Populazzi

Chapter Thirty-Four



I was still so dizzy and fuzzy from the dancing and the drinks that the stream of people blurred together. Trista greeted each one with a smile, sometimes a hug, a secret joke, a compliment, a quick anecdote, or an observation that let the person know he or she mattered, because Trista noticed something special about them. Once she was done, she sent each guest to me: "our hostess for the night."

While I'd been a master conversationalist leading up to the party, now that it was here, my go-to topic was moot. What was I supposed to say to a sea of people I barely knew? I ended up following Trista's mastery with "hello," "hi," or, if I was feeling particularly silver-tongued, "thanks for coming."

The line of partiers seemed endless. Once everyone was inside, the whole house vibrated with a million different voices.

"Congratulations." Trista smiled. "Your party's a success."

She wanted us to go down to the bar and meet our friends, but I said I'd catch up later. I wanted to walk through the whole party and see it in action for myself.

Every room was crammed with people. In the kitchen they chatted in clusters around trays of snacks. Out on the porch, they sat or leaned against the rail and talked as they took in the view of the lake, the flickering tiki lights dancing on their faces. Back inside, people sprawled in the family room, and in the living room they took a cue from our preshow and danced.

In the basement the noise roared even louder. This was the true crux of the party. Someone had turned on the Wii, and people gathered around to play or watch. The pool table was surrounded as well, but when I saw Eddie, I pushed through the crowd to wrap my arms around him.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey, Cara. Great party."

"Thanks. I worked really hard on it."

"Yeah, you did."

There was something in his voice I didn't like. I decided to ignore it. "Where are the girls?"

"Down there." He nodded to the pub. "While you're there, can you get me another bottle of beer?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." He gave me a quick kiss on the lips, then leaned over to line up his next shot.

The pub room was jammed. People sat two to a seat at the tables, and a knot of others agonized over the jukebox buttons. The dance floor was packed.

"Cara!" Trista squealed, and I turned to see her and Gemma dancing on the bar. Brett was playing bartender, and while I had always thought he seemed cool and distant, this was apparently his element. He took requests, but what he seemed to enjoy most was scrutinizing people, then offering them the perfect drink for their personalities. "You're a supercharged dude who's always amped, but when you kick it, you kick it hard-core. You need Hpnotiq and Red Bull."

Amazing—he was the Alcohol Psychic.

"Brett, hook this girl up!" Trista cried as I got to the bar. Brett covered his eyes with one hand, pointed around with the other, then stopped and opened his eyes. He grabbed the bottle he was pointing to, poured a shot, and slid it down the bar. It stopped right in front of me.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"Don't ask. It's perfect for you. Just drink it down."

Those were more words than he had said directly to me in my whole time as a Populazzi. I took them seriously and drank. The taste was hideous.

"It gets better later." Brett winked. "Trust me."

"Girlfriend, get your butt up on this bar and start dancing!" said Gemma. "This is your party. Grab the spotlight!"

With Brett's tonic working its way through me, I was ready. Trista and Gemma both reached out to help me up, but before I could make it, Trista let her arm go limp.

"Oh no, look!" She pointed at the pub tables. "No more pretzels!"

"I'll get more later," I said. But Trista said empty snack bowls were poor party protocol. And since I'm a sucker for both alliteration and Trista's hosting skills, I gathered the bowls to go refill them. Trista had Brett give me one more shot for the road. I grabbed a beer for Eddie and headed up to the pool table.

I was just wondering if Claudia had joined the party yet when I saw her. She was playing Dance Dance Revolution on the Wii with Ree-Ree while Marsh cheered them on.

My rib cage squeezed my lungs to nothing. I staggered closer. I hoped Brett's drinks were so strong I was hallucinating.

I wasn't.

"Claude?" I croaked. "Can I talk to you a second?"

"Now?" she asked, clearly unhappy about the idea.

I nodded.

"Okay. Marsh, wanna step in?"

"Sure!" He stood by Claudia's pad until they could time it perfectly: she jumped off, he jumped on, and they made the wand hand-off without Claudia's Mii missing a beat.

"What are you doing?" I hissed when I'd pulled her aside.

"Ree-Ree came up to me! She said she liked my dress, and we started talking. She's really nice."

"She's really nice" wasn't a common first response to Ree-Ree. This was weird.

"What about Marsh?" I asked. "I thought you weren't going to speak to him."

"Right, 'cause that wouldn't have been weird at all when Ree-Ree introduced us," Claudia said. "Fear not for the Ladder, Cara. Marsh and I both acted like we'd never met before. Ree-Ree has no idea. It's fine. We're having fun!"

Eddie wrapped me in a bear hug from behind and plucked his beer from my hand. "You are the best girlfriend ever, Cara!"

