by Lauren Kunze
“Oui,” said Mimi. “If I do not suicide first.”
At that moment the door to the common room opened and Vanessa stepped inside.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded, looking from Mimi to Dana.
“Vanessa!” Callie cried. “You’re home!” The other two froze. It was the first time in months they had seen one of them issue the other a friendly greeting. “I was hoping that—”
“Don’t,” Vanessa warned.
Callie frowned. She had no intention of raising the topic of divorce in front of the others, trying merely to suggest that they go somewhere private to chat. After all, she’d made a promise to Vanessa’s mother that she planned to keep. “Well, maybe later if you want, we could talk—”
“I said DON’T!” Vanessa yelled suddenly, whirling wildly toward Callie. “Whatever you’re going to say—DON’T. I don’t care. I hate you!”
“Vanessa, I—”
“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” Vanessa screamed so loudly that the windows rattled.
Mimi and Dana stayed completely still, looking terrified.
“JUST STAY AWAY FROM ME, OKAY?” Vanessa cried even louder, only inches from Callie’s face. “STAY-THE-HELL-AWAY!” And then, she pushed her.
“What the—” Callie exclaimed, stumbling. She didn’t fall, but her arms flew to the spot where Vanessa had touched her. “FINE!” Callie erupted. “That’s just FINE!”
Mimi and Dana watched both of them run into their respective rooms, followed by two thunderous SLAMS. The girls were quiet for a second, and then Dana turned to Mimi.
“Something needs to be done about this,” she said.
“Oui,” Mimi agreed. “It does.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lace, Leather, and Handcuffs
The Hasty Pudding Social Club
invites its members and their friends
for a night of true
DEBAUCHERY
The One • The Only • The Annual
LEATHER & LACE
Thursday, March 24th at 10 P.M.
Leather and lace required.
Whips and mesh encouraged.
By Invitation Only
“Caaaaalleeeeee . . .” Mimi’s disembodied voice called from the common room. “Viens ici, s’il vous plait!”
“Just a minute!” Callie cried, tucking her white cotton tee into the high-waisted leather skirt she had borrowed from her roommate for the Pudding’s infamous S & M–themed party, “Leather & Lace.” Then for good measure she donned a chunky necklace (also Mimi’s) made of black ribbons and leather beads. Tomorrow afternoon she, Mimi, and—unfortunately—Vanessa would all be flying, along with most of the rest of the Pudding and several of the other Final Clubs, down to a resort on the tiny island of Vieques, just off the coast of Puerto Rico. Tonight, therefore, she was determined to a) find Clint and force a reconciliation; and b) look good while doing it.
He’d had nearly two weeks to think things over. . . . The party would be the perfect place for them to make up, and make out, so that by this time tomorrow they’d be sitting on a beach laughing and drinking mai tais.
At the last second, on sudden inspiration, she traded Mimi’s necklace for the silver one with the heart-shaped pendant that Clint had given her. Much to her surprise, she’d found it yesterday while de-cluttering the top of her bureau, and had in fact almost thrown it out, believing the tiny blue box to be empty until it rattled on its way to the trash. She felt a rush of confidence as she secured the chain around her neck: surely, just like the necklace, not all was lost, and maybe tonight it would be the good luck charm she needed to bring Clint back to her.
“Okay, I’m ready!” she announced, strolling into the common room. Mimi stood near the door in skin-tight, red leather pants, a studded belt, and a black mesh T-shirt that showed off her nonexistent tummy. She wore black leather cuffs on both wrists and was holding a whip and a pair of handcuffs (real metal ones, not the pink fuzzy kind). Vanessa hovered in front of their full-length mirror, surveying her figure in a lacy black and white corset dress over fishnet stockings that looked straight out of the Very Sexy section of Victoria’s Secret.
She and Callie eyed each other warily.
Just then Dana popped out of her bedroom holding a digital camera. “I have an idea!” she said brightly. “Why don’t I take a picture of the three of you before you head out to your night of, um, debauchery?”
