Inside Girl (16 page)

“Flan, Flan, Flan. What
are
you going to do?” she asked, unfolding her napkin and setting it on her lap.

“I don't know.” I looked down at my place mat. “I was hoping that maybe if I talked to you—”

“No, not about me. About Sara-Beth. She's still very upset, you know.”

My stomach churned. “I know.”

“She trusted you—it's very hard to earn her trust—and you completely let her down.” Liesel held up one hand like she was stopping traffic. “I know Sara-Beth can be difficult at times, but she's also very vulnerable. She never had a real childhood, you know. Did you see that piece in the
Times
?”

“Yeah.” I looked over at one of the Tiffany lamps. It had stained-glass birds flying across its shade. I wished I could be free like that. “You know, I didn't write those mean things about Sara-Beth—I really
didn't. I was writing notes with a couple of friends at school, and—you believe me, don't you?”

Liesel sighed. “Of course I do, Flan. But it's not me you have to convince. You have to show Sara-Beth you're not ashamed of her—that you really think of her as a friend.”

I nodded. “Well, I sort of had an idea of how to do it.”

So I told her about the party: about how I was inviting Bennett and his friends and Meredith and Judith from school, but also SBB, Liesel, and Philippa—about how I wanted to bring my two worlds together at my house, so everybody—family, friends, whatever—would know how special they were to me. When I was done explaining, Liesel had a dazzling smile on her face. She clasped my hands in hers.

“I should have known you'd come up with the perfect solution. And you're going to throw the most fabulous party. So fabulous, they'll be begging on their hands and knees to keep you in their lives. On their
hands and knees
! And I'm going to plan it for you.”

“Oh no, Liesel, you don't have to do that.”

“Of course I do! Flan, this is my specialty, my forte, my gift. And you must never let a girl waste her gift.” She opened her purse and took out a planner. “It's Saturday, correct?”

“Uh … Friday.”

“Hmm, I'll have to shuffle some things around. But never mind, that's not important. Who should we get for the entertainment? I have Avril's number in my cell, but you'll want someone classier, I would think. How about Leland Brinker? Or Norah Jones? She still owes me a favor or two—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” I thought of Bennett and how embarrassed he'd been about his own small-time party. If he showed up to find Alanis Morissette playing a concert in my backyard, he'd just start feeling awful all over again. Besides, I didn't want to blow everyone away—I just wanted to show them I cared. So I shook my head. “I don't want you to go to all this trouble.”

“But it's no trouble! This is what I do.”

“No, I know, it's just that …” I tried to think how to put this nicely. “Listen, a party's a great idea, but I don't want it to be a big deal. I just want to do something nice and low-key.”

Liesel looked confused. She shut her purse with a click. “But Flanny darling,
why
?”

“I dunno, I can't explain it. A party with Norah Jones and a million guests and I dunno, paparazzi, would be cool and everything. It just isn't … me.”

Liesel bit her perfect mauve lip. I could tell she
thought I was completely crazy, and for a second I thought about taking back what I'd just said. But when I stayed silent, she nodded very slowly.

“All right, fine,” she said. “We'll do it your way, then.”

I smiled, then squinted past her at a pink-and-blond figure taking a seat at a nearby table. “Oh my God, is that Reese Witherspoon over there?”

Liesel snuck a glance over her shoulder, then snapped her fingers at the waiter and hurriedly dropped some bills on the table. “We need to get out of here, darling. I haven't returned her calls for
months
.”

“But—”

Before I could finish, Liesel rushed me out onto the sidewalk, where she shouldered a family of tourists out of the way and strode across the street. As soon as we started walking at a normal pace again, I asked tentatively, “So, do you think you can still help me with the party? Even though I don't want Norah Jones to be there?”

“How can you even ask such a thing? Of course I'll help you, Flan. In fact, I'll consider it a special challenge. Like tightrope walking without a net.”

“That's awesome. Thanks so much, Liesel.”

