Paige’s brow crinkled. “Jeremy who?” Then it relaxed. “Oh yeah. I went out with him,” she said in a bored voice.
Eliza’s face paled, but she kept the smile plastered on her face. “You did?”
“We went out for two years in high school and after college for a bit. He’s a sweet guy. He’s doing his own landscaping now; good for him. How do you know him?”
Eliza didn’t answer. She was mentally calculating the dates—high school and college, which meant . . . Paige was Jeremy’s ex-girlfriend. The one he never talked about. The one who’d supposedly broken his heart when they’d broken up. She felt cold suddenly, as if someone had poured a pitcher of margaritas down her back.
Paige and Jeremy had been together. Paige—she was the girl Jeremy had lost his virginity to. It was almost too much to stomach. Jeremy had told her that he’d only fallen in love once before but that it hadn’t worked out. Eliza had gotten the impression that it had taken a long time for Jeremy to get over Paige. Maybe he still wasn’t over her. Maybe he still loved her. Maybe he thought of Eliza as some consolation prize when all he wanted, really, was Paige.
Eliza noticed something white by the open shoe boxes. It was another piece of paper that had fallen out of Paige’s handbag. Eliza picked it up, thinking she’d return it, when she saw what it was. The receipt for the special-order McQueen. Acting quickly, Eliza crumpled it into the toe of one of the shoes she wasn’t going to buy and closed the lid tightly. They would never find it now. She knew that by doing so she would cause the order to be delayed and once Sydney got his hands on the dress, it would be too late to manufacture the knockoffs.
But sabotaging Sydney’s plan and knowing that Paige would have to face the designer’s wrath later didn’t do anything to make her feel better.
Paige had been with Jeremy. Jeremy had slept with Paige. The news was even worse than realizing once she’d made her selections that she couldn’t even begin to pay for the shoes. It was only then that she remembered her mother had taken away her credit cards and she wasn’t getting a paycheck from Lunch until next week.
the girls string up cupid’s arrow and aim it at the perrys
MARA AND JACQUI ARRIVED AT pastis at the same time to find Eliza glumly sitting by herself in a corner of the bustling restaurant.
“What’s wrong?” Mara asked, pulling out a chair.
The three of them quickly ordered mussels, frisée salads, french fries, and a bottle of wine to share. They dug into the food, sopping up the garlicky sauce that came with the seafood with the crusty bread and toasting each other with glasses of wine.
Eliza told them about Paige and Jeremy and how she was worried that he hadn’t called her since the night they’d quarreled at Mount Fuji.
“And the worst part of it is, I’m eighteen and I’m still a virgin!” Eliza wailed, trying to make a joke out of the situation.
“It’ll happen,” Mara assured her. “I’m sure he’ll call when you get back.”
“Querida, so what if you’re a virgin? It’s better to wait for the right time,” Jacqui said wisely.
“I guess.” Eliza shrugged. She sighed and tried to cheer up. She didn’t want to be such a bummer on their weekend in New York. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does,” Mara said, reaching over to squeeze her arm.
It was so nice to have friends who actually cared about her feelings. “I know. But we don’t need to talk about it right now. Do you guys want to get another bottle? I parked my car at my garage, so I don’t need to drive. And let’s move out to a sidewalk table so we can smoke.”
* * *
Many cigarettes and several bottles of wine later, they caught a cab back up to the Upper East Side, where they were spending the night at Jacqui’s apartment. Eliza had invited them all to stay at her place, but they’d decided it would be fun to see where Jacqui lived instead. Besides, Eliza’s parents were kind of odd about guests—her mother had almost had a heart attack after finding a greasy handprint on the Regency sofa after a dinner party, and since then they entertained very rarely. Besides, at Jacqui’s they could do whatever they wanted.
Jacqui felt the pride of ownership as she unlocked the door. “It’s really tiny—but it’s all mine.” She stopped. Voices were coming from the alcove. People were inside.
“Excuse me?” she called.
