Beware That Girl (21 page)

Olivia was buoyant. Her father was able to make the gala after all! He had to head to the Far East on Monday, but he would be here when it counted. Olivia knew that having her father by her side added to her currency at her events, and that she did the same for him at his. Of course her father had sponsored and headed a table, as had Joanna Shipley, his first ex-wife. Joanna and her new husband, a hard-driving thoracic surgeon, had a little girl who had just entered kindergarten at Waverly. Olivia was fairly neutral on Joanna, as was her dad, but the seating arrangements at these functions were usually a nightmare waiting to happen. Try as you might, you could never prepare for all contingencies.

Olivia glided among the guests, practiced gliders all. Cocktails were held in the spectacular lobby of the new Whitney Museum. The lighting accentuated every shimmering jewel, every glint of gold. She caught Kate’s eye and gave her a discreet thumbs-up. Kate was busy enchanting the Newbiggings and Mrs. Kimbault, major donors to the Waverly Foundation and, more important, to the Waverly Scholar Fund. Olivia was proud of her; Kate was holding her own in this rarefied air. She just hoped that Kate wouldn’t trip up when they pressed her about which colleges she had applied to. The Yale thing was her Achilles’ heel. To Olivia, it was a shrug—they’d get in, end of story. She had complete faith in her college coach’s advice and in her father. But Kate totally shut down on the topic. The word
Yale
was verboten. The way the word
Mark
seemed to be.

Kate also looked sensational. Again, this pleased Olivia; she took it as a reflection on her. She had insisted that Kate go “shopping” in her closet, and she was delighted that her friend had decided on a knee-length, red-lace, full-skirted Dolce & Gabbana. “I’ve only worn it to a partners’ event with my dad, so you’re safe with this crowd.”

“But won’t everyone be in gowns, including the rest of the Wonders?” Kate had asked while she was admiring herself.

“Exactly!” said Olivia. “We’ll look young and fresh and
très
adorable. Trust me,
we’ll
be the standouts, Kate. This is where I’m the tutor and you’re the pupil.”

It was true. Olivia “got it” even as a child. She just knew how to look and how to
be
at these things. Her own dress was a gold metallic mini by Stella McCartney that she had scored at Bergdorf’s. Olivia knew she looked beautiful, but Mark was right—she had an unquenchable need to be told. She unfurled in the compliments that flowed her way.

“You look especially enchanting tonight, Olivia.” It was Mr. Cartwright. The Cartwrights would be at her table later. “All grown up. And it’s Yale, I hear.”

“From your lips…” She shuddered just a bit in a show of expected trepidation.

“I have no doubt whatsoever. I’m on the board. You know to have your father call me if there’s a hiccup.”

“I will. Thank you so much, Mr. Cartwright.”

Her father joined them. He handed Olivia a tall, clear glass that looked like it was full of Perrier. She made a face.

“It’s Stoli, soda and sweet lime juice,” he whispered as he led her away. “Just the one.”

“Of course. Thanks, Dad.”

“Well, your advancement guy is all the rage,” said her father as he caught sight of Mark mobbed by Waverly matrons.

He was heart-hurtingly handsome in black-tie.

“I told you so. He’s so amazing.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Olivia knew that she would likely not exchange two words with Mark that night. They each had their roles. His was to charm, cajole and dance with every anorexic old biddy that cast a sideways glance at him. Hers was to captivate her table and extol his virtues. And the virtues of the school, of course.

They retrieved Kate, and then Mr. Sumner escorted both to the lower level, where the entertainment and tables were set up. The room was breathtaking. The walls were bathed in indigo, and laser art was projected onto them, making the entire space both surreal and intimate. Crystal sparkled off the tables, adding to the light show, and each centerpiece featured elegant branches of forced white magnolia blooms.

