Everyone Worth Knowing (63 page)

be finished with him. It seemed strange to see him being this

intimate with a girl so soon after seeing him being
that
intimate

with a guy, but it was an easy out for me, and one I wanted. I realized

this was my chance: I would gladly play the part of betrayed

girlfriend if it meant having a reason to be done with him once and

for all. I leaned over to tap him on the shoulder, eager to put on

an indignant public performance, but I physically recoiled when

the boy turned around and snapped, "What the fuck do you want?

Can't you see I'm busy here?"

It wasn't Philip. No British accent, no chiseled jaw, no I've-

been-a-very-bad-boy grin. Much to my surprise, the face that stared

back at me, the one contorted with anger and annoyance, belonged

to someone else I knew well: Avery. His jaw went slack

when he saw me. "Bette," he whispered.

"Avery?" I couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't come up with

a single appropriate thing to say. I was vaguely aware that the girl

was peering at us both with some sort of smug look, but it was

hard to make her out in the dark. Besides, nearly her entire mouth

was swollen from kissing, and lipstick was smeared across her chin

and cheek. But after I studied her for fifteen seconds, I realized I

knew her, too. It was Abby.

"Bette, this is, uh, this isn't what it . . . Bette, you know Abby,

don't you?"

He was noticeably perspiring and waving his hands in some

sort of spastic, counterclockwise pattern, motioning to the girl

while simultaneously trying to pretend she wasn't there.

"Bette! Great to see you again. Saw that piece about you the

other day," she trilled. Her hand worked its way quite deliberately

over Avery's back, rubbing and kneading while I watched every

movement, and she watched me watching her.

I continued to stare, still at a loss for words, realizing that Abby

still assumed I was clueless about her professional identity. It was all

too horrible to process, and since I couldn't decide which one to

confront first, I just stood there. Apparently, Avery took this as an indication

that he should keep talking. "Penelope knows I'm in New

York, and of course she knows I like to go out a lot, but um, I'm not

sure it'd be the best thing for her to know about, uh, about this.

She's, um, she's had a lot to adjust to with the move and everything

and I think it'd be most, ah, most
considerate
to her if we didn't

upset her any more, you know?" He slurred nearly every word.

Abby chose this moment to lean over and begin licking his earlobe,

closing her eyes in feigned passion after looking directly at

me. Avery brushed her away like a gnat and stood up, placing an

arm underneath my elbow and leading me away from the table.

He was approaching blackout drunk, but he still managed to move

rather deftly.

I allowed myself to be led away for a second before I snapped

back to reality and tore my arm from his grip. "You bastard!" I

hissed. I'd wanted to scream, but nothing came out.

"Is there a problem here?" Abby asked as she sidled up next to

Avery.

I stared at her, nearly scared of my hatred. "Problem? No, why

would you say that? No problem at all. It's funny, though, I have

this sneaking feeling that you won't be writing tomorrow about

how you threw yourself at someone else's fiance—someone you've

known for more than eight years now. No, I imagine tomorrow's

little column will have no mention of you or Avery at all. Rather,

it'll be some charming little story about how I was stealing tips off

the bar or doing drugs with the dancers or having group sex with

the photographers, right?"

They both stared at me. Abby spoke first.

"What are you saying, Bette? You really are making no sense."

"Oh, is that so? Interesting. It's rather unfortunate for you that

I know you're Ellie Insider. You want to know why that sucks

for you so much besides the fact that it's a really stupid fucking

name? Because I won't rest until everyone else knows, too. I'll

call every reporter, editor, blogger, and assistant in this entire city

and tell them who you are and how you lie. But I'll have the

most fun telling your editor the whole story. Throw the words

libel
and
laivsuit
around, just for fun. Maybe she'd be interested

to hear how you nearly got kicked out of school for stealing other

people's papers? Or perhaps she'd find the story of the night you

slept with not one, not two, not three, but
four
guys from the

lacrosse team amusing? Hmm, Abby, what do you think?"

"Bette, listen, I—" Avery appeared not to have heard a word of

what I'd said, clearly concerned only with how this would affect

his own life.

"No, Avery,
you
listen," I hissed with more venom in my voice

than I'd ever heard as I turned away from Abby and toward him.

"You have one week from today's date to tell Penelope. Do you

hear me? One week, or she hears it from me."

"Jesus Christ, Bette, c'mon, you have no idea what you're say-

ing. Hell, you have no idea what really happened. Nothing was

going on."

"Avery, listen to me. Can you hear me? One week." I turned to

walk away, silently praying he wouldn't call my bluff and make me

tell her. It'd be hard enough to tell my best friend that her dirtbag

fiance had abandoned her in a new city to come home for a weekend

of drinking and cheating, but it would especially suck having

to do so when our own relationship was still a little rocky.

