Girls We Love (8 page)

She was looking behind her as she reached for the door and stepped out of the kitchen, just to make sure that Patch wasn't coming to see what the noise had been, and that's when she ran right into him.

Liv stood there in the hall, her face pressed into a chest that was so strong, and good smelling—a little bit clean, a little bit dirty—that it could only have belonged to Patch. After all, only someone as superhumanly hot as Patch could have gotten from the living room to the hall that quickly. For a moment, they both stood still, savoring the moment. She kept her eyes closed, and decided to feel him out the way blind people do, with her hands. First she felt his shoulders, and then his chin, and then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

It was like little darts of pure ecstasy were hitting her all over. She wanted to look into his eyes immediately, but she tried to resist.

Slowly, slowly she pulled her lips away and opened her eyes, and when she did, she realized she'd made a mistake.

“Um, this isn't right,” David said, pulling away from her.

“I
know
,” Liv wailed, trying to keep her voice down. Patch was still out there in the living room and, of course, David's girlfriend, who was also Liv's style icon, was only two flights up. “How could you?” she said.

“I didn't mean… ” David stammered.

“Never mind,” Liv said, and without taking another look at David she went huffing up the stairs, and back to Flan's bedroom, where, luckily, there were no boys allowed tonight.

“Hotel Gansevoort,” Liesel said, sliding into the cab and nearly dumping the contents of her mandarin Via Spiga tote all over the backseat. “You should take Hudson.”

As soon as the cab pulled away from the corner of Mercer and Broome, where DeeDee Rakoff's public relations firm was located, Liesel grabbed her cell phone and called her drinks date, Sara-Beth Benny.

“Hello, darling! It's me, Lies,” she said, once SBB had picked up. “I'm on my way and I just wanted to let you know that I'm running about fifteen minutes behind sched—what? You know I basically had to sign over my trust fund to get a reservation at the Hotel Gansevoort… I understand … Gotcha, gotcha… See you in ten… Ciao, ciao.” Liesel snapped her phone shut and dropped it back in her bag. “Change of
plans, we ah going to Cowgirl on the corner of Hudson and West Tenth, okay? You can still take Hudson.”

Liesel found SBB in the back room of the Cowgirl Hall of Fame, which was decorated with cow skulls and kitsch western paintings and seemed, especially on a warm summer evening, very dark and cavelike. SBB was hiding behind a strawberry frozen margarita in an oversized glass mug, and she was wearing a belted trench over black leggings and white flats. When she saw Liesel, she pushed her wig back to get a better look. “Baby!”

Liesel kissed her on either cheek and then sat down next to her. “This is…
private
, but you know the Hotel Gansevoort has a bar on the roof with fabulous people and delicious dwinks. You could actually get some air, gorgeous.”

Liesel hoped that didn't come out all mothering and concerned, which was of course also how she had meant it. She had known SBB since before
Mike's Princesses
, and she never liked to see her friend hiding in a role. Or big sunglasses.

“I know.” SBB made a pouting/apologetic face. “I'm sorry. I just can't be photographed, especially not in a bar, and that place is full of gossip people. I'm sorry.”

“Ugh, it's fine, darling, but really, who's repping you? Clearly they don't know the first rule of PR: All news is good news.” Liesel leaned back against the low
desert-modern couch and crossed her long, almost boyishly thin legs. She was wearing what had basically become her work uniform since she started interning at DeeDee Rakoff during the fall semester: a hounds-tooth blazer with the collar turned up, black capri pants, and a white blouse. It made her feel very businesslike, even when she knew it was time to turn the businesslike off. “SBB, I'm so glad we managed to fit this in. Such a treat!”

“I know,” SBB said and clasped Leisel's hand, just as the waitress appeared. SBB instinctively pulled at her wig, so that strands of black hair fell across her cheekbones, and Liesel, still holding her hand, leaned forward and ordered a strawberry margarita.

“Are you over twenty-one?” the waitress asked. She said it in a demanding way, but Liesel could tell she didn't really want to ask.

