Everyone Worth Knowing (16 page)

is the best party of the week."

Everyone nodded.

"I'm game for whatever," Davide said, playing with Elisa's hair.

"As long as it's guaranteed we'll have a table. Can't deal otherwise—

not tonight."

"Obviously," Elisa agreed.

When the check came it was already well after midnight, and

even though Penelope was chatting amicably with Leo, I could tell

she was dying to get home. But Bungalow sounded like fun, so I

shot her a few significant looks and left for the bathroom, where I

waited for her to meet me.

"What a nice night," she said neutrally.

"Yeah, they're cool, aren't they? Something different."

"Definitely. Hey, I hope you don't mind if I cut out early," she

said, sounding more than a little distant.

"Is everything okay? What's wrong?"

"No, nothing at all. It's just kind of late and I'm not sure I'm up

for, uh, for a club. Avery and I agreed to meet at home tonight, so

I'd better get going. Whatever, dinner was great. I think I'm just

tired, but you go and have a good time, okay?"

"Are you sure? 1 could just as easily share a cab home and go

to sleep. I'm not sure I'm up for it, either," I offered, but she saved

me the trouble.

"Don't be ridiculous. Go and have fun for both of us."

We walked back to the group and took our seats again, where

what I hoped would be a final bottle of wine was making its way

around the table. When the waiter presented the check with a

flourish to no one in particular, I inhaled sharply. A quick mental

calculation told me that I would owe somewhere in the neighborhood

of S250. But apparently splitting the bill wasn't an option because

Davide reached for the little leather folder and nonchalantly

announced, "I've got this one."

No one blinked or even attempted to argue with him.

He slipped a jet-black credit card into the folder and handed it

to the waiter. There it was, the mythical American Express Black

Card, available by invitation only to those who charged a minimum

of $150,000 a year. I had only just learned about it myself. It was

mentioned in a blind item, as in, "Who needs a Black Card when

she has a daddy with bottomless bank accounts?" in reference to

an anonymous socialite's daughter. No one else appeared the least

bit interested.

"We ready?" Elisa asked, smoothing her dress over her adorable

little hips. "We'll need two cabs. Leo and Skye, why don't you grab

the first one? Davide, Bette, Penelope, and I will meet you there. If

you get there first, I'd prefer the table closest to the bar on the left,

okay?"

"Oh, listen, I think I'm going to head home," Penelope said.

"Dinner was great, but I've got to be at work early tomorrow. It

was so nice meeting all of you."

"Penelope! You absolutely cannot go home. The night is just

beginning! Come on, it's going to be a great party," Elisa shrieked.

Penelope smiled. "I'd love to, really I would, but I just can't

tonight." She grabbed her coat, gave me a quick hug good-bye,

and waved to the rest of the table. "Davide, thank you for dinner.

It was so nice meeting all of you," she said, and before I could tell

her that I'd call her later, she was gone.

We all stumbled into our preassigned cabs while I managed to

nod and make
hmm
sounds at the appropriate times. It wasn't until

we were actually standing outside the velvet rope at Bungalow 8

that I realized I was slightly drunk from dinner and, having almost

no experience whatsoever with remotely cool nightspots, was in a

perfect position to do or say something really, really humiliating.

"Elisa, I think I better head out," I said feebly. "I'm not feeling

great, and I need to be up early tomorrow for—"

She emitted a high-pitched shriek and her sunken face came

alive. "Bette! You've got to be joking! You're practically a Bungalow

virgin
and we're already here. Going out is part of your job

now, just remember that!"

I was semi-aware that the thirty or
so
people in line—mostly

guys—were staring at us, but Elisa didn't seem to care. Davide was

doing some sort of clap-high-five-knuckle-bumping greeting with

one of the bouncers, and I found that I was incapable of anything

but the path of least resistance.

"Sure," I muttered weakly. "Sounds great."

"Sammy, we're on Amy's list tonight," Elisa announced confidently

to Davide's bouncer. He was about six-three, two hundred

twenty pounds, and happened to be the exact same guy who'd

been working the door the night of Penelope's party. He didn't appear

to be particularly amused by the chaos at the door, but as

soon as Elisa unwrapped herself from him, he said, "Of course,

Elisa. How many of you are there? Come on in. I'll have the manager

get you a good table."

"Great, honey, thanks so much." She pecked him on the cheek

and grabbed my elbow, leaning in close to whisper in my ear:

"These guys think they're special, but no one would ever even talk

to them if they weren't working the door here."

I nodded, hoping he didn't hear us, even if he did deserve it. I

glanced up and saw him peering back at me.

"Hey," Sammy said, nodding at me in recognition.

