Read Online This Beautiful Life by Helen Schulman - Free Book Online Page B

Henry.
    â€œShut up,” said Jake.
    There was a moment between them; there had never been a moment between them before.
    Then Henry said, “C’mon man, the dude says there’s beers inside.” He kind of patted Jake on his shoulder and then they followed the rest of the guys, who were already trailing after McHenry into the house.
    Inside, the foyer was large and white with a double-height ceiling, and Jake could see big pieces of art hanging in the living room, which was off to the right. He could see bright copper walls in the dining room, which was off to the left. There was a long, gracious staircase heading up to the bedrooms.
    â€œDownstairs,” said Henry, gently now, leading him.
    McHenry had already disappeared down the stairs. The floors were pickled white. How did they keep this house so bright and clean? Jake wondered, feeling like his mother’s son, hating himself for wondering. He followed Arthur. Then Davis and Jonas and Django followed him, and Henry and James brought up the rear, the two of them twinning the way they sometimes did, heads together, leaving everyone out, probably talking about him, Jake thought, and then killed the thought because it was stupid and would get him nowhere. As they went down the stairs, they passed a couple of couples heading up to the bedrooms: newbie couples, hooking up. Jake wanted to call ahead, to ask McHenry if he’d seen Audrey, if he’d seen her and Luke go up those stairs, but he knew better than to open himself to shit like that.
    Downstairs was like something out of a movie. One of those eighties flicks that he and Henry liked to watch ironically: Pretty in Pink or that Some Kind of Wonderful he’d been forced to sit through at a girl’s party back in Ithaca. It all just smelled of money; there was like a whole entertainment complex downstairs. There was an amazing music system, Live Snake was blaring, and the furniture looked too expensive and mod to sit on, all leather and chrome, with shaggy white throw rugs, but there were bowls of chips and salsa and M&Ms on the metal-and-glass coffee tables like at any party anywhere, cans of Coke. Arthur and his crowd peeled off toward the pool table, but McHenry motioned his crew to follow him down the hallway. There were beers in the Japanese bathtub off the sauna—he’d told them this outside—and it was true, their green necks studding the ice like emeralds. Each boy grabbed a bottle. The glass felt cool and smooth between Jake’s thumb and forefinger, resting in the webbing.
    A bunch of kids from school were sitting on leather couches, and through an open door Jake could see the private screening room. There were some couples making out in there, and a few boys whose names he didn’t know yelling at the screen. Scarface. Al Pacino had just fallen face-first into a pile of cocaine, and the dudes were cheering.
    â€œHey, Daisy,” said Henry. “Thanks for moving the party here.”
    Jake turned around and met their hostess. She was a short, plump, prettyish girl with a baby face, too-tight jeans tucked into her UGGs. Her blond hair was bleached white and hanging loose, some of the layers pushed behind her ears, which hosted a lot of earrings, hoops scaling the rim. She looked like an eleven-year-old with too much makeup on. Raccoon eyes, but bright blue. Little breasts, a black lace bra visible through her tank top. She would be prettier, he thought, if she washed off all that goo.
    â€œHey, Henry,” she said. “Hey, Jake.”
    He was surprised Daisy knew his name. He didn’t remember seeing her around school.
    â€œEither of you guys want a friendship bracelet?” She held out a palm full of red strings with beads on them.
    â€œSure,” said Henry, and she tied one around his wrist. “Make that a double, for my friend here.” Henry gestured with his head toward Jake, who obediently held out his arm.
    Daisy smiled up at