A dark-suited Corcoran real estate broker stood in the middle of the living room. She was talking to an earnest young couple in their twenties.
“Oh, hello, are you the current tenant? Sorry. Kevin said this afternoon that we could show the place,” the broker explained. “We’ll get out of your way.”
They left, and Jacqui closed the door, totally agitated. “They can’t sell this place! They can’t! This is my home!” What had happened? Jacqui panicked. Why was Kevin selling the apartment? He and Anna were supposed to have had a romantic lunch at Babette’s earlier, making the divorce history.
“Why not?” Mara asked, putting her bag down on the floor and admiring the marble fireplace. The mantel held a bunch of photos of them from summers past and from their spring break in Cabo.
“Hold on a sec,” Jacqui said. “I need to call Shannon.” She picked up her cell and dialed frantically.
Shannon picked up on the first ring. “Jac, I’m so, so sorry. I tried to call, but it’s been so busy here with you gone.”
“What happened? Didn’t they go to lunch?”
“That’s the thing—they didn’t,” Shannon confessed. “Well, I mean, they were both there, but by the time Kevin arrived, Anna was eating with someone else.”
“Excuse me?”
Shannon explained the Pershing/Perry e-mail snafu and how Anna had returned from lunch angrier than ever, since Kevin had confronted her at the restaurant and accused her of deceiving him and, worse, having an affair with a much-younger man.
“So the divorce is still on?” Jacqui moaned.
“Totally. Kevin had a fit, said he was going to the judge as soon as possible, putting it on an express track.” Shannon sighed.
“It’s not your fault,” Jacqui said, even though she wanted to strangle the girl for making such a sloppy mistake. But that was the problem with the Cyrano scheme—stealing identities only led to more confusion. She hung up the phone and looked at Mara and Eliza, who were waiting patiently for an explanation of her outburst and the odd phone call.
“What was that all about?” Mara asked.
“Yeah, and why are you so worried about Kevin selling this place? Won’t you be at the dorms?” Eliza asked, poking into the fridge.
Jacqui looked utterly miserable. “Because . . .”
“Do you want to try and keep this apartment?” Eliza asked, still not understanding. “You really shouldn’t. You’ll make more friends if you stay downtown, you know.”
“No, no—I—I’m not going to NYU,” Jacqui said, slumping across the kitchen counter that separated the stove and refrigerator from the rest of the room. She had a stricken look on her face, and she buried her head in her hands. She’d tried to hide from the truth all summer by hanging out with the web site guys, but now that she was with her friends, she couldn’t take it alone anymore. She needed their support.
“You didn’t like the tour?” Mara asked, still not comprehending.
“No—I didn’t take the tour,” Jacqui said, surfacing for a moment “I—I didn’t get in.”
Mara and Eliza exchanged shocked glances, and Jacqui told them the whole story. The missing math and science requirements, the fifth year of high school program, the Perrys’ impending divorce and how if they split up, it meant a one-way ticket back to Brazil. They felt awful for Jacqui—Mara since all she did was talk about college, Eliza because she knew how hard it was to live with a secret.
“I’m so sorry I lied to you guys,” Jacqui said. “I just didn’t want to deal with it.”
“It’s okay,” Mara said, putting an arm around Jacqui and hugging her. “We
understand. I wish there was something we could do to help.”
Jacqui sniffed. “I wish there was too. I’ll really miss you guys if I end up going home.”
“Well, we can’t let that happen,” Eliza declared in her bossy way.
“No, not at all.” Mara nodded. “You’re not going anywhere. That’s so weird Ryan hasn’t mentioned it. But then again, he hardly talks to his dad.”
“Anna’s keeping it a secret from all the kids. It doesn’t look good. He already served her papers and Anna is really close to signing.” Jacqui told them about Operation Parent Trap and how she’d been sending romantic gifts to Anna with Kevin’s name on them as well as how Shannon’s idea to craft lovey-dovey e-mails in Kevin’s name had blown up in their faces when an e-mail from “Anna” had gone astray.
