Both Brice and Eleanor had changed their last names to Campbell when Eleanor had married Cyrus, but Porsha had refused. Porsha Campbell? No, thank you. It sounded like the name of a clothing line made especially for Kmart.
“Of course you don’t have to decide right now,” Eleanor added.
Porsha extracted her hand from her mother’s. If she hadn’t been wedged between Chanel and Miles on the white leather banquette, she would have bolted for the ladies’ room to hurl. Instead she picked up her champagne flute and downed its contents in one gulp.
“Where’s the baby going to sleep?” Brice asked. He buttered a piece of baguette and stuffed it into his mouth. “Now that Tahj has the guest room.”
Eleanor and Cyrus looked at each other as though they hadn’t thought about that before. Eleanor shrugged. “Well, Porsha and Tahj are both going off to college next fall. I’m sure they won’t mind sharing the guest room when they’re home. And then we can turn Porsha’s room into a nursery!”
Tahj felt his face heat up.
Porsha narrowed her eyes at her mother and her stupid bob in its prissy headband. So now they were taking over her room to house their ugly devil’s spawn? She was revving up to say something to shut her mother’s trap before bolting for the ladies’ room to puke her guts out, but then, without any introduction, the four members of 45 quietly walked onstage and began to jam. And the music was loud. Fantastically, deafeningly loud.
Miles grabbed Porsha’s hand. “Wanna dance?”
Instead of answering, Porsha shot out of her seat and practically yanked the tablecloth off the table, pulling Miles along with her.
* * *
The bestselling R&B group hadn’t won a Grammy for being boring—they were awesome. And there was no way Chanel was going to sit at the table while they performed. She grabbed Tahj’s and Brice’s hands and dragged them out of their seats. “Come on, you guys,” she cried. “Dance with me!”
As soon as Chanel’s bare feet hit the dance floor, she closed her eyes and let the music take over her body, throwing her wild silky head back, wagging her hips and stomping her feet. In her white bikini and skimpy sea green pareo, she looked like a mermaid escaped from the sea.
Flow couldn’t stop staring at her as he belted out the words to the hit song “Karnage.” She was every woman he’d ever sung about. His dream girl.
Porsha threw all her angry energy into her dancing, punching the air with her fists, kicking her feet out in front of her, thrashing her head and whipping Miles in the face with her hair in a very un-Audrey-like manner. Her pink dress clung to her damp sweaty skin, but she didn’t care what she looked like anymore. Not that she looked bad. Miles couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
The third song was a slow one, and the dance floor filled up as some of the older couples joined them. Chanel shimmied over to Brice, grinning down at him as she put his hands on her bare hips. Brice blushed, but he didn’t let go. He knew how lucky he was. Even eleven-year-olds have testosterone.
The song was slow and sexy, and Miles slid his hands low on Porsha’s waist and pulled her head against his chest. Porsha didn’t pull back. Instead, she pressed herself up against him, hard. Her mind was so full of rage and despair, she was shaking. She didn’t want to think about anything. She just wanted to feel good, and thank fucking God she was with Miles, a guy who, yes, wasn’t Kaliq, but who was pretty fucking cute, and she liked him, or at least right now she did.
She pulled her head away from Miles’s chest and looked up into his light brown eyes, letting the champagne and vodka rush to her head. Before she could check herself, she pulled his face toward hers and kissed him long and hard as their bodies rocked back and forth in time to the music.
Tahj stood by the bar, alternately watching Porsha and Miles and not watching them as he downed first one shot of tequila and then another. He was thankful that Miles could make Porsha feel better even if he couldn’t. Then again, they were dancing obscenely close and the song was almost over. It couldn’t hurt for him to cut in when the next song started. He lit a herbal cigarette, took two quick drags, and then smashed it out in an ashtray, weaving his way around the middle-aged couples on the outskirts of the dance floor as Flow sung the final chords of the song.
But when Tahj reached the spot where Porsha and Miles had been standing, they were already wandering away with their arms wrapped around each other, strolling through the bushes bordering the pool and down the path toward the villas. Tahj stood in the middle of the crowded dance floor with his hands in the pockets of his linen pants, watching them go. He couldn’t believe he’d actually thought bringing Miles along to St. Barts was a good idea.
