Girls We Love (7 page)

“Holy herd of cows!” Mickey yelled, standing up excitedly.

“What the fuck?” the drag queen in the middle of the room said. He stopped his routine and looked from the fallen Madonna to Sonya and back again. Sonya looked like she was trying not to laugh. Finally the drag queen said, “What in hell did you do to Richard? Get out of here, you little
hussy.
”

Suddenly the lights went up, and a lot of mean-looking drag queens were staring Sonya down.

“We gotta get out of here,” Philippa said.

“Good idea,” Stella said.

Mickey ran up and grabbed Sonya by the hand and pulled her out of the bar with Philippa and Stella close behind.

Much later, when Stella had gone home to study for her summer class, Philippa found herself on another bridge with Sonya and Mickey. They were more or less at the bottom of a fifth of Cuervo and a hint of the sun was making their view of the East River all golden, from the point where it flowed out from under the Williamsburg Bridge.

At some point Philippa had gotten tired of hearing about how much fun Sonya and Mickey thought each other were, so she started talking about her relationship. She hadn't been able to stop.

“She's so smart and cool and I just”—Philippa knew she sounded drunk, but she kept on with it—“
love
her soooo much.”

“You do not,” Sonya said sharply, but with a smile. She was pressing her abdomen against the metal railing of the bridge, and leaning into the dewy, salty air. “Love her, I mean.”

Philippa knew, even in her tequila-fogged state, that Sonya was telling the truth. And she hated her for it.

After a Grobart family Monday night dinner of thin-crust veggie pizza and grape juice spritzers, Sara-Beth Benny—who had moved back in to the Grobarts' West Village apartment after reconnecting with their son Saturday night—pulled David into his room and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Your mom seems so happy,” she said, smiling up at him.

“My mom?” David said. “Um, why?”

“Oh, you know,” SBB said, inhaling the nice, clean-but-still-a-little-sweaty smell David always had after basketball practice and a shower. She loved that smell. It smelled like real guy, as opposed to all those overly manicured boys she knew in the TV business. “Because the family is back together… I just think she seemed so at peace tonight, having all of us around her.”

“I don't think Mom …,” David started. “Um, never mind. I'm sure you're right.”

“I know I'm right,” SBB said, grabbing at David's T-shirt, “which is why I'm so afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Well”—SBB opened her blue eyes at David—“I need some girl time.”

“Girl time?”

“Yeah, with my new friends. Flan and Lynn.”

“Lynn?” David said, twisting a little bit so that SBB had to let go of his shirt. “You mean Liv?”

“Right, Liv,” SBB said. “Oh, you're annoyed, aren't you? But listen, because I can't see any of my old friends, I really need to spend some time with my new girlfriends. Is that okay with you and Mom? I mean, you and Hilary?”

“Yeah,” David said, “sure, that's cool. Go hang with Liv. And Flan. Flan and Liv.”

“Okay,” SBB said. “Are you sure? It's really okay if… ”

“No, go… go…,” David said, taking SBB's two small hands in his, squeezing them, and then letting them go.

“Oh no!” she wailed, covering her face with her hands. “You
are
mad!”

“No, no, no!” David waved at her, like he was trying to direct traffic in a snowstorm. “Not mad, not mad!”

She peeked through her fingers. “Really?”

“No! I mean, yes! Please, go, have fun. I'm okay. Really.”

A smile broke out over Sara-Beth's face, and she threw her arms around David again, this time at his middle. “David, you are such… a good…
mmmph
… guy.”

“Thanks,” David said, petting her head. “I'm going to go catch the beginning of the Yankees game on TV, okay? Say bye when you leave?”

“Okay.” Sara-Beth beamed a smile up at David—good, understanding David.

“Oh, and by the way, I might come by Patch's later. Might not happen, but Arno and I were talking about going over there tonight. But don't worry, I know not to crowd,” David said, taking a deep breath. “You won't even know I'm there.”

