Get Ready for War (33 page)

“I
just got word you were slapped down to the floor,” Kitty said, barging into my room, disrupting my moment. I was lying back on my chocolate leather chaise with my eyes sealed shut from crying and a Wagyu steak pressed up against the side of my swollen and bruised face. I still couldn't believe Bearzilla had swung her paw at me. “Why in God's name do you have a steak up on your face?”

I lazily lifted one eyelid open, bringing Kitty into tear-clouded view. I was in no mood for her or her foolery. “Really, Mother?” I said with annoyance. “Because my face is black-and-blue, and steaks are supposed to heal the bruising faster. Why else do
you
think I'd have a steak on my face?”

She tilted her head. “A cooked steak, Spencer?”

I breathed out an aggravated sigh. I swear, with all of her billions, Kitty could be so dizzy at times. I frowned at her. “You can't possibly think I was going to put a raw steak on my face and end up with E. coli. I don't think so. I had Jean Paul broil it.”

She blinked, then sauntered over toward me. “Okay, dear, if you say so. Now, up, up. Let's assess the damage done.”

I opened my other eye and stared at her. “And why do you want to do that?”

“Why else, darling? I want to see what the next line of attack needs to be.”

I huffed, removing the steak. Kitty tilted my head, taking in the paw print stamped in my face. She clapped her hands, her diamond bangles clanking to a beat of their own excitement. “Yes, darling, yes, yes, yes ... that Rich Montgomery did you good and dirty. This is perfect! Being home is working out better than I thought.”

“Whaaat?!”
I screeched. “How dare you take joy in seeing what that whore did to me? How can you stand there and say such a thing, Mother?” I slung the steak across the room, then screamed at her in French. “
Pourquoi avez-vous tant de haine pour moi, Mère?!
Why?”

“Nonsense, I do not take joy in what that child did to you...” She paused, walking over to the intercom and pressing a button.

“Yes, Missus Ellington?”

“Consuela, be a dear and bring me up an ice pack to Spencer's suite.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Kitty turned back to me. “I, my darling, am rejoicing in all of the endless possibilities this little situation has created. Now if you wish for me to understand a word you just said to me in French, then you will need to speak to me in English, dear. Now what is it you were screaming about?”

Tears welled up in my eyes again. “I want to know why you have so much hate for me, Mother. Why? Everyone hates me. First Heather turned on me for her precious drugs. Now Rich has turned on me for that Upper East Side scallywag.”

She scowled at me. “Hate you? Don't be foolish. And stop with the tears. Where in the world would you get such an idea that I hate you? I don't hate you. No, darling. I love you. But I am appalled that you want to sit here and cry because your feelings were hurt; because you were slapped and embarrassed. Darling, that is one of the best things that could have ever happened to you.”

“What?! You can't be serious!”

Consuela knocked on the door, then entered when Kitty acknowledged for her to do so, handing her an ice pack. Consuela glanced over at me, then parted her lips in a slight smile; one of pity, I'm sure.

“Oh, Consuela, please fetch that steak that my darling daughter tossed over on the other side of the room.” Kitty and I eyed her as she did what she was told, then waited for her to walk out, closing the door behind her. Kitty walked over and sat on the edge of the chaise, placing the ice pack on the side of my face.

I flinched.

“Thank goodness your face is only bruised and swollen. You'll be as good as new and gorgeous as ever in time for the masquerade ball. I already FedEx-ed the party planner the remaining balance you owed toward the party.”

“Well, that's too bad because, after what Rich did to me, I'm not going to that stupid party.”

“Oh, you most certainly will. Your dress is already being designed. And your mask is already being jeweled with the finest pieces. You will walk into that ballroom and make everyone's mouths drop with envy. Do you hear me?”

“But Rich hates me.”

She shook me by the shoulders. “Spencer, have you not heard a word I've said? The best games are always played with your enemies.”

Tears fell from my eyes.

