The Carlyles (19 page)

A
Prefers French Cuffs To Metal. . . .

Dazed, Owen watched his sister get driven away in a police car. He pulled out his cell and called his mother, feeling bad for bothering her on the opening night of her big Brooklyn rodent exhibition.

“Owen?” Edie answered, sounding kind of pissed. The roar of laughter and clinking glasses echoed in the background. Edie was obviously having way more fun than they were.

“Hi, Mom.” Owen cringed. Part of the reason Edie let the triplets do whatever they wanted was because things like this didn’t happen to them.

“I received a phone call from the police about the party. The precinct is right there, so I told them you and Baby would come for her.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Owen mumbled. Where
was
Baby, anyway? He hadn’t seen her all night. Or last night, for that matter.

“Call me as soon as you all get home.”

Unable to locate his tiny rebellious sister anywhere, Owen made sure the guests had scattered, and locked up Grandmother Avery’s house. Then he jogged down to the police precinct, just a few blocks away.

He felt nervous when he first walked in, but quickly found that the precinct was less like
Law & Order
and more like the Nantucket police station he’d once visited on a school field trip. One cop sat behind a heavy wooden desk. A grainy black and white television was on in the background, its sound interrupted every so often by a staticky noise from one of the police radios. The female officer who’d arrested Avery sat in a chair by the holding cell, filing her nails.

Avery sat in a corner of the cell with her ankles crossed, crying hysterically. She held her wrists together in her lap as if they were still encased in invisible handcuffs. On the opposite wall of the cell stood a toilet and a small, grimy-looking sink.

“Wipe your nose, honey,” the female officer called to Avery in a bored voice. Avery sobbed incoherently, her entire face red and wet with tears and snot. Owen was mesmerized. He had never seen Avery like this, not even the time when she was second-runner up for Miss Lobster Queen Junior in the seventh grade. Not even when they were little.

“My family has the most powerful lawyers in the city,” Avery slurred, not noticing Owen. “I also really have to pee, but I am
not
using that toilet, and if I got a urinary tract infection, I could sue, you know.” She rattled the bars for dramatic effect.

“That your sister?” the police officer asked Owen. “You can take her home. We spoke to your mother. She knew about the party, so there are no trespassing problems.”

Owen grinned, relieved they weren’t in any trouble. He knew he should feel bad, but seeing prim and proper Avery sitting in the drunk tank was kind of hilarious.

“Hey, Ave!” he yelled, his voice echoing across the concrete and linoleum. She looked up. Owen pulled out his iPhone and snapped a photo of her behind bars for posterity.

“Don’t worry, Miss Blondie has a great mug shot she’ll be thrilled to submit to her yearbook,” the cop behind the desk laughed.

The female officer unlocked the door to the cell, and Avery tripped into Owen’s arms. “Owen, you saved me,” she slurred.

“Okay, we’re going home. Say goodbye to the nice police officer,” Owen couldn’t resist teasing.

The officer behind the desk looked almost sad to see her go. It must have been an entertaining evening.

Owen navigated Avery into a cab. “Seventy-second and Fifth,” he said. He noticed the cabbie staring at Avery in alarm. Her face was smeared with makeup, her eyes were bloodshot, her nose was running, and her mouth hung open in a gaping, drunken way, as if just breathing took enormous effort. “She’s fine,” he assured the driver.

“I’ll make siren noises if it will make you feel at home,” Owen laughed. Avery fell onto his shoulder and began to snore.

Tsk, tsk.
What would Grandmother say?

The cab pulled up to their twenty-story stone apartment building, and Owen helped navigate Avery to the green-awninged front door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kat sitting on the wooden bench to the right of the entrance, in the shadows of the landscaped bushes.

“Hey,” Owen whispered. “I’ll be down in a second.”

Owen dragged Avery into the elevator, hauled her inside the penthouse, and lifted her onto her perfectly made bed. He pulled off her shoes and practically sprinted to the elevator, out the door, and to the bench downstairs.

“Hey,” he whispered, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“Is she okay?” Kat asked, twirling a strand of caramel-colored hair in her fingers.

“She will be, eventually,” Owen shrugged. “Her pride’s going to be more hurt than anything.” He noticed goose bumps forming on Kat’s slender arms and wanted so much to wrap his arms around her. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” Kat admitted. She pulled her knees up to her chest, suddenly looking like a vulnerable little kid. “I thought I’d never see you again after Nantucket,” she said with a small smile. The doorman looked over at them, then turned away.