“Yikes,” Eliza sympathized. “Shannon’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”
“There’s got to be something more we can do,” Mara said. “Something to really bring them back together, face-to-face.”
“Their anniversary is next month, you said?” Eliza asked, looking thoughtful.
Jacqui nodded.
“What could we do?” Mara asked. “There has to be something Anna would want that would make her change her mind.”
“What about a party?” Eliza suggested.
“For who?”
“The two of them. As a surprise,” Eliza said, getting excited. “Maybe if they celebrate their anniversary, they won’t want to split up. When my parents almost got divorced, my dad threw this huge party at the Frick for my mom. And because of that, they decided to stay together. My mom said that if my dad would rent out an entire museum to keep her, then he was a keeper too.”
“I like it,” Mara said. “It’s romantic.”
“Let’s do it,” Eliza urged.
“Okay,” Jacqui said. “It’s worth a throw.”
“Shot. Worth a shot,” Mara automatically corrected.
“Yes, yes.” Jacqui nodded impatiently. “You know what I mean. I still don’t know if it’s going to work, though. We could throw the best party in the world—but what if neither of them shows up?”
“Well, we’ll just have to make sure they have no choice but to be there. How hard can it be?” asked Eliza, ever the optimist.
The three of them put their heads together, talking way into the night. Party planners never worked so hard.
is there more to eliza than just a pretty face?
GOING BACK TO WORK AFTER a fun weekend in the city was even harder than Eliza had thought. It wasn’t that she didn’t like working at Lunch—the place was fun, and she liked the camaraderie in the kitchen. They’d warmed up to her when they saw how hard she was trying to do a good job. Her co-workers were mostly Irish kids working illegally or Long Island natives saving up for summer shopping money, like she was. She’d been assigned back to kitchen duty since they were shorthanded after a couple of cooks quit. Thankfully, this time she hadn’t upset any soup pots or liberated any two-pound lobsters.
The work was repetitive and demanding—as a sous-chef, it was her responsibility to cut up all the vegetables needed for the varying soups and salads. Everything needed to be diced to the same exact size, and her hand was getting sore from leaning on the knife. Not that she was complaining—she was determined not to act like the princess Jeremy thought she was. She hadn’t called him since they’d had their tiff at Mount Fuji, and she had been disheartened to realize he hadn’t called her either. It was the longest they had ever gone without talking. All weekend she had checked and re-checked her Treo, but there’d been no missed calls from J. Stone.
“Order!” the waitress called, bursting in through the restaurant door just as another figure walked in through the back way.
Eliza threw some chopped onions into the chowder. When she turned around, she saw Jeremy standing by the metal sinks, his arms crossed.
“You can’t be here,” she said petulantly, even though her heart was beating with elation.
“Relax, I know these guys,” Jeremy said, winking at the Mexican busboys.
“What do you want?”
“C’mon, let’s go outside and chat,” he said soothingly.
“I can’t; I don’t have a break.”
“Ricardo—okay if Eliza takes fifteen?” he asked.
The chef nodded. Jeremy had grown up in the area and so knew almost everyone who worked at Lunch.
Eliza sighed and followed him to the parking lot.
“I know you’re mad,” he said. “And I want to say, I thought about it, and I did give you a hard time the other night, and I’m sorry.”
“Fine. Is that it?” Eliza said.
“I’m apologizing—isn’t that good enough?”
“Okay, but you shouldn’t have lied to me,” she accused.
Jeremy’s forehead crinkled. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“Paige. I know what happened between the two of you. She told me.”
He threw his arms up. “What happened between the two of us? I’m confused. What did happen between the two of us?”
“She was your girlfriend.”
He exhaled. “It was a long time ago. It was nothing,” he said, biting the hangnail on his thumb.
“Nothing! You’re full of it! She was the one, wasn’t she? The one.”
“The one?”
Eliza whispered fiercely. “The one you lost your virginity to. Your girlfriend in high school who dumped you in college.”