“I don't want enemies. I want friends. I'm tired of this. I want to go back to Switzerland.”

She huffed. “Oh, now you want to embarrass me further by being a runaway. Mmmph. Don't have me slap the other side of your face. Stop being so selfish and so hardheaded, Spencer! And for once do what I tell you. You keep making this more difficult than it has to be.

“Oh no, darling . . . like I said. You will go to that party. Psychological warfare is in full effect. You are amongst little girls, my dear, who want to go up against you. And they need to be taught well. They are all talk, smoke and mirrors. But you, my sweet, darling Spencer, are an Ellington. The daughter of Kitty Ellington, heir to a billion-dollar throne, and the one thing I did not give birth to is a failure, or someone who quits. And I'll be damned if you will shame me. Even in your worst moments you are expected to do your damned best. Do you understand me?”

“But Rich slapped me behind something that I know London told her. That whore has turned my best friend against me. And put her up to smacking me in front of the whole class. I've never been so humiliated in my entire life.”

Kitty stared at me, then sighed. “Get over it. Once again, have you not learned anything from me? I have raised you to be the Ace of Spades of messy. And look at you. Sitting here looking pathetic. All this crying is ridiculous. Have you really allowed them to take everything from you? Your dignity? Your self-respect? Have you no shame, Spencer? When she slapped you, you should have gotten up with a smile, shook her hand, and thanked her for declaring war. Those girls want to play dirty, then get dirty with them.”

“I just want to be left alone.”

Kitty dropped the ice pack in my lap. “You know what, Spencer? I'm getting real sick of your insolence. All those other girls are just like their mothers, cut from the same cloth. But you keep giving me a hard time. Listen to me. You think Rich Montgomery goes to school for an education? Absolutely not! Her wretched mother expects her to marry wealthy and become some miserable house trophy like her. And do you really think London Phillips is supposed to be at Hollywood High? No, dear. She's supposed to be on a Parisian runway, gracing the covers of fashion magazines like her mother. But that girl can't seem to shake off fifteen pounds of baby fat,
pun
intended.”

I blinked, tilting my head.

She continued. “And Heather. Do you really think Camille has Heather on my show to make a difference? Of course not! It's about her being a star; about her continuing to be seen. It doesn't matter if she stays high on pills. All Camille cares about is that Heather becomes the next hottest actress in Hollywood. So you see. All of those girls know the rules. Even if they don't like them, they fall in line. But you, my darling daughter, keep giving me a hard time. And it's really starting to press on my nerves. I don't know what I'm going to do with you. You are gorgeous, smart, and witty, Spencer. And you have the world at your fingertips.”

I tossed her an incredulous look. I sniffled.

“Yeah right . . .”

“Listen to me, Spencer.” She leaned in. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“Good! Now pay attention and let your mother lead you to greatness. First thing, learn to keep your mouth shut. Never let your friends or your enemies know what you're thinking or planning to do. Do not give out more than what is needed. Learn to conceal your intentions. Then strike when they least expect it. Second, learn to use your enemies. An enemy can become your best ally . . .”

I blinked.

“Spencer, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Third, nobody ever gives you power or respect. And stabbing everyone in the back to get it is not how you do it. You want power, you want respect . . . you pretend to surrender, then you take it! Now here's your next move . . .”

 

“I'm so glad you came,” Heather said, releasing me from a hug as we air-kissed. “I didn't think you would. It's really good to see you.”

After what happened to me yesterday, I took what Kitty had said and decided to turn the battle into a full-fledged war. But first I had to come waving a white flag in Heather's face. Like Kitty said, I needed an ally.

Heather stepped back, and we took each other in. Her thick hair was pulled back into a wiry ponytail. And it looked like she had lost weight. Five, maybe ten pounds more than she could afford. Girlie was all boobs and no booty-bags. And she didn't even have on a coat of makeup. I had almost forgotten what she really looked like without all that war paint on her face. Even though she was skinny as sin and didn't have one swervy curve on her body, she was still a very pretty girl. She was just real ugly on the inside. Almost like a pretty wrapped present that gets opened and there's nothing but a bunch of poop inside. Still, there was something different about Heather. She looked . . . mature.

