Girls We Love (15 page)

Flan nodded, and then SBB dragged her forward into the crowd and toward the bar. “Ignore her,” Liv
heard SBB saying. “You'll have as much sparkling apple juice as you want.”

Just then, Liv spotted Patch's friend Jonathan. He was wearing a white blazer and a black T-shirt over some stylish jeans, and he was surveying the crowd. His eyes fell on Flan for a minute, and then he looked a little confused, and his eyes kept on roving. When he saw Liv, he smiled and waved.

Liv tried to think quickly. It was possible that Jonathan knew where Patch was, but it was equally possible that he would just distract her and want to talk about Flan or, worst case scenario, he would know about that whole David slippage, and would somehow bring that up. So Liv decided that the best way to avoid that kind of negative contact was to bring maximum attention to herself. She shimmied to the center of the dance floor, where the most eyes and the most lights were on her, and started grinding with the first guy she saw.

When she looked up, she saw the slender face and wisps of dirty-blond hair that had decorated Flan's wall. Leland something or other. “Well,
awwwright
,” he said, after he'd looked Liv up and down. Liv smiled right back. Because it wouldn't hurt anybody to send a subtle little signal that this was her big night, too, right? And that she was the most glamorous eighth grader on the block.

“Well, don't you look lovely?”

Liesel looked behind her in the mirror, and saw her mother standing in the doorway. “Thanks, Mom,” Liesel said, and ran her fingers through her hair. She was wearing a little black dress with a deep V-neck that showed off the flat, pale middle of her chest.

“Are you going to see that Wildenburger boy?”

“Well, tonight's the Candy party and he's my date. So, yes, I guess I am.”

“I just think that's fabulous, darling,” her mother said. She moved her hand from her hip to her ear, which rattled all the gold bracelets on her wrist. The noise wasn't really that loud, but Liesel found it deeply irritating because everything her mother did lately was deeply irritating.

“Mom, I'm going to be late…,” Liesel said, turning to look at her mother in her all-white pant-suited glory.

“Yes, dear, you get ready. But don't forget to tell
Arno to tell his mother that they're invited for family dinner, and that my assistant will be calling with potential dates.” Her mother smiled, sending ripples of elegant smile lines along her cheeks. “Ciao, darling.”

Liesel had been working her butt off promoting the Candy party, and she wanted to have fun tonight, but she was still furious with Arno for messing up his big chance at fixing his image. She didn't want to hang out with him tonight, or ever again, really, much less with his whole stupid family. She thought about how little she wanted to see him all the way to the West Side. Her car pulled up in front of the Wildenburgers' Chelsea loft building, and she examined her nails until Arno had gotten in the car and given her the requisite kiss on the cheek.

“You look nice,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him and made a guttural little noise of disapproval. “You look like one of those, what do you call them? Singer-songwriters,” she said.

Arno looked down at his corduroy blazer and stretched-out-at-the-neck army green T-shirt. “I don't get it,” he said.

“I mean I got you that whole Rogan outfit. You couldn't even try that for one night?” she said, and looked away. Then they both stared out the window until they got to the club.

“Oh shit,” Arno said. “The media.”

“What's your problem with the media?” Liesel said. She opened her compact and checked her face.

“Oh, you know, that whole Hottest Private-School Boy thing.” Arno sniffed disgustedly. “The press just wasn't that nice to me is all.”

“Yes, Awno,” Liesel snapped, “I do know. I remember. In fact, I was trying to
fix
your whole problem with the media so you wouldn't have to go around like a wounded little puppy all the time, but
nooooo
, you couldn't handle somebody doing something nice for you. Some people just can't handle the riches fate has handed them, can they?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Arno said, putting his hands up defensively. “Chill, lady. All I'm saying is what's going on out there is shallow, and I'm not just riffing, I'm saying that I have personal experience with this shit that goes so deep, maybe you can't understand it.”

“Fine, Awno, whatever. For tonight, I will pretend like you didn't totally just embarrass me by not showing up at the Bowery and partying with rock stars. But this is work for me, okay? This is professional. So if you could keep your soul-searching, poetry-loving mumbo jumbo to yourself for just a little bit, I'd appreciate it. Got that?”

