Populazzi (38 page)

Brett was there, but he had new dancers keeping him company. Ree-Ree was on the bar, and the applause was from the crowd encouraging Claudia to climb up as well. I couldn't believe Claudia was going to dance on a bar, but she looked elated as Ree-Ree helped her up.

I threaded my way through the crowd. "Hook me up, barkeep," I said to Brett. He slid me a shot glass of something purple. Grape juice? I drank it.
Not
grape juice. Yow. I nodded for another.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Ree-Ree called out once Claudia was steadied. "I want you to meet my good friend and fellow bar dancer, The Amazing Miss Claudia!"

Applause from the room. I hooted.

"I have a special song picked out for Claudia, in honor of her beauty and her innocence. I say 'beauty,' even though most people would agree that her deathly pale skin and big spooky eyes are totally vomitous!"

My stomach dropped completely out of my body.

Ree-Ree had been
planning
this. She'd been building to it all night. She'd acted like Claudia's friend just so she could humiliate her in front of everyone. Claudia realized it, too, but she was too stunned and horrified to escape.

"Some might say that making out with her would be like making out with a corpse!" Ree-Ree said. "My own
boyfriend
said that! Can you believe it?"

The crowd roared, eating it up. Then Ree-Ree spoke gently to Claudia. "Did Cara tell you that, Claudia? Did she tell you Marsh said it was like making out with a dead person? Not that it's your fault." Ree-Ree turned again to the crowd. "It is
not
her fault, everyone, because our little corpse here had
never been kissed
until Marsh did her the favor a couple months ago. A couple
months
ago! Virgin lips before that! A toast to virgin lips!"

"To virgin lips!" a huge chunk of the room called out.

It was enough to unfreeze Claudia. "Excuse me," she whispered, then quickly climbed down behind the bar. She pushed her way out of the room with her head down.

"Come on! Stay! Dance!" Ree-Ree called as Claudia left. "I have a special song for you! Hit it, Gems!"

Gemma hit a button on the jukebox, and Madonna's "Like a Virgin" blared. What seemed like hundreds of voices laughed and cheered. Many of them sang along.

I ran out of the room. Claudia had a head start, and I had to push through a lot of people, but I finally saw her on the stairs, heading to the top floor.

"Claudia..." I wanted her to wheel around and scream at me, some Shakespearean invective in iambic pentameter that would damn my soul to eternal torment.

She didn't say anything. She didn't even stop. She walked into the guest room where she'd left her stuff, then started carefully returning everything to her bag.

"Claudia, let me explain—"

"It's obvious. You chose them."

I wanted to object, but all I could say was, "You weren't supposed to ever know."

It was hollow even to me. Claudia didn't bother to respond. She pulled her bag over her shoulder and walked back downstairs. I followed, but I didn't say anything until we were out of the house. The last thing I wanted was to call more attention to her.

"I'm coming with you," I said once we were outside.

"Don't. Your friends are waiting."

She got into her car and I watched her drive off. It was a beautiful spring night, but I wished it were freezing cold. I wished I were shivering in my little tank dress, maybe catching hypothermia. Some kind of real, physical torture so I would feel as horrible as I deserved.

Instead I took my still-pleasantly swimmy head and went back inside to my party, the greatest social event Chrysella Prep had seen all year.

The moment I walked in, Eddie pulled me into his arms. He and a knot of jocks were on their way to the kitchen, and he swept me along.

"Hey, Cara!" He gave my neck a nuzzle for the crowd.

"Hi."

Eddie saw my frown and laughed. "No way can you be upset about anything tonight. Look at all this! This is your big moment, right?"

I managed a small smile. "Right."

"Okay, someone needs a drink."

Yes. Eddie was right. I needed a drink. I would feel far, far less awful if I had another drink. I saw champagne in the kitchen. Had Claudia and I bought champagne? Didn't matter. I let Eddie pour me a glass and I drank it down like water. I tried to walk to the couch after that, but my knees buckled. I laughed and tried again ... but I fell to the floor.

Now
that
was funny.

