Love the One You're With

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  “No, I totally understand,” Avery said sweetly. She sounded a little disappointed, but happy for Jack. “Have fun!”

  “Thanks.” Jack sighed, wishing Avery hadn’t hung up so quickly. She really didn’t want to go back down to the playroom. Instead, she gazed out the large bay window. The town house was right next to a coffee shop, and people often sat on the outside steps, sharing a cappuccino or a cigarette. Even though it was cold and rainy, a couple in their twenties were huddled close to each other, their knees hugged to their chests, their foreheads practically touching.

  Normally, Jack would want to tell them to fuck off, but right now, she sort of wanted to join them. Anything was better than dealing with the stepbrats. And even though she was excited to spend the long weekend with J.P., part of her wondered if in turning down the trip with Avery, she’d made the right decision. She and Avery always had so much fun together, and they’d be on the beach, soaking in the sun and just taking some time off. Of course, Baby Carlyle would be there, and she and Jack weren’t exactly the best of friends. But Owen would be there too. Jack felt an involuntary shiver travel down her spine at the thought of him. Earlier this year, Jack and Avery had been in the midst of their turf war, and Baby had just started going out with J.P. Jack, in an effort to make J.P. jealous and to piss Avery off, had basically blackmailed Owen into pretending to be her boyfriend, using the information that he and Kelsey Talmadge—his best friend’s girlfriend—had hooked up on the sly. It had totally worked, and now Jack had J.P. back. But spending all that time with Owen, even kissing him for show, Jack had… felt something. She couldn’t explain why, but somehow, even pretending to date Owen had felt more real to her than her years of actually dating J.P.

  “The monsters fell asleep on the sofa.” J.P. appeared in the doorway, snapping Jack back into the present. “I don’t want to wake them up,” he said, sitting next to Jack in the semi-darkness. She could hear the strains of some counting song emanating from downstairs.

  “Good. So, we’re alone….” Jack let the sentence trail off. J.P. was sitting very close to her and she could smell his familiar eucalyptus-and-clean-laundry scent. He slid his fingers underneath Jack’s pink Tocca cashmere sweater.

  “Shh, let’s be really quiet,” Jack whispered as she slid closer to him. She kissed him urgently, like this was the only thing in the world that mattered. And maybe it was. As J.P.’s fingers trailed down her back, Jack wondered if maybe they should just get it over with, here and now. Who needed all the ceremony? She started to unzip her jeans when there was a loud shriek from the doorway.

  “Dora stopped!” Elodie cried, Colette standing just behind her. “We want more Dora!”

  J.P. slid away from Jack on the sofa. “I think it’s bedtime for you girls,” he said gently, moving toward the toddlers and scooping them up easily in each of his arms. “I’ll be back in a sec,” he said to Jack over his shoulder, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

  J.P. disappeared upstairs, kids flung over his arms, and Jack felt like a desperate housewife for the second time that night.

  for r, it’s all about the essentials

  “Here’s good,” Rhys Sterling said on Wednesday morning as his mother’s town car almost sailed past Owen’s building at Seventy-second and Fifth.

  “You want to be let off here?” Oliver, Lady Sterling’s driver, glanced at Rhys quizzically in the rearview mirror.

  “I know,” Rhys muttered. Only his mother would see the need to send him off in a car for a four-block ride. Lady Sterling was all about appearances, and it simply would not have been appropriate for Rhys to walk the four blocks up Fifth Avenue with his Tumi duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Well, cheerio!” Oliver the chauffeur said in his British accent as he opened the door for Rhys. “Have a good trip!”

  “Thanks!” Rhys grinned. He felt giddy. A week of no family, no responsibilities, and especially no foxhunts sounded fucking amazing.

  Not to mention the, um, action plan?

  “Hey man!”

  Rhys whirled around and saw Owen standing outside the building, wearing khakis and a royal blue sweater.

  “What are you doing out here?” Rhys asked as he set his bag down on the pavement. Immediately, the doorman picked it up, slung it over his own shoulder, and lugged it inside.