“Let’s take a walk. I’ll bring you home,” Owen said gruffly. Kat stood up and Owen saw her reaching her hand over to him. He crossed his tan arms over his thin gray T-shirt so she couldn’t grab his hand. If she did, then he wouldn’t be able to do what he had to.

“It was a fun party,” Kat continued as they made their way up Fifth Avenue. The street was empty, except for the doormen flanking each building. “I was glad to see Rhys with someone.”

Owen felt a lump form in his throat but began walking faster, trying to walk Kat home before he began kissing her all over again. He could feel the heat from her body. He made himself think of Rhys, heartbroken and soaking wet at the party. Rhys needed Kat, and there was no way Kat would go back to Rhys if Owen was still in the picture. He steeled himself and looked straight ahead. They were almost at her building. He stopped and took her hands as they stood on the corner. The sign said
DON’T WALK
, but it didn’t matter, since there were no cars around.

Owen looked into Kat’s silvery blue eyes and took a deep breath.

“What?” she asked.

“The night in Nantucket didn’t mean anything. I know you want me to have feelings for you, but I don’t. It was just . . . a one-night stand,” he lied. He couldn’t believe how assholic the words sounded when he actually said them.

“You don’t mean that,” she said steadily, her blue eyes boring into his. Owen tore his hands away and crossed his arms over his chest again.

“I do. It was a one-night stand. I don’t have feelings for you,” he repeated, then quickly turned and began to walk down the street in the direction of his apartment.

“Wait.”

Owen stopped walking and turned around. Kat’s eyes glinted. She held her hands on her hips like an Amazon warrior. She wasn’t crying. Actually, she looked more pissed than broken-hearted. “So everything you said—”

“Get over it,” Owen spat, trying to channel Avery when she was acting annoyingly self-righteous. He dug into the pockets of his Diesel jeans and pulled out the Tiffany ID bracelet, feeling its familiar grooves as he handed it to her. He couldn’t resist closing her fingers over it before he turned and walked the five blocks back to his building, the image of Kat’s confused, pleading eyes burning a hole into his brain.

He nodded woodenly to the doorman and walked toward the elevator. His own heartbroken face stared back at him from the shiny mirrors lining the lobby.

If everything went according to plan, soon Rhys and Kat would be back together, and they would both be happy. As for Owen, he was ready to find out what else Manhattan had to offer.

Ladies, the line starts here.

Don’t You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Fun Like
B
?

Baby tossed and turned uncomfortably on the sand on Sunday morning, trying to stay asleep. She had spent all of Saturday on the beach and had eventually fallen asleep by the water. Her summer hammock had been taken down by the family friends Edie had invited to take care of the house, so she ended up finding an old sleeping bag in the shed and dragged it down to the water’s edge. Finally, she was able to cry herself to sleep. The last thing she wanted to do was wake up and start crying all over again.

She wiggled her butt into a small depression in the sand and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out any rays of light. As she drifted off, she felt a warm tongue licking her face.
Tom?
she thought as her large brown eyes popped open. Instead of her contrite ex-boyfriend, she gazed at Nemo’s blond, enthusiastic, very furry face.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded in astonishment, petting Nemo’s fur. She wondered if this was some weird, subconscious post-breakup dream, but Nemo felt very real to her.

“Well, you know, big dog’s gotta run.”

Baby shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand and saw J.P.’s face break into a wide grin. He wore green pants with tiny frogs and fish embroidered on them.

She extracted herself from the puffy red sleeping bag and stood up, brushing sand from her Constance Billard uniform skirt. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or just pull J.P. into a hug. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at him and put her small hands on her tiny hips.

“Big dog’s gotta run on my beach?” she challenged. A flush of red rose up J.P.’s face.

“He missed you,” J.P. said simply, watching Nemo lick her tiny ankle with abandon. “The dogs didn’t want you to leave.”

Baby knelt down and buried her face in Nemo’s soft fur. He panted appreciatively in her ear.

“Well, your
girlfriend
certainly wanted me to leave,” Baby retorted, her head still buried. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. A wave crashed noisily against the shore.

“That’s sort of why I came,” J.P. said, suddenly sounding serious. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his frog-embroidered pants. “I’m sorry I was an asshole to you the other day. With Jack,” he clarified. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“Can you apologize for your pants, too?” Baby’s face suddenly broke into a smile. She pushed her stiff, salty hair back behind her ears. Who even bought, much less wore,
critter
pants? In a way, it was almost as who-gives-a-fuck as her own style. The morning sun beat down on her face, and for the first time in twenty-four hours she felt warm all over.

“Anyway, the reason I’m here is . . . will you come back to New York?” J.P. asked tentatively. “I mean, the dogs need you,” he finished brusquely, coloring a little.

