Spin A Novel

CHAPTER 22

The Boys Are Back in Town





It all starts when I agree to meet Amber and a few of her friends for dinner.

Why, oh why, would I do such a thing given what I’ve just spent the day doing?

Am I a total masochist? A glutton for punishment? Have I gone totally insane/developed a superhuman ability to withstand guilt?

No.

I am, however, fond of Amber, and in the small corner of my brain that isn’t swayed or controlled by rational thought, I’m holding on to a little bit of hope that everything will work out. That Amber will never have to know about the stack of paper on my desk. And if it doesn’t work out (OK, when it doesn’t), I’ll have this one last night as a nice memory.

So, when the Show up @ Stolen @ 8:30, UR on the list, bring a friend if u want text arrives, I don’t agonize over whether I should go, or why I want to. Instead, I hop in the shower and start inventorying my wardrobe. When I come to the conclusion that nothing I own comes close to being cool enough for a night at Stolen, I call Greer in a panic and convince her to lend me something in exchange for a tagalong.

Greer arrives forty-five minutes later looking fabulous in a dark brown suede skirt and green halter top, her hair in a perfect tangle. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s carrying a garment bag containing the perfect outfit, I’d call the whole thing off.

When our cab pulls up at eight thirty on the dot, I’m wearing a black linen dress with a tie at the waist that emphasizes all the great things about by my rehab diet and hides the things that’ll never disappear. My hair has been straightened, and it feels good to be made up and feeling pretty.

Stolen occupies a building in the old financial district, and the city’s young glitterati snake around the block hoping they’ll get inside before last call. We walk to the head of the line past group after group of half-starved beautiful people. I feel kind of giddy, almost like I’ve had a couple of glasses of champagne. We’re on the list! How cool is that?

I give my name to the emaciated woman in a backless black cocktail dress who guards the door. As she runs a red-painted talon down the list her whole aspect exudes, There’s no way you’re getting in, until she finds my name with a plus one just below Amber’s. She gives a little shrug of defeat before she puts on a welcoming smile.

A waitress leads us down a grand staircase to the heart of the restaurant set on the old trading room floor. The ceilings rise thirty feet above us, the height emphasized by bright uplights set against velvet curtains. The room feels alive, young, and the right place to be.

Amber’s sitting at a table with three nearly indistinguishable unnaturally blond women all dressed in short, glittery designer dresses I recognize from Fashion Television. She waves vigorously as we approach and jumps up to greet me. She’s dressed in a white pantsuit and looks tanned and healthy.

“Katie! It’s been ages! You look fabulous!”

“Thanks. You too. This is my friend, Greer . . .”

“Hi, Greer! I’m Amber.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Are you Scottish? I love Scotland!”

What is this girl on?

I look at her closely, trying to discern whether this new-found enthusiasm is chemically based, but she seems only excited and happy, not high.

“Have you been there?” Greer asks.

“Loads of times. I’ve been to Glasgow for the festival, but I especially love Edinburgh.”

I smile inwardly as Amber pronounces the word “Edinborough.” Greer will have to love her now.

Sure enough, Greer gives her a welcoming smile.

Amber introduces us to her three friends: Olivia (her publicist), Eva (her makeup artist), and Steph (her personal assistant). They’re all in their mid-twenties, and I recognize them as the hardcore party girls Amber’s been hanging out with for the last couple of years.

The waitress comes to take our drinks order. Greer and The Party Girls order cocktails, and Amber orders a bottle of San Pellegrino for the two of us. We peruse the menu. It’s a collection of Asian dishes served like Spanish tapas. By the look of the dishes on the passing trays, each is just big enough for four people to have a mouthful. The prices are shocking. I hope this Last Supper is on Amber.

“Shall we share?” Olivia asks.

“For sure,” Amber enthuses. “Does everyone trust me to order?”

We all nod, and Amber orders a few delicious-sounding dishes that I suspect will be enough food for only two people. The waitress makes a polite suggestion to that effect, but Amber shoos her away.

Sigh. I guess I’ll fill up on bread. Only there doesn’t seem to be any bread. And San Pellegrino doesn’t fill you up in quite the same way as, say, a Cosmo.