The Wonders were strategically positioned throughout the room. But wait, Serena was at the same table as her own father. How did that happen? He must have bought his way into that table while he was still in London. Mrs. Shaw was at a table anchored by the Van Kemps and headed by Morgan. The Wonders were supposed to be separated from any parent/relative/guardian, as part of a divide-and-conquer strategy. No doubt Mr. Shaw wanted to impress his only daughter with his generosity as step one in a bid for a rapprochement.

Serena wasn’t looking at her father or anyone else at her table. She was staring—no, make that glaring—at the table anchored by Mrs. Pearson, the chair of the board. That particular table was stacked with heavy-hitter old girls and…Mark. Before she had to turn her attention to Mrs. Kreighoff on her right, Olivia caught Serena downing something in a martini glass.
Stupid girl.
Olivia did her best to amuse both Kreighoffs while she fumed inwardly.
Not done, Serena. Not in this venue.
She sipped her glass of adulterated soda. When she glanced back at Serena, she noted with alarm that the girl had a fresh drink in front of her.

Everything else proceeded flawlessly. As champagne flowed, so did the conversation and laughter. Her tablemates happily devoured their dinners of either Chilean sea bass or rack of lamb, and all the women made a show of “splurging just this once” on a hot chocolate brownie cake with marshmallow frosting. Olivia sang the praises of their new director of advancement and giggled enthusiastically about the stupendous auction list. “There’s never been a list quite like this one, and we have Douglas Rainey from Sotheby’s doing the honors.” She directed this comment at Mr. Cha, but made sure that the entire table was being primed.

By Olivia’s count, Serena was on her third drink, and she was still eyeing the Pearson table hard. Enough was enough. Olivia excused herself, got up and headed toward Kate’s table, stopping here and there to receive or bestow a compliment. Her friend was a hit. At least there was that.

Olivia leaned down to Kate’s ear and, still smiling, whispered through gritted teeth, “Don’t turn around, but that idiot Serena is getting shit-faced on martinis and looking grimmer by the minute. She’ll listen to you. Can you take care of it before the bidding starts? Laugh now.”

Kate laughed.

Olivia returned to her table and let the group in on the secret that she hoped her father would bid hard on the long weekend in Paris at the George V. Five minutes later, she saw Kate head to Serena’s table and then lead her to the ladies’ room.

Ten minutes later, Kate returned alone.

—

The “experiential auction” was a huge success. Mark Redkin was a success.

When the Peter Duchin Orchestra took to the stage, Kate approached Olivia’s table and introduced herself to everyone. “Shall we show them how it’s done?” She extended her hand to Olivia and led her onto the dance floor.

“Nice work,” said Olivia once they were safely away. “What happened?”

All eyes were on the two gorgeous girls dancing with controlled abandon.

“I sent her home using your car service. Hope you don’t mind. Jackson promised he’d deliver her to the doorman.”

“Perfect.” Olivia swayed. “What was up?”

Kate turned her palms up and shrugged in time to the music. “You know, her dad being here, her mom at another table, everyone knowing…”

“Sure.” Olivia nodded, pretending to believe her.

She didn’t look, but she knew that Mark had not taken his eyes off them since they took to the dance floor. She playfully threw her arms around Kate, knowing they were the personification of all that was best about Waverly. Too bad, really, that Serena wasn’t here to see how it could be done,
should
be done. She was such a child, really.

Serena, Serena. Little girls should not play with matches.

5:50 p.m.

Serena was a no-show at our gala postmortem at Starbucks. After we stopped congratulating ourselves, which took us into second cups all around, we got to her.

“Like, what was up with that?” asked Morgan. “One minute the girl was there, and then she wasn’t.”

Olivia shot me a look.

“I think the whole family situation got to be too much for her, poor thing,” I said. “She was at her dad’s table. Did you know that he actually wanted to bring his new…uh, what do you call a twenty-three-year-old assistant who breaks up a family?”

“Conniving bitch?” said Claire helpfully.

“Whatever.” I shrugged. “I think Serena felt sucker-punched.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” sniffed Morgan. “But even Mark found it odd.”

