was going to be Mrs. Thad Newton III until he broke up with me tonight.”
“He broke up with you?” Lipstick gasped.
“You know he did, you bitch. I don’t know what you told him, but whatever it was—he left me.”
“I don’t think it was anything I said,” Lipstick said, confused. “I think it had more to do with you treating him like a dog. And you should be thankful. He’s a liar and a cheat.”
“How dare you?” Bitsy snarled. “Even so. Even if you didn’t say anything, you’re still a fraud, living down here in this cesspool, and your mysterious designer is a lawyer! Wait till everyone finds out.”
“Please. Everyone finding out?” Lipstick laughed. “About what? About me actually working for a living and paying my own bills in an apartment my salary can afford? And I made those dresses. So what! They’re great and everybody loves them.”
“You made them?” Bitsy asked, looking genuinely shocked. “That’s not possible.”
“Remember all those stupid etiquette classes we had to take from Mrs. Frampton?” Lipstick asked. “While you and your friends shunned me and skipped class to go have lattes, not to mention locked me out on balconies, I stayed there and had to learn how to sew. All these clothes I’ve been wearing are just deconstructions of my old closet.”
“They’ll eat you alive on Socialstatus.com.” Bitsy sniffed.
“Please. What if I told people you were so obsessed with me that you’ve been dressing up in wigs and spending your time following me? And that you’re the one behind all the nasty posts on Socialstatus.com? I’ll sue you for stalking and harassment and you’ll never get over the shame!”
Bitsy turned sheet white. “You wouldn’t.” She gasped.
“This is getting good,” Thomas said.
“Are you on drugs? Should we call a doctor?” Penelope asked Bitsy delicately, not wanting to further enrage a woman she was convinced had probably snorted her fair share of lines that evening.
“This is ridiculous!” Lipstick said. “Bitsy, go home and don’t bother me ever again. I’ll shut my mouth if you shut yours. Permanently.”
“I hate you,” Bitsy spat out, stalking off to the corner of Sullivan and Houston to hail a cab.
“Wow,” Penelope said as Bitsy got into a taxi. “That was…interesting.”
Lipstick was silent.
“I’ve never seen you angry before. I’ve never even seen you raise your voice,” Penelope said in awe. “You totally took command of that situation. That was awesome.”
“Socialites are so fucked up,” Thomas said.
“Tell me about it,” Lipstick said. “And who are you?”
“Thomas, this is my neighbor and friend Lena,” Penelope said. “Lena, this is my producer, Thomas.”
“Oh yeah,” Lipstick said. “I’ve heard about you.”
“It’s all lies, I assure you,” Thomas said.
“How ’bout a drink?” Penelope asked. “I think we could all use one.”
“No, you two go ahead; I just want to go to bed,” Lipstick said. “I’m exhausted.”
But as she was climbing the stairs to her apartment, Lipstick reconsidered. The night had been such a mess. Except for in the very beginning, with Penelope and Dana. And she thought back to Zach and how he’d looked at her. Like he’d never seen anything or anyone so beautiful. Lipstick smiled. Even though she’d been through hell, remembering Zach made her feel like a princess.
Feeling empowered, she stopped on the third floor and, taking a deep breath, knocked on Zach’s door. When he opened up, Lipstick said defiantly, “You said to stop by for a drink. I’ve had a hell of a night.” Before she could say anything else, he leaned in, put his arm around her waist, and kissed her.
“Wanna come in?” Zach asked when they finally came up for air.
“Yes,” Lipstick said, and the door shut behind her.
14
LIBRA:
The last retrograde was a tough one, but it forced you to expand your worldview and seek out your own strength. You have become a force to reckon with.
The next morning was the start of a gorgeous late spring day. The birds chirped from the small trees dotting the Soho streets. The sun shone between the buildings as a few bankers who had to be at their trading desks by eight a.m. brushed by the last of the bums waking from their slumber on the steps of Saint Anthony’s Church, as they went on their way to the coffee shops and subway stations. Over at 198 Sullivan Street, Lipstick, Dana, and Penelope were just waking up. And one of them was not in her own bed.
Lipstick opened her eyes and scanned the room that was darkened by heavy drapery. She was in a small room in a smallish bed that didn’t smell like her or even remotely feel like her thousand-count Pratesi sheets. An electric alarm clock, which certainly wasn’t hers, blinked 7:02.
Where the heck was she? Her eyes eventually focused on Zach, snoring softly next to her. She slapped her forehead.
She was an idiot. Who sleeps with a guy on the first date? Actually, it wasn’t even a first date. God, he was cute. And nice.
And then she remembered the previous night’s non-Zach events. Lipstick pulled the covers up over her head and sighed. Zach mumbled in his sleep and flung an arm across her.
What am I going to tell Jack? she thought, feeling overwhelmed and panicky. What is Bitsy going to do? What will be on Socialstatus.com? What am I going to tell my mother? She will be furious. I have to get out of here.
