Page 13 of The Show

“Perhaps you’ll listen to me next time,” he sassed, while he lightly ran a soft, fat makeup brush across my forehead.

“Ohmygod, you look amazing!” Lauren cried, walking into the bedroom wearing a black and white asymmetrical striped gown which billowed behind her. She was followed by Seraphine, our hair stylist, who’d coaxed Lauren’s normally arrow-straight hair into big, fat, Hollywood waves, flowing down her back.

She was still staring at my lips as Seraphine tied my hair into a twist at the nape of my neck, fixing it with a jeweled rainbow clasp Lauren had bought me for my last birthday.

“That is such a good color on you. Why haven’t you worn it before?”

“Because she doesn’t listen to me,” Mario answered for me, making me grin.

As was the norm whenever we went to a big event, Lauren and I got ready together. It had been this way ever since we were teenagers, going to our first ever ‘adult-free’ party – at Chad Davidson’s house – and we needed to make sure we were always looking our very best, which required constant commentary along each step of the ‘getting ready’ process, but mostly because neither of us could ever decide what to wear until we had to leave.

Now we were older, and the parties we attended had moved up a few rungs from Chad Davidson’s birthday, we used all the help we could get – which is where Mario and Seraphine came in. They’d been with us so long they were used to our indecisive ways, ignored them, and mostly did whatever they wanted.

“Thank you. It looks okay, right?” I asked, because until we’d had final approval from the other, we were never fully committed to anything.

“No, Lowey, you look seriously beautiful. If Bryce Wexler could see you now…” She raised her eyebrow suggestively. “There’s no way he’s going to be able to resist you!”

“You mean, see what he missed out on?” I frowned deeply, which caused Mario to tut until I schooled my features back so he could finish his work. “He had his chance to ask me out once, and I’m no longer interested. Besides, I’m on a dating hiatus. Until I’ve set my business up properly, I need to concentrate and not get distracted by wondering if someone will call me or not.”

Not to mention Bryce Wexler was one of those guys who was always looking for someone better to come along.

We’d known of each other a while, through friends of friends of friends, but never properly been introduced. Then, one night last summer, we were both at the same party in the Hamptons and spent the whole night talking, and making out. As the party drew to a close, he asked for my number, and said he’d call me the next day.

He didn’t.

Not gonna lie, I wasn’t thrilled he didn’t call, because Bryce Wexler is hot - like Times Square hundred-foot, aftershave ad, billboard hot – and a summer fling with him might have been fun, but I’m a big girl and I can handle a little rejection. Except the weekend after, I bumped into him again, and the same thing happened.

Now, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, however…

Two weeks later, I spotted him on a date at a new restaurant in Gramercy Park.

I wondered at that point whether I should start listening to my mother and settle down, but the problem with that was meeting someone worth settling down with. While I hadn’t yet found that person, it was then I decided to take my life more into my own hands. It had set the cogs whirring for me to leave my job, and venture out on my own.

Something my mother was none too pleased about.

“It’s a shame there won’t be any hot guys there tonight,” Lauren sighed. “You’re on Penn duty, anyway.”

I smacked her arm, remembering what she volunteered me for and the look of horror on her brother’s face. “I can’t believe you did that earlier!”

Lauren was always the best at the faux innocence,what, me?expression; one she’d perfected as a teenager. “Don’t know what you mean… we agreed you were going to help him.”

I stood up from the makeup chair and shrugged out of my robe. “Help him! Not be his date!”

Tonight I’d chosen to wear a dress of pale blue silk I’d seen in the window of Gucci when I’d been running down Fifth to the park last week, and which Mario was holding in front of me to ease over my head without smudging his craftsmanship, or my hair. I lifted my arms up for him to slip into the tiny spaghetti straps that crossed low over my back.

“I feel sorry for him actually.” I wriggled the delicate fabric over my hips, then smoothed it down until it almost hit the floor.

“What? Why? He’s behaving like such a brat. Least you might be able talk some sense into him.”

I took the gold strappy sandals dangling from Lauren’s outstretched fingers and put them on. “Don’t know what makes you think that! I told you it was a stupid idea. I don’t know anything about sports. You saw his face when you said I’d help with his image, not to mention he never talks to me. I’m not even sure he likes me,” I added as an afterthought.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, he does. You’ve known each other forever!” she scoffed.

I shook my head. I knew when someone liked me, and I don’t meanlike melike me, I meanthinks I’m a decent person, wants to hang out and be my friendlike me. That was not the vibe Penn Shepherd had ever given off; all evidence pointed to the contrary, and had done since we were kids.

“He only ever grunts at me. In fact, I think today was the most words he’s ever spoken to me in one go. Or at least since last July Fourth weekend when he thought he was asking my mom for more marshmallows, but it was actually me.”

One day over every July Fourth weekend was always spent at a huge family gathering at Penn’s grandparents’ compound in Martha’s Vineyard. Penn’s mom, his sisters and their kids, my parents and older brothers and their kids, plus other family and close friends, would all descend on the island. As was tradition, for one day, we’d spend the time together playing touch football on the beach, barbecuing, swimming and hanging out, just like we’d all done since we were kids.

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