“Your official boyfriend,” Sydney clarified. She rolled her eyes in the direction of University Place. J.P. was shuffling along, carrying his BlackBerry, a MacBook Air bulging from his leather Tumi bag. He looked out of place in the park, which was filled with skateboarders, overly pierced NYU kids, and middle-aged people wearing ’60s-inspired shapeless ground-length skirts and tie-dyed T-shirts.
“Is he coming from a Young Republican convention or a debate team meeting?” Sydney giggled.
“He’s not like that, really,” Baby whispered, grabbing Sydney’s digital camera and pretending to be particularly interested in the shots. They actually looked good, Baby realized, especially the faraway ones, where you really couldn’t tell who was a girl and who was a guy.
“Hey gorgeous!”
Baby quickly passed the camera over to Sydney and wheeled around, smiling sheepishly. She hadn’t told J.P. exactly what they were doing this afternoon, and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t get it.
“You look… different,” he said skeptically.
At least he didn’t say pretty this time.
“Yeah, we’re sort of doing this fashion shoot thing that explores gender perceptions,” Baby explained. J.P. nodded, but he seemed unconvinced. Did it sound dumb? It hadn’t when she’d talked it through with Sydney. Sydney bent down and picked up a bullhorn. “Okay, people, let’s get the shot!” she bleated like a Girl Scout leader. Around them, hordes of skirt-wearing guys formed a crowd on the steps.
“Why are you doing this again?” J.P. glanced around, backing away from the group.
Baby chewed her lip thoughtfully. J.P. looked nothing like Mateo or Webber or any of the other guys, and not just because he was the only guy not wearing a skirt. “It’s just fun.” Baby gazed into J.P.’s warm brown eyes imploringly.
“It’s kind of getting cold,” J.P. responded noncommittally, as if they were strangers. Baby shivered involuntarily.
“Would it be better if I got you a skirt? My treat!” she teased, but she felt a little nervous. Everything was fine before J.P. had arrived but now all she could think about was what he’d think of all this.
“That’s okay,” J.P. said stiffly. “You know what, I should just go. I know you have to do this for school, so just call me when you’re done. Maybe we can grab dinner or something.” He shrugged.
“Sorry,” Baby said, then felt angry at herself for apologizing. It wasn’t her fault J.P. was uncomfortable. She personally was having a ball. “Is it because you don’t like women to wear the pants?” she joked lamely, gesturing to her cords.
J.P. chuckled, but his eyes darted away. “Call me when you’re done, doll,” he said, and practically sprinted out of the park. Baby walked back to the group. Doll? Since when was she anyone’s doll?
Maybe since she started playing dress-up?
o does it his way
The Ninety-second Street Y’s locker room was the usual mayhem of weekend excitement on Friday after practice. Owen walked through the cloud of Axe body spray emanating from the JV team’s row of lockers. He roughly opened his own locker, ignoring the makeshift bar Hugh had set up in his swim bag, complete with sterling silver martini shakers from Tiffany.
“Need a gaytini, man?” Hugh called out cheerfully.
“No thanks, I’m cool.” Owen rolled his eyes and pulled his maroon St. Jude’s sweatshirt over his head. He was so over the gay thing, but he didn’t really want to advertise his imaginary relationship. He hadn’t heard from Jack in a few days, and it wasn’t like he was going to call her or anything, so he didn’t know if the whole thing was even going to happen.
“Hey, what’s up?” Rhys asked as he edged by Owen to get to his locker. This practice had been his best ever. He’d nailed all his times, clocking Owen in every stroke, and even shaved half a second off his hundred-yard-backstroke time. Everything was so much better, or would be, once he and Kelsey had time alone to fully… consummate their relationship. He’d been thinking about it so much that even the word organic sounded dirty when their ancient teacher, Mr. Kliesh, kept repeating it in AP chem. He’d tried to grab Owen to tell him about Kelsey, but he hadn’t had a chance to talk one-on-one. It was like Owen was avoiding him. Maybe he just felt weird about the gay thing. Was he gay? He was awfully well groomed.
Says the guy who gets monthly facials.