Claudia ran back to her game. "Outta the way, Marsh; I'm back in!"

"Ooh, are you filling those?" Eddie nodded to the pretzel bowls in my hand. " 'Cause we're almost out of chips and guac here, too."

Chips and guac. Poor party protocol. I grabbed the additional bowls and took everything upstairs. I stumbled on the way up and laughed so hard that I had to sit a minute on the steps. Brett's shots were working full force now, and I liked it. It helped me ignore the nagging sense of Very Not Good I'd had back with Claudia, Marsh, and Ree-Ree.

I got the snack bowls refilled, but it seemed like suddenly everyone needed something: more ice, more mixers, more candy, more nuts, more cheese, more dip...

"How are you not up here dancing yet?" Trista called down from the bar on one of my many trips to the pub room.

"I know! There's so much stuff to do; I feel like I haven't had a break!"

"Totally get it. That's hosting. But look at the result: the most CHIW-lacious party of the year! Brett, hook her up. Poor girl needs it bad."

Brett hooked me up with a shot of something colorful and fruity this time, and its fuzzy haze helped a lot. Running around filling and delivering is much more fun when you're buzzed enough to make it feel like you're dancing as you go.

Hours whizzed by like this, until suddenly it was very late and several guests—several Super LA guests—started leaving. That's when I realized I hadn't documented a single moment of the party! I grabbed my phone and put it in video mode, but I was way too wasted to shoot anything coherent. I just kept the camera on and cruised all around the house and out on the deck. I was a one-person reality TV crew, catching the action as it unfolded. Maybe someday I'd edit the footage and send it to MTV. It could start a hot new series: High School House Party! or maybe House Party High!

As I stumbled/giggled/tripped down the stairs, I turned the camera on myself. "Testing, one-two-three-four-five-six-seven..."

I forgot what comes after seven.

I tripped and fell on the last step.

"Public service announcement," I said into the camera. "Don't drink and walk. Very dangerous."

I roamed through the pool room and the pub with the video running, zooming in for extreme close-ups of random people's anatomy.

"Ear cam!" Zoom to an ear.

"Nose cam!" Zoom to a nose.

"Drool cam!" Zoom in on someone fast asleep in a chair.

The close-ups were fun. I did a bunch more.

I turned the camera back on myself. "Super-spy video!" I whispered.

I wandered the rest of the basement, down the hall that branched into all the little nook areas. I softly hummed what sounded to me like spy music and stretched the camera into each nook. I didn't know if anyone was in them or not—it was mystery footage. That was how I finished each time. I'd pull my arm back and do an extreme close-up of my face as I whispered dramatically, "Mystery footage!"

I had my outstretched arm and camera in one of the nooks and was about to pull it back out when I heard weird noises.

Not weird. I recognized those noises! People making out! Reality show gold! I let the camera keep rolling awhile and worked hard to stifle my giggles. Then I got a great idea. I leaped into the room and flipped on the lights.

"Boo! Say cheese!"

"OFF! TURN THATCAMERA OFF!"

It was Trista's voice, so I automatically obeyed as she half scrambled/half fell off the lap of—whoa!—Seth Minkoff. WHOA! A strategically undressed Seth Minkoff!

"Oh my God!" I screamed.

"Shhhhh!" Trista hissed. "Turn out the lights!"

I did. "Trista, were you having sex with Seth Minkoff ?"

"Um, I can answer that," Seth said. "Yes. Yes, she was."

"Shut up!" Trista snapped.

"What? I'm proud."

"Trista!" I wailed. "Brett's right in the next room!"

"And I'd like him to stay there, so get the hell out and shut the hell up!"

I staggered out, dazed, but then I heard loud clapping from the pub room. I realized that was a smart place to be. Another one of Brett's psychic cocktails would be really good right now.

Brett was there, but he had new dancers keeping him company. Ree-Ree was on the bar, and the applause was from the crowd encouraging Claudia to climb up as well. I couldn't believe Claudia was going to dance on a bar, but she looked elated as Ree-Ree helped her up.

I threaded my way through the crowd. "Hook me up, barkeep," I said to Brett. He slid me a shot glass of something purple. Grape juice? I drank it. Not grape juice. Yow. I nodded for another.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Ree-Ree called out once Claudia was steadied. "I want you to meet my good friend and fellow bar dancer, The Amazing Miss Claudia!"

Applause from the room. I hooted.

"I have a special song picked out for Claudia, in honor of her beauty and her innocence. I say 'beauty,' even though most people would agree that her deathly pale skin and big spooky eyes are totally vomitous!"

My stomach dropped completely out of my body.