Callie stared at her. But before she could fully process the absence of disapproving glares and muttered prayers, Mimi cried, “C’est une excellente idée! Everyone together now, squish, squish,” she continued, looping her arm through Callie’s and grabbing Vanessa by the elbow.
“Great,” said Dana, holding up the camera. “Now if you could all three just hold hands—that’s it, but a little closer now—”
“What the—” started Vanessa.
“Hey!” Callie cried.
“Say cheese!” Dana yelled.
“Voilà!” Mimi screamed as the flash went off, leaping back.
Callie tried to go left and Vanessa moved right but, just as they’d feared—
“HANDCUFFS?” Vanessa looked murderous. “You HANDCUFFED me to her!?”
“Okay, ha-ha,” said Callie, trying to remain calm. “You got us! Now unlock these, please.”
Mimi shook her head.
“Marine Clément,” Vanessa started, jerking her wrist.
“OW!” Callie yelled. The metal chafed. “Watch it—that hurt!”
“If you don’t undo these, right this minute,” Vanessa continued, ignoring her, “then I am personally. Going. TO KILL YOU!”
“Actually,” said Dana, stepping forward, “it was my idea.”
Mimi nodded. “We are tired of living like this. Your stress is becoming our stress, and we have enough of le stress without votre combat stupide. We will not unlock you until you are friends again.”
“Or at least civil,” Dana amended.
“Yes, civil,” Mimi agreed. “If you cannot learn to be nice and live together . . . Eh bien, you will learn the true meaning of living together. Forever.”
“All right,” said Vanessa, “we get the point. We’re very sorry, and we’ll try not to yell anymore . . . now please unlock us.”
“Not good enough,” said Dana, looking at Mimi.
“Oui,” said Mimi. “You need to make up and kiss and say you were wrong and then swear sur le statue de John Harvard never to be so irritating again.”
“This is RIDICULOUS!” Vanessa erupted. “You’re making me late to my very first Pudding party as a member!”
“OW!” Callie cried as Vanessa gestured wildly and, once again, tugged her wrist. “Guys, seriously, we understand why you’re upset and we are really sorry that we’ve been difficult to live with these past few months—”
“Thank you for the apology,” Dana said graciously, “but what we really want is for you to apologize to each other.”
Vanessa groaned.
“And if you do not,” Mimi cut in, checking her watch, “by the time we are getting on the plane tomorrow, then I will eat the key and it will be lost. Forever.”
Dana shifted. “She’s not actually going to—”
“I will eat it,” Mimi repeated.
“Okay, then,” said Dana. “I’ll be right back.”
In a moment she returned with a stack of papers in her hand, lugging her desk chair behind her. Then she cleared her throat. “I’ve been doing some online research on mediation—”
“Of course you have,” Vanessa muttered.
“And to start,” said Dana, speaking a little louder, “we need to organize ourselves in a circle,” she said, motioning Mimi to orient the armchair so that it was facing where Callie and Vanessa were standing in front of the couch.
“Ooh,” said Mimi, “this is just like what happened right before I went to the facility in Switzerland! Maintenant the first step we need you to take is to admit that you have a problem.”
&nbs
p; “I think we’re past that stage,” Dana said, referencing her notes. “Perhaps we should start with this one. . . .”
Mimi shrugged.
“All right,” said Dana. “Now I want you each to write down one negative thing and one positive thing about the other, and then we’ll put them into a hat—”
“How do you expect us to write when we’re handcuffed together?” Callie asked, raising her right arm and dragging Vanessa’s left with her.
“Oh. I see your point. Well, it says we need to write them down,” said Dana. “But I guess we could say them aloud?”
“Unlock me. Now,” Vanessa demanded from where she had sunk onto the couch. “I’m not kidding. Right now.”
“Vanessa, thank you for volunteering,” said Dana. “Please say one negative thing and one positive thing about Callie.”
Vanessa thought for a moment. “My mother always said that if you don’t have something nice to say, then shut your damn mouth!”
“Vanessa . . .” Dana said warningly.
“No,” Vanessa interrupted. “This is bullshit. How do you expect me to say something nice about her when she wrote an entire article full of negative crap about me?”
