Practice
does
make perfect.
“I understand if you can’t,” Avery said, recognizing Jack’s silence as a no. “I know it’s hard to leave J.P. and stuff.”
“Yeah, I have to stay. I’m sorry.” Jack sighed. She
did
feel sorry—a little sorry for herself, actually. If she and J.P. had already had sex, like normal people, she could go on
vacation with Avery and have fun and not worry about planning out every second of her four-day holiday like some desperate
housewife.
“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.
“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?”
“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!
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.