Baby paused, gazing out the expanse of ocean licking into the sand. Could she leave her tiny island paradise? She thought of the party she had missed last night and felt a wave of sadness that she had so thoughtlessly left Avery and Owen and her mom. She missed them. She turned back to J.P., looking at her so hopefully, and looking so
good.
Maybe New York wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“You brought the chopper?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he admitted. Then he pulled out two rumpled tickets from his pocket. “But I also bought ferry tickets. My dad needed the chopper this afternoon,” he explained. “I thought we could take the long way home.”

Baby didn’t know what to say. Cashman Junior stopping at the island’s tiny ferry terminal to buy tickets?

“There’s a car waiting in Boston,” J.P. said. “Unless you want to take the bus?”

Baby grinned. “Not necessary,” she said, feeling like she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She was going home. To a new home. And this time she was actually a tiny bit excited about it.

Hmm . . . wonder why?

A
Gets Everything She Ever Wanted

When Avery woke up she was lying fully dressed in last night’s clothes, on top of her pink bedspread. It was almost noon, she had a pounding headache, and her blond hair was matted to one side of her head. She felt like she had been run over by a truck.

Good morning, Miss Drunky.

She swung her legs off the bed and trudged slowly to her bathroom, desperate for water to get rid of the old-sock taste in her mouth. She opened the door to the adjoining bathroom and almost screamed when she saw herself in the mirror. Her black dress was hopelessly wrinkled and had a weird, scummy stain on the bodice. There was a small chain of bruises around both of her wrists. Terrible images from the previous night flooded her memory. She remembered getting drunk. The police lights flashing. The smell of throw-up on the ivy surrounding the town house as she was escorted out by the cops. She leaned in closer to the honed Carrera vanity and stared at her reflection. She looked like death. Death with a gold necklace on it. A necklace that read
SLOB
.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Edie trilled, walking into her bedroom wearing an all-white jumpsuit that made Avery’s eyes hurt. Edie threw open the gauzy green curtains and opened the window, leaning out and breathing deeply. Avery closed the bathroom door and dove back under her covers before her mother could see what a mess she was. Yes, her mom was always preoccupied, but not so much she wouldn’t notice Avery was in worse shape than the free sculptures Edie picked up off the street.

“How are you feeling?” Edie asked lightly, but there was concern in her voice.

“Not good,” Avery croaked, gripping the covers.

“Want to tell me about it?” Edie sat down on the silky pink duvet cover, stroking Rothko, who had come to say good morning. He nuzzled Avery’s covered feet with his whiskered nose. Edie looked at Avery expectantly. “Actually, you know what?” She stood and wandered out of the room, coming back a minute later with nine red candles. She set them up on the white antique dresser Avery had brought over from Grandmother Avery’s house and lit them one by one.

“This is to wish you luck this year in school, and remove all the bad energy from last night. I heard what happened.”

Avery poked her blond head out from under the Frette duvet, wondering just how much her mother knew.

“I have to say I’m disappointed. Not so much with you three, but more with the whole police system. It seems that things are just different here than when I was growing up.” Edie’s blond brow furrowed as she lit the candles. Avery sat up and looked at her mother in amazement. That was it?

The candle flames moved back and forth in the morning breeze. “I should have done this earlier, but I’ve been so busy.” Edie sighed apologetically.

Avery hid her face under her monogrammed pillowcase. She didn’t want to deal with her mother’s mystic incantations, not today. Couldn’t her mom just be helpful and bring her an Advil?

Or a Bloody Mary?

“Actually, where’s Baby? I’m sure this would help her as well,” Edie said thoughtfully. Avery sat up. Where
was
Baby? She had never even shown up at the party last night, and had ignored all Avery’s texts.

“Um,” she began brilliantly. She pulled her cell phone from under her pillow. Had she slept on it? Ugh. There were no messages from Baby, only one from Sydney.

KILLER PARTY—I KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU!
Avery buried her phone under the covers again. If the Constance Billard freak thought it was a great party, her social life
must
be over.

“Where is she?” Edie pressed. “I didn’t see her this morning.”

“She’s at . . . a protest,” Avery babbled, not sure where the lie was coming from. She thought of Sydney. “About . . . wallabies in captivity. Like at the zoo.” Wallabies? Was she still drunk?

Quite possibly.

“Oh!” Edie said. “She must have taken my conversation to heart!”

Avery looked at her mother, surprised.

“She’s found a cause,” Edie explained vaguely, waving a turquoise-laden hand.

“I guess so,” Avery mumbled.

