All That Glitters (18 page)

By midnight, the kitchen was a disaster, but we were halfway through the preparation. Camille came up and put her arm around me. “When Willa dropped that bomb on you tonight, I never thought I'd get to say this … but I think we just might pull this crazy idea off.”

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Camille and I shared a confused look.

“You don't think that's Willa and Kennedy, do you?” I asked. They were the only two members of the hockey team not representing at my house tonight. “I thought we sort of had a moment on the runway tonight. Maybe they're—”

Camille raised an eyebrow at me. “What,” she said, “maybe they've stopped being agents of evil? I don't know, Flan, I wouldn't get your hopes up. People are different on and off the runway.”

I went to the door with no idea what I'd be confronted with, and what I found was even more startling than a contrite Kennedy and Willa.

“SBB!” I cried. “Oh my God, what happened to you?”

She looked like she'd been through Hell and back again. Her blond hair was matted to her face, and her cream colored dress was lopsided and falling off her shoulder—and suddenly, I realized it was all my fault.

“Oh no!” I said, covering my face with my flour-covered hands.

“You forgot about me. I left you twenty-seven messages, but you still forgot about me,” she peeped before collapsing at my feet. “And now my life is over.”

“Oh, SBB,” I said. “I'm
so
sorry. The show ran late, and my phone was off …” I held out my arms and
helped her inside the living room, away from the chaos of the kitchen. “What happened?”

“What
didn't
happen?” she wailed. “I couldn't get a hold of you. I stopped by and no one was here except for Patch, who told me not to go with the Nanette Lepore. I realize now I should
never
listen to Patch's opinion on fashion, but I couldn't help it! He was the closest thing I could find to you. And so I ditched the first dress we'd agreed on, and I went with this ridiculous Gucci ensemble.” She flicked the gorgeous satin gown at her hips. “Huge mistake,” she said, looking up at me with big, mascara-streaked eyes.

“Ashleigh Ann?” I asked, feeling my heart drop into my stomach. Sure, SBB had a tendency to over-dramatize the situation, but this one sounded real, and I was scared to hear whether her biggest fears had actually come true.

SBB nodded. “Same Jimmy Choo shoes, same Gucci dress, same Versace clutch. Grade A red carpet disaster.
And
she showed up first, effectively ruining my reputation. I was the copycat. There was nothing to be done.”

“Oh SBB—”

“
And then
,” she said, not letting me finish, “Gloria showed up and forced me to have dinner with her at Per Se. JR got sucked into a brainstorming meeting
with Garrison Toyota, and I was left alone—
alone
—with the woman who continues to lord over me the fact the she gave me life. She spent at least an hour trying to bribe me into letting her have custody of me again. The nerve, Flan, the absolute
nerve
! It could not have been more of a disaster.” She turned to look at me with her big blue eyes, and I felt like just as much of an irresponsible mother as Gloria. “Why weren't you there, Flan?” SBB pleaded. “My career is basically over, so I've got all the time in the world to listen to your excuse.”

Just then, Ramsey poked her head into the living room. “Flan, can you taste this sauce?” she asked. “Wait, aren't you Sara-Beth Benny?”

SBB sighed. “I used to be,” she said, shooting me a look. “Now I am a shadow of my former self, no thanks to Flan. I'll taste the sauce.”

Ramsey shrugged and put the wooden spoon to SBB's lips.

SBB savored the sauce for a minute, then said, “Hmm. Add a touch of salt, some rosemary, maybe cut it with a little honey. Overall, I think it's pretty good. But”—she wagged a menacing finger at me—“
we
are not good.”

As I watched her huddled figure plod to my front door before slamming it behind her, my heart twisted
up. I couldn't believe I'd let my best friend down. As I plopped down on the couch, I thought: I had to figure out a way to make it up to her.

“Flan,” Camille called out from the kitchen, “we need you. We can't figure out how to work the blow torch for the chocolate crème brûlée.”

“I'll be right there.” I sighed and heaved myself off the couch. Tomorrow, I thought. I'll have to figure it all out tomorrow.