We spend the next hour listening to The Party Girls cackle as they recount a dozen incidents that Amber missed while she was “away,” as they put it. They’re all extremely funny, in a bitchy, it’s-funny-because-it’s-not-about-you kind of way. At least their talk distracts me from the fact that, as suspected, the food comes in Rory-sized portions.

“You should’ve seen her, Amb,” Eva says as she pops the last salt-and-pepper shrimp into her mouth. She didn’t even ask if anyone wanted it, though I was clearly eyeing it. “She was totally copying that look you pulled off at the Teen Choice Awards last year.”

“And she looked like a cow in it,” Steph chimes in.

“A mad cow, more like,” Olivia says. “She really shouldn’t show those legs of hers at her present weight.”

“Who’s ‘she’?” Greer whispers to me, giving me a whiff of the Tartinis she’s been drinking.

“I have no idea.”

After a few more stories, I work out that “she” is Kimberley Austen, Amber’s rival for It Girl of the moment status, and for Connor’s affections. She’s the sexy Moneypenny in the Young James Bond movies, and she and Connor were photo-graphed frolicking in Cabo in one of his and Amber’s off-again moments.

“Whoever are you texting like a mad person, Amb?” Olivia asks.

Amber shoves her phone into her purse. “What? No one. Should we get the check?”

Steph downs the rest of her drink. “Totally. Where to next?”

“How about Round the Corner?” Olivia suggests.

“Perfect.”

Amber hands the waitress her black card and waves off my weak protest that she doesn’t have to pay for us. The Party Girls don’t even try to pay. I wonder what they did when Amber was “away.”

On the way out, Amber catches my arm. “They’re back!”

Uh-oh.

“Who’s back?”

“Connor and Henry, of course.”

That’s what I was afraid of.

“Oh.”

“Aren’t you excited?”

I force a smile. “Yeah, that’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“What about you? Don’t you want to see Henry again?”

No, no, no, beats my heart.

“I guess.”

“They’re meeting us later.”

Of course they are. I should’ve guessed from the texting. And the frenetic enthusiasm. I’ve only ever seen her like that around Connor.

“Great.”

Amber gives me a look. “You two sure are funny.”

“How so?”

“Connor said Henry didn’t seem that excited about seeing you, either.”

I feel queasy. “Well . . . why should he be?”

“You don’t have to keep the sexual tension up until the last season, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You like him. He likes you. What’s with all the indecision? Just go for it!”

Olivia calls to us from the doorway. “Yo, girls! What’s the holdup?”

“Coming!” Amber yells. “You ready to go, Katie?”

“I need to use the bathroom. I’ll meet you guys outside.”

She leaves, and I head to the bathroom, Amber’s words spinning around in my head. F*ck, f*ck, f*ck. Why did I go out with her tonight? I should just sever all ties and move on!

I stand in front of the silver-rimmed mirror. The self that looks back at me is pale under my runner’s tan. I’d love to splash water on my face, but that would undo all of Greer’s good work.

Just get a grip, will you? So you might see Henry again. So what?

I wash my hands and dry them on paper towel from the dispenser. And there it is—a drink, gin and tonic by the looks of it, sitting nearly full and abandoned on the marble countertop, the ice just melting.

I look around for the drink’s owner, but there’s no one to be seen. In fact, I’m totally alone in here.

After a moment’s hesitation, I take the drink in my hand. The glass feels cold and inviting. I can already taste the quinine on my tongue.

What are you doing?

I’m feeling guilty, guilty, guilty for even touching the glass that holds this drink, that’s what.

As you should.

Yeah, but you know what? I’ve had just about enough of guilt, thank you very much.

I bring the glass to my lips and down it in three large gulps.

Guilt, meet guilt-killer.

Oh how I love that first-drink feeling. It’s one part I-can-do-nothing-wrong and one part I-should-do-something-wrong. I’m funnier, the world is brighter, and anything troubling me seems to be no trouble at all.

I join Amber, Greer, and The Party Girls outside the restaurant right when the gin kicks in. As we wait for cabs to take us the short ride to Round the Corner, I catch a look from Greer when I belt out a laugh at one of Olivia’s catty comments.

Oops. I’ve become someone whose whole personality changes after a trip to the bathroom.