“Fine, whatever,” Arno huffed.

Then he got out of the car, walked around it, and
opened her door. He took Liesel's hand, and together they stepped into the crowd like the super hot scions-of-art-money couple they were.

“Liesel! Liesel!” one reporter yelled. “You've been building buzz for Candy for DeeDee. Do you think it's a success?”

“You're here, aren't you?” Liesel said as she breezed by.

“Arno, does this mean you're staging a post-HPSB comeback?” another reporter yelled. Arno held up his hand to shield himself from the unpleasant questions.

“I can't believe you even had to ask,” Liesel yelled. It was weird how second nature this was for her, making Arno look good. “He's so
obviously
hot again.”

Arno put his arm around her and smiled rakishly at the crowd. “Whatever Liesel says must be true, right?” Arno called out good-naturedly. Then he buried his nose in her hair. For a brief moment, Liesel was reminded of the Arno she used to know—the gorgeous publicity hound Arno. Of course, that made his whole quest for depth thing that much more painful. The photographers, and the crowd pushing up behind them, let out a big “Awwwww!” They loved it, of course.

“Time for us to enjoy the party!” Liesel called. She put her arm around Arno and gave him a tug. Someone out in the crowd yelled, “Arno and Liesel, you look like
you were born for each other!” And then they were swept through a wall of large men wearing all black and speaking into mouthpieces.

Liesel shook Arno off of her. “That was unpleasant,” she said, pushing her hair around her shoulders.

“Tell me about it,” he said.

“I mean, pretending that I even like you anymore is painful,” she said.

The courtyard that was Candy was full of movement. They were playing some ridiculously catchy song that Liesel couldn't quite place—the Black Eyed Peas, maybe?—and that had gotten the crowd going. Deb, one of DeeDee's five assistants, appeared and gave Liesel a robotically quick kiss on each cheek. “Party's going fine, Liesel, good job,” she said.

“Thanks,” Liesel said. “Looks like all that work paid off.”

“Yeah, anyway, can you pay attention to that Flan chick? I'm afraid that dress you got her is going to get messed up. And the last thing you want to do is piss off Marc's people.”

“Sure, catch you later.” Liesel gave her a big fake smile and turned back to Arno.

“That was real deep, hon,” he said sarcastically.

“Shut up,” Liesel said, dragging him toward the bar. “I need a drink, then I'll deal with you.”

“Drink?” Arno said. “I could use one, too.”

Liesel pushed people aside as she approached the bar, which had been specially built inside a gigantic strawberry ice cream cone. Once she'd stepped under the ice cream cone roof, she was hit by a nasty case of memory. All the bottles of energy drinks and special waters were lit up by little lights, and the bartender had a ring of candy necklaces around her neck. Liesel could smell Arno right behind her.

“What's the matter?” he said.

“This is a bar,” she said slowly, “that has a policy against stiff drinks.”

“What?” Arno said. “I mean, what kind of a club is this?”

Liesel crossed her arms and laughed bitterly. “This is going to be a long night,” she said.

“Arrgh!” Mickey shouted. The music was so loud that only Philippa could hear him.

“What's the matter!” she yelled.

“This song! Every time I hear this song it gets stuck in my head for like a week!”

“Where are your friends?” Philippa yelled. She knew that Mickey was allergic to the Black Eyed Peas, and she didn't want to have this conversation with him again.

“I don't know, but they must be hiding,” Mickey shouted back. “Otherwise you would be able to see them against all the pastel.”

It was very pastel out there. All the people in Candy-land looked really healthy and happy and like they had just washed their faces, which was weird for a nightclub. Girls on roller skates were going around with trays full of some sort of beverage.

“Oooohhh … hold it, hold it,” Mickey said. He nodded to himself, getting into the rhythm, and then he grabbed one of the roller girls by her apron strings.

“Hey, watch it!” she yelled. She turned to Mickey with all her teeth showing, but when she saw who it was, she softened. “Mickey Pardo, long time no see.”

