Great (14 page)

“We're all snobs, honey,” she said. “I just say it's how I was raised.”

“It's not how
I
was raised,” I said.

“Sure,” Olivia said. “You're here, at this fabulous party, with these fabulous people, all of us looking fabulous in white, drinking the same wine and eating the same food, listening to the same hired band in the same backyard of the same mansion—and you're different?” She laughed a nasty little laugh. “Sure you are.”

“Excuse me,” I said coldly, and went off to find Jeff.

He was drunker than when I'd last seen him, and knocking back another drink in the kitchen.

“There she is!” Jeff said loudly, leaning over and giving me a boozy kiss.

He looked out the window, and I followed his gaze to see Delilah and Jacinta now curled up together on the chaise lounge on Jacinta's back deck. Then I hesitated for a moment, looked back at the girls, and decided to plunge forward.

“Now,
that
is an interesting situation,” I said. Jeff rolled his eyes.

“I don't know if ‘
interesting'
is the word for it,” he said. “More like pathetic.” There was something in his tone I didn't like.

“Pathetic?” I repeated. He held up his glass.

“To the freak who throws the best parties in town,” he said with a laugh.

I put down my drink.

“She's not a freak,” I said defensively. “I know you think she's weird, but she's a good person. She's never been anything but sweet to you.”

“Oh, I don't doubt that she's a good person,” Jeff said. “And yes, she's been very nice to me. But the girl is obviously out of her mind.”

“Why?”

“Well, to start, look at what she wears. She always looks like she's dressed up for some costume ball happening inside her own head.” I could tell he was drunk and figured I'd give him a pass on that one.

“She's just—I don't know, she's fashionable,” I said lamely, hoping he'd get off this track.

“Fashionable. Right. Or she dresses like she just escaped from the mental ward. Also, she's so into Delilah that it's creepy.” Okay, that pissed me off.

“It's not creepy,” I protested. “They really care about each other. I've spent way more time with them than you have.”

“Teddy told me Delilah spends all day, every day, at Jacinta's house and won't talk about it when she sees him at night.”

“Well, that's Delilah's choice, not Jacinta's.”

“Jacinta is obsessed with her. It's messed up. You see how they are together. I bet they're even weirder when they're by themselves. I mean, look at that.” He pointed out the window. “That's not normal.”

“What about Delilah? She seems just as into it as Jacinta,” I said.

Jeff gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Delilah's playing the same game she always plays when she's pissed at Teddy,” he said. “Usually she starts hanging out with some poor guy who totally worships her. Finally, after Teddy flips out and beats the hell out of the kid, she comes back around and starts acting like a girlfriend again. I guess this summer she decided to get creative, get a female barnacle. Interesting move on her part, I have to say, but this whole thing has gotten old.” As if to illustrate his point, he stifled a boozy yawn.

“Maybe they actually love each other,” I blurted out, my face heating up. “Ever thought of that? Sometimes real human beings have actual genuine feelings for one another.” I hadn't meant to say it, but he was pissing me off with his condescending attitude.

He looked at me and gave a surprised laugh. “
Love
each other?”

I nodded. He laughed again.

“You think Delilah Fairweather would love somebody like
her
? She's Delilah's pet for the summer, someone for her to play with. She'll be gone as soon as the summer ends.”

“I just don't understand how you can talk about Jacinta like this when you've been so nice to her face,” I said. At this, Jeff cracked up again.

“Oh my God,” he said, cackling. “That is adorable. Sometimes I forget you're from Chicago.” He tried to wrap me in his arms, but I resisted. I was no longer in the mood to excuse his behavior by remembering that he'd had one too many.

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” I demanded.

He was clearly irritated that I had pushed him off. “Look, maybe you live in some cutesy, perfect little world where everyone is one hundred percent honest all the time, but in the real world, sometimes people act one way when they feel another way. What am I gonna do, tell the girl to her face I think she's crazy?”

“Maybe don't talk crap about her,” I said testily.

“Maybe don't act like Jacinta Trimalchio is your best friend forever,” Jeff said. “You just met her, too. What do you even really know about her?”

“What do I even really know about
you
?” I shot back. “I just met you, too.”

“You're acting nuts,” Jeff said. “Is this like some kind of PMS situation?”