“I told you,” Callie interjected, “that I was just venting after you completely trashed my bedroom, not to mention falsely accusing me of stealing, and that the article was never meant to be published!”
“It’s not just about the stupid article, okay?” Vanessa yelled back. “It’s everything! Ditching me on my birthday, doing you-know-what with you-know-who at Harvard-Yale, and every other terrible thing you’ve done!” Vanessa had grown hysterical and suddenly seemed on the verge of tears. “All the bad stuff that’s happened this year is all your fault . . . because you’re a bad friend!”
Callie was quiet. “So: Harvard-Yale and the Pudding . . .” she said finally. “Is that what this is really about, Vanessa?”
“Of course that’s what this is about!” she snapped, her lower lip trembling.
“And you’re sure there’s nothing else . . . that’s upsetting you?” Callie prompted gently.
“That’s it!” Vanessa cried, standing and forcing Callie to stand with her. “I am so out of here. No way am I going to sit through this,” she said, addressing Mimi and Dana, “and let her take away my first party the way she’s taken away everything else!”
“And how exactly do you propose that we—OW!” Callie cried for the third time that night, realizing that Vanessa was dragging her toward the door. “Dammit—stop—or at least slow down—”
“No!” cried Vanessa, grabbing her jacket with her free hand. “You keep up!” And with that she flounced out of the room, leaving Callie barely enough time to snatch her own coat before the door banged shut behind them.
Dana and Mimi exchanged a hopeless glance. “I will pray for you,” Dana said solemnly, handing her the packet of mediation materials.
Mimi nodded and accepted the papers before reaching for her coat.
“Don’t forget the stuff about role-playing on page three,” Dana called when she was near the door.
Turning, Mimi raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, you know what I meant!” Dana snapped, flushing.
Mimi grinned and cracked her whip. “Souhaitez-moi bonne chance!”
“Good luck,” Dana called after her. “You’re going to need it.”
Strobe lights flashed and techno music pounded out on the darkened dance floor in the dining room of the Pudding. “Will you quit—” Callie cried, stumbling past OK in mesh and short-shorts and Mimi, who were dancing with Marcus: resplendent in ass-less chaps which were not, believe it or not, the most outrageous outfit that evening. “Ah!” Callie cried, tripping again as Vanessa dragged her off the dance floor and over to the bar. Vanessa simply rolled her eyes and ordered another drink.
“Triple V!” a voice cried from behind them.
“Penny!” Vanessa yelled back, enveloping Penelope Vandemeer in an enormous hug—as she’d been doing with all the new members since they’d arrived.
Callie sighed and braced herself for another shrieking fest. Whether it was because Vanessa had her dominant right hand free or because Callie felt guilty about her parents’ divorce, Vanessa had been running the show so far: forcing Callie to play the part of miserable sidekick.
Callie took a deep, calming breath, waiting for a lull in the conversation. “Can we just go somewhere quiet and talk for a sec—”
“Oh-em-gee, I’m totes bummed that you’re not coming to PR!” Vanessa yelped to Penelope, completely ignoring her.
“Oh, I know,” the girl replied. “Are you going, Callie?” she asked.
“Does it look like we have a choice?” Vanessa chirped ruefully, holding up their hands.
“Taking the theme a little too seriously?” Penelope asked.
“Something like that,” Vanessa said with a loud, fake laugh. “Anyway, if you see Mimi holding a key of any kind, be sure to steal it?”
“Okay!” said Penelope. “You guys are a riot.” She shook her head. “I’ll see you later.”
“Tootles!” Vanessa cried.
“Vanessa,” said Callie, “Please, slow down and—”
“Brittney!” Vanessa screamed.
“Hi, girls!” she said, coming over. “Wow,” she added, spying the handcuffs. “That really gives new meaning to the term ‘best friends forever’ doesn’t it!?”
“HA!” exclaimed Vanessa.
“I should have figured you two would be literally attached at the hip”—no, literally attached at the wrists, actually, thought Callie, and wow, you literally don’t know what literally means—“after your speech the other night, Cal,” Brittney finished.
