Lucky Break (10 page)

“Huh?” What on earth would I do with a guru?

“He's a really good listener,” Feb insisted. “Maybe you could talk things out.”

I looked over at the guru, who had Kelly lying on the floor with both of his legs in a pretzel position behind his head. It didn't look like there was a whole lot of listening going on, just a whole lot of physical strain. But if Feb was going to be at the rice paddies all day, what else did I have to do?

“I'm not going to have to do any Cirque du Soleil–style positions, am I?” I said.

“
Mu
.” Feb laughed, and brought me over to the guru.

An hour later, I was sitting at the top of a cliff, looking down at all of Bangkok, which seemed so far away.
After Feb and Kelly hosed me down with some crazy Thai mosquito repellent and outfitted me in a pair of Feb's army green waterproof boots, the guru led me up a steep trail, through what felt like an enchanted forest, across two rushing streams, and finally to a clearing at the top of a cliff.

“This is a space of total serenity,” he said in the same even tone of voice. “I hope you will find it comfortable.” He motioned for me to take a seat on a rock facing the cliff's edge, and together we looked out at the view. I was watching the slow movement of canoes and cargo boats down the river, when the guru took my hand and slid something inside it.

I looked down to find a red stone on a red rope. I'd seen a lot of these amulets for sale on the streets last night, but I hadn't stopped to look closely at any of them yet. This one featured a carving of a small, smiling Buddha figure, who didn't look unlike the guru. When I looked up at him, he took my hand and flipped the amulet over to the other side. I held it up to the light to read a tiny inscription on the stone:

Protection from your feelings of betrayal.

“You came here looking for answers,” the guru said.

“Actually,” I said, twisting my fingers around the necklace, “I came here because my mom thought—”

He put his hand up as if to apologize for interrupting. “But you
are
here, and you
are
seeking answers. Your sister says you have had a betrayal,” he said evenly, as if it were totally normal for my sister to fill in this stranger on the intimate details of my heart.

I looked out at the sun, which was starting to peek over the trees lining the river, and I couldn't help wondering what kind of rare birds were perched in their branches. Alex would know. He'd have a book, and his binoculars, and … The guru was still staring at me.

“If you are looking for the fleeting hornbill, you'll find him there,” he said, pointing a finger at the low bough of a tree where a wild black and yellow bird took flight. “But just like everything else in life, his perch is fleeting.”

“I really liked him, Guru,” I said softly. “Not the hornbill—my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.”

“Just as the sun and the stars are in motion, so is your pain. Relief will come.”

Clearly this guy had never met SBB. He might have been very wise in some circles, but he had no idea that in my near future, there was either a party—or an appointment with Berserk Bianca. I didn't want to disagree with the guru, who had a really sweet disposition and an impressive grasp on local wildlife, but
for my own sake, I had to disagree. Recalling the jpeg that SBB had sent me of Bianca—drawn cheeks, severe hairline, terrifying eyes—I knew I didn't have
time
to give it time!

“With all due respect, Guru,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness, “I disagree. I can't just let this heartbreak run its course. I'm sorry, but it wouldn't be me.”

“‘
Me
'?” the guru repeated, seeming to mentally chew on the word. “That is not a Buddhist outlook.” He patted my shoulder. “But you have a strong will. I like that.”

“So you don't disapprove of my trying to move on?” I asked.

“
Mu
,” he said, so solemnly it took me a second to realize that he was making a joke.

“Wear the amulet,” he said, standing up from his rock on the mountain. “You may choose not to take the Buddhist approach, but the Buddha will still watch over you.”

I slipped the amulet over my head and shook the guru's hand. “Luckily,” I joked, “red is totally my color.”

After we parted ways, I decided to stay in the place of serenity for a little longer. I pulled out my phone and texted SBB:

WHIRLWIND WEEK. DIVERTED TO THAILAND TO HANG WITH FEB. BUT DON'T WORRY—OPERATION GET OVER JONY STILL IN FULL SWING. BETTER DUST OFF YOUR PARTY MANOLOS FOR MY RETURN. HOW'S THE WEIGHT GAIN GOING?