“Are you OK?” Greer asks me in the cab. Eva’s chatting loudly on the phone, trying to persuade someone to join us at the bar.

“Just peachy.” I pull a packet of gum out of my purse and pop a square into my mouth. The mint flavor mixes badly with the gin and tonic, like it’s Antabuse.

“What were you and Amber talking about?”

“Nothing.”

She leans in closer. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s nice.”

You are so killing my buzz!

“I know.”

“Maybe you should tell her.”

“Mmm . . . so, you think there’ll be any cute men there?”

“Here’s hoping,” Eva says as she gets off the phone.

Eva directs the cab to pull around to the VIP entrance at the back, where Amber and the others are already waiting. A large man with a blond crewcut leads us into a small elevator that clunks its way to the top floor. We disembark onto a rooftop bar with a terrace that has a 360-degree view and a large square of floor space that’s part bar, part dance floor. The bouncer takes us to an alcove created by three white vinyl couches nestled next to the glass railing.

It’s a beautiful night, and the city’s lights replace the stars. A line about pretty colored lights from Steve Earle’s “Ft. Worth Blues” floats through my mind.

A small army of waiters appears with two bottles of Grey Goose in stainless-steel coolers, glasses, mixers, and ice. The Party Girls make themselves drinks (heavy on the Grey Goose, light on the mixers) as Amber distractedly hands over her black card while simultaneously searching the crowd. I make a virgin mix of orange and cranberry juice, with some seltzer for fizz, and Greer, surprisingly, joins me, muttering something about “cutting down.”

Olivia takes a pull from her drink and props her long legs up on the glass coffee table. As she looks around, she narrates the cast of characters. “See that table over there? That’s the cast of that ambulance show. They just got picked up for another season. That lead guy is cute, but a total a*shole.” She looks to her left. “And over there’s the cast of the new Will Smith movie—they just wrapped this morning.”

“I don’t see Will,” Greer says.

“Nah, he never parties without the wife. He’s creepy that way.”

Steph interjects. “I heard he has an open marriage. Apparently he just has to tell Jada first, and she’s OK with it.”

“As if,” scoffs Eva.

Greer considers the crowd. “What do you reckon our best shot is?”

“You looking for relationship potential or right-now potential?” Olivia asks.

“If I wanted to be in a relationship I wouldn’t be partying on top of a building.”

“Gotcha.” Olivia scans the room. “I’d say you’re cute enough to break into the Gossip Boy crowd.”

“What’s that?”

“A new spinoff full of beautiful twenty-three-year-old boys.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“You want an intro?”

“Let’s hit it.”

I watch them walk off and end up making eye contact with a geeky-looking guy in a suit that’s one step removed from leisure. He gives me a how-you-doing nod, and I quickly look away.

Maybe I should’ve rolled with Greer and Olivia . . .

I try to strike up a conversation with Amber, but she’s too distracted with watching out for Connor to put coherent thoughts together. Eva and Steph are talking to two guys I recognize from a show about a pizza shop in a mall that got canceled after five episodes.

Bored, and coming off my buzz, I half want to leave, or at the very least have another drink.

But how to get a drink without getting caught?

Why do you care about getting caught, dummy? That’s the least of your worries.

Shut the f*ck up, will you? And I don’t want to hear anything more from you tonight. Now, where did Mr. Leisure Suit go?

Ten minutes later, I’m ensconced at the bar like I own the place. I’ve downed two double vodkas, given out my phone number to a couple of generic men (OK, Joanne’s cell phone number. At least a girl will answer), and I’m feeling all right.

I pop some more gum in my mouth and head back to the table. Greer’s the only one there, and we’ve been invaded by a couple of punks wearing their first business suits. They’re both portly and shorter than me. The one on the left has bleached-blond hair jelled straight up, and his sidekick has a mop of black curls that’s the only cute thing about him.

Greer’s eyes scream, “Help me.” “Lassie! Have a seat and meet our new friends, Karl and Arty.”

I take a seat next to her. “Nice to meet you.”

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Arty drawls in an odd half-British accent that reminds me of Connor.

You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me.

“My name’s Candie.”

“Nice to meet you, baby.”

“No, not Baby. Candie.”