“What speech?” said Vanessa, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing,” Callie cut in. “There was no speech!”
“Oh, stop!” said Brittney. “She must have told you how she threatened to quit if we didn’t vote you into the club, right? She basically chained herself to your membership,” she added, seeming pleased with her pun. “Like one of those dirty tree people do with the rain forest.”
Vanessa, whose jaw still hung slack, said nothing.
“Brittney, I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about anything that happens during election proceedings,” said Callie. And with good reason: for nearly no one—including those who were voted in—escaped some form of open criticism or nasty anonymous commentary, which is why in the olden days of paper and ink all the clubs burned their punch books.
“Oh, whatever,” said Brittney, waving her hand. “It’s not like I published the punch book or anything! Anyway,” she continued. “I’m off to the ladies’ room, but if I don’t run into you again tonight, then I’ll see you on spring break!”
“Spring break, whoo-hoo!” said Callie, which seemed to be the appropriate response even though her enthusiasm about being trapped on a tiny island with everyone was dwindling by the minute.
Vanessa’s lips were pressed together tight. The music swelled around them and the lights flickered nauseatingly. A moment passed, and then two, and then finally she turned to her roommate. “Callie,” she started, “what—”
“Callie,” someone else said from behind them with a slightly southern lilt.
Clint, of course.
“Hi,” said Callie, her left hand flying to her hair.
“Could we talk?” he asked. “Somewhere private.”
“Um,” she said, raising her right hand. “That’s going to be a bit of a problem.”
Clint did not look amused. “Maybe you two might consider unlocking those for a minute so we could have a grown-up conversation?”
Callie stared at him. It’s not like I chose this!
“Mimi did this to us against our will,” Vanessa volunteered. “To get us to stop fighting.”
“I see,” said Clint.
“Mimi!” Vanessa yelled. Seeing the three of them, Mimi stopped dancing and came over.
“We kind of nee
d that key now,” Vanessa said in an awkward whisper, tilting her head at Clint.
Mimi’s face fell. “Je suis désolé, mais”—she swallowed—“I left it in the room with Dana.”
Clint sighed. “Perhaps we should just go grab coffee early tomorrow morning. . . .”
No! thought Callie. It had already been two weeks and she couldn’t stand to wait any longer, especially if the news was bad. Clint’s expression wasn’t giving anything away, but that seemed like a bad sign. Plus, coffee in the morning meant that they would be leaving separately tonight. . . .
“Maybe we could . . . all . . . go somewhere . . . ?” Callie started. “Vanessa . . . do you . . . ?”
“How about upstairs in Anne’s office?” Vanessa volunteered. “I’ll be totally quiet,” she added. “It’ll be like I’m not even there.”
“If you’re okay with it, then it’s fine by me,” Clint said with a shrug.
“Let’s go,” said Callie before anyone could change their mind.
Upstairs in the office Callie (and Vanessa) sat on a cushiony bench while Clint perched on Anne’s desk. Callie had never been on this side of the second floor before except once to use the bathroom during her very first punch event. Apart from some framed group photos captioned along the lines of “Pudding Garden Party: 2010,” it was pretty much a standard office outfitted in the usual brown leather and wooden furniture.
Clint cleared his throat. Vanessa turned away and stared dutifully at the ceiling, dangling her legs over the side of the bench.
“I’m sorry this is so awkward,” Clint said. “But I really do think it’s time we talked.”
“Yes,” Callie agreed. “Before you say anything, I just want you to know again how sorry I am—about Gregory, and going through your room and your e-mails like that, and anything else I might have done wrong. For what it’s worth, I swear that what happened at Harvard-Yale was a one-time thing and that you’re the only person I want to be with—that I still want to be with.” Swallowing, she took a deep breath. “As for the rest of it, I have no excuse except to plead temporary insanity induced by jealousy and general insecurity about . . . you know . . .” she finished, acutely aware of Vanessa’s presence even though her roommate was doing an excellent job of pretending not to exist.