Love and Chaos (12 page)

We all scramble to our assigned hiding places. Julia’s date, the guy she works with, hasn’t even turned up yet, I realize. Not that she’s noticed. Sam and I are both behind the sofa. Our eyes meet, and he gives an incredibly dorky pretend-excited face. I try not to laugh and make a bursting sound.

“Angie!” hisses Julia.

Sam shakes his head at me and makes a “shh!” sound.

A few seconds later, as we’re all crouched in the dark, Pia and Aidan walk into the living room.

“SURPRISE!”

“OH, MY GOD!” Pia screams, jumping up and down in pretend shock.

“Great acting skills,” says Sam under his breath, as Julia and Coco yell and clap in delight.

“You should see her do an anxiety attack, seriously,” I reply.

“She’s a faker?”

“Oh, no,” I say. “I think her emotions are real. I’m just saying that she really lets you know what she’s feeling. She’s highly expressive.”

“Jeez, I could be collapsing inside and my face would look just the same to everyone around me,” says Sam.

“Me too,” I say. “It’s my curse.”

Sam’s perma-frown turns into a grin, just as Julia walks up to us and downs her punch in one gulp. “Let’s eat!”

Coco’s face falls. “Oh, my god, the pies.”

At that moment the smoke alarm goes off.

CHAPTER
16

Okay, the kitchen stinks of smoke, the house is now freezing because we opened all the windows for fresh air, and the pies are charred beyond saving. But the party is going strong. There was a team decision to have ice cream and cheese for dinner, and as a result, everyone is shitfaced and acting—to use a phrase I was fond of in my teens—totally wack.

Pia is ignoring Aidan. This never happens, they’re usually sparkling at each other all night like two little birthday candles. I am waiting for the right time to ask her if she’s okay, but right now, she’s ranting at Madeleine and Heff, who are so stoned they can’t respond. That never
ever
happens. I’d bet money Madeleine’s experience of drugs up to now doesn’t even extend as far as Midol PM.

Julia has stopped talking entirely and is just staring at Sam like he’s television.

And Coco is hopping around like a big-boobed fairy on ecstasy, dancing to one of her favorite CDs (Will Smith’s
Greatest Hits,
of all goddamn things), turned up to eleven. Sam and Aidan are the only people actually talking: they’re discussing some scandal involving a Yankee or a Jet or something.

“What do you think of Ethan?” Coco whispers, hiccupping into my ear. “I asked Jonah? But he said no, he said no.”

“He was probably just busy,” I whisper back.

“No, he doesn’t like me.” Coco suddenly looks incredibly sad.

The doorbell rings. I head out to answer it.

It’s a tall guy wearing a human-size Mighty Mouse outfit. What the?

“Tricksh and treatsh?” Ah. He’s drunk out of his skull.

“Dude, it’s March,” I say, closing the door.

“I’m Lev.” His eyes are crossing with the effort of getting the words out. “I’m here for a party dinner?”

“Dinner party.”

“There was a party bachelor last night? In City Atlantic? So I’m … late. Where am I? You’re pretty. You’re so pretty. Are you my date?”

“No.”

“Will you go out with me?”

“No.”

I lead him into the living room.

“Jules. Your date is here.”

“He’s not my date! He’s, he’s just my friend from work, uh, a colleague, um, Lev, this is—”

Julia introduces him to everyone, but Lev ignores her, sits on the sofa, and goes straight to sleep.

“Get up, Lev!” Julia is freaking out. “You’re missing a totally sick party!”

“Julia is shouting again,” mumbles Lev. “I’m telling HR.”

Sam catches my eye again and does his ducking-head laughing thing.

“Have you tried the Oregon Blue? I’m something of a cheese aficionado,” says a froggy voice at my elbow. It’s Ethan, Coco’s date. “I once spent a summer making cheddar in Wisconsin.”

“That must have been so exciting for you,” I say.

“It was, it was,” he says. He’s very drunk. “You see, the secret with cheddar is the rennet—”

Ethan the Cheesemaker works for the Department of Health, but so far tonight has revealed himself to be “something of an aficionado” of wine, bicycles, fly-fishing, yachting, James Bond movies, headphones, the Battle of Brooklyn, typography, hip-hop, and Gothic architecture. He’s the kind of guy who likes to teach people things, i.e., a dick. Worse? Coco thinks he’s amazing.