Karl lets out a guffaw. “What do you know, Arty? We got a feisty one here.”

“I do like ’em feisty,” Arty replies as he flags down a passing waitress. “Should we get a bottle? On me?”

Greer gives me a desperate look. I can’t blame her. If I weren’t already half in the bag, these guys would drive me to drink too.

“Sure, why not?” I say.

Karl flicks a shiny new gold card onto the waitress’s tray.

“I thought Arty was paying?”

“Nah, Arty’s The King. The King don’t pay for shit.”

“What makes Arty The King?”

“He’s just The King, sweetheart. It’s not explainable.”

Arty takes out a pack of cigarettes and shakes one out. “You ladies like a smoke?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Greer says, letting Arty light it for her.

I follow suit, inhaling deeply. I must be drunk, because this cigarette tastes f*cking fantastic. The waitress delivers the bottle, and we mix ourselves drinks.

“So what do you boys do for a living?” Greer asks.

“We’re corporate raiders,” Karl replies.

“What does that mean?”

He tries to blow a smoke ring, but all that comes out is a blob. “Basically, we buy companies that are in trouble, and we rape them.”

I nearly choke on my orange juice. “I’m sorry, did you just use the word ‘rape’?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. You got a problem with that?”

“A word to the wise, Karl. ‘Rape’ isn’t a word you should use in casual conversation.”

Karl puts his hand on my thigh. “A word to your wise, baby. I paid for this bottle, so that means I can say what I want.”

I stare hard into his unfocused eyes. “Karl, you’re really going to want to remove that hand.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’m going to f*ck you up, a*shole.”

I look up. Henry is standing behind Karl looking extremely angry. He’s wearing a light gray expensive-looking suit and a white dress shirt without a tie. And ohmygod does he look hot.

“Henry, darling.” I climb onto the couch and hold out my arms to him. “You come to rescue me?”

After a second’s hesitation, he steps toward me and puts his warm hands on my hips. “You want me to stomp these motherf*ckers?”

I cock my head like I’m seriously considering it. “Nah. I wouldn’t want you to mess up your hands. Again.”

“You’re the boss.”

“And you’re the best.”

I pull his face toward mine and kiss him. I feel a jolt of surprise as our lips meet. I’m pretty sure he feels it too, because he starts to lean away, then tightens his hands on my hips. We stay like that for more seconds than it takes to be convincing, and my hands start to tingle.

When we break apart, my heart is racing. Henry’s got a look in his eyes that makes me blush.

“You sure I can’t hurt these a*sholes?” he murmurs against my lips.

“It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

“At least let me ask them to leave.”

“Allow me.” I turn to Arty and Karl, whose bravado has slipped significantly. “You’ve got someplace else to be, right, boys?”

They stand hurriedly.

“’Course we do,” Karl says, trying to retain some dignity. “The King has other business to attend to.”

Arty picks up the bottle and tucks it under his arm.

Greer waves at them as they leave. “See you later.”

I plop down on the seat next to Greer, and Henry sits across from me on the couch abandoned by Arty and Karl.

We stare at one another, having one of our awkward silences.

Greer breaks it for us. “Hi, I’m Greer.”

He smiles at her, grateful for the distraction. “I remember.”

“Are you here with Connor?” I ask.

“Yeah, he’s around someplace.”

“So is Amber.”

His smile drops. “So I gather.”

“When did you get out?”

“Today.” He gives me an appreciative glance. “You know, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Were you expecting a T-shirt and sweatpants?”

“What I meant is, you look great.”

“Thanks. You too.”

We lapse back into silence. I can feel Greer watching us, waiting.

Henry leans across the table. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Um, OK. Here?”

“How about inside?”

“Sure. You don’t mind, do you, Greer?”

“Not at all, lass.”

I stand as The Party Girls return, full of tales from inside the bar. I’m knocked back into my seat as they jostle around me. Henry watches The Party Girls with a distracted look on his face. Their chatter fills up the air around us, and Greer whispers to me that she’s going to call it a night.

“Do you want to come with?”

I look at Henry. “I think I’ll stay for a bit.”

“All right, lass. Be safe.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Happy to do it.” She gives me a quick hug. “He’s totally into you,” she says into my ear.