“You have
got
to be kidding me.”

“Of course I'm kidding!” He smiled at me and poked me in the arm. “I'm trying to make you laugh.”

“Well, talking about my period is not the way to do it. And no, it's not a PMS situation. I just think you're being a jerk.”

“Fair enough,” Jeff said pleasantly, pounding the rest of his drink. He set his glass down and put his arm around me. “I think what we need is some alone time.”

“Maybe another time,” I said, shrugging his arm off.

He stared at me like I'd grown an extra head. “You're not even kidding, are you,” he said after an amazed silence.

“No, I'm not,” I said. He looked at me for another moment.

“Fine, fine,” he said with his hands up in mock surrender.

I wasn't sure what had just happened, but this night was going seriously downhill. We wandered outside to a table where Brock and Reilly and Teddy were standing and playing flip cup, a dumb game that involves plastic cups and beer, and as far as I could tell, the whole point is just to get drunk. The rules are really inconsequential.

“Naoooomi,” Teddy said, smiling at me. He swayed back and forth a tiny bit on his heels. “This girl—this girl right here—this girl gets it. She and me, we get it.” He took a swig off a champagne bottle and burped loudly. Then he swiveled around and yelled, “Hey, Misti! Misti!”

Misti, still serving lobster, looked up, startled. So did Giovanni at the bar beside her.

“Come play flip cup!” he called. “Come help us play flip cup!”

She blushed happily and waved him off. “I'm workin'!” she yelled back.

“Forget your work!” Teddy roared. “It's flip cup time!”

“I'll get in trouble,” Misti called back. She pointed at Giovanni. “My supervisor,” she said, making zero effort to disguise the disgust in her voice.

“Oh, him?” Teddy slurred, getting out his wallet. “He's no problem. Me and Giovanni, we go way back. He's my boy.” He stumbled over to Giovanni and waved a hundred-dollar bill right in front of the bartender's Roman nose.

“Naomi needs a partner for flip cup,” he said, pointing at me. “That girl there? You know her mom? Her mom's the cupcake lady. Anne . . . Anne
Rye
. The famous cupcake lady.”

“Hey, man, I'm sorry,” Giovanni said stiffly, though he didn't sound very sorry. “I can't let the staff mingle with the guests. It's against our company policy. I didn't make the rule.”

“Oh,” Teddy said, temporarily nonplussed. Then his expression cleared and he smiled winningly. “But you can
break
the rule! Right? Right?”

Giovanni shook his head. “I really can't. And neither can she.” Misti scowled at him bitterly.

“Hey, Teddy, why don't you come back and finish the game?” Jeff called in that talking-to-a-three-year-old voice people use with their super-drunk friends. “Naomi just wants to watch, right?” He gave me a pointed look.

“Right,” I joined in. “Yeah, I don't even like beer that much. I like wine.”

“So we'll play with wine!” Teddy exclaimed, throwing his arms wide open and staring at the ceiling of the tent like he wanted to hug it. “We'll play with wine!” He reached over and tucked the hundred-dollar bill in Giovanni's collar.

“A hundred dollars,” Teddy said. “A hundred dollars for a bottle of wine and your girl for flip cup.”

“Wine bottles aren't for sale,” Giovanni said evenly. He stared at Teddy.

“And neither is she,” he added, looking at Teddy's girlfriend.

“For Christ sake, Gio,” Misti snapped. “Just let me play freakin' flip cup. No one gets in trouble unless you tell a manager.”

“You don't need any more to drink tonight, baby,” Giovanni said, moving his eyes back to Teddy. “You've had enough.”

“Baby!” Misti repeated in disgust.

Giovanni removed the hundred-dollar bill from under his collar as if he were holding a shoe covered in dog crap. He held it out to Teddy.

“Here,” Giovanni said. “I don't want your money.”

“Sure you do,” Teddy said, laughing. “Everybody wants money.”

“I don't want yours,” Giovanni said. His eyes were steely.

Teddy's mood soured then, and he glared back at the bartender.

“That's not what you said last summer,” he said. “Only reason I even know your name is you were running that little side business.”

“I don't do that anymore,” Giovanni said.

“Why not?” Teddy asked.