“Wow!” Coco says now, suddenly standing next to us. “I never knew that about cheese, did you Angie? Did you? Hey! We should get matching tattoos! Saying ‘Rookhaven Forever’! Because we are super awesome!”

If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was on something.

“Lev!” Julia is prodding Lev. “Wake up!” She looks at Sam and smiles nervously. “He’s really a nice guy, usually.”

Lev opens his eyes. “Julia, can you go to the vending machine for me? Hey? Is that Ruthy?” he says, looking at Sam. “Ruthy! Ruthy!” And then he rests his head back, collapsing again.

Across the room, I see Aidan whispering to Pia.

“No, Aidan, we cannot talk about it!” she snaps. “You’re moving to San Francisco. What more is there to say? Fucking awesome, dude. Awesome!”

“You’re being a baby,” says Aidan.

“You’re being a baby,” she mimics.

“Call me when you want to talk about this,” he says in a low voice, and turns and walks out of the room. The front door slams.

With a loud sob, Pia gets up off the sofa and runs after him. “Aidan! Wait, oh God, wait!” The front door slams again.

Julia runs after Pia. Julia comes from the-more-the-merrier school of drama.

“Bad idea,” I call. “She wants to be alone with him!”

“Pia is a princess,” says Madeleine loudly.

I narrow my eyes at her. Madeleine and Pia have never been that close, but no one bad-mouths my best friend. “She is
not
a fucking princess, she’s just a bit of a drama queen, and it’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” Madeleine snorts.

Before I can administer the verbal bitch slap I’d like to, Sam is at my side.

“So, Angie, what do you do?”

“What do I do? What DO I do, hmm, let’s see. Well, I am unemployed, Sam. I am trying to get a job and I am failing.” I pause and take a sip of punch. “Miserably. Any advice for me?”

Sam shrugs. “Find a passion, talk your way in, then impress the boss.”

“Talk my way in? Like how?”

“Well … okay, I’m about to talk about me here, so, sorry if it’s boring—”

“Apology accepted.”

“Oh, thanks. So … I never sailed, you know, growing up, but I’d always wanted to. And I didn’t have any other burning ambitions and I really wanted to, uh, get away for a while. My life was kind of … imploding. So I bought a one-way ticket to Trinidad, made some friends at bars the sailing crews all hung out in, and talked my way onto a yacht that was being delivered to the Bahamas. I just copied everyone else and learned on the job. Then, the new owner liked me, and that was that. Three years at sea and counting.”

“And you love it?”

Sam thinks for a second, his gray eyes staring into the distance. “When I am sailing, I wake up looking forward to the day.”

“Huh,” I respond thoughtfully, frowning.

“You frown a lot.”

“So do you! You’re gonna need Botox by thirty.”

“That’s so sweet of you to say.” He pauses and takes a sip of beer. “This whole thing is to set me up with Julia, right?”

“No. Maybe.” Pause. “Yes.”

He laughs, his face lighting up. “Really? I was only kidding. The entire night? Just for me?”

“Not exactly,” I lie, suddenly feeling disloyal to Julia. “It really is Pia’s birthday. Soon. Ish.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. I raise mine back.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” says Sam. “How did you end up with that crowd, on that yacht, at that party? You didn’t exactly fit in.”

I smile, but my face suddenly feels locked with tension. Didn’t fit in with a bunch of girls who tread the fine line between fun and fuck-for-money.

Even thinking about it makes me shudder.

“You okay? You look like you’re about to ralph.”

“I’m fine.… Do people still say ‘ralph’?”

“Oh yeah. All the time.… Seriously, though, what were you doing there? Right from the start I knew something wasn’t right. You swagger up, looking hungover and lost and pissed as hell, smoking a cigarette and wearing studded Converse. Unlike the other girls, you had no fake tan, no fake breasts, no fake teeth.… Are they your friends?”

“Hell no, I’d never met them before. It just sort of happened. I’ve known Stef a long time, I trusted him, I shouldn’t have. End of story.” I take a swig of my drink, hoping Sam will say something. He doesn’t. And for some goddamn reason, I find myself gabbling. “So from now on, I’m avoiding rich kids forever. You know, they’re all entitled asshats who just lie to get what they want. Um, enough about me. Where are you from, Sam?”

I know nothing about him. Except that he works on yachts and is living on a friend’s floor in Fort Greene, broke and between jobs.

“Ohio.”

“Ohio? Are you serious? Tell me more.”

“Do you really need details? I’m Sam. Just Sam.”

“And I’m Angie. Just Angie.”