  “I had to get out of the apartment,” Owen confessed, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s Remington. Dude, I know he and my mom are dating, but they’re all over each other. He was feeding her scrambled eggs this morning.” Owen shuddered. “In his pj’s.”

  Rhys noticed Owen’s strong jaw clenching. That must be hard for him. It was hard enough when he saw his mom and dad get touchy-feely. It always happened after two glasses of sherry.

  “Anyway, the doorman will take care of your stuff. I’ve been dispatched to get supplies. Let’s go!” Owen began walking past the stately limestone buildings toward Madison and quickly crossed the street.

  “My sister wanted us to stop here,” he explained as he stopped in front of the gold doors of Zitomer. Lady Sterling absolutely adored the legendary Upper East Side pharmacy.

  “Happy holidays and happy shopping,” an older man in a maroon jacket greeted them as they walked in the door.

  “I don’t really get why Avery doesn’t just go to Duane Reade,” Owen said, naming the grimy drugstore that was on almost every New York City block. Rhys knew why. It was because Avery loved anything that was classic. So did he. When he’d talked to her for the first time last month, on the terrace of the Carlyles’, they’d even found out they shared the same taste in old-school Frank Sinatra music.

  They worked their way past the cramped aisles of beauty products toward the more traditional drugstore items in the back of the store. A woman with two cats on a leash stood frowning at a candle display, blocking their way.

  “Excuse me, can we get through?” Owen blurted. The woman and her cats looked up in annoyance, but let them pass.

  “Honestly, Avery owes me after this,” Owen called over his shoulder. Rhys blushed involuntarily at Avery’s name.

  “I’ll be right back.” Rhys hurriedly shuffled further into the honeysuckle and lemon–scented store, wandering toward the pharmacy area in the back. A display of condoms was discreetly lined up underneath the Formica counter, their bright packages looking almost lewd next to the Emergen-C packets and Carmex surrounding the display. He leaned down and stared at them. He’d thought about the idea of losing his virginity ever since he came home from Hugh’s last night. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt just to have them on hand. Who knew what the condom situation would be like on a semi-private island?

  “Can I help you, young man?” A wiry gray-haired pharmacist wearing a double-breasted white coat leaned over the counter and peered down his thick glasses at Rhys.

  “Oh, I…” Rhys blushed bright red. The store suddenly felt a million degrees hotter, and he loosened his Burberry scarf. “I’ve got what I need, thanks.” He quickly slid a red-and-black package off the display and hurriedly walked away. He knew there was nothing embarrassing about buying condoms, but it still made him feel sort of pervy.

  He spotted Owen’s shock of blond hair by the Bliss display in the center of the store.

  “Hey man.” He squinted at the blue-and-white tube in Owen’s hand. Bliss Oil-Free Sunban Lotion. “That’s really good. It’s not greasy,” he said thoughtfully. He hated greasy, pore-clogging sunblock and had tried just about every brand before settling on Bliss, or occasionally Clarins.

  “Thanks, Your Gayness. It’s for Avery.” Owen rolled his eyes and haphazardly threw a couple tubes in his red plastic shopping basket.

  “Oh, she likes it too?” Immediately, Rhys imagined rubbing the lotion into Avery’s shoulders. He quickly shook the thought off. She was Owen’s sister.

  “What’d you get?” Owen asked, yanking the condoms out of Rhys’s hand. “Magnums? Good for you. So, you’re really taking Hugh’s challenge seriously?”r />
  “Well, I figured it’d be better to be prepared.” Rhys shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even though he felt anything but.

  “That’s true. You know, maybe I’ll join you. I mean, not join you, but find someone too. I think it’d be good for us to just live it up this week. I mean, why the hell not?” Owen asked rhetorically. He flipped open the sunscreen bottle and took an experimental sniff. “Oh my God, this smells like girl. You really use this, Mr. Magnum?” he teased.

  “I like it,” Rhys said defensively. “It’s better for your skin. You’ll be begging to borrow it by the weekend.”

  “Well, I’m sure Avery would love a guy who uses fruity girly products, but—” Owen laughed but then stopped himself. He furrowed his blond brows at Rhys, as if seeing him for the first time. His eyes flicked to the condoms still in Rhys’s hand. “Wait, you’re not thinking about my sister, are you?”