Ree-Ree had been planning this. She'd been building to it all night. She'd acted like Claudia's friend just so she could humiliate her in front of everyone. Claudia realized it, too, but she was too stunned and horrified to escape.

"Some might say that making out with her would be like making out with a corpse!" Ree-Ree said. "My own boyfriend said that! Can you believe it?"

The crowd roared, eating it up. Then Ree-Ree spoke gently to Claudia. "Did Cara tell you that, Claudia? Did she tell you Marsh said it was like making out with a dead person? Not that it's your fault." Ree-Ree turned again to the crowd. "It is not her fault, everyone, because our little corpse here had never been kissed until Marsh did her the favor a couple months ago. A couple months ago! Virgin lips before that! A toast to virgin lips!"

"To virgin lips!" a huge chunk of the room called out.

It was enough to unfreeze Claudia. "Excuse me," she whispered, then quickly climbed down behind the bar. She pushed her way out of the room with her head down.

"Come on! Stay! Dance!" Ree-Ree called as Claudia left. "I have a special song for you! Hit it, Gems!"

Gemma hit a button on the jukebox, and Madonna's "Like a Virgin" blared. What seemed like hundreds of voices laughed and cheered. Many of them sang along.

I ran out of the room. Claudia had a head start, and I had to push through a lot of people, but I finally saw her on the stairs, heading to the top floor.

"Claudia..." I wanted her to wheel around and scream at me, some Shakespearean invective in iambic pentameter that would damn my soul to eternal torment.

She didn't say anything. She didn't even stop. She walked into the guest room where she'd left her stuff, then started carefully returning everything to her bag.

"Claudia, let me explain—"

"It's obvious. You chose them."

I wanted to object, but all I could say was, "You weren't supposed to ever know."

It was hollow even to me. Claudia didn't bother to respond. She pulled her bag over her shoulder and walked back downstairs. I followed, but I didn't say anything until we were out of the house. The last thing I wanted was to call more attention to her.

"I'm coming with you," I said once we were outside.

"Don't. Your friends are waiting."

She got into her car and I watched her drive off. It was a beautiful spring night, but I wished it were freezing cold. I wished I were shivering in my little tank dress, maybe catching hypothermia. Some kind of real, physical torture so I would feel as horrible as I deserved.

Instead I took my still-pleasantly swimmy head and went back inside to my party, the greatest social event Chrysella Prep had seen all year.

The moment I walked in, Eddie pulled me into his arms. He and a knot of jocks were on their way to the kitchen, and he swept me along.

"Hey, Cara!" He gave my neck a nuzzle for the crowd.

"Hi."

Eddie saw my frown and laughed. "No way can you be upset about anything tonight. Look at all this! This is your big moment, right?"

I managed a small smile. "Right."

"Okay, someone needs a drink."

Yes. Eddie was right. I needed a drink. I would feel far, far less awful if I had another drink. I saw champagne in the kitchen. Had Claudia and I bought champagne? Didn't matter. I let Eddie pour me a glass and I drank it down like water. I tried to walk to the couch after that, but my knees buckled. I laughed and tried again ... but I fell to the floor.

Now that was funny.

"See? You're having a good time," Eddie said. He put an arm around me and half led/half carried me to the couch, where he deposited me among a sea of throw pillows. I closed my eyes.

"Thanks, Eddie. I love you."

"You're funny. Here."

He tucked a blanket over me and I snuggled into it, letting the party fade into a mottled wail of white noise.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes, everything was quiet. Quiet—and disgusting. I was lying on a couch in the family room, which was littered with half-eaten food, passed-out bodies, empty cups, and—oh God, vomit? Really?

My whole body felt heavy and cloudy, but I rose and staggered into the kitchen. Through the open sliding door that led to the deck, I could see it was still dark outside. Several flies danced around the boxes of unfinished pizzas. People had been smoking—even with the door open, the room reeked. A tower of cupcakes was decorated with snuffed cigarette butts. Someone had left the refrigerator door open.

I heard giggling upstairs and followed the sound to the master bedroom. An alarm rose in the part of me that was still functioning rationally. I opened the door and saw Brett Seward, fast asleep. He wore only his boxers and was sprawled out on the bed. Trista was the giggler. She stood in the doorway to the master bathroom.

"Trista?"

She waved me over. I followed and saw Ree-Ree and Marsh in their underwear, passed out asleep in my dad's Jacuzzi tub. It was filled with water.

"Trista! That isn't funny! They could have drowned!" I walked into the bathroom and reached between them to push open the drain.

"They didn't."

"Wait—what are you wearing?"

She had on a bright red teddy that was way too conservative to be one of her own. She couldn't have...

"Just a little something I found over there," she said, pointing to the dresser.

"You went into her underwear drawer?"