“So, how about I set you up on a blind date dinner party with one of my buddies, Just Angie? See how you like it.”

“Oh … no. I’m not dating right now, Just Sam. I have made too many bad decisions with, uh, the dudes.”

“If you can’t date anyone nice, don’t date anyone at all, is that it?”

“Something like that. I want to be single. But I totally think you should ask Julia for a drink or something. She’s really hilarious.” I pause and see Julia on the other side of the living room shouting “Fivies!” and forcing Heff to high-five her.

“She seems great, but really, uh, I’m not looking for anything, either. I just broke up with someone.”

“Details, please.”

“Her name’s Katie. We went to college together and sort of did a long-distance thing, but it got complicated, you know. It’s hard to stay in touch when you’re at sea for weeks on end.… She’s in Paris right now. Studying.”

He shows me a photo on his phone.

I’m impressed. “Her friends are all doing that duckface-kiss pose but she’s just smiling normally. She looks like the kind of girl I could have a drink with.”

When it’s his real smile, Sam’s entire face is taken over by it, like a little kid’s drawing. I grin back, and get the strangest, nicest, warmest feeling. I like this guy, I realize. As a friend. Purely as a friend. Which has never happened before in my entire life.

What a novelty.

“Do you want to be friends?” I say, the words out before I can assess how weird I sound. “I mean, seriously. Let’s just not do that whole sexual-tension thing. No drunk kissing, no one-night regrets, no Dawson Does Joey. Let’s just be friends.”

“Friends?”

“Friends. Tomorrow, you should come over here and we’ll have a
Freaks and Geeks
marathon or something.”

“I love that show,” Sam says, his face totally serious. “It was a travesty they canceled it.… Are you asking me out on a friend date? Is this what grown-ups do?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess I am. And I guess it is.”

I look around at everyone. Madeleine and Heff are lying on the floor giggling helplessly at Julia, who is doing the worm dance move, Ethan the Cheesemaker has passed out on the sofa next to a still-sleeping Lev, Pia and Aidan are missing, presumably fighting, and Coco is standing on a chair, singing and prancing like a pony on speed.

“They’re usually not like this,” I say to Sam. “Someone must have spiked the ice.”

At that moment Coco shouts “WOO!” jumps off the chair, and falls on the floor.

That’s a strange dance move.

Then she starts convulsing, throwing her head back violently, her entire body going rigid like she’s being electrocuted, and starts making choking sounds.

Holy shit. Coco is overdosing.

CHAPTER
17

We all stare in shock for a few seconds until Sam takes charge. “Call 911. Now.”

He crouches down next to her while I kneel, get out my phone, and dial 911. I put my hand on her forehead: her skin is boiling hot and damp with perspiration.

Julia is freaking out. “Coco! Coco! Oh my God ohmygodohmygod…”

“Calm down,” says Sam. “She’s fine, she’ll be fine. Coco? Can you hear me?”

He puts his ear to her mouth, then feels her neck for a pulse.

The operator answers. “We need an ambulance—” I start talking her through what just happened. The operator instructs me to put Coco in the recovery position, which Sam has already done, and then check her vitals.

“She’s, uh, she’s breathing, but she’s not a great color, and she’s still unconscious,” I say, as Sam instructs me. He seems to know exactly what to do.

“What has she taken?”
asks the operator.

“I don’t know,” I say. “She’s been acting weird tonight, but I’ve only seen her drinking alcohol—”

Coco starts convulsing again, puke bubbling out of her mouth. Sam turns her on her side, and, still unconscious, she retches a foamy mess of booze and cheese and crackers.

“Jesus,” I murmur.

Sam rolls her back and puts his ear to her mouth again, trying to hear or feel her breath.

“She’s breathing, but she’s out cold,” he says. “And her pulse is racing.”

I’m talking to the operator calmly on the outside, but inside, I’m freaking out. This is my fault. I’ve been totally neglecting Coco. And I haven’t talked about it before now because, well, it’s her business, not mine, and I never tell other people’s secrets, but she had an abortion a few months ago and confided in Pia and me. We helped her go to Planned Parenthood, the whole thing. She was sort of quiet and sad over the winter, but hell, everyone’s quiet and sad over the winter, right? And she had an abortion, I mean, that’ll make you feel pretty goddamn sad for a while. I’ve had one, too. About eight years ago. The guy was a bartender from a vacation I took with Pia and her family. I try not to think about it, ever. I guess I figured Coco would be the same.