“Don't thank me! If anything, I should be thanking you. After all, you did rescue me from the clutches of
that vile
artiste
. Thank God he's almost done with the mural now.” She sniffed. “Besides, I'd do it anyway. You deserve it. Not everyone can throw a good party, even with my help, but you can. You have that
je ne sais quoi
, you know.”

“
Je ne sais
what?”

“Don't tell me you haven't seen it in yourself, snookums, because it's there in spades. You'll go far.”

“Huh.” I didn't know quite what she meant, but I took it as a compliment. “Thanks, Liesel.”

She touched up her lipstick and gave me a smile. “I can't wait to see you shine on Friday night. This party is just the beginning of the beginning—you just wait, darling.”

Liesel hailed me a cab, and we air-kissed good-bye. As I rode back through the city, I looked out the windows. Stylish young women walked dogs that matched their purses; cute boys sat on park benches, reading novels or listening to iPods. I saw boutiques and furniture stores and a strange apartment building that looked like a castle, and somehow all of it seemed new and exciting. Maybe Liesel was right—maybe I did have a
je ne sais quoi
. Maybe things really were going to get better, now that I was being myself.

I daydreamed about the party, about how things would suddenly seem simple and laid-back and chill
once I had all the important people in my life in the same place at the same time. I pictured Bennett and me lounging around on my living room floor, solving algebra problems together, and I imagined Judith and Meredith and me walking uptown to buy prom dresses. None of it seemed half as impossible as it had that morning, and it was all because I'd reached out to my friends. It occurred to me for the first time in a while that this really was what friends were for—to make people feel good, instead of always just cruddy and stressed out. I started to feel like maybe I was figuring things out—like I had things together.

I took the cab almost all the way home before I realized I had at least one more stop to make. So instead of going all the way to Perry Street, I had the driver stop at the corner of Washington and Horatio Street. I got out, paid, then started walking.

Philippa also lives in a town house in the West Village, like me, but her street is kind of weird—it's one of those crooked little lanes that sort of loops back on itself, so it wasn't easy to find her place, even though she'd left me her address and directions the day she moved out of my house. Finally, about the third time I walked up and down the street, I found it. It was this prewar building that I guess they'd redone or something, because it was really pretty, with sad-looking stone lions on either side of the front steps and an old-fashioned wood front door that looked like it should be an entrance to the magic land of Narnia.

As I walked up to the door, I thought about Philippa and Mickey. I hoped they'd worked things out. I'd seen them at parties and stuff in the past, when they were happy, and they always seemed like the world's cutest couple to me. Mickey was shorter than Philippa, and sort of round-looking, but he had this contagious sense of humor and craziness to him, and he was always funniest when he was around Philippa, like he was willing to do anything to make her smile. Philippa had more of an intelligent toughness to her, and she tended to be kind of aloof and quiet sometimes. But Mickey brought out a sweeter, more relaxed side of her—maybe because with his clowning around, it's hard for anyone to stay detached. One time, when Patch and Jonathan and I went to a party at a karaoke bar, Mickey ended up belting out this Celine Dion song, “All By Myself,” at the top of his lungs, waving his arms at Philippa's table, and even though they were sort of broken up then she'd ended up laughing hysterically and going home with him in a cab.

I wondered if I'd ever have a real, steady boyfriend like that. I found myself thinking of Bennett again. But by now I was at Philippa's door, so bracing myself, I took a deep breath and rang the bell. I hoped she wouldn't still be totally furious at me, but I was ready for whatever might happen.

After a long time, I was about to ring the bell again when the door finally swung open. There was Philippa, looking all disheveled and out of breath, wearing a boy's T-shirt and a pair of cut-off shorts.

“Flan! Thank God it's you. I was scared my dad was home early,” she said, leading me into the house. “Hang on a sec. Mickey's hiding under my bed.” She ran halfway up the stairs, yelling, “Mickey! Mickey, you can come down now!”

“Sorry if I'm interrupting something,” I said, feeling way awkward all of a sudden.

