Page 66 of The Academy
“I’ll pay for all the drinks,” Olivia says. “And we should come up with a code word if we want to get with a guy.”
Davi presses her tongue against her teeth to keep from being mean:No one is going to want to get with you, Olivia.Although, who knows? Olivia’s mother managed to snag Mr. H-T, who has done very well for himself. The other people in line at Klatsch are in their twenties and thirties; the guy in front of them is giving MIT super nerd—maybe he’d be into an awkward, insecure teenager.
“Code word ‘Amsterdam,’” Davi says. This is the word she uses with her friends in London and Ibiza when she’s peeling off for the night.
Olivia beams. “Amsterdam!” Her breath forms a silvery cloud in the cold.
In London and Ibiza, Davi doesn’t wait in line; she’s whisked in because someone always has a connect. What, Davi wonders, is shedoinghere? She’d far preferred the Moose Club, and Uncle Scottie with his basic racism.
Finally, it’s their turn. Olivia H-T turns her ID over to the bouncer, who Davi is surprised to find is a woman. She’s over six feet tall with sharp Slavic cheekbones and eyes the color of stainless steel.
A woman, Davi thinks, is bad news.
She looks Olivia up and down and, without even glancing at her ID, says, “No.”
“But…?” Olivia says.
The bouncer eyes Davi. “You.” She nods toward the door.
“Oh,” Davi says, “I can’t leave my friend.”
“Just go,” Olivia says. “I’ll meet you at home. You have the address, right? Go have fun, I’m sure you’ll know people.” Her eyes are glassy with tears; she has lipstick on her teeth.
Davi hears a remix of “Rich Baby Daddy” coming from inside; she feels a blast of seductive warm air, sees a sexy red glow, smells expensive perfume. Shecouldgo in; the idea of an MIT genius is sort of appealing. Surely Olivia considered this might happen?
“Please,”Olivia says. She must want to serve a good time even if she can’t be part of it. She wants Davi to tell everyone back at Tiffin how much fun she had in Boston.
Across the street, Davi sees a restaurant called Picco; a couple step out holding a large, flat box. She grabs Olivia’s hand. “Forget the club,” she says. “We’re getting pizza.”
Although the H-T home is pleasant the next morning—there’s classical music playing and sunlight streaming through the big bay windows—there are no trappings of what Davi has come to expect at Thanksgiving: no preparations to run a Turkey Trot, no Macy’s parade on TV, no shift at the local soup kitchen to serve those less fortunate, no football, no relatives. (Davi had secretly hoped for ameet-up with Olivia’s cousin who played at Tiffinpalooza the year before.) There are also no cooking smells. Breakfast is black coffee and a banana—half a banana for Olivia. Davi is worried they won’t have a meal at all until Mrs. H-T pokes her head into the library where Davi and Olivia are lounging on their phones in front of the fire and says, “We’re leaving for dinner in an hour, girls.”
When Davi enters the Bristol Lounge at the Four Seasons, she perks up. She’s back in her element: servers in crisp uniforms pulling out her chair, asking the table if they’d prefer still or sparkling water. Beyond the other tables of well-heeled patrons, Davi sees bronze light over a carving station. She exhales: There’s a buffet.
Davi met Mr. H-T five minutes before they left the house. He shook her hand and asked her name; he seemed unaware Davi was staying with them. During the drive, Mrs. H-T told her husband that Davi was Olivia’s “best friend” from school, that she lived in London, that her parents owned the fashion label Out of Office (“Do you remember the pink knit jacket I wore to the Friends of the Public Garden benefit?”). She then turned around to Davi in the back seat and said apologetically, “Thomas isn’t on social media.”
The H-Ts order a bottle of red wine and the server tells them to help themselves to the buffet when they’re ready. Davi wants to race to the front of the line but instead she waits for the bit of theater surrounding the opening and tasting of the cabernet. Then a toast: “Happy Thanksgiving.” At Cinnamon’s house, Mr. Peters gave the blessing, then they went around the table and said one thing they were grateful for.
Finally Mrs. H-T scoots back her chair. “I guess we should…”
Davi loads her plate like a person who might not eat the rest of the weekend. She starts at the bread station, selecting a warmsourdough roll and a slice of moist pumpkin bread along with five pats of butter. Then it’s on to a bowl of butternut squash bisque. She delivers these back to the table and returns to the line for turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes with gravy, brussels sprouts, and a cranberry compote. There’s a cheese station—Davi is tempted but decides to save the cheese to have with her dessert.
By comparison, Olivia isabstemious(“not self-indulgent”). She has taken two slices of turkey with no gravy, some brussels sprouts, and green salad with no dressing. Mrs. H-T’s plate looks much the same, though she added cranberry sauce.
Mr. H-T, thankfully, eats like a normal human being, and when he sees Davi’s plate, he smiles. “It’s nice to see a young lady with an appetite!”
Davi butters the pumpkin bread and tries not to shove it in her mouth as she wonders how long it will take for…
… Mrs. H-T to say, “I don’t know how you do it, Davi. Eating so robustly and staying so thin.”
“Metabolism,” Olivia says morosely.
When they get back to the house, Davi is pleasantly full but not stuffed. She slowed down once she realized she could bring home a to-go container. For the first time in a long time, it feels good to have food in her stomach. She hasn’t purged once since she’s been here; there’s been so little sustenance, there’s been no reason.
Olivia wants to watchThe Holiday—the H-Ts have a home theater on the fourth floor—and Davi remembers how, the instant Thanksgiving is over, Americans jump with both feet into Christmas. All across the country, people are driving to Best Buy.
“Do you want to call your parents before we start the movie?” Olivia asks. “You haven’t talked to them yet today.”
Davi hates how Olivia monitors her every move—she’s such a stalker—though she understands it must seem odd that Davi hasn’t phoned her parents on the holiest of family holidays. She nearly explains that, to Davi’s parents, it’s just another Thursday. However, this is a chance for some much-needed alone time, so Davi says, “Let me call them and dress down and I’ll meet you in the theater.”