“Mark?” Olivia turned her attention to Morgan. “When did Mark say anything to you?”

Was Olivia’s voice clenched in the asking?

“When I danced with him.” Morgan looked spectacularly satisfied with herself. “While you lot were helping distribute the winning auction bids, I asked him to dance. And yes, ladies, it was positively dreamy.” She sighed dramatically. “He said he was very pleased with me.”

We eyeballed her.

“Okay, he said ‘us,’ but he was holding
me
very, very close at the time, so…”

We groaned.

“You’re just jealous. Any one of you would jump him if he so much as looked at you twice.”

“Got that right,” said Claire.

“Not my type,” I said.

“No, but poor wannabe cops are, right?” That was Olivia. Was that a jab? If it was, it pricked. “The guy from the party? She sees him every week.”

“For coffee only.”

“Oooh, the dark cutie from Claudette’s do? By the way, we have to go to more parties this semester.” And Morgan was off. Thankfully she couldn’t hold a thought in her head for more than a breath. “The Westover girls are having a thing in NoHo this Saturday.”

“I’m booked up this weekend,” Olivia said, shaking her head.

News to me.

“Well, Claire and I are going to go. And Nikita is planning this massive bash near the High Line at the end of the month. I insist we all go to that, including crazy Serena. I’ll let her know.”

We spent a good amount of time reviewing the best and worst dressed at the gala, and which of the parents had indulged in too many glasses of wine or too many longing glances at the wrong spouse. We had, after all, been allowed into the perfumed sanctum of grown-ups at play. I liked that part a lot. But then they ended up gushing about Mark. The man was a virus.

“Serena is such a fool,” said Olivia as soon as we were back on Fifth Avenue.

I didn’t know where to go or what to do with that. Olivia and I had been speaking in a bizarrely intricate code over the past few weeks. I excel on the “taking cues” front, but it was making me dizzy. It was as if she knew that I knew about her thing for Mark, whatever that was, but it would sever something if I dared to acknowledge it.

“She’s absolutely no match for…Look, she’s in three of my classes, and I think Serena’s unraveling.”

God, I wished I’d never mentioned seeing them together in Chinatown.

“She’s crazy naive about Mark.” Olivia slipped her arm through mine.

“Yeah, maybe, but she’s not the only one. There’s Draper, for sure, and I’m worried about Kruger. And I bet Serena is not the sole senior.”

She paused, collected herself. “Old ladies and children.”

My stomach cramped. How deep in was she? I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was coming at me through her. Hey, even paranoids have enemies.

I kept my mouth shut as we strolled past the Plaza and on through the fifties and sixties. It wasn’t until after Aftab cheerfully retrieved the elevator that I risked it.

“So you’re booked up this weekend?”

At least she had the grace to look away. Olivia examined the floor indicator as if it held the keys to the rest of her life, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t say anything when Bruce attacked us with his atomic greetings, or when she took off her coat and started for her room.

I don’t know what came over me. It was like I had misplaced myself. I should’ve left it alone. Instead, I followed her into her room. “So this weekend?”

Olivia sat in front of her makeup table. “I’ll be away.” Her reflection smiled, a satisfied, secretive smile.

“Don’t, Olivia. Just don’t, please. He’s…Mark’s a viper or something. I can’t explain it, but—”

“Then don’t.” She crossed her arms. “Because you can’t. Mark is an amazing man who understands me like no one else in the world.”

“Sure, he’s slick and—”

“Look, Kate, I’m sick of your superiority complex. Being an orphan doesn’t render you a genius on the hearts of men.” She sighed. “Besides, how would you know? You’re so buttoned-down in your virgin, queer or frigid self. What is the matter with you anyway?”

“With
me
?” I wanted to slap her. What’s the matter with me? I know a sicko when I see one, that’s what. Keep your mouth shut and leave the room, Katie girl. Turn around. “He’s using you, Olivia.”

She stood up so fast that she knocked over the chair. “You jealous bitch!”