Better start rowing, boy.
30
Chanel’s chest felt hollow as she watched Kaliq bury his face in Porsha’s perfumed neck. They looked so ecstatic and in love that she had to turn away. What was going on? She’d thought they were barely even speaking anymore.
Chanel grabbed a flute of champagne and downed it, reaching for another. The golden bubbles tickled her nose and she sneezed twice. If she had to watch them practically do it right in front of her, she’d better drink herself silly.
Of course all she had to do was wait, but the waiting was killing her. Porsha was would be off to Yale in the morning and Kaliq would be staying right here in New York. Finally, she’d have him all to herself, and years from now, when Porsha came home from Yale with her perfect educated investment banker fiancé and Kaliq and Chanel were in love—true spend-the-rest-of-your-life-together love—they’d laugh at the idea that Porsha and Kaliq had ever even been together. It would be some warm but distant memory, like Buck Naked or the alligator costume. Porsha would be her maid of honor, and just before walking down the aisle she’d whisper in Chanel’s ear that she was sorry she’d stood in their way all those years. Of course Chanel and Kaliq were meant to be together.
Right. Because it’s just like Porsha to do that.
Alexis Sullivan and Imani Edwards stumbled by, teetering on their obscenely high Manolos and clutching each other’s arms to keep from falling down, their eyes glassy and bright.
“Hey Chanel!” Alexis giggled, her zebra-striped dress sliding down her nonexistent chest.
“You don’t have a date either? You should come with us—we’re going to snag some Greek gods!” Imani erupted in a fit of giggles. “How about that one?” She pointed across the room at a painted figure wearing a barely there cloth made entirely out of silvery olive branches.
Alexis started to hiccup uncontrollably, which made both girls laugh even harder. The painted god grinned at Imani, his white-plaster curls falling over his painted and powdered angular features.
“Hold this,” Imani slurred, handing her drink to Alexis. She staggered over to the god and climbed up on the small platform supporting him. Without so much as a hello, she grabbed the male statue and kissed him, white paint smearing her black gown.
Way to leave town with a bang.
Chanel turned away and checked her reflection in the long mirror hanging behind the bar. After much deliberation—though not nearly as much as Porsha—she’d chosen a low-cut silvery Valentino cocktail dress with silver trim around the waist. Her legs looked endless beneath the midlength skirt, finished off with a pair of gold Christian Louboutin sandals with their trademark red soles. Normally she preferred one of her brother’s old BROWN T-shirts and her ratty Levis, but tonight she felt a bit like Cinderella, hoping to win the prince’s heart.
She glanced back at where Kaliq and Porsha had been standing. Kaliq was now alone, leaning against the wall and staring pensively out into the crowd, with Porsha nowhere in sight.
Chanel pushed through the throng of revelers, waving at Porsha’s little brother Brice and his girlfriend, Destiny, who were ballroom dancing rather adorably, despite the fact that Beyonce's “Formation” was playing. Brice just tipped his head at her, clearly engrossed in his waltz.
Chanel kept walking until she was standing right where she belonged—directly in front of Kaliq. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him. In his black Armani tux, crisp white shirt, and shiny dark Prada loafers, he really did look princely.
“Hey.” His face broke into a wide grin when he saw her.
“Hey, yourself.” She stepped a little closer and reached for his hand. He closed his fingers around hers, and Chanel breathed a sigh of relief at the warm touch of his skin. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Kaliq shrugged his shoulders. “I guess.” He dropped her hand, his eyes shifting nervously away and then back again.
“It’ll be easier tomorrow, after Porsha leaves.” She took his hand again and squeezed it tightly in her own. It was torture to have to stand next to him like this and not really be able to touch him. All she wanted was to pull him close and kiss him, until Porsha, the party, and the whole world fell away, leaving just the two of them.
“Yeah.” Kaliq’s eyes were shiny with emotion. “You look really beautiful tonight.” His voice trembled. Was he struggling to keep his hands off her, just like she was?
She tossed her long silky hair over one shoulder. “My hair does look a little better when I brush it,” she joked. Behind them Brice spun Destiny around and around. Destiny looked like she was about to puke all over her cute purple halter dress.
