Terror (16 page)

“Ouch!” Gaia yelled at the TV screen. “Wow. Ouch. Nick Nolte's really taking a beating.” She turned her rapt attention to the screen again. Infinitely more interesting than the movie was watching Gaia. It was like a sociology experiment on the
effects of a scary movie on its intended audience. She was gripping Jake's arm with one hand, her head buried in a pillow, a contorted look of near anguish on her face. The other hand was covering her face with just enough room between her fingers to see the screen out of one eye. “I can't deal,” Gaia said. “Does he kill all of them?”

Jake laughed. “You know I can't tell you that.”

Gaia gripped his arm tighter. “I can't handle this anymore. I'm sorry.” She jolted out of her crouched position, grabbed the remote control, and pressed pause. Jake couldn't believe it. Gaia was actually too scared to watch the end of this movie.

“I'm speechless,” Jake said.

“Oh, shut up, Jake,” Gaia said. Before he could respond, she was moving toward him. Her lips widened and her eyes went to half-mast.
This is what I've been waiting for.
Gaiz reached past his face and ran her fingers through his hair. First contact was a delicate lick on the bottom corner of his lip and then a little bite on his earlobe. It was as if her pent-up rage toward psycho De Niro had transformed itself into passion. Jake cupped his hand against Gaia's cheek to slow the kiss down and make it more sensual. He let himself get lost in it. The kiss took him to that place where there was no thought, just feeling. From this perspective, he could see that this new Gaia wasn't
all
bad.

Memo

From:
Rizq14176

To:
Runner 16

The hair sample you provided was insufficient. Another sample must be obtained, and you must take more care not to be seen. The last incident ended up in the NYPD Police Blotter section of one of the local papers. This is unsatisfactory and, quite frankly, endangers this operation as a whole. Please take care to make this interaction more contained and calm. Again, keep witnesses to a minimum.

Gaia stepped out onto the curb and into what felt like a full media feeding frenzy.A flurry of flashing bulbs blinded her.

“ARE YOU READY YET, CINDERELLA?” Liz called out. Gaia had been in the bathroom for a mini-eternity, considering all she had to do was slip into her dress. This was supposed to be the easy part Accessorizing and finding Gaia a pair of appropriate shoes would take up the most time. Though judging from what Liz had seen, she'd probably need some help with makeup, too.

“I can't believe women wear these things every day,” Gaia called back from behind the closed door.

“Dresses?” Liz asked.

“No, G-strings. These things are so uncomfortable. They're disgusting. It's like flossing your teeth and just leaving the floss in when you're done.”

Liz burst into laughter. “Yeah, well, welcome to the real world, honey. A visible panty line is an instant two-point deduction on the hot scale.”

“Out of how many possible points?” Gaia asked.

“Ten. Always ten.”

“Oh,” Gaia said. “Well, I guess that's significant enough to overlook a little chafing.”

Liz shook her head. How was it possible, in the twenty-first century, for a seventeen-year-old girl—a beautiful Manhattanite, no less—to not own a single G-string? On a hunch, Liz had mentioned that Gaia would obviously have
to wear one with that dress. Gaia had been stunned. When she'd admitted that she “used to have one,” Liz had been ready to pull out her cell phone and dial 711, or whatever the emergency hotline was for the fashion police.

“Okay, I'm ready, I think….,” Gaia said. The bathroom door popped open and, just as Liz had expected, Gaia looked absolutely amazing. And she wasn't even trying to model. She was slumped over, barefoot, with her shoulders shrugged, as if unable to take herself seriously. Despite her poor presentation, Liz was jealous of how raw Gaia's natural beauty was. She needed neither makeup nor proper posture to be absolutely radiant.

“So,” Gaia said. “What do you think?”

“Too spellbound to speak. I didn't think it was possible for you to look better than you did in the store, but you do.”

Gaia scrunched up her face. “You really think so?”

Liz nodded. “I know so. I hope you're ready to fight off the Justin Timberlakes of the world tonight because that's the type of crowd we'll be dealing with. And be prepared: You will get hit on tonight. If you have even the tiniest shred of doubt in your relationship with Jake, it will be tested tonight.”

