Love and Chaos (32 page)

“What did you mean before? When you said ‘the life-altering power of a little scandal’?”

“I just mean … you know, Angie.” Cornelia lowers her voice, as though Keith weren’t standing four inches away from her applying individual eyelashes to her eyelids. “The
bar
. The
tape
.”

I look up at her, totally confused. “What bar? What tape? What are you talking about?”

“The tiny secret bar in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s called Angie’s Secret. They play the sex tape in the bathroom the whole time. I heard about it from that little sleazebag, what’s his name, that guy you hang around with? Steven, or Stef—”

But I’m not listening anymore. Instead, I’ve grabbed my coat and am heading straight for the door, every part of my brain and body and soul blazing with fury.

The Soho Grand night.

Now I know what happened.

CHAPTER
40

“That evil little fuckwit. We’ll destroy it, okay? And cut his balls off. I’ll be in Manhattan in half an hour. Don’t kill anyone until I get there.” Pia hangs up without waiting for a response.

Which is lucky, since I’m not sure I could say anything more right now. I just told Pia the truth about the Soho Grand night, about not remembering anything and waking up with three thousand dollars in an envelope. Pia, being Pia, didn’t seem shocked at all. She just loaded her metaphorical shotgun and is coming with me to the bar to reclaim the tape.

I’m striding up Hudson, my face burning, my pulse racing, my stomach churning with an almost overwhelming need to vomit, or pass out, or scream.

There’s a
sex tape
of me, taken when I was too out of it to know what the fuck I was doing.

Which means I had sex with—well, with someone—in the Soho Grand that night, and he taped me.

It’s playing in that secret bar under the café in Hell’s Kitchen.

They called the bar Angie’s Secret in the end. After me.

Just like I asked them to.

I wonder who it was. Maybe it was one of the guys I met that night, one of the bar owners … Busey. Or Emmett.

Suddenly, I have a flashback to being in the back of a cab with Emmett. He gave me a keybump of coke. And then he kissed me. I remember tongue. Lots of tongue.

Yes. It was him.

Oh God. I am overcome with a sickening shame. I feel like I’ve lost something I can never get back. I wonder what I did on the tape, how bad it was … I mean, it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Everyone has sex! The existence of the human race is testament to the fact that everyone has sex. And every low-level celebrity and reality TV star has a sex tape. Hell, I’m pretty sure most of them make a sex tape to try to boost their fame quotient. They would probably just shrug this off. Or be proud of it, even.

But I’m not like that. I don’t want fame. I don’t want notoriety. I never did. I just want a job that will be the start of a real career and a life of which I can be proud. I’m fed up with people taking advantage of me, and yeah, maybe it’s partly my fault for being immature and thoughtless and making so many stupid decisions.

But enough is enough.

As I argue with myself in my head, I’m marching through the West Village. The sky is getting dark, and this is postcard New York in April: beautiful buildings with yellowy lighting in the windows cut out against the dusk sky, trees kissing overhead, the twilight making everything magical. Everyone is walking home from work, thinking about their careers and love and sex and food and family and money and fashion and fun and all the things that New Yorkers are obsessed with.… God, I love it. I don’t want to leave.

So what
do
I want? I keep walking until I reach the cobblestoned Meatpacking District, which reminds me of being in New York when I was about nineteen and dancing on chairs in those Sunday brunch places. I would so not do that now. I don’t want that life. That’s just not who I am anymore.

So who am I?

I feel like I’m still trying to find out.

My phone rings again. It’s Pia.

“Where are you?”

I look up. “Thirteenth and Ninth?”

“Stay there.”

A couple of minutes later, Pia comes zooming around the corner in Toto, her pale pink SkinnyWheels food truck, and screeches to a halt on the cobblestones in front of me.

Julia is next to her in the front seat. She opens the door and quickly climbs out of the truck.

Our eyes meet, and I feel, if it’s possible, even sicker with apprehension. “Hi, Julia…”

“Angie, thank you for the flowers,” Julia says. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I think it’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

I start laughing despite myself, feeling momentarily filled with relief. “Oh, Jules. I am so sorry I hurt you. I swear it wasn’t deliberate.”