The group quickened the tempo, singing “Kiss, Kiss, Kiss,” one of their dance hits with a retro beat. Still going like a windup toy, Chanel bounced over to Tahj and danced a little circle around him. “Come on, party pooper. Take off those poopy pants and dance!” she cried.
Tahj grinned sheepishly and let her pull him into the writhing throng of sweaty dancers. He needed a distraction, and Chanel could be extremely distracting when she wanted to be. He yanked off his jacket and threw it into the air, his dreadlocks bobbing as he bopped and grooved.
Chanel’s pareo came untied and fell to the floor, but she kept on dancing as the music got louder and the tempo increased, shaking her hair and throwing her arms up over her head. She liked the way Tahj used his whole body when he danced. So many guys just bobbed their heads and shifted from fo.ot to foot, but Tahj was a natural. He looked adorable tonight, too, in his cool black linen pants, with his dreads sticking up on top of his head. She danced a little closer to him, breathing him in as she shimmied her hips. Why had she never noticed how cute he was before?
Flow watched them dancing, editing the playlist in his head. It was painful enough seeing the love of his life dance half naked with other guys and the least he could do was make damn sure there were no more slow songs.
Too late. Because some people were already dancing to their own private slow song. In bed.
24
Maybe it was the heat. Or maybe it was the fact that her life was such a complete mess that she wanted to do something drastic to change it. Whatever the reason, Porsha knew she was following Miles back to his villa with a purpose: to have sex. Actually, he was following her. She was practically dragging him.
“Wouldn’t you rather hang out in your room?” Miles asked on the way. He and Tahj and Brice had kind of trashed their place.
Porsha thought she ought to leave their villa to Chanel, just in case she needed a place to escape from Flow. “Chanel might need it,” she said. “You don’t think Tahj will mind, do you?”
“Nah.” Miles closed the screen door behind them. “I was starting to think you weren’t that into me.” He winced when he turned on the light. The floor was littered with the three boys’ clothes and CDs. There was even a half-eaten banana sitting on his bedside table that the maids had somehow missed when they turned the beds down and left little chocolate mints on the pillows.
A half-eaten banana? How romantic.
But Porsha didn’t care. She slipped out of her strappy Jimmy Choo sandals and pulled her dress off over her head, dropping it onto the floor along with the other boys’ clothes. All that was left to take off was the skimpy pink thong she’d worn under her dress.
“I’m into you,” she said in her most sultry voice, falling back on Miles’s bed. “Come here.”
Miles pulled off his shirt, slipped out of his shoes, and lay down next to her. He reached for the chocolate mint on the pillow, unwrapped the gold foil, and fed it to her.
Porsha kept the chocolate intact in her mouth, grabbed Miles’s head, and kissed him, forcing the mint between his teeth with her tongue. She was no longer interested in emulating Audrey Hepburn or Dorothy Dandridge. They were over, yesterday’s news.
She reached for his white canvas belt with one hand, slipping her other hand under the elastic waistband of her thong and yanking
it down.
Hello, woman—goodbye, little girl!
* * *
After another few songs, Chanel, Tahj, and Brice went back to the table to eat their dinner.
“Isn’t this fun?” Eleanor said brightly. She had eaten her entire plate of red snapper, caviar-tossed purple potatoes, and wild leeks, and was already working on a warm chocolate soufflé. It was so nice that the children were enjoying themselves. She didn’t even mind that Porsha and Tahj’s handsome young friend hadn’t come back to eat.
Tahj frowned down at his plate of cold wilted spinach and braised leeks. Brice ripped his fish head off the body and zoomed it through the air toward Tahj like a torpedo. “Watch out!” he yelled. “Flying fish!”
“Brice Sinclaire Campbell!” Eleanor hissed.
Tahj swiped at Brice’s hand and the mutilated fish head fell onto his plate. He winced. “That’s okay, I wasn’t hungry, anyway.”