Maybe it's from grabbing her ankles
, I thought, taking a seat across from her.

“Ohmygod,” she gasped, covering her mouth with a hand. “What happened to your face?”

“That cow London set me up. Told Rich a bunch of lies, and the dumb whore believed her and attacked me in finance class. Then Rich had the nerve to stand over me and threaten my life. And you know I don't take kindly to threats. But not to worry. I'm gonna milk London's breadbox if it's the last thing I do.”

Heather blinked, blinked again. “OMG, they stole on you?”

I frowned. “
Stole
on me? They didn't steal anything from me. You know I don't do thieves. Those two whores are a lot of things, but I don't think they're filchers. Even as broke as London is, I don't think she'd stoop that low to steal from me. So where you got that from is beyond me. I told you, Rich hit me.”

Heather gave me a blank stare.

“Well, why didn't you spray her down when she hit you?”

“She caught me off guard. By the time I realized what was happening I was already on the floor. And I had just put a fresh can of Mace in my bag, too. This is the second time they've ambushed me and caught me off guard. The last time London put Rich up to attacking me, I was trapped in a car down in that ditch. This time, they waited until I was in class and my handbag was tucked under my seat.”

“Spencer, I think you're giving London way too much credit. I don't think Rich is that much of a follower.”

“Oh no. Heather. You don't know Rich like I do. And I think you've been locked up too long. I don't give out credit. I'm cash only. And trust me, London has none. I know she put Rich up to it.”

“Well, what did you do to her?”

I gave her a look of disbelief. “Heather, how dare you! I didn't do anything to that ... that Jenny Craig fraud. That bone cleaner, Miss Hot Wings And Blue Cheese.”

Heather gave me a confused look, then shrugged. “Well, how do you know it was London who was behind this?”

I snorted. “Ugh. Because she's a jealous lowlife who's miserable. She's nothing. Mad because she can't lose enough weight to hit the runway. The only thing she'll ever hit is a street corner. That pork roll has been nothing but problems ever since she stepped her big snout in Hollywood. She couldn't stand my friendship with Rich. Always flapping her jaws talking about me and
you
. And you never did anything to her, Heather. So the last thing you should be doing is underestimating her. Trust me. She hides her hate behind her oversized Chanels. That whore is a conniving, undercover snake who likes to grin in your face, then stab you in the back.

“And there's a video uploaded on the Internet. And of course, once again . . . I've gone viral. My phone has been ringing off the hook. My e-mail has been flooded with all kinds of nastiness saying I deserved it. That I got what my hand called for. And my hand can't even speak. How crazy is that? My hand didn't do a dang thing to her.”

Heather looked away, then looked up at the ceiling as if she was looking for her thoughts there. Or maybe she wanted to count the cobwebs in the corner.

“It was all lies, Heather. I did nothing for her to turn on me like that.”

“Spencer,” she said, bringing her attention back to me, “that doesn't matter. People don't give a damn about that . . .” She paused. It looked as if she wanted to cry. She dabbed the corner of her eye with the end of her sleeve. “All they care about is what you did do. You can do a million things right and one thing wrong and you're finished. They'll only remember that one indiscretion. Everything else that ever mattered to you no longer matters to them. You become marked.” She took a deep breath, then blew it out, shaking her head. “One day I was in every teen magazine. I had dolls named after me. I had fans who adored me. I had everything. Hell, I even had books written about me. And a boomin' television show. And was about to have my own cartoon show. And now I only have tabloid attention. Why? Because I partied too hard? Is that really a crime? For Christ's sake, I did Adderall. Not crack. Not heroin. Not even weed. All I wanted was a little slice of heaven, just a pinch of good times; a notch up from a hookah.”