I'd made it a few feet when I felt Avery's arm wrap around

my elbow and tighten. He yanked so hard I tripped and would

have hit the ground facefirst had he not yanked me upward and

pushed me onto a banquette. His face was two inches from mine,

his hot, boozy breath heating my skin, and he sounded quite coherent

when he whispered, "Bette. I will deny every fucking word

you say. Who's she going to believe? Me, the guy she's
worshipped

for the last decade, or you, the friend who ditches her going-away

party to hang out with some guy? Huh?" He leaned in even closer,

hovering over me with his entire body and his face contorted into

a pained, threatening expression, and I briefly wondered if kneeing

him in the balls would be appropriate. I wasn't really concerned

for my safety so much as disgusted by his closeness, but

I didn't have to make the decision; before I could work my knee

into strike position, Avery's entire body seemed to float backward.

"Can 1 help you with something?" Sammy asked Avery as he

held him upright by the back of his shirt.

"Dude, get the fuck off me. Who the hell are you?" Avery spat,

looking drunker and meaner than I'd ever seen him before. "This is

none of your fucking business, you hear?"

"I'm security, and it is my fucking business."

"Well, this is my friend here, and we were having a conversation,

so back the fuck off." Avery straightened up in a failed attempt

to recoup a shred of dignity.

"Oh, really? That's funny, because your
friend
looked pretty

fucking unthrilled to be part of your 'conversation.' Now get out."

I watched the two of them go back and forth as I rubbed my

arm, wondering who would be the first to use the word
fuck
three

times in a single sentence.

"Dude, chill out. No one asked for your assistance, okay? I've

known Bette for a long fucking time now, so step aside and let us

finish. Don't you, like, have drinks to serve or something?"

For the briefest moment I thought Sammy would hit Avery, but

he pulled himself together, took a deep breath, and turned to me.

"Are you okay here?" he asked.

I wanted to tell him everything, explain that Avery was Penelope's

future husband and tell him how I'd seen him with another

girl and that other girl happened to be Abby, who happened to be

Ellie Insider, and even though I always knew he was a cheating

bastard, I'd never seen him so belligerent before. I wanted to

throw my arms around Sammy's neck and thank him over and

over again for watching out for me and stepping in when he

thought I was in trouble and ask him his advice on what to tell

Penelope and how to deal with Avery.

For just a moment I thought about doing just that—screwing

the party, the job, what Abby would surely write the following day,

just grabbing Sammy and walking away from all of it. But of course

he knew what I was thinking, could see it on my face, and he

leaned over and discreetly whispered, "Stay cool. We'll talk about it

later, Bette." I was attempting to calm down when Elisa and Philip

came ambling over, their arms linked.

"What's going on here?" Philip asked, appearing wholly disinterested

with the entire scene.

"Philip, stay out of this, it's nothing," I said, willing them both

to disappear.

"Why don't you call your fucking goon off me, Elisa?" Avery

whined after pouring himself another drink. "This big meathead

got himself involved where it's none of his business. I was having

a little chat with an old friend and all of a sudden he went ballistic.

Does he work for you?"

Having already lost interest in the whole situation, Philip

drunkenly flopped onto the couch and immersed himself in mixing

a gin and tonic. Elisa, however, did not like to hear that the

hired help was bothering one of her favorite party boys.

"Who are you?" she asked Sammy.

He looked at her and smiled as if to say, Are you kidding, you

idiot? We recently traveled to a foreign country together for five full

days, and now you have no idea who I am? When he was met

with a blank gaze, he merely said, "I'm Sammy, Elisa. We've met a

few dozen times at Bungalow 8, and we were in Istanbul together.

I'm in charge of security tonight." His voice was strong and even,

without a hint of condescension or sarcasm.

"Mmm, that's really interesting. So what you're telling me is that

because you work the door at Bungalow a few nights a week and

serve as a boy toy to Isabelle Vandemark, you all of a sudden think

you're justified in treating one of our friends—a VIP at that—this

rudely?" It was obvious that she was tipsy and enjoying her

demonstration of power in front of the whole group.

Sammy peered at her, expressionless. "With all due respect,

your friend was bothering my . . . was physically assaulting your

coworker here. She didn't seemed pleased with his attentions, so I

encouraged him to focus them elsewhere."

"Sammy?
Is that your name?" she said nastily. "Avery Wainwright

is one of our closest friends, and I know for a fact that Bette

would never be uncomfortable around him. Shouldn't you be, like,

breaking up fights in the bathroom or telling all those bridge-andtunnel

kids lined up outside that they're not welcome here?"

"Elisa," I said quietly, unsure of what to say next. "He was just