“Hey Ula,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “What happened to your gig at Bungalow?”

Philippa stepped up and held Mickey's hand, just so that everybody was clear.

“Oh, they fired me for dancing on the bar,” she said disgustedly. “And they call that a club. Now I'm in this place, what a joke! Anyway, here, enjoy.” She handed two of the tall glasses from her tray to Mickey and Philippa. They were filled with a lemon-colored liquid and mint sprigs. “I'm surprised to see you here, actually,” she said. “Toodles,” she called as she skated away.

“That was weird,” Philippa said.

“Yeah, anyway,” Mickey said. He took a long pull of his beverage. “Hey, this is lemonade!”

“I guess this isn't your lucky day.” Philippa giggled. “Except, you know, getting me back. Come on, let's find your friends.”

They kept walking through the crowd, but they had gotten to the center where the dance floor was, and the people were so packed and enthusiastic in that area that it was hard to move.

“Can you believe how much these people love this stupid song?” Mickey asked.

“Holy shit,” Philippa said. She had Mickey by the arm to steady her, but she still couldn't believe what she was seeing. “Look! It's Leland Brinker. I saw him at the Bitter End once, but now he's all famous.”

“You still go in for that kind of cowboy junk? Even though you're a lesbian?” They both giggled, and then Mickey said, “Wait a sec, you mean that guy who's dancing with Liv?”

“Who's Liv?” Philippa wrinkled her nose.

“You know, we met her last Saturday at that party in Central Park. She's friends with Patch's little sister, she's hot… I mean, you're a lesbian! I'd think you would notice these things!”

“Enough with the lesbian jokes.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, whoever that is, she's practically humping Leland Brinker…,” Philippa said. When she turned, she saw that Mickey had been distracted by his old friend Patch. They were giving each other high-fives.

“Hey, Philippa,” Patch said in that totally unsurprised way of his. He was wearing a worn blue T-shirt that said ALOHA on it and brought out his eyes, and jeans that were ripped at the knee. “It's nice to have you back.”

“Thanks, Patch,” Philippa said.

“Aw, damn,” Patch said. Philippa looked at Patch, and for the first time in all the time she'd known him, he looked kind of uncomfortable. “It's Liv,” he said. “That girl is psycho. Listen, I'm going to have to bail here, but I just got a call from the guys saying they're at one of the picnic tables in the back…”

“Paaaatttcchhhh!!!”
The girl who had just been dancing with Leland Brinker came bounding across several low-lying couches. She was wearing a white strapless dress that looked somehow too delicate on her, like it might be torn apart by her animal energy. She nearly knocked Patch over with the force of her hug. Then she saw Mickey and Philippa and she moved to control herself. “Hi,” she said to them.

“Hi,” they said back.

“Patch,” Liv said in a voice that was trying to be a whisper but wasn't making it, “do they know yet?”

“Know what?” Patch said, inching away from her. “What are you talking about?”

“Understood,” she said, smiling up at him like he was an underwear model on a Times Square billboard. “By the way, that thing back there with the songwriter? I was just trying to make you jealous.” Then she dashed back onto the dance floor, where a cheer of “Go, Liv! Go, Liv! Go, Liv!” went up.

“Yeah, she's a wack job,” Mickey said.

“You don't even know the half of it.”

“Can we go see our guys now?” Mickey asked.

The three of them pushed through to the other side of the dance floor. There were a few powder blue picnic tables clearly visible, but they were all filled with people they didn't know. Finally they got to the end of the row, and saw that there was one shrouded in candy trees. They walked under the Skittles-laden branches, and that was when they saw their friends. Jonathan looked slick and carefully dressed as usual, and David was wearing a navy hoodie and jeans, and his big frame was hunched over the table. He looked like an aggressively average dude.

“Hey, Jonathan,” Patch said, extending a hand to his friend. “Have you seen Flan?”

“No, man, Liesel must be hiding her in a closet for later or something. I saw her friend Liv, though, she's out there, so Flan must be somewhere.”