"See? You're having a good time," Eddie said. He put an arm around me and half led/half carried me to the couch, where he deposited me among a sea of throw pillows. I closed my eyes.

"Thanks, Eddie. I love you."

"You're funny. Here."

He tucked a blanket over me and I snuggled into it, letting the party fade into a mottled wail of white noise.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes, everything was quiet. Quiet—and disgusting. I was lying on a couch in the family room, which was littered with half-eaten food, passed-out bodies, empty cups, and—oh God, vomit? Really?

My whole body felt heavy and cloudy, but I rose and staggered into the kitchen. Through the open sliding door that led to the deck, I could see it was still dark outside. Several flies danced around the boxes of unfinished pizzas. People had been smoking—even with the door open, the room reeked. A tower of cupcakes was decorated with snuffed cigarette butts. Someone had left the refrigerator door open.

I heard giggling upstairs and followed the sound to the master bedroom. An alarm rose in the part of me that was still functioning rationally. I opened the door and saw Brett Seward, fast asleep. He wore only his boxers and was sprawled out on the bed. Trista was the giggler. She stood in the doorway to the master bathroom.

"Trista?"

She waved me over. I followed and saw Ree-Ree and Marsh in their underwear, passed out asleep in my dad's Jacuzzi tub. It was filled with water.

"Trista! That isn't funny! They could have drowned!" I walked into the bathroom and reached between them to push open the drain.

"They didn't."

"Wait—what are you wearing?"

She had on a bright red teddy that was way too conservative to be one of her own. She couldn't have...

"Just a little something I found over there," she said, pointing to the dresser.

"You went into her underwear drawer?"

"She has some cute stuff. You know, for someone her age."

"I'm glad you're up," I said, letting it go. "You've got to help me clean. The place is a disaster."

"I'm not helping you clean."

"You have to!"

"No, I don't. I didn't even clean when the parties were at my own house. Why do you think my parents banned me from throwing them?"

This took a second to settle in. "Wait," I said. "You told me you weren't throwing the party so
I
could do it and build my reputation."

"And you were dumb enough to believe me. You threw me the greatest party I've ever had. Thank you."

"What? No. This was
my
party. We put it together for
me.
Everyone knew it was mine. They all talked to me about it. People I didn't even know talked to me about it."

"Cara, people don't even know who you are except in relation to me. Do you really think they would have shown up for a Cara Leonard party? I was the one who met them at the door; I had the crowd of people around me all night long; I was at the center of this whole night. Ask anyone where they were tonight, and every single one of them will say they were at Trista Camello's party."

I shook my head and glared at her. "You are going to help me clean this house, or I'm going to tell everything I know about you."

Trista met my glare. "No one will believe you. Not after this party. It was exactly what I needed. Anything you say now, I can bat away: jealous rumors from an ex-friend."

"An ex-friend?" I loathed myself for the way my voice broke over the words and for the tears starting to well behind my eyes. Hadn't I already known that Trista and I weren't really friends?

"It's over, Cara. I have to cut you loose. It was good talking to you about things, though. I really did like it."

"What if I promise not to say anything bad about you?"

Trista shook her head. "You could change your mind. And later there might be people who'd believe you. Good luck with the cleaning."

She had backed me out as she spoke and now shut the door in my face.

Had I just begged her to stay my friend?

I walked to the staircase landing and looked down over the horror of a house. I could see the very beginnings of sunrise through the window. Dad and the Bar Wench were coming back "in the late afternoon," which meant I had to start cleaning now, but even then it was doubtful I'd make enough progress. I collapsed into a chair to think about where to begin......and woke up with the sun glaring in on me. What time was it? I picked my way downstairs and into the family room, stepping lightly over strewn bodies that made the house look like the Normandy shore at D-day. I peered at the clock on the mantel: twelve thirty.

Twelve thirty.

No. Nonononononono.

A million sirens screamed in my head. I was still wearing my dress. Could I get away with it? No. I had lain in God knows what when I fell asleep, and brown goo smeared down one side. I raced to the guest room, yanked off the dress, and pulled on a cute skirt and top from my duffle bag.