Kaliq bit his lip nervously. “Porsha wants me to meet her at Grand Central tomorrow at ten.” He wanted to tell her the rest—that Porsha wanted to meet him there because she’d gotten him back into Yale, that he wasn’t sure whether to go or not go. But Chanel looked so beautiful and trusting, he didn’t have the heart.
Or the balls.
“Well, we should both go. I want to see her off too.” Chanel squeezed his arm. One more day and they’d be together forever.
Kaliq wrapped his arms around her and held her close, breathing in the familiar scent of patchouli and lilies—a scent he knew as well as his own. He’d loved her ever since he could remember, but he’d loved Porsha too. And he wanted to be with both girls, always and forever.
So why don’t they all move to Utah?
“I love you,” Chanel said, her voice catching in her throat.
Kaliq held her, squeezing her tight. “I love you too.”
And true love never lies.
31
Yasmine leaned against a podium, sipping champagne as she tried to subtly rearrange her light blue silk dress. She tugged at the ridiculously short hem and wished for the hundredth time that night that she’d chosen something more comfortable—and in her usual shade of pure black—instead of something so girly. She’d changed into a pair of ridiculously uncomfortable heels after the wedding, worried the bouncers would take one look at her combat boots and kick her out of Porsha’s fancy party. Maybe she’d find a table and coax Mekhi into giving her a foot massage. If he ever got here.
She glanced around the wildly extravagant Roman-themed party, searching for his mop of unruly twists. After their intense eye-lock while he read his poem aloud at the wedding, Yasmine was dying to talk to him. But she’d lost him during Ruby’s crazy reception and could only hope that Bree would drag him up to the party sometime soon. Yasmine had made sure both their names were added to the list; it was only a matter of waiting. In the meantime, she was going to enjoy herself.
She tried to look sultry, throwing her shoulders back and arching her back the way Porsha had taught her. But then she felt a little splash on her leg—of course, she’d spilled her drink. She bent down and tried to wipe the droplets off her bare calf with her cocktail napkin, her dress riding dangerously high. She straightened. It hadn’t occurred to that she couldn’t do the same things in a dress that she did in jeans. She quickly scanned the room to make sure no one had seen her privates.
But damn if some dude wasn’t headed straight toward her. No, not some dude, Tahj. Of course he was here, he was Porsha’s stepbrother—why hadn’t she thought of that? But when did he get so...fine? His hair was knotted in dreadlocks that tumbled messily over his forehead, and his brown eyes sparkled against his mocha skin. He wore a dark green, three-button suit, and a green silk tie hung loosely around his neck. She stood up straight and tried to look composed, but as she did the pedestal she’d been leaning against shook. She looked up to see the female nude statue above her move suddenly, before it struck a new pose.
Yasmine hadn’t seen Tahj since they’d broken up at the beginning of the summer. After they’d been together for only a few weeks, Tahj had given her a silver friendship ring, which was totally corny—and, for Yasmine, a total deal-breaker. She’d immediately thrown it in a drawer. Considering she hadn’t been able to stop sleeping
with Mekhi at the time, it was probably for the best.
“Hey, stranger!” Tahj grabbed her hand, pulling her into a hug. He finally released her, stepping back to look her up and down with obvious approval. “You look gorgeous. I was hoping to see you tonight.” His pink lips curved into a big smile.
Yasmine raised her eyebrows. “It’s good to see you too. Want to trade shoes?”
Tahj laughed. “I’d look pretty good in those,” he agreed, pointing at her light blue heels.
“So, how was your road trip?” she asked, remembering that a couple of months ago she was supposed to be on that trip. She’d stayed behind to be with Mekhi, and now he was gay.
Good call on that one.
“It was great.” Tahj kept his eyes on Yasmine as the busty statue above them rearranged her position, leaning forward annoyingly as if she were part of their conversation. “But Mookie and I missed you.”
Yasmine felt herself blush. “So, um, when are you leaving for Harvard?”