Sara-Beth threw on a low-key Barneys black knit poncho over tight black leggings, and then put her black wig back on. She waved good-bye to the Grobarts, who looked like the light was about to go out of their lives—sometimes, she felt like they needed her as much as she needed them, but only sometimes. Then she hurried down to her waiting limo. On the way to Flan's house, she made the driver pull over for a bottle of Baileys and three packages of tamari-flavored rice crisps.

When SBB got to the Floods', she was greeted on the steps by her two new younger girlfriends.

“Hi!” Flan said, jumping up and kissing SBB on either cheek.

“Hello, sweetie,” SBB said. “You look just gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” Flan said, brushing her brownish hair over her ear and looking sort of embarrassed by the compliment. She ducked her head when she talked, which SBB knew from her movement class signified humility. “This is my friend Liv, who I told you about.”

Liv extended her hand forcefully. “It's such an honor,” she said. “I mean, your spread in
W
? The Mumbai look? My total fashion inspiration for all of second-semester eighth grade!”

“That's nice of you to say,” SBB said, lowering her voice and looking around to make sure nobody on Perry Street was watching. “But I'm really not here to be my celebrity self. This is just me, okay?”

“Okay,” Flan said, ushering her into the house and then up the stairs. “We made cookies, too, so you can feel really normal!”

SBB felt her heart clutch a little. “Oh… thanks. You girls are terrible, though! I have to be camera-ready in like under two weeks!”

“Oh, that's okay!” Flan said quickly.

“Yeah, we can just donate them to homeless people or something,” Liv added.

“I brought rice crisps,” SBB added hopefully as they came off the third-floor landing into Flan's room,
which was all normal and covered with pillows and fashion mags. “Oh my God, this is perfect!” SBB said, throwing herself into the big comfy sleigh bed in the middle of the room. Then she noticed the collage of pictures of Leland Brinker on the wall behind the bed, most of them from the album sleeve of his debut album,
Peppermint Girls on the Brink.

Sara-Beth raised her eyebrows at Flan. “Leland Brinker, huh?”

“Who's Leland Brinker?” Liv asked.

“Oh, you know,” Flan said bashfully, “he's that folk prot
é
g
é
. He's like eighteen but he sounds like Bob Dylan and hangs out with Norah Jones and people like that.”

“I hooked up with him, you know,” Sara-Beth said, sitting up. “Leland, I mean.”

“You know that's been there forever,” Flan said, suddenly even more embarrassed by her bedroom wall collage. “I really meant to take it down by now.”

“Don't be embarrassed, he's hot!” Sara-Beth said impulsively. For some reason, she felt a strong urge to make Flan feel okay about everything. “But not as hot as David,” she added.

Liv and Flan came and sat gingerly on the bed. “How long have you been with David?” Liv asked. “If you don't mind my asking.”

“Oh my God, not long at all, but it's like so… ” Sara-Beth felt all warm inside at the mention of David,
and her eyes glazed over as she tried to think of some good way of describing him. “He's just right,” she said, “that's all.”

“Yeah,” Liv said dreamily. “I know what you mean.”

“Did you have fun on Saturday night?” Flan asked.

“I thought it was a great party,” SBB said. “I mean, I've been to so many parties in the last year that they all blur, but that one was special. Because Liesel is special to me. We knew each other when we were little girls. Did you have a good time?”

“Oh my God!” Flan clasped her hands together and looked up at the ceiling. “Such a good time! I loved everything about it. The horse and the place and all those flowers and—”

“Now Flan wants her own sweet sixteen,” Liv gushed. SBB could always tell when people wanted to talk to her so badly that they would be unable to do anything but just say whatever came into their heads. Liv was one of those people, but SBB resolved not to let it reflect on Flan. After all, SBB completely understood that you could be a terrific person and still end up being surrounded by other people who could be, well, not so great.

“You know what—you should
have
a sweet sixteen!” SBB said, beaming at Flan. “Why not? That would be so much fun!” Liv and Flan stared at her like they didn't know what to say. Sara-Beth, who had hated
silence since she was a child, felt the need to add, “No, really, why not?”