Gaia didn't say anything. She just blushed and flashed Liz a coy look.
It's crazy,
Liz thought.
That saleswoman was right. She really doesn't know how hot she is. It's like no one has ever told her or she just refuses to believe it. Could she be that humble?

“All right,” Gaia said. “What's next? Because I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

Liz hedged. “Well … I hate to say it, but I looked through that bag of shoes you brought, and … pretty much none of them make the cut.”

“Right,” Gaia said. “Not shocking.”

“Now, you said you wear a size seven?” Liz asked.

“Six and a half, seven,” Gaia said. “It depends.”

“So your feet are a little bit smaller than mine. Which means we're going to have to raid Mom's closet. Come on.” Liz led Gaia out of her room and up the main stairs, past the splashy modern paintings and underneath an eighteenth-century antique chandelier, sparkling like a family of lit jewels. Liz had always felt proud to bring people up these stairs. This room was an exhibition of her father's interest in all kinds of culture. How many times had she heard him rave about his favorite painting—the one by Lionel Feininger, with the big purple cartoon man in a top hat, towering over the rooftops of some surreal urban landscape?

“I should probably warn you that my mom thinks she's Imelda Marcos,” Liz said, leading Gaia through the bedroom and into a huge pink-carpeted closet.

“Oh. My.
Lord.”
Gaia stopped to stare, her mouth in the shape of an O, clearly beside herself over the sheer quantity. Liz was used to this part. “Your mom has a serious problem.”

“I know,” Liz said, doubling over with laughter.
“Just deal with it, okay? Imagine what this forecasts for my future. It boggles the mind.” Liz bent down and came up with a black closed-toe sandal with a smallish heel and a strap across the back. “Try this on.”

Gaia bent over and wiggled her foot into the shoe. She started fumbling with the strap.

“Nope” Liz said. “Don't waste your time. Those won't do. They're too … daytime office wear for a party like this. Too frumpy. You need mind-blowing. Let's see here….” Liz reached into the closet and resurfaced with a postmodern-looking high-heeled shoe that defied the laws of physics. “Even my mom's scared to wear these Ferragamos. I've only seen her wear them once, but I swear all the women were gawking at her feet like crazed paparazzi. It was nuts.”

“I'm not sure that's the look I should be going for,” Gaia said innocently.

“Just try them on. Let me see how you are in high heels.”

Gaia jerked upward spastically. She tried to straighten her knee and hip joints, but the resulting position made her look like a mannequin that got mangled in the box.

Hopeless. The girl is hopeless.
“Okay, take ‘em off,” Liz said. “I've got it.” She pulled out a pair of supple black calfskin boots with brown stitching and a flat midsize heel that came to a sharp, oval-shaped point. She handed the boots to Gaia. Gaia slipped her foot in
and zipped up the zipper. She put the other one on and walked a few steps.

“Those are
money,”
Liz, said. “White-hot. Those are the answer.”

Gaia appraised the boots like they were on someone else's feet. “I actually kind of like them, too. You sure your mom won't care if I wear them?”

“Positive,” Liz said, giving Gaia a final once-over. “We really have to jet. We're running way late….”

“So are we taking the F train, or should we catch a cab?” Gaia asked.

“Are you kidding? It's raining outside. I'll call a limo and have them pick us up in five.”

“SO THIS THING CONTROLS EVERYthing in the limo?” Gaia said, fingering an oversized remote control. “Cool. Let's check out the dimmer.” Gaia massaged the remote with her thumb, and the lights dimmed to a romantic glow. “You know, baby, you lookin' mighty fine tonight,” Gaia said in her best Barry White baritone.

“Feeling good, baby.” Liz drained her drink and let out a snort of laughter. The limo slowed to a stop. Some man on the radio was singing “Sophisticated Lady.” Liz tapped Gaia on the leg. “Okay, this is it. We're here. Are you ready?”

Gaia tucked a wisp of hair behind her left ear and let out a big sigh. “I doubt it.”

The side door opened and the chauffeur helped Gaia out onto the street. The rain was coming down fast and furious. “No worries,” Liz said, looking back at Gaia. “My mom's umbrellas would keep elephants dry.” The limo driver helped Liz outside, and then it was Gaia's turn.
Whoa.
Gaia Stepped out onto the curb and into what felt like a full media feeding frenzy. A flurry of flashing bulbs blinded her. She instinctively looked away and put her hand up for protection.
What is wrong with these people? Where am I?