“Hold up! Hold up!” Jeremy said. “First off, okay, yes, she was the one. But it was a long time ago, and seriously, neither of us knew what we were doing. And she didn’t break up with me. I broke up with her. C’mon, now. It’s ancient history.”
“Not to me.”
“You’re really something you know?” he said, smiling.
“What are you looking so pleased about?” she asked.
“I’m not. You’re being silly. Let’s not fight.”
“I’m not fighting,” Eliza said defensively.
But they continued to argue until Jeremy finally lost his temper. “You know what? You’re so obsessed with Paige? Then maybe you should be more like her. At least she was passionate about her work. She doesn’t just coast on her looks and connections. She never complains! She loves her job, and she does something that she loves doing.”
“Oh—you!” Eliza said, smacking him with her apron.
It left a red mark on his cheek.
He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He left without another word.
Eliza went back to the hot kitchen. She was utterly disgusted. Anyone could be someone’s bitch, like Paige was to Sydney, but slaving away for someone didn’t equal passion! How did working at Lunch indicate she was “coasting on her looks and connections”? And, she had wanted to say to him, she had found something to be passionate about—she’d loved her job at the designer label but had been fired before she could even explore it more thoroughly. She would show them! She would show Jeremy and Paige that she wasn’t just some lazy rich girl who didn’t do anything but shop.
It was over a hundred and ten degrees in the kitchen, and Eliza wrung sweat from the bottom of her T-shirt. She took a pair of kitchen shears and slashed the collar and the hem to make it vented and more comfortable. Then she rolled up her shorts and pinned them.
“Hey—look at that,” said Margie, the Irish girl who manned the fryer station. “Can you do that to mine too?”
Eliza wiped the tears from her eyes. “Sure.” She nodded.
who will have the last laugh?
VISITING THE DORMDEBAUCHERY WEB SITE had become one of Jacqui’s regular habits since kissing all three of its founders. But when she logged on to the site after arriving back from the city, she found that the home page displayed the same jokes it had shown for the last week. None of the gags had been updated, and the newest video, which showed an intoxicated starlet smiling cluelessly into the camera while her strap fell and exposed
her left breast and plastic surgery stitches, was already old news.
She clicked off the screen, wondering if something was wrong.
When she arrived at the Reynolds castle that evening, she was surprised to find that, for the first time that entire summer, it was dark: the lights were off, the windows shuttered. There was no sign of the nightly debauchery—no hordes of Hamptonites angling for entry, no girls engaging in wet T-shirt contests on the lawn, no booming hip-hop music, no Beirut tournament. What was going on? Had somebody died? She opened the door, calling out softly, “Grant? Ben? Duffy? Where are you guys?”
She found the three of them sitting glumly on the sofa, each nursing a can of beer. Grant was listlessly throwing darts at the board across the room but missing the target by miles; the carpet was strewn with fallen darts. Duffy was picking at a crusted wound on his elbow from the pogo-stick fall. Ben was immersed in a video game but didn’t seem to be doing very well; the voice on the television kept intoning, “Please reload. Please reload.”
Grant stopped mid-throw, and the dart hit Ben on the knee.
“Watch it!” Ben said, annoyed, throwing it back at him, but it hit Duffy’s sore elbow instead.
“Hey!” Duffy bellowed.
They all looked up at Jacqui with gloomy faces, a marked contrast to their usual manic excitement.
“Oh, you’re here,” Duffy said without his usual enthusiasm.
“Jacqui, Jacqui, Jacqui.” Grant shook his head.
“What do you want?” Ben asked a bit brusquely.
Jacqui sat on the arm of the sofa. “Everything all right?”
“No.” Ben sighed. “The site’s tanking. We’ve got nothing new, no new jokes or videos. And our hits dropped way down. We lost, like, seventy percent of our market share.”
“There’s some new site now where kids can put up their own videos and jokes. Goddamn Internet economy. Everything moves too fast,” Duffy explained.
They explained that the lack of eyeballs had cased their advertising revenues to take a free fall, and the cost of throwing insane weekly parties had almost bankrupted them.
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