“Hey, I have a quick announcement, guys,” Rhys yelled authoritatively, pleased at the way his deep voice echoed off the metal lockers. He certainly sounded in charge. From the depths of the locker room, he heard Hugh and Eli’s groans. They probably thought he was going to give the halfhearted “no drinking in season” speech he still hadn’t gotten around to giving.
Not quite.
“So, guys, you know that the auction is next week,” Rhys began seriously. He climbed onto the wobbly wooden bench, hoping he wouldn’t fall off.
“And…” Rhys trailed off, looking at the motley crew of guys surrounding him. Two-hundred-pound Ken looked like he had just come out from a year living in a cabin in the woods. Scrawny Chadwick had several random tufts of hair on his face, as if he had glued them on in the dark after doing Jaegerbombs. Because of their ridiculous chastity pact, they were all heinous looking. But not for long.
“And, for the occasion… you guys are gonna have to shave!”
Hugh Moore began clapping as he walked over to Rhys and offered up a bottle of Tanqueray. “Way to go, Sterling! I knew you and Kelsey were going to seal the deal. That picnic setup? Brilliant!”
“Well…” Rhys turned red. They still hadn’t done it. But they would. “We’re back together, and it’s all going to happen,” he finished. “Soon,” he added confidently, stepping off the bench.
“Oh my God, thank Jesus!” Hugh kneeled on the ground and kissed Rhys’s feet.
“Okay, guys, let’s do an emergency trip to Barneys’ lingerie department. That’s where the ladies are. Who’s with me?” Hugh rolled his blue eyes crazily as he stroked his blondish beard. Rhys smiled and high-fived Hugh.
“So, uh, any guys you’re crushing on?” Eli Smith asked Owen awkwardly as the rest of the team stepped up to congratulate Rhys.
But Owen didn’t hear. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck. It was official: Rhys and Kelsey were back together.
“Actually, I’m bringing my new girlfriend, Jack Laurent. You know, that hot ballerina from Constance?” Owen said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Wait, so you’re a ballerina?” Hugh asked, turning away from Rhys.
“No!” Owen briefly lost patience. “Jack—my new girlfriend—is a ballerina.” Suddenly, Coach popped his head in from the adjacent windowless office. Hugh hurriedly stuck the Tanqueray bottle in the lap pocket of Chadwick’s sweatshirt and smiled angelically.
Nice save.
“Carlyle, doing good, you minx!” Coach grinned. “I love the idea of playing the gay card to get the ladies. In fact, mind if I borrow it from you?” he asked hopefully.
Owen shrugged. Too much was happening right now, and his brain felt fuzzy, as if he had spent way too much time underwater without coming up for air.
“You were our golden ticket for the auction, but now that you’re paired off…” Coach assessed the motley gang of swimmers. “Hugh, you’re my Bachelor Number One. Don’t disappoint me, bro,” he said, stalking back into his office.
“That’s great, man!” Rhys pulled on a hoodie and glanced at Owen. “Why’d you keep it a secret?”
“I don’t know.” Owen stuffed his goggles in his maroon swim bag and slung it over his shoulder. “It all just happened.”
“So let’s do something soon! I know Jack a little, but I haven’t seen her since, like, eighth-grade ballroom dance classes.”
“Ballroom? And they think I’m gay?” Owen meant it to be a joke, but it came out sounding like a bark.
“Everyone did it.” Rhys shrugged defensively as they walked out the doors of the Y. He pulled out his Tre
o and quickly texted a message to Kelsey.
Owen’s heart pounded against his chest, the way it did after an all-out sprint. Even knowing Rhys was texting Kelsey made him feel like his world was totally fucking falling apart.
“I’m just asking Kelsey if dinner sometime next week would be cool. Maybe Tuesday? I kind of want to hang out, just the two of us, this weekend,” Rhys explained. He smiled at his friend, feeling giddy at the prospect of a double date. The two girls could chitchat, Rhys and Owen could hang out, and everyone would love it!
All they need is a picket fence and matching Jaguars.
“Okay,” Owen said glumly. His stomach was churning. What did Rhys mean he wanted to be alone with Kelsey this weekend? And a double date? While he desperately wanted to see Kelsey, he knew he needed to stay as far away from her as possible. If she hated him now, she’d hate him even more if she thought he’d found a girlfriend so quickly. Owen sighed sadly. Jack seemed like a nice girl, and was so cute with her reddish hair that perfectly matched her freckles. But she just wasn’t Kelsey.