The pop star boyfriend patches things up

By the time the clock struck two a.m., twenty-four trays had been filled with yummy Virgil-worthy noshes, and Ramsey, Harper, Amory, and Morgan were drying the last of the non-dishwasher-safe dishes.

“You guys are lifesavers,” I said as the four of them lined up at the door to put on their coats and scarves.

“No sweat,” Amory said. “It's good practice for when I audition for the role of Cinderella. See you tomorrow!”

Back in the kitchen, Camille was pulling one final tray of brownies out of the oven.

“Last women standing,” I said.

Camille laid the brownies on a trivet, tossed both oven mitts over her shoulder, and started cracking up.

“What's so funny?” I said.

“I have no idea,” she wheezed, gripping her sides.
“Nothing. I'm just slap happy from the amount of food produced in this kitchen in one night.”

“I don't think it will ever happen again,” I said, shaking my head. “I can't wait to tell my mom that someone finally figured out how to use the oven without singeing anything in the process.”

“Do we have any more of that magic popcorn left?” Camille asked, looking around the kitchen.

“I'll make another batch,” I said, picking up the empty bowl.

“Don't bother,” Camille said. “I'm just used to snacking on that when we gossip. But I don't know if I can even look at any more food. It's probably better if we both just collapse.”

“Wait,” I said, “does that mean we finally get to gossip, even if there's no magic popcorn to get us going?”

“Well”—Camille sighed dramatically—“I guess we probably should.”

We crawled to the living room and each claimed one of the brown suede couches. I tossed Camille a blanket and we put on old TiVoed episodes of
Gossip Girl
to set the mood.

“So, did you see him kiss me?” Camille asked, squirming into her pillow.

“He
kissed
you?” I squealed.

“
Shhh
! What if someone hears?” Camille said, looking around the empty living room.

As soon as she realized how completely irrational that fear was, we both busted out laughing. We laughed so hard that we started crying, which always happened to us at the exact same time. Just as we were finally calming down, a panicked thought popped into my head.

“Camille,” I said, shooting up on the couch.

“What is it?” she asked. “Don't tell me you made some other plans tonight that you forgot about?”

“No,” I said. “This time, I'm actually planning ahead. How in the world are we going to get all this food to Virgil?”

At that instant, my front door burst open, and Patch sauntered in wearing a top hat and a tuxedo. Next to him stood a guy in a large puffy black coat with a pulled up fur-trimmed hood and dark sunglasses.

“What are you doing up, Flan?” Patch said. “Figured you'd be conked out after your big runway event.” He motioned to his mysterious companion. “You know Jake Riverdale, right?”

I squinted at the masked man. When he removed his hood and his shades to reveal his gorgeous pop star face and trademark dimpled smile, I had to do a
double take. I mean, I'd spent months of my life talking
about
JR with SBB, but until this moment I'd never actually met him.

“What's up, little Flood,” he said, shaking his head. “Wait, are you the famous Flan my girl is always raving about?”

“Um, I used to be,” I said, feeling another wave of guilt wash over me. “But probably not anymore. SBB was pretty upset with me tonight,” I rambled, suddenly aware that I was in the incredibly hot presence of
the
JR. Camille was practically hyperventilating next to me. “And I deserved it—”

“Don't sweat it,” JR said. “I think she was just frantic about seeing Gloria. I'm already in hot water with her for ducking out on dinner. If anyone has groveling to do, it's me. I think I'm going to go over to her house tomorrow morning, make her breakfast, and see if she'll agree to let me take her out tomorrow night—”

“Wait a minute,” I said, holding up a finger. “I think I have an idea.”

“Does your idea include JR and me chowing down on some of whatever smells so good in the kitchen?” Patch said. “I'm starving.”

“No,” I said sternly. “We did not cook all night for you to tear through our hors d'oeuvres in five
minutes. We need that stuff for tomorrow—if we can figure out a way to get it there.”

“I'll make you a deal,” Patch said. “You let JR and me have a very small sample of your fancy food, and I'll call a friend who can arrange to get everything delivered to your party.”