Flan scrunched her forehead. “Because I'm only turning fourteen on Friday?” She put her hands up in the air, like she was just taking a shot at a teacher's really hard question.

“Wait—your birthday is
this
Friday?” Sara-Beth brought herself up on her knees on the bed and reached for Flan's shoulders with both hands. “Don't wait, sweetie. If you want a sweet sixteen party, don't listen to small-minded conventional people! You've got to live your dream
now
!”

“I'm just going to go get a glass of water, okay?” Liv said, standing up and moving away from the bed. Flan and SBB looked at her like she was a person whose name they couldn't quite remember. They were both wearing dunky pajamas that Flan had found in the bottom of her drawer.

“Oh, will you get me some?” Sara-Beth said.

“Sure,” Liv said as she hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs. She'd been annoyed for a minute, because her friends just kept talking about themselves, but as soon as she was down in the big, airy kitchen with its industrial table and virtually unused Viking range, she felt all that slipping away. It was like her mother had always told her: Groups of three are tough. And it wasn't like her old friend Flan and her new friend SBB were being
mean.
No, Liv decided as she got a bottle of Evian out of the fridge and took a sip, definitely not mean. It was just that they were really
excited about their things—in Flan's case, her possible sweet sixteen party, and in SBB's, her weirdly normal-guy boyfriend, David.

And that was fine for them. Liv's thing—the beginning of her relationship with Patch—was not something that she really felt comfortable talking about yet, since they'd agreed on Saturday night that they really had to take it slow.

“I just don't know if I'm into long-distance relationships,” a voice was saying.

Liv froze, nearly choking up her Evian. She knew that voice—ever so slightly nasally, slow, nonchalant—and it made her feel all giddy and sexy and
wanted.

“Yeah, they're a total bitch,” said another voice. Different, and less recognizable, but still not an entirely unfamiliar voice. Sort of blas
é
: that pretty boy Arno, definitely.

The voices were moving through the hall, past the kitchen, and into the living room. Liv moved toward the kitchen doorway, trying to hear better. She
needed
to hear better, because one of those voices was Patch's, and he was speaking to a topic that concerned her a lot. The concept of a long-distance relationship had been weighing on her mind ever since Saturday night, when Patch had first told her that he wanted to take it slow. Because even though she wasn't acting like it, she was supposed to be in Cambridge, England, right now for
the orientation of her pre–high school academic program. And she wasn't going to be able to play hooky forever, which would mean that taking it slow would lead to a
very
long-distance relationship.

A transatlantic love affair.

“I just really screwed up, relationship-wise, you know what I mean,” the voice she was pretty sure belonged to Arno said. “That whole thing with Lara—I thought she was what I wanted and by the time I figured out that what I actually wanted was something totally different, I'd already screwed that up.”

Liv was tempted to push through the door and point out that what Arno was saying was not in any way related to Patch's feelings for her, but she was saved from doing so when the sexy voice started up again.

“I'm not sure if that's exactly what I was talking about, man,” Patch said. “But I'm sorry things got messed up with that girl.”

“Thanks, dude.”

“Anyway, I just feel like… ”

Liv leaned against the door. She was pretty sure that Patch was still saying something, but they'd turned on the TV, and she couldn't hear anything over it. She was pretty sure she heard him say “love of my life,” although that also could have been whatever movie they were watching.

There were a few moments of silence, during which Liv could feel her heart pounding against her Cosabella camisole. Then a voice that was definitely Arno's said, “Well, dude, I'm no expert on love. But I wouldn't rule anything out just 'cuz of geography.”

Liv gasped “Right on!” out loud, and drew her clenched fist backward in a
yes!
motion. She couldn't help it, he was just so
right.
Then she remembered that Patch didn't know that she was hiding in the kitchen, and that maybe if he found her there, he would think that she wasn't taking the whole “take it slow” thing seriously. She grabbed her Evian and hurried to the other kitchen door—the one that led straight into the hall.