The speed of SBB's response made me feel like the amulet was working already:

GREETINGS FROM IN-N-OUT BURGER IN L.A. JR SAYS I'M IN THE SEVENTIETH PERCENTILE FOR MY WEIGHT CLASS. I WILL NOT LET IT GET ME DOWN! GLAD THAILAND SEEMS TO BE BEEFING UP YOUR HEART. SHOULD I KEEP BIANCA'S NUMBER ON SPEED DIAL … JUST IN CASE?

Gulp.

I need seventy-two jumbo paper lanterns, with the energy-saving lightbulbs, and I need them delivered
now
.”

There was the sister I knew and loved! When I stepped into the long open bar on the top floor of the Oriental Hotel, I was greeted by Feb, pacing the hardwood floor on her phone. She was still the same girl—she'd just been hiding under that organically woven paper bag of a dress for the past few days.

She'd sent me an urgent text to meet her at the hotel at four-thirty on Wednesday afternoon. The fast was just about over, and we were all gearing up for the big party she was throwing to honor a good monsoon week on the rice marsh. Quite a change from the parties she used to host in honor of a friend's movie premiere or club opening, but a party nonetheless. I was excited just to be out on the town and spending some
nonyoga time with my sister. But I was also very excited that the party was being held at the city's swank Oriental Hotel. It had been around forever, and over the years had seen all of Thailand's glitterati spin through its golden doors.

Speaking of spinning, Feb was starting to make me dizzy with all her pacing back and forth.

“Feb, can I—”

“Flan, I haven't eaten in seventy-two hours and fourteen minutes and Idon'tevenknowhowmanyseconds. I really can't deal with—”

“I was just going to ask if I could help with anything for the party,” I jumped in before she said something she regretted.

Feb paused, snapped her phone shut, and said, “Actually, there is something you can do.”

Before I knew it, she had led me into the walk-in fridge in the large gleaming hotel kitchen. She stopped in front of six boxes full of coconuts and six boxes of the biggest, ripest mangos I'd ever seen in my life.

“Ouch,” I said, when Feb slapped my hand after I reached into the box to examine one of the fantastically pink pieces of fruit.

“Look, don't touch,” Feb said brusquely. “They're for tonight. Ugh, I've got a million things to do,” she
said, looking down at her PDA, which looked so out of place in her henna-tattooed hand. “Let's see. We
have
to have a signature cocktail. You can come up with something on the fly, right?”

It was a good thing I wasn't holding a mango, because I would have dropped it. “Me? Bartending?”

“Not bar
tending
,” she said, sounding only slightly impatient. “Bar
inspiring
. Isn't that what you do? Patch mentioned something you whipped up for some Thoney party….”

Camille and I had concocted a really delicious Virgiltini for January's Virgil event. And my friends always said that I made the best acai spritzers (the secret was to line the rim of the glass with real dried acai berries crushed with sugar). But I'd never stopped to think about the fact that I actually had a gift for concocting delicious and refreshing drinks. I loved that Feb made it sound like cocktail commander was my obvious terrain.

“We just need a pretty face behind the drink. It'll market better,” she said.

“You can take a girl out of a Manhattan PR firm …” I joked.

“Ha-ha,” Feb said, motioning for me to help her carry a box of coconuts. “So what do you think?”

“Well,” I said, looking down at the boxes of fruit.
“In this kind of sticky heat, people want something light.”

“So no coconut milk?” Feb asked. Her face seemed to fall. We
were
looking at six huge crates of coconuts.

“I've got it,” I said finally, thinking of what my friend Ramsey, the captain of my field hockey team, was always telling us to drink before practice. “We'll go with nature's biggest thirst quencher: coconut
water
! Blended with ice and mint and a dollop of mango puree. We can call it … Thai-riffic.”

“She's a genius,” Feb said to the team of Thai chefs putting on their aprons. “Okay, now we divide and conquer,” she said, turning back to me. “I'll make sure the music's cued and the candles are lit. You find the bartenders and spread your refreshing gospel, okay?”