"Hey," I replied cleverly, managing to refrain from pointing out

that he didn't appear to have a problem letting me in tonight.

"Thanks for that umbrella."

But he didn't hear me; he'd already turned away to rehook the

red velvet rope and announce to the remaining hordes that their

time had not yet arrived. He said something into his walkie-talkie

and pulled open the door. We cruised past the coat check and

were immediately enveloped in a cloud of smoke.

"How do you know him?" Elisa asked as Davide greeted everyone

within a twenty-foot radius.

"Who?"

"The door loser."

"Who?"

"The idiot working the door," she said, exhaling what appeared

to be more than a lungful of smoke.

"You seemed to like him enough," I said, remembering how

warmly she'd embraced him.

"What else am I supposed to do? It's all part of the deal. Such a

waste of a face. Do you know him?"

"No. He was pretty hostile to me at Penelope's engagement

party a few weeks ago. Made me wait outside forever. 1 know I've

seen him somewhere before, but I can't place him."

"Hmm," she murmured, sounding less interested with every

passing second. "Let's get a drink."

For one of the hottest clubs in the country, it still didn't look all

that major. The whole place was one rectangular room, with a bar

at the far end and about eight tables with banquette seats along

each side. People were dancing down the middle of the room

while others congregated at the bar, and only the high all-glass

ceiling and rows of palm trees made me feel that we were somewhere

a touch exotic.

"Hey, guys, over here," called Leo, who was tucked into a

couch in the far left corner, just as Elisa had requested. A hidden

DJ was blasting 50 Cent, and I noticed that Skye had already settled

onto some guy's lap and was grinding rhythmically to the

music. There was a sort of minibar set up on their table with scat-

tered bottles of Veuve Clicquot, Ketel One, and Tanqueray. Carafes

of orange, grapefruit, and cranberry juice were provided for mixers,

as well as a couple bottles of tonic and sparkling water. Penelope

had mentioned the prohibitive cost of her party, so I knew

that we were paying many hundreds of dollars a bottle.

"What can I make you to drink?" Leo asked, coming up behind

me.

I wasn't risking another uncool drink order, so I just asked for

a glass of champagne.

"Coming right up," he said. "C'mon, let's dance. Skye, you

coming?"

Leo stood, but in the last six minutes Skye had progressed to a

full-fledged make-out with the random guy she was straddling. We

didn't wait for an answer.

The crowd was almost uniformly beautiful. Everyone fell into

a ten-year age range, from mid-twenties to mid-thirties, and they'd

all obviously been there before. The women were tall and thin

and completely comfortable baring wide expanses of thighs and

ample decolletage in a decidedly untacky way. The men danced

at their sides, moving their hands over hips and backs and shoulders,

never perspiring, never letting a girl's drink run low. It was

nothing like the one rebellious teenage night I'd spent awkwardly

camped out in a corner, terrified of the writhing masses at Limelight.

By the time I'd finished scanning the scene, Leo had already

selected a beautiful dark-haired guy. The two of them danced with

a model-hot straight couple, all four of them moving perfectly in

tune against each other's bodies. Occasionally they'd reposition

themselves so the "girls" would be facing one another, grinding.

I went to the bathroom, and before I could see who owned

them I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around me. I caught a

glimpse of waist-length wavy hair, a sort of mousy light brown

color, and I smelled the scent of smoke and mouthwash in equal

parts.

"Bette, Bette, I can't believe how long it's been!" the girl

shrieked into my shoulder. Her chin was squished against my

breasts in a way that was fairly uncomfortable considering her

identity was still in question. She hugged me for a few more seconds,

and when she pulled away, I could not have been more surprised.

Abby Abrams.

"Abby? Is that you? Wow, it's been a really long time," 1 said

carefully, trying not to show just how unhappy I was to see her. I

had nothing but terrible memories of her from college and had

somehow managed to forget she existed once we'd all moved to

the city. Until now, it had been a big enough place to spend a halfdecade

without a single run-in. My luck had clearly expired. The

five years since college graduation had made her look harder,

older than her age. She'd obviously had a nose job and an extraheavy

serving of collagen in the lip area, but most noticeable were

her breasts. Her now super-sized chest seemed to occupy her entire

four-eleven frame.

"I go by Abigail now, actually," she immediately corrected. "So

crazy, isn't it? Of course, I'd heard you work at Kelly, so I knew I'd

run into you here sooner or later."

"Huh? What do you mean? How long have you been living in

the city?"

She stared at me, slightly horrified, and pulled me by the wrist

onto a couch. I tried to shake loose, but she maintained her death

grip and leaned in much too close. "Are you, like, serious? Have

you not heard? I'm at the
vortex
of the media world!"

I had to use my left hand to cover my mouth while pretending