  “No!” Rhys said quickly. “Of course not.”

  Meaning, yes.

  “Good.” Owen’s tone was light, but Rhys knew his message was serious. Owen had always seemed protective of his sisters, and it was clear he didn’t want guys messing with them—whether said guy was his best friend or not.

  “You ready to get out of here?” Owen asked, already making his way to the front counter.

  Rhys trailed behind. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he kept thinking of Avery, in a bikini, on the beach, with the sunscreen making her skin glisten in that totally irresistible way. And suddenly Rhys felt very excited.

  Better run and get another pack of Magnums!

  r is for… reunion

  As would be expected on the day before Thanksgiving, JFK was a complete madhouse. Baby slouched in a ridiculously uncomfortable fake black leather seat by the gate. All morning, they’d waited at the penthouse for Layla’s boyfriend, Riley, to join them. Apparently, the “bring a friend” policy extended to Remington’s family too. Riley was driving in from upstate, but it had gotten so late, they’d decided to meet him at the airport. Remington’s driver had expertly navigated through the ridiculous traffic, and the line for security was a mile long. Now they were finally at the gate, only to discover the plane was delayed.

  Baby sighed. Airports were usually exciting; however, even though they were all heading off on an island vacation, no member of the Carlyle-Wallis party looked especially happy. Avery was sulking in a corner, obviously miffed that Jack had been unable to come and that they weren’t taking a private plane. Owen and Rhys were both listening to their iPods, unaware of the all the girls passing by who stopped to give them second glances. Layla was furiously texting on her iPhone. Only Edie and Remington, their hands intertwined underneath a white cashmere throw, seemed to be in their own blissful world.

  “I’m getting a magazine,” Baby announced, even though no one was listening. She hated waiting. “Do you need anything?” She poked Layla hard on her bicep so that she looked up from her phone. Layla had been paranoid that Riley wouldn’t make it in time. She’d told Baby that they met in high school and had been dating ever since, but because they went to different colleges, the holidays were one of the few times they got to spend more than a day or two together.

  “No, I’m good. Riley just got through security, so he’ll make it.” Layla rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Boys.”

  “I’m excited to meet him,” Baby said agreeably. Hopefully, he’d be as cool as Layla, and hopefully they wouldn’t mind her third-wheeling it with them. It wouldn’t be long before she’d get sick of Avery’s planned schedule of sunbathing, followed by spa treatments, followed by sessions of reading French Vogue by the pool, piña colada in hand. “Watch my stuff?” she asked, and Layla nodded.

  Baby weaved her way around an overweight family of six, all wearing Mickey Mouse ears and sweatpants with Mickey’s face emblazoned on the ass. She giggled, wishing she had someone to share this with. It was times like these, when she saw something absurd, that she wished she had a boyfriend—someone who’d understand what she was thinking. Still, it was probably for the best that she was single. After getting out of a long relationship with her high school boyfriend Tom, followed by a whirlwind affair with J. P. Cashman, Baby was fine just spending her vacation with her family, herself, and Nabokov.

  Nothing like dark Russian novels to keep you warm at night.

  Baby turned into the brightly lit Hudson Newsstand. Idly she scanned the racks, reaching for a copy of Bitch magazine. Sydney loved it, calling it feminism’s answer to idiots. The cover was hot pink and had a picture of a Barbie doll–type figure on it. Plastic Rocks! read the white bubble-letter script. It did look kind of cool and subversive. Besides, if it was boring, she could always borrow one of her sister’s five million fashion magazines. She pulled it off the shelf and headed toward the winding checkout line.

  “Woah, Bitch. Should I be scared of you?”

  Baby whirled around, expecting to see some asshole frat guy in an Abercrombie shirt. Instead, she saw a cute young guy wearing a vintage green ITHACA IS GORGES T-shirt, tightish black jeans, and dirty white Converses.

  “No, but you should be scared of your own terrible conversation skills,” Baby shot back.