Liesel smiled confidently. “Twenty-two, actually.” She made a motion like she was reaching for her wallet. “Do you want to see my ID?” she asked in a voice that implied that that would just waste both of their time.

“No, that's okay,” the waitress said. “I trust you. You want a refill?” she added in SBB's direction, and SBB nodded.

When the waitress was gone, SBB turned to Liesel and said, “Being carded is so refreshing.”

“I know! Ever since I've signed up with DeeDee, it's
like no one even questions me anymore. Which is understandable on the one hand, and creepy on the other.”

SBB nodded in agreement.

“So, did you see Philippa at the party?” Liesel went on.

“Philippa Frady?” SBB said. “From elementary school? No … she was there? That sucks… I would have liked to see her again.”

“Yeah, and get this… she's a lesbian now.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Wow … huh,” SBB said with a shrug. “Well, it was bound to happen. Her parents are so square. She must have a really deep psychic need to do crazy rebellious things that make her parents unhappy.”

Liesel laughed throatily. “Yes, well, don't we all.”

“So
anyway
, tell me about this job,” SBB said, grabbing for Liesel's hand again. “I hear DeeDee is a total freak.”

“She's an amazing businesswoman and I admire her tons,” Liesel said, switching into her tone of official enthusiasm. “She's a total control freak, and you know, there was that whole throwing her Blackberry at her assistant thing.
Entre nous
, that girl got a settlement she so did not deserve. But I love the job. You get to talk to
everybody
, and for once”—Liesel took her margarita from the waitress, who disappeared again once she had
delivered their drinks—“people admire me for being a loud-mouthed bitch.”

“Hmmm… ” SBB cocked her head and thoughtfully sucked the last chunks of frozen margarita out of the bottom of her glass. “Should I switch to DeeDee's firm?”

“Oh my God,
yes
,” Liesel said. “Let me talk to some people. But that would just be fantastic, and we could totally redo your image… ”

“I was thinking maybe like Sienna Miller? That's kind of the direction I'd like to go in…,” SBB said, touching the corners of her sunglasses as though she were imagining herself on the red carpet.

“We
love
Sienna,” Liesel said, rolling her eyes back for emphasis. “Just love her. But you could be bigger.”

“I think this next role could really send me in that direction,” SBB said excitedly. “I can't really tell you anything about it, because of my contract, but it's a Ric Rodrickson project and it's filming in Gda
ń
sk and it's going to be totally, you know, arty… ”

“Vunderful,” Liesel said, and they clinked glasses. “I just think this is going to be majuh. You, me, DeeDee… ”

“So what's it like?” SBB got a mystical look in her eyes, like she was imagining herself in the role of junior PR girl on the make. “What are you working on?”

Liesel rolled her eyes. “There's something happening every minute in PR, you see what I mean? It's
exhausting. But right now I'm working on building buzz for this club called Candy—maybe you've heard of it? Opening night is this Friday.”

SBB shook her head.

“It's a club for fabulous underage people, high school students who go to private schools, vacation in the Hamptons, and are on the fast track to Ivy League schools, mostly. They like to have fun, but they're not assed out.”

“Wait, it's
officially
for underage people?” SBB frowned. “So they can't serve drinks? Like, how is that a party?”

“I know, these people…,” Liesel said, not trying to hide her disgust. “No
real
drinks, anyway. They have some featured drinks like Break on Through, the energy drink, that kind of thing. And they give away candy bracelets.”

SBB's mouth was fixed in a little O of shock. “How are you ever going to make a club with no drinks hot?”

“You see what I mean? It's a challenge.” Liesel shrugged. “But I'll figure something out. I always do.”

“Wait! I have an idea,” SBB said, putting down her drink and reaching for Liesel's hands again. “Tell me if this is, like, a good PR idea.” She met Liesel's eyes, and took a deep breath. “So here's my pitch. I met this adorable eighth grader named Flan Flood, at your party the other night—”

“Wait, is she related to
Patch
Flood?”

“Yes.”

“I love it already.”