“Okay,” I said. “But only one bite each!”

“Dude,” JR said as he and Patch headed into the kitchen. “She always this bossy? Is that where SBB learns it?”

But whatever Patch had to say about my bossiness fell on deaf ears, because just then my head hit the pillow, and I fell fast asleep.

The Hostess who Glittered

The afternoon sun was glinting off the Central Park pond when Camille and I arrived at the Boathouse. Patch was already there, directing a crew of three burly guys to start unloading the truck.

“Let's get the hot stuff in there first,” he called out as they hoisted our trays on their shoulders with surprising professionalism—given that they were Patch's friends—and started filing into the Boathouse Café.

“Um, speaking of hot stuff,” Camille said, giving me a look.

“Yeah, Patch, where'd you find these guys?” I asked.

“I know, right?” Patch said, smiling impishly. “They handle all the heavy lifting for events at the Rainbow Room. I met them in Rio and they let me crash during Carnival. I'm telling you, caterer dudes know how to party.”

It was almost too easy to watch them work, and a half hour later, the food was all strategically placed around the room. Soon, the winter white flower arrangements were brought in, and the DJ was setting up in the corner.

One of the Brazilian guys came up and put his arms around Camille and me. “You American girls really know how to throw down with style,” he said, grabbing a bottle of water from the bar.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling and thinking of my single friends. “You guys should totally stick around for Virgil.”

By five o'clock, Camille and I were in the bathroom changing into our dresses. I zipped up the back of her floor-length red silk Bill Blass gown and helped her arrange the cap sleeves so they lay just right against her naturally tanned shoulders.

“Gorgeous. Have you ever considered a career in modeling?” I joked.

“Tried it once,” Camille laughed. “But I think we have more fun
off
the catwalk.”

“You know, I'm never taking this dress off,” I said, running my hands down the amazing Zac Posen dress SBB had given me. It was the perfect cut: a princess neckline and a full skirt that made me feel as light as air.

Unfortunately, I couldn't help feeling weighed down when I thought about SBB's crestfallen face last night. I crossed my fingers that the plan I'd texted JR about this morning would get things with us back to normal.

“Hey,” Camille said, grabbing my arm. “Look who's here!”

As we watched the buses from Dalton and Thoney arrive and unload chatty groups of guys and girls, we scooted toward the coat check to be the first to greet everyone.

The first person I spotted was Mattie Hendricks, looking sweet in a simple A-line black dress.

“Hey, Mattie,” I said, leaning in for a kiss.

“Flan, oh my God, how did you pull this off? It's so beautiful!”

“Thanks, Mattie,” I said, handing her one of the specialty virgin cocktails Camille and I had come up with, with a little help from the Brazilian boys. “Have a Thoney Torpedo. It's açaí, pineapple, and coconut. Cheers!”

As the room started to fill up with happy, top-of-the-weekend chatter, I hung around the entryway, passing out Torpedos and compliments on everyone's amazing gowns.

“Faiden,” I said, admiring her pale pink bubble
dress. “Who are you wearing? It's gorgeous,” I said, sort of feeling like an interviewer on E!

“Actually,” she said, taking a little spin so I could see the back, “I made it. I got a sewing machine for Christmas, and this was my first project.”

“Wow,” I said. “I'm so impressed.”

“So am I,” I heard a poised voice say behind me. I turned around to find Headmistress Winters standing next to Mr. Zimmer. “Flan,” she said, “you've done an excellent job. In just one week, you have shown us all just what it is that makes the Thoney spirit such a wonderful thing. Your extracurricular endeavors are commendable, and what's more”—she smiled at Mr. Zimmer—“Mr. Zimmer tells me you've got a true zeal for academics. I was pleased to hear that you've taken such an interest in your English studies.”

“Thank you,” I said, blushing. “It's been a great two weeks.”

“We're certainly lucky to have you join us this semester,” Mr. Zimmer agreed. “Now, if you'll excuse us,” he said, steering the headmistress toward the bar. “I believe it's time for us to try this famous Torpedo everyone is raving about.”