Chanel wasn’t sure why Tahj was in such a bad mood, but she wanted to help. “Here,” she offered, thinking he must be starving. She picked up one of her purple new potatoes and began to dab at it with her napkin. “Will you eat this if I wipe all the caviar off?” She was so busy preparing Tahj’s potato, she didn’t even notice that the group had taken a break and Flow was headed her way.
“Chanel?” he called, coming up behind her.
Chanel looked up. Flow was wearing a black wifebeater and the shark tooth necklace, and his neck and shoulders were slick with sweat. His dark curly hair hung down over his eyes, his cheeks glowed like polished bronze, and his eyes were sparkling with adrenaline.
Chanel handed Tahj his potato, picked up her fork, and put a bite of fish in her mouth. “Hi,” she said brightly, with her mouth full.
Flow glanced at Eleanor and Cyrus. “Hello,” he said.
“Would you like to sit down, son?” Cyrus offered. “You must be beat. Fantastic job up there. Fantastic.”
As if he had one clue about today's R&B.
Flow shook his head. “Thanks, but I have to go back on in a second.” He turned to Chanel again, his brow furrowed fervently. “Do you like the music?”
She laughed and took another bite of fish. Hadn’t he seen her dancing like a crazy person out there? “Yeah, you guys are great.”
Flow looked relieved. “Good. Okay. Well, we’re just going to play a couple more songs and then I was hoping I could buy you a drink or something and maybe give you your Christmas present.”
Chanel took a sip of water. She was kind of beat from all that dancing. And besides, it wasn’t even Christmas yet. “Actually, I’m really kind of tired. How about I meet you for breakfast? You really shouldn’t give me my present until Christmas, anyway.”
“Breakfast?” Flow said dubiously. After all, he was a R&B star. Most of the time he didn’t get up before noon.
“Yeah. Around 10:30 or so?” Chanel chirped. “It’ll be fun!”
The bass player played a chord and the drummer banged on his drums a few times, letting Flow know the group was waiting for him. “Okay,” he said. He leaned down, closed his curly lashed eyes, and kissed Chanel on the lips. “Don’t forget.”
She smiled sweetly up at him. “I won’t.”
Suddenly the room buzzed with the sound of gossip.
“Did you see that?”
“I heard she’s fooling around with another member, too.”
“Do you think they’re really getting married?”
“I heard they’re involved in some big drug-smuggling ring.”
A few girls screamed as Flow hopped back on stage. He adjusted his microphone with his long, delicate fingers and looked out across the clusters of onlookers at one girl.
“This one is for Chanel,” he murmured, his eyebrows knitted together with emotion. Then he broke into the first few chords of his favorite song, “Dark Knight.” Now he understood where the lyrics had come from and who they were for.
Girl, you’re my bright star
I’ll follow you wherever you are
Fighting off wolves that bite at your heels
Chanel sat back in her seat, watching Flow pour his heart out to her. It was hard not to feel flattered. He was so gorgeous, and when he hit those sexy high notes she couldn’t help but smile.
All of a sudden Tahj stood up from the table.
“Wanna dance?” Chanel asked him hopefully.
He shook his head. “I think I’m going to head back to my room,” he mumbled.
Chanel stood up. Tahj was acting so weird, she was worried about him. “I’ll come with you,” she offered, forgetting about Flow completely. She followed Tahj around the outside of the dance floor and through the crowd huddled around the bar.
Before they started down the path to the villas, she caught a glimpse of the still, green sea and the perfect white beach glowing in the moonlight and was reminded of those summer nights up at Porsha’s dad’s beach house in Newport. She and Porsha used to drink martinis and then tear out of the house and across the sand and skinny dip in the cold, clear water. Chanel couldn’t resist.
“Let’s go swimming!”
Tahj stayed where he was. “Nah,” he said. “You go ahead.”
“You sure?”
He nodded. “But don’t go out too far.”
“Okay!” Chanel called, breaking into a run. She dashed across the beach, splashed into the waves, and dove in, eager to feel the head-to-toe rush when the cool water enveloped her. Swimming seal-like, she stayed underwater until her head finally broke the surface and she sucked in an exalted breath of night air. Sometimes it just felt good to be alive.