SBB straightened up, like she was a business girl intern, too. “So, she was totally in love with your party.
She
wants a sweet sixteen—because she's fresh-faced and excited about pure girlie fun. She's fourteen, so she's not jaded yet. She's just like the Candy girl you described. You should totally throw a Candy sweet sixteen party, to promote the club and show what it's all about. To give it personality.” SBB finished with a little clap for herself and her idea.

Liesel slammed her jug of margarita down on the table, and put her hands on SBB's shoulders. “A sweet sixteen for a fourteen-year-old? Brilliant,” she yelled, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. “I love it so much, I'm going to
make it happen.
”

“This is Liesel Reid at DDR PR. Leave a thorough message and I'll get back to you as soon as my schedule permits.”

“Lies, it's SBB again. It was so good to see you, and we didn't even get to talk about our boys. Next time we should get Philippa to come. But, I had this other idea I wanted to shoot your way. When I was at Flan's on Monday night, I noticed she has this homage to Leland Brinker—you know, the eighteen-year-old folk sensation who I dated once? Yeah, anyway, she has a crush on him, so maybe it would be cute if you got him to show up, like her surprise birthday date. What do you think? And, he has the same publicist as me, Vinky Morningside. Ciao, ciao.”

“Leave a message.”

“SBB, is this your phone? I hope so. Anyway, Leland Brinker! I love. I'll call Vinky.”

Philippa took a sip of her v and t, and gave her girlfriend, Stella, a lonesome look. Or a look that she hoped conveyed lonesomeness. Stella apparently had not gotten the point, because she was still up there singing karaoke along with Prince. Even though she sounded all screechy, everyone was cheering her along. When the song finally ended, Stella strode through the crowd kissing old friends (maybe old girlfriends?) and generally taking the long way back to the booth where Philippa was sitting all by herself.

They were in Saints, the gay bar near Stella's school, late on a Tuesday night, and pretty far from Philippa's scene. She looked around at all the strange faces, and decided that she might as well have been in Alaska.

“What a rush!” Stella said, lighting a cigarette as she sat down. Her hair was slicked back into a little bun in a way that made her features seem especially dramatic and the circles under her eyes especially dark.

“Yeah, you looked like you were having fun,” Philippa said, trying to muster enthusiasm.

“Mmmm, yeah, you should do it, you look hot tonight,” Stella said, draining the rest of her Budweiser.

Philippa looked down at her outfit, a Britney Spears shirt her aunt had given her when she was nine and which she hadn't thought about until Stella pulled it out and told her she thought it was awesome, and a pair of hip-hugging flared jeans. When she'd put the outfit together, she'd been trying for sexy/funny, a wink to all this collegiate irony that Stella was about, but now she just felt silly. Her mother would have called it tacky, although thankfully she hadn't seen the outfit. It wasn't Philippa's scene, and it wasn't her look, either. “Yeah, I don't really do that,” Philippa said eventually. “It's against my upbringing, I guess.”

“Whatever,” Stella said as she blew air kisses at some butch girls over by the pool table.

“Hey, why didn't you introduce me to any of your friends?” Philippa said, and as soon as it was out of her mouth she realized that it sounded like she was trying to pick a fight. But she wasn't. Really.

“Oh… I will, someday. But right now they'll just ask you how recently you started dating girls. And when you tell them, they'll laugh.”

“Oh,” Philippa said. Her glass was empty, but she didn't really want more. “Well… I was thinking
tomorrow night, maybe we could go see a movie with Mickey and Sonya? That would be fun, right?”

Stella sighed and stretched back into the booth. “Not really.”

“You don't really want to? Or it wouldn't really be fun?”

Stella shrugged. “Both, I guess.”

“Oh.” Philippa twirled her empty glass and watched as her first lesbian girlfriend shifted and refused to meet her eyes. Just the way a guy would do it.

“Listen, Phil, the thing is…,” Stella began, jerking uncomfortably and twisting her head in a way that made the whole thing extra painful. “I'm a Barnard junior. I should be dating thirty-five-year-old women who, like, trade foreign currency and own boutique wine shops and renovate brownstones. I don't want to be hanging around with a bunch of teenagers when I go out.” She made a face like she had just found a hair in her dinner. “That's just not me.”