"She has some cute stuff. You know, for someone her age."

"I'm glad you're up," I said, letting it go. "You've got to help me clean. The place is a disaster."

"I'm not helping you clean."

"You have to!"

"No, I don't. I didn't even clean when the parties were at my own house. Why do you think my parents banned me from throwing them?"

This took a second to settle in. "Wait," I said. "You told me you weren't throwing the party so I could do it and build my reputation."

"And you were dumb enough to believe me. You threw me the greatest party I've ever had. Thank you."

"What? No. This was my party. We put it together for me. Everyone knew it was mine. They all talked to me about it. People I didn't even know talked to me about it."

"Cara, people don't even know who you are except in relation to me. Do you really think they would have shown up for a Cara Leonard party? I was the one who met them at the door; I had the crowd of people around me all night long; I was at the center of this whole night. Ask anyone where they were tonight, and every single one of them will say they were at Trista Camello's party."

I shook my head and glared at her. "You are going to help me clean this house, or I'm going to tell everything I know about you."

Trista met my glare. "No one will believe you. Not after this party. It was exactly what I needed. Anything you say now, I can bat away: jealous rumors from an ex-friend."

"An ex-friend?" I loathed myself for the way my voice broke over the words and for the tears starting to well behind my eyes. Hadn't I already known that Trista and I weren't really friends?

"It's over, Cara. I have to cut you loose. It was good talking to you about things, though. I really did like it."

"What if I promise not to say anything bad about you?"

Trista shook her head. "You could change your mind. And later there might be people who'd believe you. Good luck with the cleaning."

She had backed me out as she spoke and now shut the door in my face.

Had I just begged her to stay my friend?

I walked to the staircase landing and looked down over the horror of a house. I could see the very beginnings of sunrise through the window. Dad and the Bar Wench were coming back "in the late afternoon," which meant I had to start cleaning now, but even then it was doubtful I'd make enough progress. I collapsed into a chair to think about where to begin......and woke up with the sun glaring in on me. What time was it? I picked my way downstairs and into the family room, stepping lightly over strewn bodies that made the house look like the Normandy shore at D-day. I peered at the clock on the mantel: twelve thirty.

Twelve thirty.

No. Nonononononono.

A million sirens screamed in my head. I was still wearing my dress. Could I get away with it? No. I had lain in God knows what when I fell asleep, and brown goo smeared down one side. I raced to the guest room, yanked off the dress, and pulled on a cute skirt and top from my duffle bag.

I peeked in the bathroom mirror. My curls were matted down on one side from sleeping on them. Luckily I had an elastic, and I pulled together a ponytail. Makeup had smeared my face into a preschool finger painting. I sopped up the worst with a wet washcloth. No time to shower, but I reeked of alcohol. I scoured the vanity for perfume but found only air freshener. It would have to do. I sprayed it all over my body, then raced downstairs.

My phone. Where was my phone? I ran back up, but I couldn't find it with my stuff. I grabbed one of Dad's cordless phones and called my number, running from room to room and listening for the ring.

When I got to the pub room, I saw my cell sitting on the bar. It wasn't ringing. I hadn't charged it and it was dead. It was amazing I'd even found it. I hoped that was a good omen.

I ran back upstairs. If I murdered the speed limit, there was a chance I'd still make it for Dean Jaffe. Yes, it meant leaving Dad with a filthy house full of sleeping strangers—which was incomprehensible—but at that moment the alternative seemed even worse.

I drove no less than eighty miles an hour the whole way and walked into my house at exactly one o'clock. I wasn't early like Karl had wanted, but I was right on time.

"Hi!" I called.

Karl and Mom were sitting in the family room, all dressed up. Mom looked like she had been crying, which made no sense at all. Maybe her allergies were acting up. Dean Jaffe wasn't there yet. I walked in and stood between them. "Are you guys as excited as I am?"

"Hey, Cara," Karl said cheerily, "how come you smell like boozy air freshener and look like a two-bit prostitute after a rough night?"

"What?"

"Dean Jaffe left a half hour ago," Mom said. "Lunch was at noon. We asked you to be home at eleven."

"No! Lunch was one o'clock! I know it was one o'clock!"

"Noon," Karl said. "But of course being a Northwestern man, Dean Jaffe was here early, at eleven forty-five. By noon he was concerned that you hadn't arrived. By twelve fifteen he suspected this was your way of showing your uncertainty about Northwestern. By twelve thirty he decided that you weren't mature enough to attend his school. Congratulations, Cara. You've officially ruined your life."

The phone rang. Neither Mom nor Karl showed any interest in answering it, until Mom noticed the caller ID. She looked at the phone like it was an alien, then reached over and picked it up.

"Lenny?"