25
Porsha just wanted to get it over with quickly, but Miles wanted to take his time, going over every inch of her body in a way that seemed almost clinical, like he was a dermatologist checking her skin for eczema or something. She tried to relax and enjoy the feeling of Miles licking her foot, but they were both completely naked and she couldn’t help thinking that if Miles had been Kaliq, they would have done it by now.
When Kaliq got horny he got sort of violent. Not in a scary way, but in a kind of trembling, unstoppable, passionate way. Porsha had always had to be very firm when she said no, she wasn’t ready to go all the way, and then she’d had to find a way to distract him. This time she wouldn’t have told Kaliq to stop, and by now they would be lying in each other’s arms, looking at the stars through the window, smoking cigarettes, and talking lazily about the future.
Miles started on the other foot, biting the tip of her big toe and working his tongue over the prickly surface of her diamond toe ring. Porsha flinched involuntarily. Everything always seemed so right when she was with Kaliq. They were like the corner pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. They fit together perfectly, and when they were together, everything else made sense. Which was why it no longer made any sense that she was lying butt naked in a hotel room on an island in the middle of the Caribbean while a naked Miles licked her feet, and Kaliq was up in freezing cold Maine all alone, possibly, hopefully, thinking about her.
She yanked her big toe out of Miles’s mouth and rolled off the bed. He ducked his head out from under the sheet. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to go,” she said without even looking at him. She crouched down, hunting for her dress, but it was dark and there was so much crap on the floor, she couldn’t find it.
Miles slouched on the end of the bed, watching her as he drummed his fingers against his legs. “I was trying to take it slow.”
We know.
Porsha ignored him. “Where’s my fucking dress?” she muttered.
Suddenly the lights came on and her dress became extremely visible in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. Tahj stood in the doorway, but instead of apologizing quickly and ducking out of the room the way a stepbrother should have, he stared at Porsha and continued to stare.
At first Porsha was completely embarrassed. Within two seconds her embarrassment turned to anger. How dare he? How dare he stare at her like tha
t? He was her freaking stepbrother.
Tahj knew he should turn around and leave them alone, but his feet wouldn’t move. Miles bent down and snatched Porsha’s pink dress up from where it was lying on the floor at his feet. “Yo,” he said to Tahj, tossing the dress to her.
Porsha pulled the dress on over her head and marched toward the door. “What’s your problem?” she hissed, brushing past Tahj on her way out. Not that she really wanted to know.
The villa Porsha and Chanel shared was only twenty feet away—not far enough, as far as Porsha was concerned. She kept on walking past the villas to the beach, and as soon as her feet hit the sand, she started to run. She didn’t care that she’d special-ordered the pink dress and paid an extra hundred and fifty dollars for it. She ran as fast as she could until she hit the water and threw herself into the waves, ruining the dress for sure. Taking a giant gulp of air, she plunged underwater, hurtling her body forward with all the strength in her arms and legs. Then, when her lungs were about to burst, she came up, gasping and blinking the salt water from her eyes.
The moon was bright and music from the Christmas Eve party echoed from off the water. 45 had stopped and a DJ was playing “Blame It on the Boogie,” a vintage Michael Jackson song. On the beach Porsha could see the vague silhouette of a girl, her feet splashing in the shallow water, looking like Halle Berry in Die Another Day, but with long silky hair and wearing a white bikini instead of an orange one. Of course it was Chanel.
“Where’s Miles?” she called, cupping her hands over her mouth.
“Who cares?” Porsha called back, treading water. “Where’s Flow?”
“Who cares?” Chanel shouted back.
They both laughed, and Porsha floated on her back for a few seconds, looking up at the moon. Then she turned over and swam toward Chanel. “I’m thinking of going back tomorrow,” she said, getting out of the water. She had a screenplay to write, and she wanted to work on it without her pregnant mother, her weirdo stepbrother, or his stalking friend around to bother her.
Upper East Side #3 Page 12