“You didn’t, not really,” she says, leaning in for a hug. “Angie, the date with Sam
was
a total washout. There was no, I don’t know, connection, no sexual tension; I knew it was a failure … but I wanted him to like me anyway. I wanted it so badly. I’m just tired of being single.”

“I understand,” I say. “I’m just tired of being me.”

Julia smiles. “Let’s go nail these assholes, shall we?”

“Yes,” I say. “God, yes.”

I climb into the truck, next to Pia, and Julia climbs in after me. Pia reaches back and knocks twice on the hatch behind her head. A double knock comes right back. I frown quizzically at her.

“Maddy and Coco,” she says. “They’re hiding back there. It’s kind of illegal, but you know, they really wanted to help.”

“Oh, my God, you guys are the best. I don’t deserve this,” I say. “Did Pia tell you? About the Soho Grand night? About the money?”

“I did,” says Pia. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” I say. “I don’t want any more secrets from you guys. You must think—”

“We think you’re our friend, and bad shit happens, and we’re going to fix it,” says Julia. “We’re all in this together.”

We smile at each other for a second, then she reaches down and turns on the radio. After a few seconds of loud static, it starts playing Blondie’s “One Way or Another.”

“Toto has such great taste in theme songs,” says Pia, patting the steering wheel approvingly.

By the time we get to Westies, at the corner of Tenth and Forty-sixth, screaming along to the radio the whole way, I’m feeling better. I can do this. With the girls by my side, I can do anything.

We get out of Toto and stand in a group on the sidewalk for a moment.

“I can never thank you enough for this,” I say. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

“I promise we don’t,” says Madeleine. “And personally, I think you should question whether this was sex with consent.”

“I don’t think we’ll know without watching the video,” I say. “And I don’t want to.”

“We’ve all been drunk, and we’ve all had sex, we’ve all made mistakes,” says Julia. “Could have been any one of us.”

“It could easily have been you since you have, in fact, made a sex tape, and you weren’t even drunk,” points out Pia.

Everyone gasps, and Julia shrugs. “That was a long time ago, P-Dawg. My experimental phase. And I destroyed the evidence, anyway. It won’t, like, pop up when I run for president.”

Madeleine cracks up. “You had an experimental phase?”

“Enough!” says Pia. “Let’s focus on the problem at hand.”

“I’m focused.” Coco makes a snarling sound. “Let’s get these fuckers.”

The five of us stalk into the café, all trying to look as angry and mean as we can, past the greasy counters and ancient cupcakes. I open the door at the back of the room and we march down the old cabbage-y stairwell, past the velvet curtain, and into the bar.

It’s been weeks since I was last here, the night that started with a bad mood and a bad friend and ended in … blackout. But it feels like a lifetime ago.

The bar looks kind of like a stage set now, the way bars always do when they’re empty, the lights are on, and you’re sober. It’s just the same as it was that time I met Stef here, with one change: above the bar, in a cursive script, is
ANGIE’S SECRET
spelled out in pink neon.

Looking at it makes me feel sick.

Leading the way, I walk straight to the back of the room, where there’s a tiny unisex bathroom.

It’s locked.

“Shit!” I say.

“Don’t worry,” says Madeleine. “I can pick locks.”

“Where the fuck did you learn how to pick a lock?” asks Pia.

Madeleine arches an eyebrow. “You don’t know everything about me, Pia. So it looks like a single-pin pick will do fine. Anyone got a bobby pin?”

Pia takes a pin out of her chignon.

“And I just need…” Madeleine runs to the bar, picks up a knife, throws it down, then grabs a corkscrew. “Aha!” She hurries back. “Give me two minutes.”

But all she needs is thirty seconds. Click, click, click, the lock is done.

“Hurry,” says Pia. “It’s, like, 7:30. Even the latest of the late-night bars probably need someone in early to set up.”

“Okay, okay.” I open the door and look in the bathroom. It’s just a communal sink with a huge mirror and two toilet stalls. I can’t see a TV screen, or a DVD player, or even a laptop, anywhere.

The girls push past me. “Did you find it? Let’s get out of here!”

“It’s not here,” I say, feeling a lump of desperation in my throat. “There’s no screen, there’s nothing. Anyway, what am I even thinking? They would have made copies of any tape.… It’s digital, it’s probably on the Internet. I can never destroy everything. There’ll always be a copy somewhere. What were we thinking, driving up here like fucking vigilantes?”