“No, don't worry about it.” She glanced over her shoulder and added a little doubtfully, “I'm glad to see you.” She came back down the stairs and flopped into one of the chairs in the living room. “How've you been?”

I decided to cut right to the point. “I feel terrible about what happened with you guys the last time I saw you. Seriously. I hope you don't hate me.”

“Jesus, Flan, I couldn't hate you.” Philippa smiled and shook her head. “I think I was just pissed that night because there was this big scene between Mickey and Sara-Beth and he ended up skipping out on me again. But we've made up now. Anyway, it's not me you have to apologize to. It's Sara-Beth.”

I nodded. “I know. I'm throwing a party at my house
to try to make up with everybody. That guy I like's going to be there—so are my friends from school. Do you think she'll come?”

Philippa squinted, thinking. “Have you talked to her yet?”

“Well, I've left her a couple of voice mails, but she hasn't called me back.”

I glanced around the room. The house was decorated the way I imagined an art dealer's would be: in neutral colors, mostly white and tan, so the art stood out that much more. There were paintings and drawings hanging all over the walls—I saw one with flying goats and people playing musical instruments that looked like it was by Marc Chagall, who I studied last year in art history—and there were little marble pillars around the room, with sculptures on them that were lit up with spotlights like in a museum.

“The thing is, she's mad, but I think she wants to make up with you.” Philippa smiled. “Nobody can stay mad forever. Mickey and I fight every second day, but I'm starting to think it keeps things interesting.”

Just then, Mickey came jumping down the stairs. He had a little patchy beard that somehow made him look both older and sillier at the same time.

“Hey, Flan,” he said, ruffling my hair like I was still a little kid. He tried to climb into the chair with
Philippa, but she hit him with a pillow. He made a roaring sound and grabbed her. Then they started tickling each other, until finally they were both sitting in the chair, with Philippa on his lap. With some couples, stuff like that would make me feel really left out, but it was sweet to see them together like that. They were so much in love that it kind of wore off on me.

“So what can we do for you?” he asked once we'd all stopped laughing.

“I was just coming by to invite you guys to my party. It's not going to be a lot of people or anything, but it should be fun.” I handed them the invitations. “It's on Friday. All the information's in there.”

“A party? At the Floods'? I'm so there,” Mickey said, ripping open his invitation. “It's been all summer since you guys threw the last one.”

“But wait a sec. Friday?” Philippa turned to Mickey. “Isn't that the day your friend's doing that skateboarding thing? That competition?”

“Oh, shoot. You're right, babe.”

“Maybe we can come over after,” Philippa said to me. “It's just that this has been planned for weeks and weeks. Mickey's friend Jorge is supposed to be doing this half-pipe thing, and we promised him we'd go even before we broke up and got back together again.”

I tried not to look disappointed. “Well, my party's not going to go that late anyway. But if you get a chance, come on over.”

Philippa nodded. “I really want to. Especially because I'd like to meet this famous Bennett.”

I blushed. “Well, that's no big deal.”

“No big deal? Of course it is! You're my friend and this is your love life! What do friends do but meddle in each other's love lives?” She leaned forward. “So how can I meddle? Do you need any advice?”

“Sure. Just tell me how you got into such a good relationship.”

Philippa smacked the side of Mickey's head. “You hear that, Romeo? She thinks we have a good relationship.”

Mickey blinked, acting astonished. “Have I entered a parallel universe?”

“Oh, stop it, you guys,” I said, laughing. “You know you're great.”

“The greatness goes in and out.” Philippa lay back in Mickey's arms like she was swooning. “That's why we have to keep dumping each other.”

“And making out with other girls,” added Mickey, deadpan. “No, wait, only Philippa does that.”

“Don't try my patience. I might switch back.” Philippa kissed him to show she was just kidding, then
turned back to me. “Listen, the best advice I can give you is: show him who you really are. Don't pretend to be someone else just so he'll like you.”