“Owen!” He heard a lilting girl’s voice and whirled around. There, standing on the corner in a simple black knee-length dress and suede heels, was Jack. It was as if he’d conjured her.
“Oh… hey!” he called, trying to sound enthusiastic as he walked down the steps of the Y toward her. He was completely aware that all the guys were watching him.
“I wanted to know what our plans are for tonight. I also love seeing you after you work out!” Jack said chirpily, not missing a beat. For pretending to be a girlfriend, she actually sounded surprisingly… girlfriendy.
Imagine that.
Owen racked his brain. He remembered his mom planning a dinner party, but as far as he knew, neither of his sisters was bringing any friends. It was easier to fend for themselves when it came to dinner parties with Edie’s group of hippie artist friends. The ones she’d invited tonight had all performed together in an experimental production of Waiting for Godot in the ’70s, where they’d all appeared nude, painted blue. Thankfully, Owen had never seen any pictures. He hoped they weren’t planning on doing a re-creation tonight.
That’s one way of breaking the ice.
“Um, well, my mom’s throwing this dinner thing at my house.…” He trailed off, aware that all the guys were eyeing him curiously. He draped his arm around Jack protectively and walked away from the prying eyes of his teammates. He was surprised at how toned her arm felt. She smelled like a mixture of lavender, sugar, and Tiger Balm, the anti-inflammatory ointment he used on sore muscles.
“Great, I guess we should get going then. I’d love to buy some flowers for your mom and maybe your sisters too,” Jack said sweetly as she allowed Owen to lead her across the crosswalk. She cuddled into him, wishing that J.P. could see her now. She was surprised at how solid Owen felt. He had the same really taut arm muscles the male dancers she worked with did. She always trusted them to lift her up and never, ever let go. When she had been with J.P., she always sort of felt like he would drop her. Which, thinking about it, he sort of had.
She smiled at him flirtily, aware that all his teammates were watching them. It was kind of fun. She loved being the center of attention. And as a partner, she really could do worse than Owen Carlyle.
Has the queen of the Upper East Side found a new king?
where are a’s party people at?
Avery barged into the penthouse on Friday evening after a solo trip to Barneys. She had gone to make herself feel better, but browsing through the racks alone, without friends to tell her what was too last-season and what pants made her butt look flat, just made her feel lonelier than ever. Even though she knew her mom’s dinner party was a totally lame way to spend a Friday night, she was actually glad to have something to do.
She was momentarily taken aback when she saw a large blue Balenciaga bag slung on the low couch in the living room. That bag wasn’t Baby’s, and it definitely wasn’t her mother’s. Edie preferred to tote her belongings in a hemp sack batiked with pink elephants.
Avery felt a wave of annoyance. It was probably one of Owen’s conquests, or maybe one of Baby’s new weirdo friends. While her siblings were having fun in New York City, she was on the freaking leash of the board of overseers. They had “meetings” practically every afternoon. They were supposed to begin planning a mid-fall auction for Constance, or at least that’s what Muffy had said yesterday when Avery had been called out of calculus to speak to her. Instead, they’d met at the stuffy, old-lady-smelling National Arts Club. She’d spent four hours listening to the board compare notes on which luxury cruise lines had the highest ratio of available widowed men to unattached women.
Maybe she should tag along with them over spring break.
“Hello?” Avery called. She heard voices coming from the living room and hurriedly stamped across the entranceway, pausing to throw her coat in her bedroom. She wished Edie’s circle of artist friends could include some scruffy, cute artists, like the ones who hung out at Beatrice Inn or the Waverly. Edie still clung to the idea that her friends were undiscovered geniuses, not realizing that a lack of talent was a big part of why they’d spent the last two decades toiling in obscurity in godforsaken places like Brooklyn. At least Edie had gotten out in time to have a life, Avery realized as she stalked across the apartment and smoothed her hair behind her ears.
“Ave? You home?” Owen called from the kitchen, followed by a girly giggle. Avery walked into the kitchen and stopped in her tracks. Perched at the marble center island, daintily sipping a glass of champagne, was none other than bitch-supreme Jack Laurent, clad in a high-necked Tocca dress. Avery had been purposefully avoiding her ever since her cruel revelation in the cafeteria, but to see her now, up close and in her apartment—with her brother—was just too much.