Julia is frowning. “Something’s weird about this room.… Look, why is the mirror angled up? Mirrors are usually angled down so that it’s flattering to the person looking at their reflection, right?”

I gaze at the mirror. “So?”

“So … it’s like it’s designed to reflect something high on the opposite wall. You see?”

“What are you, Nancy fucking Drew?” says Madeleine.

Julia doesn’t respond. Instead, she turns around and looks at the blank opposite wall, then swivels back to the mirror, and looks up.

And then I see it. There’s a hole the size of a quarter in the wall above the mirror.

“It’s next door,” she says. “The camera. It’s projecting the movie onto the wall and reflected in the mirror. So that when you’re in the bathroom, you can see the movie, no matter which way you’re facing.”

We all file out of the tiny bathroom. Next door to it is another door … the janitor’s closet.

“Hairpin! Hairpin!” says Madeleine, holding her hand out like a surgeon in an operating theater.

“Fuck the hairpin,” Julia says, and kicks the lock on the door, very hard, with all her strength. On the third kick, I can hear wood splintering, and the door falls open.

Inside is a bucket full of cleaning products and a few crates of mixers. And when we look up, a tiny newly made shelf containing a vintage-looking movie camera.

“That’s a Super 8 home movie camera,” says Pia. “Aidan has a bunch of movies his folks made of him when he was a baby; it tapes and plays back from the same machine.… Super 8 has that grainy old-fashioned look, you know? It’s totally popular again.”

“Oh, good,” I say. “So I was filmed having sex without my knowledge, but at least I look cool?”

“Well, it’s unlikely that those losers bothered to transfer the film to digital, so that’s a bonus.”

“Get the fucking camera and let’s go already,” says Julia.

I reach up, knocking the camera off the shelf. It clatters to the floor.

“Oops. I think I broke it,” I say, making a pretend-anguish face at the girls.

Julia grins and stamps on it so hard it breaks into three pieces. “Oops. I think I broke it more.”

“Okay, can we do this back at Union Street?” Pia interrupts.

Everyone files out as I pick up the broken camera, and then they all turn around and walk back into the bar.

The other girls are frozen in front of me.

I look at them in confusion. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Then I see why they’re not moving.

Emmett, Busey, and Stef. Blocking the exit.

“Hello, Angie,” says Stef. “Looks like you’ve discovered our secret.”

CHAPTER
41

“How could you
do
that to me?” I stride right up to Stef. “You
filmed
me! Having
sex
! Do you really fucking hate me that much? What did I ever do to you?”

“Hey, it wasn’t me, babe!” He puts his hands up and takes a step back. “I was as surprised as you were. Well maybe not
as
surprised…”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I swear.”

I turn to Emmett and Busey, feeling like I might collapse from stress and anger. “You evil assholes,” I stammer. “I could have you arrested.”

“You’re overreacting,” says Busey, his chubby cheeks wobbling with every word. “It’s really a beautiful movie. Very sixties, very classic. You should be proud.”

I gasp, feeling like I’ve been hit.

“I thought you were into it.” Emmett looks bored. “I set the camera up while you were in the bathroom. You never even noticed.… You were pretty wild.”

I try to speak, but only a choking sound comes out, and tears flow down my face. I can’t bear this. I can’t. I don’t know what to do.

“You piece of shit,” says Julia. “How
dare
you take advantage of Angie like that! How
dare
you show a sex tape in your disgusting bar, like she was some kind of porn star!”

Busey smirks. “If the shoe fits—”

“Shut the hell up,” says Pia, her voice low and threatening. “Don’t you dare say that shit about my best friend, you fat fuck.”

“We’re leaving,” Madeleine adds. “And we’re taking the camera.”

“By the way,” Coco says, “my boyfriend works for the Department of Health, in the Bureau of Food Safety and Community Sanitation. Bet you twenty bucks you’ll lose your liquor license and be shut down within the month.”

“What liquor license?” Stef says under his breath, then looks up and sees that we all heard.

Coco looks at him, then back at Busey and Emmett. “I’d say you’re pretty screwed, assholes.”