“But then she won’t be at the brunch,” Edie observed, sounding disappointed.
And I just lost the only other vote in the election,
Avery realized. As if it even mattered after last night’s disaster. “I’ve so been looking forward to reconnecting with my old high school friends. Although, come to think of it, we never really got along in high school,” Edie sighed. “Will you be ready in ten minutes?”

When Avery dragged her unshowered, Lilly Pulitzer dress–wearing self out of a cab and into Tavern on the Green behind her mother, her stomach had only slightly settled and her head was still pounding. The lights at Tavern on the Green were twinkling, and the girls were all assembled in the Crystal room, which had huge floor-to-ceiling windows and felt a bit like a greenhouse. The room was filled with round, white linen–draped tables topped with arrangements of lilies and white orchids, and pure sunlight streamed through the windows. Normally, it would have looked pretty, but viewed with a hangover, the whole setting seemed like some sort of torture device. Around them, girls wearing enormous Gucci sunglasses stumbled over to the linen-covered table where the SLBO votes were being cast. There, a Tiffany blue box with a hole cut in the top was overflowing with ballots—all of them no doubt calling for Jack Laurent to be SLBO. Avery wondered if she should even bother to put her own vote in and decided against it. That would be too, too pathetic.

“I wonder if I should talk to Mrs. McLean about setting up some sort of artistic endowment from your grandmother’s trust,” Edie mused, looking around the room. She was clad in a flowy blue dress she had hand-dyed herself. “It would be great to encourage creative expression. Everyone here looks the same.” She frowned in disappointment at the crowd of hungover, sunglasses-wearing, simple sundress–clad girls.

Edie guided Avery toward the round tables, looking for their place cards. “Edie Carlyle!” A skinny brown-haired woman accosted them. “Gwendolyn Bennett.” She held out one hand dripping with gold Cartier bangles. “I have to say you look as . . . artistic as ever,” she said, looking Edie up and down. “And this must be one of your daughters?” Avery smiled tightly as Gwendolyn scrutinized her through small, rodentlike eyes.

“Oh, hello, Gwendolyn. I remember you so well,” Edie pulled the woman in and kissed her on both cheeks. “This is Avery. My other daughter, Baby, is at some sort of wallaby protest. Apparently they’re treated just dreadfully in zoos. Can you imagine?”

“Taking up the cause as ever.” Gwendolyn was saccharinely sweet, and Edie mashed her lips together in a thin line. “My daughter, Jiffy, is in school with both your daughters, and I’ve heard so much about them, I feel as if I know them.” She smiled down at Avery, who grimaced. She’d known coming to this event would be a disaster. Couldn’t she just die in peace? She excused herself and walked into the adjoining room, where girls were nursing mimosas and whispering quietly amongst themselves.

“So, I heard she was so totally hammered at her party that she ended up peeing herself,” Jiffy murmured, sitting at a table next to Sarah Jane and Sarah Jane’s rail-thin mother, whom Avery recognized from countless fashion websites.

“I know.” Sarah Jane nodded. “And I heard she’s probably going to jail, but, like, her mom doesn’t know how bad it is yet. They’re trying to find a lawyer, but no one will even touch the case.” Sarah Jane’s tiny gray eyes darted over to Avery, who walked by them with her head held high. She wished she hadn’t donated all her NHS sweatshirts to Goodwill as soon as she had found out she was moving, because she kind of wanted to move back to that quiet island where nothing happened, lock herself in the attic, and raise emus.

Groups of girls were walking over to the election table, presided over by some frizzy-haired sophomore. Avery casually walked past the table, but even the sophomore glared at her as if Avery would contaminate the elections if she came too close.

“Oh, there you are.” Edie put her arm around Avery’s shoulder and mercifully led her away from the ballot box. “I found our table, and some of the other ladies there are absolutely fascinated by Baby’s work with wallabies. Would you mind going over and speaking to them?” Avery rolled her eyes miserably, trying not to recoil as an army of black-vested waiters delivered heaping plates of daffodil-colored scrambled eggs to each table.

She sat down, trying not to retch on the silver-plated tableware and crisp, ivory-colored napkins. Beside her, Edie was animatedly talking to some truck-shaped girl’s mother about indigenous animals. A tiny, ancient woman wearing a black knit St. John suit stepped up to Avery, scrutinizing the dorky name tag taped to her chest.

“You must be Avery Carlyle’s granddaughter,” she said in a raspy voice. Avery could feel droplets of spit land near her ear as she whirled around and nodded. She doubted her grandmother would want to be related to her anymore. The woman smiled pleasantly.