“Tomorrow. I can’t believe I’m leaving town. Sometimes I think it’d be great to be in the city, go to Columbia or NYU—like you.” He pushed a stray dreadlock behind his ear.
“I don’t know,” Yasmine mused. “Lately it’s felt weird, knowing everyone is going to leave to try out new places and I’ll still be here, all on my own.” She took a sip of her vodka tonic. She couldn’t believe she was pouring her heart out to Tahj, of all people, whom she hadn’t seen in months. Still, it felt nice to finally voice what had been weighing on her for so long. Between Ruby’s marriage and Mekhi’s coming out, nobody had thought to ask how she was doing in a while.
“If I know one thing about you, Yasmine Richards, it’s that you’ll be fine on your own.” Tahj grinned. “Though I can’t imagine you’ll be on your own for very long. Kind of makes me wish I was staying all over again.”
As soon as he said the word stay, the spell of Tahj’s warm brown eyes was broken. Yes, he was gorgeous, and yes, he obviously still liked her, but all Yasmine could hear was Mekhi’s poem. Fall down with me. And stay. She kept replaying the way he’d looked deep into her eyes as he’d uttered those lines—as if he’d written them just for her. But if that were true, then where the hell was he?
Forget Greek gods. The theme for this party should have been “Love Sucks.”
32
Mekhi ducked around a Greek sculpture, vodka gimlet in one hand, feeling particularly small and insignificant beneath the giant marble statues looming over him. They were just the right height that their, um, anatomy was practically being shoved in his face. And it wasn’t exactly a turn-on.
Bree sipped from her glass of champagne, her eyes wide with excitement. “Don’t you want to dance?” she demanded. “Come on, there are enough cute guys here for both of us.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Mekhi gulped his drink, the ice clinking against his teeth and numbing his tongue. “I wouldn’t even know how to ask another guy to dance, much less dance with him.”
Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? After the intense moment at the wedding, locking eyes with Yasmine while he read his poem, Mekhi wasn’t sure what to think. It was like something was still...there between them. But then, just as he was about to finally talk to her, five different Williamsburg guys had come up to him to personally let him know how “touched” they were by his words. Before he knew it, he’d ended up with five phone numbers in his pocket...and five more assurances that he was gay.
Bree rolled her eyes. “That’s the easy part. You just sort of mush your bodies together and grind.” She gave her hips a slight wiggle.
Mekhi glanced nervously at one of the almost-naked man statues. He was so not ready for grinding.
“Hey, look, it’s Yas.” Bree pointed toward the far corner of the immense hall. Mekhi craned his neck to get a good look, peering through the mass of beautifully dressed moving bodies. He finally spied her prickly head bobbing excitedly as she spoke to a handsome, dreadlocked Bob Marley wannabe. It was Porsha’s stepbrother, Tahj, who had nearly succeeded in stealing Yasmine away from him once before.
“Who’s the guy she’s talking to?” Bree asked, her voice full of admiration. “He’s cute!”
Mekhi slouched, completely dejected. Yasmine and Tahj were laughing and flirting, and they’d probably get back together before the night was even over. Looking so beautiful and confident in her sky blue dress, it was hard to believe Yasmine had ever been his girlfriend. Mekhi was a sexually confused, cream-puff-eating geek who was about to drive cross-country in a car that was practically extinct. What had she ever seen in him, anyway?
“What’s wrong?” Bree demanded, titling her head in concern when Mekhi didn’t respond. He could feel her examining him closely. She definitely seemed more self-assured after her summer away, and in a couple of days she was headed to boarding school.
Kids. They grow up so fast.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he snapped, gazing forlornly into his glass. He wished Bree would just dance away into the night so he could sit by himself and be as morose as his poetry.
Life of the party, isn’t he?
“Oh my God!” Bree shouted excitedly. “You’re jealous!” She put her hand on his arm and looked earnestly up in his face. “This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve tried to be supportive all along, and stop me if what I’m about to say is totally off base but—”
Mekhi looked up into his sister’s big brown eyes. He was reminded of the hundreds of times they’d sat in their crumbling apartment eating Rufus’s disgusting leftovers and talking in half-sentences but understanding exactly what the other was saying.
