your ugly clothes and your fat thighs waddle their way back to New York, fuck you very much?‖
The only sound was the squishing of Pembroke‘s clothes as he sloshed to the bar for another beer. Everyone else waited to see what I would say.
Let ‘em wait. I had nothing to say to any of them. First they‘d tried to be rude. When that failed, they‘d come to my room to manipulate me into doing something humiliating. They‘d succeeded. There hadn‘t been a moment when they‘d actually considered studying with me. I made sure my towel was wrapped tightly enough, put one foot in front of the other on the white pebble path, and wondered whether Laurel‘s plane was still at the airport.
Fuck this.
Fuck the money.
And definitely fuck the Baker twins.
Choose the definition that most accurately describes the following word: LIE
(a) an intentionally false statement
(b) a petite bending of the truth
(c) a totally justifiable act, in times of desperation (d) a sin, in some circles
(e) standard operating procedure at any number of tabloid publications chapter ten
H ate is not a strong enough word,‖ I ranted to James, cell phone pressed hard against my ear. I‘d discovered a small balcony off my den that overlooked the pool deck and the ocean, and I had gone out there to call him. The deck was now empty—only discarded champagne bottles and crushed beer cans served as evidence of my humiliation. ― Detestation. Abhorrence. Loathing. Yeah. Loathing comes close.‖
Even after a fifteen-minute scorching-hot shower to wash off both the salt water of the pool and the fallout of the Twins from Hell, I was still raging. I had already called the Skull to say I needed to speak with Laurel immediately, but he told me she was currently en route in her jet to France, and I could speak with her in the morning. Fine, then. I‘d quit at sunup.
I‘d called James immediately thereafter and told him to expect me back in New York tomorrow. ―So, anyway,‖ I continued into the phone, ―can you leave a key with your doorman? You‘ll probably be at work when I get in.‖
―Yeah . . . sure . . .‖
Like the hesitation in his voice wasn‘t obvious. This was an emergency, for God‘s sake.
―James? I could really use the help right now.‖ I hated myself for sounding both demanding and needy, but what choice did I have?
―Hey, I got it covered,‖ he assured me. That was more like it. ―For a few days,‖ he added.
A few days. And then what? Move in with Lily? Head up to New Hampshire? But I‘d figure that out once I was back on Planet Earth with actual humans instead of Palm Beach celebutard robots.
A breeze stirred the muggy night air, carrying the delicious aroma of orange blossoms and the ocean. Out at sea, boats bobbed, their lights flickering. I forced myself to take deep yoga breaths. I didn‘t know the first thing about yoga, but fuck it. In with the good, out with the bad. In with the good . . .
―It‘s so beautiful here,‖ I murmured, finally calm enough to settle in to one of the two wicker chairs. ―And the kids with the keys to the kingdom—so gorgeous on the outside, so ugly on the inside . . .‖
―Sounds like The OC on steroids,‖ James joked.
―Except this is real.‖ I stood up and leaned against the balcony wall. Les Anges‘s property spread out on either side of me. I could see the rooftops of equally extravagant estates lining the beach in the distance. ―You should see this place, James. It‘s completely removed from anything that resembles reality. These girls and their friends .
. . I mean, that Vanity Fair profile was nothing . If anyone had any idea what it was really like—‖ I stopped myself in midsentence. ―Wait. Holy shit.‖
―Wanna run that by me again?‖ James asked.
In the graphic-novel version of my future autobiography, this is the frame where shafts of light shoot out from around my head. What did I love to write about? Not what people saw but what was
The only sound was the squishing of Pembroke‘s clothes as he sloshed to the bar for another beer. Everyone else waited to see what I would say.
Let ‘em wait. I had nothing to say to any of them. First they‘d tried to be rude. When that failed, they‘d come to my room to manipulate me into doing something humiliating. They‘d succeeded. There hadn‘t been a moment when they‘d actually considered studying with me. I made sure my towel was wrapped tightly enough, put one foot in front of the other on the white pebble path, and wondered whether Laurel‘s plane was still at the airport.
Fuck this.
Fuck the money.
And definitely fuck the Baker twins.
Choose the definition that most accurately describes the following word: LIE
(a) an intentionally false statement
(b) a petite bending of the truth
(c) a totally justifiable act, in times of desperation (d) a sin, in some circles
(e) standard operating procedure at any number of tabloid publications chapter ten
H ate is not a strong enough word,‖ I ranted to James, cell phone pressed hard against my ear. I‘d discovered a small balcony off my den that overlooked the pool deck and the ocean, and I had gone out there to call him. The deck was now empty—only discarded champagne bottles and crushed beer cans served as evidence of my humiliation. ― Detestation. Abhorrence. Loathing. Yeah. Loathing comes close.‖
Even after a fifteen-minute scorching-hot shower to wash off both the salt water of the pool and the fallout of the Twins from Hell, I was still raging. I had already called the Skull to say I needed to speak with Laurel immediately, but he told me she was currently en route in her jet to France, and I could speak with her in the morning. Fine, then. I‘d quit at sunup.
I‘d called James immediately thereafter and told him to expect me back in New York tomorrow. ―So, anyway,‖ I continued into the phone, ―can you leave a key with your doorman? You‘ll probably be at work when I get in.‖
―Yeah . . . sure . . .‖
Like the hesitation in his voice wasn‘t obvious. This was an emergency, for God‘s sake.
―James? I could really use the help right now.‖ I hated myself for sounding both demanding and needy, but what choice did I have?
―Hey, I got it covered,‖ he assured me. That was more like it. ―For a few days,‖ he added.
A few days. And then what? Move in with Lily? Head up to New Hampshire? But I‘d figure that out once I was back on Planet Earth with actual humans instead of Palm Beach celebutard robots.
A breeze stirred the muggy night air, carrying the delicious aroma of orange blossoms and the ocean. Out at sea, boats bobbed, their lights flickering. I forced myself to take deep yoga breaths. I didn‘t know the first thing about yoga, but fuck it. In with the good, out with the bad. In with the good . . .
―It‘s so beautiful here,‖ I murmured, finally calm enough to settle in to one of the two wicker chairs. ―And the kids with the keys to the kingdom—so gorgeous on the outside, so ugly on the inside . . .‖
―Sounds like The OC on steroids,‖ James joked.
―Except this is real.‖ I stood up and leaned against the balcony wall. Les Anges‘s property spread out on either side of me. I could see the rooftops of equally extravagant estates lining the beach in the distance. ―You should see this place, James. It‘s completely removed from anything that resembles reality. These girls and their friends .
. . I mean, that Vanity Fair profile was nothing . If anyone had any idea what it was really like—‖ I stopped myself in midsentence. ―Wait. Holy shit.‖
―Wanna run that by me again?‖ James asked.
In the graphic-novel version of my future autobiography, this is the frame where shafts of light shoot out from around my head. What did I love to write about? Not what people saw but what was
Similar Books