I peeked in the bathroom mirror. My curls were matted down on one side from sleeping on them. Luckily I had an elastic, and I pulled together a ponytail. Makeup had smeared my face into a preschool finger painting. I sopped up the worst with a wet washcloth. No time to shower, but I reeked of alcohol. I scoured the vanity for perfume but found only air freshener. It would have to do. I sprayed it all over my body, then raced downstairs.

My phone. Where was my phone? I ran back up, but I couldn't find it with my stuff. I grabbed one of Dad's cordless phones and called my number, running from room to room and listening for the ring.

When I got to the pub room, I saw my cell sitting on the bar. It wasn't ringing. I hadn't charged it and it was dead. It was amazing I'd even found it. I hoped that was a good omen.

I ran back upstairs. If I murdered the speed limit, there was a chance I'd still make it for Dean Jaffe. Yes, it meant leaving Dad with a filthy house full of sleeping strangers—which was incomprehensible—but at that moment the alternative seemed even worse.

I drove no less than eighty miles an hour the whole way and walked into my house at exactly one o'clock. I wasn't early like Karl had wanted, but I was right on time.

"Hi!" I called.

Karl and Mom were sitting in the family room, all dressed up. Mom looked like she had been crying, which made no sense at all. Maybe her allergies were acting up. Dean Jaffe wasn't there yet. I walked in and stood between them. "Are you guys as excited as I am?"

"Hey, Cara," Karl said cheerily, "how come you smell like boozy air freshener and look like a two-bit prostitute after a rough night?"

"What?"

"Dean Jaffe left a half hour ago," Mom said. "Lunch was at noon. We asked you to be home at eleven."

"No! Lunch was one o'clock! I know it was one o'clock!"

"
Noon,
" Karl said. "But of course being a Northwestern man, Dean Jaffe was here early, at eleven forty-five. By noon he was concerned that you hadn't arrived. By twelve fifteen he suspected this was your way of showing your uncertainty about Northwestern. By twelve thirty he decided that you weren't mature enough to attend his school. Congratulations, Cara. You've officially ruined your life."

The phone rang. Neither Mom nor Karl showed any interest in answering it, until Mom noticed the caller ID. She looked at the phone like it was an alien, then reached over and picked it up.

"Lenny?"

In one of the Elizabeth George mysteries I'd been reading, a vicar dies by hemlock poisoning. The vicar knew he was dying but was powerless to do anything about it as he suffered forceful seizure after seizure. His tongue swelled to several times its size, filling his mouth and cutting off his air. It succeeded in doing this despite the fact that the vicar had nearly managed to chew it off. He had clawed his face in agony, one of his eyeballs had burst from the pressure of his asphyxiation, and he was tortured to the point where it must have been sheer, blissful pleasure to surrender to death.

My next several hours were a lot like that.

Not surprisingly, Dad had called because he had come back early from the shore to find Hiroshima in his house. Even across our living room, I could hear the Bar Wench screeching, "My underwear drawer!" in the background.

From the second-hand description I got through my mom, it sounded like the remaining party guests were in no hurry to leave, so the Bar Wench had Dad call the police. That got rid of everyone, though there was still a mess of epic proportions. I of course volunteered to clean it up, but Mom said they were getting a professional cleaning crew. I was no longer welcome anywhere near Dad's house. If I showed up there, the Bar Wench swore she'd get a restraining order. Dad himself wasn't talking about legal action, but he did have Mom tell me that right now, he had no desire to see me ever again.

This was bad enough, but of course the phone call led Mom and Karl to ask a rash of obvious questions. What the hell was I doing at my dad's house when I was supposed to be at a party at Trista's, for example. And since when the hell was I even talking to my dad at all?

Much as I begged the ground to open up and swallow me whole, it somehow failed to do so, which meant I actually had to stand there and explain everything to them. Every lie, every deception, every intricate, layered ruse.

Mom sobbed. Karl seethed.

And when it was over, they kept sobbing and seething. They didn't scream. They didn't shout. Karl didn't calmly hand down one of his baroque punishments. They just sat there. For ages. Finally Karl turned to Mom and quietly asked, "How come Lenny's the lucky one who doesn't have to see her again?"