“Muffy St. Clair.” She extended her hand to Avery. “Your grandmother and I got into a lot of trouble back in our day. It was up to her to keep the city interesting. I certainly hope you follow in her footsteps,” she said, clinking her glass of Veuve against Avery’s Pellegrino. Even thinking about alcohol nearly caused Avery to heave.

“Thanks.” Avery smiled awkwardly.

“See?” From a few tables away, Sarah Jane poked Jiffy hard in the ribs. “She’s trying to become BFFs with the alumni board so they’ll let her stay at Constance.”

Genevieve’s mother, Blanche, sidled up to them. “Poor girl,” she murmured. “And look at her mother.” She pointed over to Edie, who was making a beeline for Mrs. McLean. “She’s trying to beg for her daughter to stay in school. So sad, really.” Blanche escorted Genevieve up to the bar, where they both ordered Ketel One, straight up.

Avery looked around for a friendly face and noticed Sydney angrily sitting next to a black-clad, incredibly buttoned-up-looking woman with collarbones jutting out from under her navy cashmere sweater. Jack Laurent was seated beside a ruddy, older man in an oatmeal-colored linen suit and a baby blue shirt, looking at his Rolex and tapping his foot. He looked terribly out of place, since it
was
a mother-daughter brunch.

Muffy St. Clair took the stage, with Mrs. McLean assisting her every white vintage–Ferragamoed step. She tapped the microphone, which let out a loud screech.

“Welcome, Constance students, alums, and parents, to the annual mother-daughter brunch. To begin the festivities, it is an honor and a privilege to announce the winner for the student liaison to the board of overseers.” Muffy scanned the audience. “Back when Constance Billard was first founded, it prided itself on a tradition of excellence. Constance students are looked to as pillars of grace, poise, and intellect,” she began slowly. People in the crowd resumed muffled talking. Avery covertly took her mother’s mimosa, wanting to get started on numbing the pain before Jack Laurent’s name was called. She took a sip and nearly yakked.

“The student liaison will ensure that this excellence continues long into the future,” Muffy continued. The room became hushed once more. Even the waiters stood back from the tables in anticipation. Mrs. M smiled tightly, anxious to get the brunch over with. Muffy slowly pulled out her reading glasses from her quilted Chanel purse and slid one wrinkled finger under the envelope flap. “And the winner is a name I know all too well.” Avery looked up sharply and saw Jack take her linen napkin from her lap and place it on the table, poised to stand in acceptance.

“Avery Carlyle.” Muffy’s face broke into a broad grin. Avery looked around the silent room, completely stunned. A moment passed, then Edie put her fingers in her mouth and gave a piercing wolf whistle.

Avery stood up and walked to the stage as if in a dream. She looked out into the sea of faces as the crowd murmured and began to clap.

“If you’re half as high-spirited as your grandmother, I’m looking forward to a wonderful year,” Muffy said in a crackly, high-pitched voice and winked at Avery. If she hadn’t been afraid of breaking one of Muffy’s brittle bones, Avery would have hugged her. Instead, she shook her hand vigorously and grabbed the mic. “Thanks!” she squeaked, looking out to the crowd. “I’m thrilled to lead the Constance Billard community!” Then she clattered down the steps, feeling like she was floating.

“Oh my God, congratulations.” Sydney squeezed through the crowd to meet Avery at the side of the makeshift stage and hugged her tightly. “The necklaces? Fucking genius!” Sydney squealed, holding her
A = SLOB
necklace up. It caught the light from outside, and Avery looked around, noticing similar sparkles from every table. “You made such an exit last night. You’re a fucking rock star!”

Avery squeezed her eyes shut, her hangover suddenly gone. This wasn’t a dream. Her party had been a success, albeit in a crash-and-burn type of way, and girls were wearing her necklaces. They really
did
like her! Maybe her stomach
could
handle one little glass of champagne.

Or a bottle. Keep the rock star image up.

“Congratulations, Avery,” Mrs. M boomed into the microphone.

Jack abruptly scraped her chair back from the table, thinking she might be sick. “What?” she murmured, almost involuntarily.

“I thought they were announcing
you
for this position, Jacqueline,” her father whispered angrily.

“I—” Jack’s voice came out in a squeak.

“Call me when you’re really ready to stop playing games, Jacqueline. You lied, and I’m disappointed in you.” Her father walked out, nearly colliding with a waiter holding a full tray of champagne. Jack glanced up at Avery, waving to everyone as if she had just been crowned Miss America.

Jack looked around, but no one seemed to be on her side. Even fucking Jiffy was wearing the
A = SLOB
necklace, half obscured by the ridiculous Hermès scarf she’d tied around her neck. It looked like a weird leash.