“Avery, hello darling.” Jack hopped off her stool and walked over to kiss Avery on both cheeks.
Fancy meeting you here!
Avery narrowed her eyes and held on to the counter for balance. Owen seemed amused by the whole thing. He leaned back and sipped his champagne, looking totally relaxed. Through the French doors, Avery could hear laughter mixed with what sounded like a bagpipe.
“Hey Ave,” Owen greeted cheerily as he waved a Brie-slathered cracker in her general direction. “Did Jack tell you we were hanging out?”
“No,” Avery said brusquely. She hadn’t told Owen that much about Jack, but still, couldn’t he have just felt her bitch vibes radiating? Jack subtly put her hand near Owen’s and Avery’s stomach churned angrily. After all, they’d spent nine months in the womb together! This was like a bad horror movie.
Invasion of the brother-snatchers!
“Anyway, want a glass?” Not waiting for an answer, Owen pulled a tumbler out of one of the smooth oak cabinets and liberally splashed Veuve inside as if it were water. “You’ll need this much,” Owen said knowingly as Avery grabbed the glass.
Oh, he has no idea.
“Cheers.” Owen held up his own glass. “We’re hiding out for a little bit. They’re starting performances soon.” He picked up a turdlike object from a paper bag and waggled it at Avery. “Carob bar?”
“No thanks.” Avery smiled tightly.
“Hello?” Baby banged into the kitchen, wearing an ugly blue polo shirt that said BEST BUY on it. She’d belted it and was wearing it as a dress over a pair of Wolford black fishnet stockings that Avery suddenly recognized as ones she had bought. What the fucking fuck? Could her life get any more ridiculous?
Does she even need to ask?
“What’s she doing here?” Baby narrowed her eyes at Jack and put her hands on her tiny hips. The T-shirt gave her an air of authority, like she was a store manager or something. Avery hoped she was just wearing it to be ironic, or as part of something she had to do for that dumb improv group. She hoped Baby hadn’t actually gotten a job. Just then, Edie walked in with several of her artsy friends, including one large, redheaded guy wearing a kilt and a buttoned-up wh
ite dress shirt with ruffles.
“We’re making a stew!” Edie crowed. “It’s an African tribal recipe that’s supposed to be good luck for when a family moves to a new hut. I thought it was fitting for breaking in our kitchen. We can all help, like one big family.” Edie’s eyes shone as she opened the cabinets and haphazardly pulled out utensils.
Avery winced. Why couldn’t she just live in a nice, normal house where a family dinner meant a simple filet mignon served by the maid in a formal front room? She could not deal with this right now. She stalked into the cavernous living room, set up with elaborate pillows and tablecloths on the floor.
“Can we please sit in chairs? Maybe even at the dining room table?” Avery hissed to her mother as she flitted manically between the kitchen and the dining room. At this point, she’d rather turn around and go straight to the King Cole Bar, where Muffy and Esther had gleefully planned to spend the evening drinking scotch and sodas.
Hmm, maybe she should invite them over for some tribal stew!
“Nonsense, this is so much more fun! Who wants a stuffy dinner party?” Edie’s eyes twinkled merrily and she smoothed the wrinkles in her floor-length black dress. She looked like a gray-blond vampire.
“Thank you so much for having me here, Mrs. Carlyle,” Jack gushed, trailing in behind them. “Just let me know what I can do. This is all so wonderfully unique!” She smirked at Avery, but Edie didn’t notice the sarcasm.
“Thank you, darling.” Edie looked around. “I don’t need anything now—just start thinking about your performance piece.” She rested her bony hand on Jack’s forearm and gave her a maternal smile. Jack smiled back uncertainly. Performance piece? What the fuck?
“My mom likes to have everyone perform something at her dinner parties. It’s sort of a Carlyle tradition, but don’t worry, we can totally leave before then,” Owen explained, coming to her rescue. Jack grinned. She couldn’t believe Avery Carlyle, of the preppy Marc Jacobs headbands and the pink Filofax, had such a fruitcake for a mom. She couldn’t wait to see what else Avery was hiding.
You Just Can't Get Enough Page 10