“My cousin got busted. Scared the hell out of me. I'm not trying to end up in jail, man.”

“Jail?” Teddy said, chortling. “Bro, all you'd have to do if something came up was call me. I'd take care of it. You know who my girlfriend's father is?”

“Teddy!” A sharp voice cut through the air like an ax. We all jumped a little—me, Jeff, Teddy, Giovanni, Misti, even Brock and Reilly.

It was Delilah, followed closely by a nervous-looking Jacinta. But this wasn't the stoned, catty Delilah I'd seen in the red bedroom. This was a very angry Delilah, with fire in her eyes.

“My father,” she said, pulling herself up to her full height, “is not a prop you can use to impress your friends from Long Island.” The way she spit out
Long Island
meant she definitely wasn't talking about the Hamptons.

I'd never seen Teddy Barrington cowed by anyone before, but it seemed Delilah had found the trick.

“Aw, baby,” he said. “I was just having fun.”

“Don't call me baby,” Delilah snapped.

I realized then that while Delilah had referenced Giovanni and Misti—“your friends from Long Island”—she hadn't looked at them once. She certainly hadn't acknowledged them directly. It was like they didn't even exist. In contrast, Misti was staring at her, gape-mouthed, as if she were looking at a movie star.

“I'm going home,” Delilah said.

“But we took my car,” Teddy said.

“Exactly. You're going to give me your keys, and I'm going to drive myself home. You can come with me, or you and Brock and Reilly can find another way to get out of here.”

Teddy laughed. “Drive home? You? You suck at driving. You'll put my car in a ditch.”

Delilah rolled her eyes, deftly removed his keys from his back pocket, and began walking away. Before she left, she gave Jacinta's hand one last furtive squeeze.

Teddy stared at his retreating girlfriend, then at Brock and Reilly, then back at Delilah.

“But we just got here,” he whined.

“Looks like the train's leaving, bro,” Jeff said. “I'd get on it if I were you. I'm sorry, you know I'd drive you if I were sober.”

Heaving a huge sigh, Teddy trotted off behind Delilah. Brock and Reilly followed suit.

“Well, I guess that's the end of flip cup,” Jeff said.

“Hey, man, you need a ride home?” asked Steven Xavier, an oily catalog heir who'd joined us with his girlfriend, some chain-smoking Russian model who fawned all over Jacinta in broken English (“You is famous of blog!” she exclaimed at one point). Steven had explained earlier that he was currently “doing the sober thing,” having just finished his third stint at a
lovely
rehab center in the Berkshires.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Jeff said reluctantly. “I've got a tee time at seven tomorrow morning.” He looked at me. “Is it cool if I leave my car parked overnight at your house? I'll pick it up tomorrow.”

“Sure,” I said. He kissed me goodbye, and the three of them left.

“You okay, Jacinta?” I asked. She looked paler than pale, so white she matched everything else at the party.

“I think I'll just sit down, love,” she said shakily, before lowering herself into a chair at our table. Around us, girls had begun kicking up their heels and dancing their own versions of the Charleston and other old-timey dances they'd probably only seen in movies or something. More and more people jumped into the pool, some in their underwear, some wearing nothing at all.

We chatted about how she'd gotten the decorations done so quickly (“I had to
beg
the florist, love—
beg
!”), who was wearing the best white dress, who had the best white shoes, and whether it would've been feasible for Jacinta to serve only white foods at her white party. (“Nah,” I said. “It would've just been, like, mashed potatoes and white bread. None of these girls eats carbs anyway.”) I switched from alcohol to club soda, and we passed a pleasant few hours watching the wealthiest kids on the East Coast do what any kids do at a party: drink, brag, fight, cry, and make out. By the time I looked at my phone to check the time, it was midnight.

The party started to peter out, and Jacinta busied herself flitting around and saying goodbye to folks who were making moves to go. I watched all the air-kissing and the hugging and heard all the declarations of affection (she called people “love” about fifty times) and the invitations to go out on so-and-so's boat, and wondered if any of it was actually real. If Jacinta weren't writing about these people and inviting them to her lavish parties, would they give a crap about her? I didn't think so. And yet, she seemed to genuinely care about each and every one of them, and to legitimately hope that they'd had a fantastic time.