“Honestly,” Bree went on, “you don’t seem very gay to me.”
“I don’t?” Mekhi grabbed her shoulder.
“Sorry.” She shrugged.
Across the room Tahj and Yasmine were flirting mercilessly. Mekhi was practically dying to go over there and punch the guy's lights out. Bree was right—he was jealous. He wasn’t gay, despite what his mom and everyone else in the world seemed to think. When he’d kissed Gabriel, he’d been drunk and confused. Actually he hadn’t even been awake for part of it.
He frowned, not sure what to do now that he possibly wasn’t gay anymore.
Bree poked him in the gut. “So talk to her, you idiot!” she squealed excitedly. “Get her away from that boy so I can flirt with him.”
Mekhi gave his brilliant little sister a quick kiss on the cheek. Across the room, Yasmine’s face was flushed and gorgeous in the museum’s soft light. Despite the vodka sloshing around in his head, everything was finally completely clear. He didn’t want to just talk to Yasmine, he wanted to be with her. He loved her because she was Yasmine—his Yasmine. And he was going to get her back.
Mekhi crossed the room determinedly, his gaze fixed on her. She looked so beautiful, teetering unsteadily in her glittery blue heels. He wanted to be there to catch her if she fell. He marched past table after table, knocking over drinks and stepping on people’s toes. It felt like it took years for him to finally reach her.
“So, how about a dance?” Tahj was saying, holding his hand out to her.
Mekhi reached out and grabbed her hand instead. “Excuse me, but if she’s going to dance, I’d rather it was with me.”
Yasmine’s hazel eyes grew huge. “Mekhi—you’re here.”
“I’m sorry, Tahj,” Mekhi apologized with a slow smile, his eyes never leaving Yasmine’s face. “But I need her for a minute. Actually, longer than that.”
Tahj stared momentarily and then kissed Yasmine wistfully on the cheek. “Take care.” He nodded to both of them as he took off for the bar.
Mekhi’s arms circled Yasmine’s waist. You’re beautiful, I’m not gay, I love you, I want you back. He was about to say all of it in a big confused rush, but then Yasmine kissed him on the lips, a long, lingering, very ungay kiss full of promises and apologies.
“I know,” she murmured, holding him. He brushed his chin o
ver the top of her prickly head and smiled happily. The best part was, they were still roommates, if only for one more night.
Looks like someone’s not going to get much sleep tonight.
33
Kaliq stood at the mostly undiscovered bar under the enormous main staircase, as far from the other partygoers as he could get. A toga-toting bartender poured amber liquid into his empty glass for the hundredth time that night. Things were crazy tonight, so he might as well make them even crazier. And if drinking didn’t work, he was going to go out and sit on the steps of the Met and smoke all six of the emergency joints in his pocket.
Old habits die hard.
He raised his glass to take another slug and felt a big slap on his back, causing him to nearly choke. He turned to see his father standing right beside him.
“There you are.” The Captain was wearing his custom-made double-breasted tuxedo, a black satin bow tie set at his throat, his black hair neatly combed back from his aristocratic face. He set his empty champagne glass down on the bar next to Kaliq’s. “Well, I hear someone’s bailed you out—as usual,” the Captain proclaimed. “You’re one lucky boy. Do you know that?”
Kaliq ran his hands through his wavy hair, nodding mechanically. Leave it to his dad to reduce him to a drunken asshole with no dick.
“Though I suppose I shouldn’t give Lady Luck all the credit for your good fortune. You’ve got one industrious girlfriend,” his father remarked. “You don’t deserve her.”
Kaliq blushed and looked at his feet. He knew his dad was right—he hadn’t done a goddamn thing to deserve getting back into Yale—he’d simply been lucky. Lucky that he had a girlfriend who didn’t give up until she got her way. Lucky that she had a father who was on the board of trustees.
Porsha sidestepped one of the Adonises as she walked over, her azure dress floating around her like waves. Through the window behind her, Kaliq could see the cars flying down Fifth Avenue, some of them slowing as they passed the gala happening inside.
Upper East Side #11 Page 17