  “Sorry about that, it was supposed to be a joke. I hate how no one talks in airports, so sometimes I try to just say hi. In my own very lame way.” The guy smiled sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “Well, hi,” Baby said shortly. She’d been expecting a confrontation, but he was so apologetic it caught her off guard. Baby turned back to the line. The girl in front of her had ripped open the bag of sunflower seeds she’d been holding, causing shells to scatter onto the floor.

  “Need a snack?” The guy gestured toward the floor. “Just so you know,” he said, leaning in confidentially, “I really like Bitch. Sometimes it gets a little too mired in third-wave feminism. I mean, you can really only read so many times about how Lindsay Lohan is an unlikely postmodern feminist poster girl, you know?” He shrugged and smiled, exposing brilliantly white teeth. Baby narrowed her eyes. What was this guy’s deal? She tried to get a clue from the magazines he was carrying: Atlantic Monthly, Esquire, Vanity Fair.

  “Anyway, you’ll like it,” he encouraged, practically prying the magazine out of her hands. “Tell you what, since I was sort of lame, I’ll buy it for you. Consider it an early Thanksgiving present.”

  “Thanks,” Baby said, reevaluating the guy. So maybe he had a weird way of starting a conversation, but he seemed decent enough. And he was pretty cute in that kind of hipster-but-not-actually-trying sort of way. His dark hair was mussed but obviously product-free. “I should buy you something too,” she decided. “In the spirit of reciprocity. Here…” She surveyed the store, her eyes falling on a shelf full of stuffed animals in front of the register.

  “You have everything?” the bored-looking clerk asked.

  “Just this!” Baby said, triumphantly plopping the fist-size, googly-eyed turkey down on the counter.

  “No fair, you got to choose your present!” the boy objected. “I should get to pick mine.” He turned to the clerk. “Actually, she wants this instead,” he said, picking up a small snow globe from one of the glass kiosks surrounding the checkout. It had a tiny figurine of a penguin wearing a red sweater, standing in front of the Empire State Building.

  “That’s ugly.” Baby wrinkled her nose.

  “That’s the point!” He plunked the snow globe down. “Besides, how often do you see a fashion-conscious penguin in the middle of Manhattan?” he teased.

  Baby giggled as the checkout lady rolled her eyes and tapped her bright blue acrylic nails against the counter. “I don’t have all day.”

  “We’re good.” Baby fished in her bag for a ten-dollar bill and passed it over to the woman.

  “And I’d like Bitch, please,” the guy said with a completely straight face. “The magazine!” He added quickly, pointing toward the title at the cashier’s glare.

  Laughing, they hurried out of the
store.

  “I’m glad you were there to protect me. I think she might have killed me,” he said as he passed Baby the magazine.

  “Those nails were pretty deadly,” Baby agreed with a laugh. She handed him the tiny snow globe and he took it, their fingers lightly brushing at the exchange.

  Baby stood there, looking into his hazel eyes. She knew she was supposed to say goodbye now… but the idea of walking back to the dreary waiting area alone felt oddly disappointing. “Well, good luck!” she said uncertainly, turning on her heel.

  “Wait!” the guy sped up, keeping in step with her strides.

  “Are you following me?” Baby challenged. She kind of wished he was following her. She realized the unsettled feeling in her stomach was butterflies. That was something she hadn’t felt in a while.

  “Depends on where you’re headed.” He arched a dark eyebrow.

  Baby racked her brain for a flirty response but found herself coming up blank. “The Bahamas,” she finally admitted.

  “Me too.” He broke into a large smile. “Gate thirty-eight?” he asked as they began walking together on the moving sidewalk.

  “Yeah,” Baby said happily as they approached the gate. So they wouldn’t be parting ways anytime soon. “What seat are you?” she asked. Maybe they could trade with someone on the flight and sit next to each other. And how big was the Bahamas, anyway? Maybe they’d even be staying close by each other.

  But he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, his hazel eyes were scanning the crowded waiting area, as if looking for someone.

  “Riley!” Layla squealed, practically leaping from her seat and leaving both hers and Baby’s things in a messy pile on the floor.

  “Hey,” he responded as Layla practically attacked him, wrapping him up in a hug.

  Baby felt like she’d been drenched in a bucket of cold water. She turned away, staring at the line of planes ready to take off.