She silently lifted Zach’s arm and slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake him. She found her underwear that had been flung onto his dresser during the night’s activities, stepped into them, and tiptoed out of the room. In Zach’s living room she found her feathered dress lying atop his easel with its edges dipped into some oil paint, her purse on the floor by his fridge, and her heels stuffed into the cushions of the leather sofa.
I can’t squish myself back into this, Lipstick thought, looking balefully at the dress. And half the feathers have fallen off anyway.
Lipstick bit her lip for a moment and then—rationalizing that as she lived only one floor away and no one in the building roamed the halls before eight a.m.—grabbed her paint-spattered dress, purse, and shoes, clutched them to her chest, and, clad in just her underwear, bolted up one flight to the safety of her own apartment.
SCORPIO:
The last few months hurt, but they were worth it. You are now on the precipice of a whole new globe of opportunities.
Five minutes later and one floor up, Penelope woke to her CD alarm clock blaring Journey’s “Wheel in the Sky.”
She yawned, stretched her arms, and, in doing so, accidentally punched Thomas in the face, waking him.
“Ow!” He cringed, covering his nose with his hand.
“Oh, sorry,” Penelope said, more than a little hungover from the night before—which aided in her momentarily forgetting she had a houseguest. “You’re here.” Looking under the covers, she added, “And we’re naked.”
“Yep,” he said.
“Right,” Penelope answered.
“Awkward,” Thomas said.
“More like odd.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve never ev
en seen you with your jacket and tie off, much less your underwear.”
“Am I that uptight?”
“Kind of. In a nice, nerdy way.”
Thomas turned toward her, grinned, and murmured, “I promise to never wear a jacket and tie again if you promise to go out with me again”—which lead to Penelope slamming down the sleep button on her alarm clock.
Half an hour later they finally got out of bed.
“I can’t believe I belted Trace,” Penelope said.
“That was brilliant.” Thomas chuckled.
“He’s going to kill me.”
“Not if I kill him first.”
“Oh. And the hookers…and the mayor!”
“That was also brilliant, in a totally different we-might-not-have-a-job way.”
After they’d both showered, Penelope asked, “Should I call in to work and see if we’re fired?”
“No, let’s just show up and see what happens. It’s more fun that way,” Thomas answered, buttoning up his shirt.
Penelope and Thomas walked out of 198 Sullivan and into the eye of the storm.
At the newsstand on West Third and Bleecker, by the train station, they caught a glimpse of the day’s papers.
The Telegraph’s headline read, “Swallows Is Spitting Mad Over Call Girl Klatch.”
The Post had “Swallows Chokes: Gets Kinky with Knicks” on its front page.
The Daily News, a champion of the mayor’s, blared, “Swallows: I Won’t Take This Lying Down!”
Even the New York Times got in on the fracas, albeit with a more subdued headline in the Metro section that read, “Prostitutes Tell Local News Station They’ve Slept with Mayor and Unnamed Knick.”
“Wow,” Penelope said, grabbing Thomas’s hand, which, she noted, fit perfectly into hers. It had been a long time since she’d felt that way about anyone, and she savored the moment. “I guess I didn’t really realize what we did. Or what happened. I can’t believe it’s on all the front pages.”
“Yeah,” Thomas said, “Let’s just hope those hookers don’t recant and say we drugged them.”
Penelope’s looked at her cell phone. She’d forgotten to put the ringer back on after turning it off before filming the night before. It registered six messages. All from that morning.
“Uh-oh,” she said. “Six messages before nine a.m. is never good news.”
She turned the ringer back on just as the phone rang.
It was Marge.
“Where the hell are you?” Marge hollered. “Get here now! We got the biggest story in town, and the woman who broke it—my reporter, you—are nowhere to be found!”
“I’m on my way!” Penelope said, “but I’m actually early.”
“And where’s Thomas?” Marge asked.
“Thomas?” Penelope giggled, looking at her rumpled crush.
“Yes, Thomas! The producer who was seen slinking off with you last night. He’s not answering his phone!”
“How would I know? He’s probably on the train.”
“He’d better be! We got more news to break. Every outlet in the city is dying to get ahold of you. The girls have gone underground, can’t get ahold of ’em, so we’re under siege. Every news truck ever made is outside, so come in the back way.”
“So I’m not fired?”
“Fired? Why the hell would you be fired? You’ve put us on the map! The mayor is pissed and threatening to shut us down, but who cares? We’re on the front page of every paper! All the morning shows are on the horn. Every station I ever worked for is begging me for an interview with you. I got calls from a station in China this morning! Everyone wants to talk to you, but they’ll have to go through me first.”
“Okay,” Penelope said, swallowing hard, “I’m on my way.”
“Now!”
“Now.”
“But Marge,” Penelope said before her boss could hang up.
“Yes?” Marge snapped.
“About Trace—”
“That’s been taken care of,” Marge said curtly.
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll discuss it when I see you,” Marge said and hung up.
Penelope looked at Thomas. “We gotta go. She’s ramped up. But good news. We still have a job, and she actually sounds pleased. It was odd. Almost uncomfortable.”