The chauffeur handed Gaia an umbrella. “You can block them out with this,” he said, smiling.

“Thanks for the ride, Sergio.” Liz gave the chauffeur a kiss on the cheek. “Have a nice night.”

Liz grabbed Gaia's hand. The support felt nice. Gaia was about twelve times less comfortable in this scene than she would have been in a boxing ring with Oscar de la Hoya. Blindfolded.

“Okay, now. Just smile for the cameras. If you play the role they expect of you, it all goes a lot smoother.
Plus it's kind of fun. I always like to imagine I'm doing a mockumentary of my own life.”

“That's funny,” Gaia said. She bent down a little to get a better look at the scene. The crowd appeared to be caught moving upstream in an endless river of umbrellas—everyone flowing toward the same point. At the top of the stairs two giants were perched like lions defending the gate, brokering entrance into the club. Off to the right paparazzi lined the sidewalk, snapping away like parasites. And behind the lion-guarded gate was a building that would most aptly be described as a castle.

“You know, you're right,” Gaia said. “I kind of feel like I'm in some made-for-TV movie that turns out to be a cheap rip-off of a fairy tale. You know, with a girl who becomes a princess and wears a tiara everywhere even though she lives on the Upper East Side.”

“Exactly.” Liz reached over and grabbed Gaia's arm. “Oh, wow. Wait a second. Is that who I think it is?” She pushed her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, gesturing toward an area to their far right. Gaia looked. It was Megan and Laura, both giving her the death glare.

“It's exactly who you think it is,” Gaia confirmed.

“Whatever. We'll deal with them later.”

“I'm almost impressed by their commitment to the cause,” Gaia said. The mere idea that those two wannabe socialites were jealous of her and of
this,
which didn't even hit the top fifty of Gaia's things-to-do list, struck her as highly amusing.

“That's the Rodke girl,” a member of the paparazzi said as they approached. “Who's your friend?”

“Don't you wish you knew?” Liz called back, smiling. Gaia was bowled over at Liz's poise under such absurd circumstances. The paparazzi were putty in her hands, so easily seduced.

“Pose for us!” a cameraman yelled out.

Liz looked at Gaia. “Do you want to pose?”

“Hell, I don't care,” Gaia said. “What's the difference at this point?”

Liz put her arm around Gaia's shoulders. Gaia tried to make her most natural and camera-friendly smile, but her cheek muscles were like thickening cement. So she changed her expression into a thoughtful, hopefully unreadable half smile.

“Sorry, guys,” Liz said, taking her arm off Gaia's shoulders. “That's all you get.”

Liz pulled on Gaia's hand. They were at the entrance. Rising above them were two blown-up ogres with orange-tinged fake-bake tans and shirts custom made to fit their massive bulges. One clutched a clipboard to his chest. The other had his hands behind his back. “Your name, ma'am?” the clipboard ogre asked.

“Rodke. Liz Rodke.”

Both creatures smiled in synchronicity, as if they'd
been trained to do so. “A pleasure to see you, Ms. Rodke.” They moved to the side and motioned the girls inside. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” Liz said.

“Thanks,” Gaia added.

They walked up another flight of steps. Gaia looked to her right, at the line of enormous columns. “Those are Corinthian columns,” Liz said. “This place used to be the Bowery Savings Bank, since like the late nineteenth century. I think it's actually a national landmark.”

“I'm not surprised,” Gaia said.

“Oh, this is only the beginning.” Liz smiled. “Wait till you see this ballroom.” They passed into the antechamber, shook out their umbrellas, and strolled into a room that was the most stunning visual blast Gaia had dealt with in months. This room was gargantuan, enormous,
ginormous—
like the main worshiping area in some grand European cathedral.

“Seventy-five-foot ceilings,” Liz said. “Isn't it unbelievable?”

Gaia's head swiveled left, then all the way to the right. Palm trees rose from giant white pots the size of Volkswagens. Enormous ferns cascaded over the sides of urns big enough to hold the remains of an entire family tree. A symphony of clinking glasses competed with the heavy din of chatter and laughter. “I can't decide …,” Gaia said, “if
this is the most garish display of decadence I've ever seen or just beautiful. How could anyone ever afford this place?”