“Just one question,” I said, looking down at myself and realizing one very big hitch in the plan. When I'd showed up in my jeans and casual Theory tee, I'd envisioned having time to make it home and change. “Am I going to wear this to the party?”

Feb threw her head back and started laughing hysterically, telling me all I needed to know.

A half hour later, I had just made a sample virgin Thai-riffic cocktail for the bartender to taste, when Feb shoved a hanger under my nose. I held it out in front of me to examine the short silk sheath dress. The
cut was simple; the print was anything but. It was white with dashes of black, hot pink, bright green, and dark red. If I squinted, I could almost make out a graphic print of Marilyn Monroe. It was cool (sorta) and edgy (very), but the dress was not at all me.

“I picked it out for you in the shop downstairs. It matches your amulet,” Feb said, sounding proud of herself. “And it complements my dress!” she said, holding up a similarly loud blue and white splatter-painted T-shirt dress. Yikes.

Usually Feb had impeccable taste when it came to clothes. Maybe she was just out of shopping practice? But she looked so busy, standing there crossing off things on her electronic to-do list. I knew she'd flip if I asked for a new dress.

I looked past my sister at a group of three Thai girls about my age. They were giggling in front of the elevator. For a second, they reminded me of me and my friends, and I got a not-in-Paris pang. Then I realized that all these girls were wearing something very similar to what Feb had just picked out. Hmm.

I wasn't the type to follow trends that I didn't genuinely adore, but then again, it was only one night, and if other people were wearing the style, at least my crazy Marilyn dress wouldn't make me the laughingstock of Bangkok.

“It's great,” I said to Feb, slipping into the bathroom to pull on the dress.

By the time I gave myself a quick touch-up (loosened side ponytail, shimmery Urban Decay highlighter rimmed around my eyes, and DuWop matte pink lipstick), the ballroom of the hotel was already filling up with guests. It seemed really early, but then I remembered that Feb and Kelly got up at the crack of dawn to hit the rice paddies, so most of their guests were probably on the same schedule. The sun hadn't even set, and people were already lined up to order my Thai-riffics. If taste in cocktails was any indication, I guessed the party was off to a pretty good start.

Feb was still in intense-planning mode, and she had Kelly handling the spillover chores, so both of them were rushing around making sure the lanterns were hung, the Thai dancers on time, the stereo system set up. They looked so frazzled, and I loved attending to these last-minute details. Over and over, I asked them if I could help, and over and over, Feb insisted that I get “out there” and enjoy myself.

So I tried. I milled around the room, sampling barbecue fish skewers and spicy vegetarian dumplings. I stifled a yawn. I leaned up against the bar to enjoy the view of the city from the twenty-seventh floor of the hotel. I looked at my reflection in the window, yawning.

From this perspective, unlike me, Bangkok never seemed to rest. But there had to be people out there doing normal things, just sitting down to dinner with their family, or going to see a movie … or nursing a broken heart. From the outside, you'd never be able to tell. It made me wonder whether anyone at this party could tell what I was going through.

“Flan? Is that you?” a familiar voice said behind me. I turned around to see Arno Wildenburger standing with his arms extended. Arno was an old friend of Patch's, but I'd hung out with him enough times that I felt like we were friends in our own right, too. The last time I'd seen him, he had hooked me up with tickets to see the Magnetic Fields' secret show under the Brooklyn Bridge. It was strange to see a familiar smile in this sea of new faces, but Arno was impossible to miss, especially in this crowd. His dark hair practically gleamed with the Frédéric Fekkai glossing gel he bought by the case, and his watches (one for every day of the week) were always the size of a hockey puck. He'd always just seemed like a normal kid to me, but tonight he looked so New York.

“You look sooo Bangkok in that dress,” he said, giving me an approving nod. “Way to go.”

“Thanks, Arno.” I stepped in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, not expecting him to pull me in for
such a tight squeeze. “What are you doing here?” I asked his shoulder, since that was what my face was mashed into.

“Looking for you,” he said, giving me a super-cheesy wink. “No, really, I'm just stopping though on my back from Sydney, hanging with Patch, but I didn't know I was going to going to have the pleasure of buying the most beautiful of all the Floods a drink.”