Just before she and Thomas descended into the subway station, Penelope checked her messages.
MESSAGE 1: “Penelope Fleming, this is Marge Gelb Green. We need you at the station now. Wake the fuck up already.”
MESSAGE 2: “Penelope Fleming, this is Marge Gelb Green. Your boss. Where the hell are you? Call me back. Now.”
MESSAGE 3: “Honey, it’s David. Where aaaaaare yoooou? Please call me back. Soon. Marge is about to blow up and I can’t find her blues—and she’s run out of the greens.”
MESSAGE 4: “Darling, it’s David again. Please tell me you haven’t been shot on the mayor’s orders and dumped off the Brooklyn Bridge. We need you in the station. Now. It’s a little nuts here. I’ve staved Marge off with a couple of pinks I found in the crevice of her chair cushion but they won’t last long. Get here, ASAP.”
MESSAGE 5: “Penelope, it’s your mother. What is going on? You didn’t tell me you were going to be on Good Morning America and the Today show! But there I was this morning, fixing your father his holy hash and on comes a clip of you and some hookers. Your father got so upset he locked himself in your old bedroom with his Jesus doll. But what’s this about the mayor and the hookers? You said you were only on local cable. Call me. I’m very confused.”
MESSAGE 6: “Penelope, it’s your mother again. Kelsie Browsmith from down the street called. She’s so jealous. Her daughter’s never been on TV.”
SAGITTARIUS:
You have finally awoken from a deep sleep to find your heart is finally alive again. The courage to change has sparked a desire to live your life in a more productive and awake state.
As for Dana, she woke late at 8:15 a.m. with a smile on her face and swollen feet. She checked her messages. Gerard had already called.
“Dana, it’s Gerard. I don’t know when I’ve had such a nice night. Can we do it again tomorrow? I have the babysitter for Michael, so I’m free until ten. But this time no walking.”
Dana was elated. She couldn’t remember having a nicer night either, or at least a nicer walk home, despite the drama and the catty comments from the DeBeers woman. And the Can-O-Hair stain was still on her back and her pillowcase. As she lay in bed, Dana gave Karl a kiss and stroked his stomach. She’d love to go out with Gerard. But tomorrow night she had to be at the office late. Again. Actually, she had to be at the office late every night for the next month. As she thought of her grueling work schedule, her smile faded, her stomach started to cramp, and she unwittingly put her hand to the back of her head, pulling out yet another small clump of hair.
Work was killing her. If she didn’t do the hours, she wouldn’t make full partner. But why did she want to make full partner so badly? The rent was paid for ten years, thanks to Noah. She already made a decent six-figure salary. Why did she need it so badly?
“What do you mean?” she heard her mother’s voice in her head. “You need to be the best! If you’re not first, you’re last.”
“Listen to your mother,” she heard her dad say. “I don’t want to get involved.”
“You are the smartest person I know,” she heard Penelope’s voice try to break in.
“My sister and her Lubovitchers are horrified. There’s never been a divorce in our family,” her mother’s voice rang out. “You failed at marriage and failed at having children. Where will the failures end?”
“You’re my idol,” Lipstick whispered. “And you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
“God, you’re such a fat loser,” Noah chimed in. “You can’t do anything right. You can’t even have a baby.”
“Enough!” Dana shouted, pounding a fist into her pillow and scaring Karl under the bed.
Lipstick arrived at the offices of Y at 9:30, dressed in a green sleeveless top of her own design and dark, skinny jeans—which she felt was a bit of an oxymoron. No one looked skinny in skinny jeans except anorexics. The waistband cut into her knot-filled stomach as she sat down at her desk. She popped the top button on her jeans and relaxed. A bit.
She took a deep breath and turned her computer on. The second she logged in, an instant message popped up.
“See me. Jack.”
He couldn’t possibly be here this early, Lipstick thought, chewing on the inside of her lip. She started to perspire, and her eyes darted around the empty office.
It was the day after the Met Gala, after all, and historically no one came in until at least noon.
“He must have sent that yesterday,” Lipstick rationalized.
But two minutes later, another message appeared.
“See. Me. Now.”
Her phone rang. It was Jack’s assistant, Christina.
“Good morning, Lena,” Christina’s voice clipped through the line. “Jack will see you now.”
“Okay, I’ll be right—” Lipstick said, to a dial tone.
Lipstick stood up, rebuttoned her jeans, smoothed down her shirt, and walked around the corner to Jack’s office. She was thirty feet away from the glassed-in enclosure when she saw two other people in there with him. They had their backs to the entrance, sitting on Jack’s plush “punishment” sofa.
He must have called human resources. You couldn’t fire someone without human resources there. Lipstick stopped, took a deep breath, and began the death march down to the office.
As she passed Christina’s desk, the impeccably dressed blond assistant looked up. “Well, there you are; I thought you’d never get here—” she snipped as Lipstick brushed by, ignoring her.
Mercury in Retrograde Page 22