Before I can ask her what makes her think so, she snakes out of our outdoor living room and disappears into the crowd.

“I can’t believe she has the nerve to show up here!” Olivia says, grabbing the Grey Goose bottle and shaking it. “Shit, we need another bottle.”

“Hello, Livia,” Henry says.

Olivia’s head snaps around, and her face falls into an ironic expression. “Well, well, well. Henry Slattery, as I live and breathe.” She looks around her. “What, no Connor?”

Henry looks nonplussed. “He’s around here somewhere.”

“Of course he is. Can’t have one without the other.”

“That’s always been your position.”

Oh, I get it. Henry and Olivia used to date. Great, just great.

I stand up, and step over Olivia.

“Where are you going?” Henry asks.

“I think I’m going to go home.”

He holds on to my wrist. “Wait.”

I meet his eyes. I wish I knew what that look means.

“Please, Kate?”

“I’ll be inside. Come find me if you want.”

I pull away and push through the crowd, my hands suddenly shaking. From the shock of seeing Henry again. From the kiss. From the look on his face when he spoke to Olivia. From the look he gave me when he said, “Please, Kate.” From the drink, the drink, the drinks.

Speaking of which . . .

I flag down a bartender and order a double, Scotch this time. I lay down some money and ask him to bring me another before the first one hits my stomach. When that one’s gone too, my hands and heart have settled, and I’m on my way to being comfortably numb.

I lean against the bar and survey the crowd. What’s that line from Star Wars about the den of iniquity? Whatever. It’s 2 a.m. and the crowd is getting desperate.

I catch sight of Connor sitting at a table in the corner with a tall woman with strawberry-blond hair. She’s wearing a pale sundress that’s mostly see-through, and when she laughs and turns her head, I realize it’s “she”—Kimberley Austen. I search the room for Amber, but I can’t see her anywhere.

Connor is such an a*shole!

I’m in the middle of forming a plan to crash Connor and Kimberley’s little tête-à-tête when Henry finds me.

“There you are,” he says, looking happy and relieved.

I put my arms around his neck without thinking. Ah, alcohol. Always so good about eliminating thinking.

“I wasn’t hiding.”

He smiles. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

We move toward each other like magnets are pulling us. Our lips meet. Then our teeth, our tongues. His mouth tastes like cinnamon gum, and his hands are hot on the small of my back. Mine are playing with his hair where it meets his neck. The noise of the bar falls away, and the thump, thump, thump of the music keeps time with my heart.

It’s a wonderful kiss. A marvelous kiss. And we’re just in the middle of it when Henry pulls away.

His hands cradle my face. “Kate . . . have you been drinking?”

I can’t lie to him in this moment. I nod my head gently, and his hands fall away.

“Jesus, Kate. You’ve only been out of rehab for a week.”

“Connor’s over there with Kimberley,” I non sequitur, trying to distract him.

“Kate.”

“It’s true, see for yourself.”

Henry reluctantly follows my pointing finger to where Kimberley is sitting in Connor’s lap.

“Goddamnit! That f*cking idiot.” Henry’s eyes dart around the room.

“What are you looking for?”

“Spies. Kate, stay here. And don’t drink anything else.”

He pushes his way through the crowd to where Connor and Kimberley are now making out none too discreetly. Henry says something to Connor while gesticulating angrily. Connor looks pissed but dumps Kimberley unceremoniously from his lap. He stands and starts to shout at Henry. Henry takes it for a minute, and then they’re both pointing and shouting. I can’t hear a word of it until Henry shouts, extra loudly as the music dips, “Aw, f*ck off already!” and storms back across the room to me.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

I like the sound of that.

“OK.”

I jump off the stool and my legs give out. Henry catches me right before I reach the floor.

“My legs aren’t working.”

He looks grim. “I see that.”

“Why aren’t my legs working?”

“I’m guessing it has something to do with alcohol.”

“I like alcohol.”

Oops.

“I know.”

Henry leads me toward the elevator, one hand on my waist and the other around my shoulder so I don’t fall over.

“How do you know so much about me?”

“You confessed to me, remember?”

I cock my head back and look up at him. He’s watching the numbers on the panel above the elevator.

“Why did I do something silly like that?”

“Beats me.”