Making Out (17 page)

She watched him as he went toward the bedroom. He seemed to be looking for someone who wasn't there. Then he turned back to the living room, and their eyes locked again.

Was he looking for her? Could he possibly be?

And here she was, sitting on Marco's lap.

Li'l D threw her an unreadable, smirky smile. She couldn't tell what it was about, but something told her to get out of Marco's lap—now.

She jumped up.

“No, wait,” Marco said. “You're my luck, remember?”

“Get your own luck,” Lisa Marie said, trying to squeeze her way out from behind the poker table.

The furniture was so tightly pushed together, she was sort of trapped. She had to climb up on the coffee table to get out. Whoa. It was high up there. She felt a little dizzy. Maybe you weren't supposed to mix vodka and beer all in one night?

“Okay, gentlemen, let's see what you've got,” Evan said shoving some chips into the pot.

“Pocket rockets!” Vlad announced.

“Pair of tens.”

“Flush. Read 'em and weep, gentlemen.”

“Shit!” Marco yelled. “I'm cashed out. Damn it, Lisa Marie, it's your fault.”

Lisa Marie looked over at him.
My fault?
Was he out of his mind? What was it with these guys, always trying to blame her? But there was no point in arguing with him. Or slapping him down. He was just venting.

All she wanted to do was move this stupid chair, so she could go talk to Li'l D. But the damn thing was stuck, and she couldn't push it enough to even get past it. Oh, what the hell. She put her foot on the upholstery and hoped the fake Jimmy Choos wouldn't poke a hole.

Now where did he go? By the time she'd extricated herself from the furniture jungle, Li'l D seemed to be gone.

No. Not quite gone. He had his hand on the door, and he was about to leave.

“Wait,” Lisa Marie blurted out, hurrying over to him.

Li'l D glanced over his shoulder without turning fully around. “What's happening, baby?”

“I just . . .” She didn't know what to say. She just wanted a chance to talk to him, really. But how could she say that?

She flashed on what he had said to her in Starbucks. Could she make this come out the right way? “Uh . . . you . . . me . . . prom night. Remember?” she said.

“You've been pretty busy,” Li'l D said.

Was that an accusation, a compliment, or a complaint?

“A girl likes to keep moving,” Lisa Marie said. “I'll sit down when the music stops.”

Li'l D laughed. “Don't look like the music's going to stop anytime soon,” he said glancing back at the poker table.

“Gamblers always lose,” Lisa Marie shot back, not even sure what she meant by that, but hoping it sounded right. It was something her sister Angela had always said.

He cocked his head at her. “That's right,” he nodded sincerely. “That's why I didn't sit down with those jerks. They're just throwing good money away.”

Wow. It was sort of a shocker, hearing St. Claire's number-one hip-hop artist coming off more straitlaced than the congressman's son.

Li'l D took her face in one hand, very gently. “You . . . me . . . next time . . .” he said in a very sexy but sincere voice.

Then he and his buddies, who'd been hovering right behind her the whole time, were out the door.

So all right, Lisa Marie thought. Next time! Those were words a girl could hang on to.

She felt light-headed, but not from the alcohol this time. Drew liked her. She could tell. There was going to be a next time.

As far as she was concerned, her prom night was complete. She didn't care what happened next.

 

 

 

 

“Is that your cell ringing and ringing?” Marianna asked Heather.

Heather looked down at the tiny little green and gold evening bag that was lying beside her on the sofa in the hotel suite. Was it ringing? It was hard to tell, with all the noise of the endless poker game, the music playing in one room, and the TV droning on in the other. (And by the way: What was it about being stoned out of your mind that made the Game Show Network so fascinating, anyway?)

If her phone was ringing at this hour on prom night, with her two best friends right there in the room, it could only be one person: her mom. She quickly snatched it open.

Wrong. The number displayed in caller ID wasn't anyone she knew.

“Hello?” Heather decided to answer it.

“Heather? It's Tony.”

“Oh! Hi. Uh . . .”
How'd you get my number?
she wanted to say, but it seemed kind of rude and pointless.

Tony seemed to guess the question. “I had your number in my cell from the other day,” he said. “From when your friends texted me from your phone.”

Heather liked people who anticipated and explained.

“Anyway,” Tony went on, “I'm getting out of here to a party at Nick's house . . . and I know we were supposed to hang tonight . . . so do you want to come?”

“Nick?”

“Nick Peron. He's a friend of mine. He lives in Chevy Chase.”

Chevy Chase, Maryland, was one of, if not the, most desirable suburbs in D.C., filled with beautiful, sprawling old houses and wealthy political types who couldn't bear to be more than fifteen minutes from Capitol Hill. Mentioning it was code for
You're going to like his house, and you'll be driving in a safe neighborhood.

“Um, sure. Can I bring my friends, if they want to come?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay. Where is it?” Heather asked.

“Meet me in the lobby,” Tony said.

This was an excellent turn of events, Heather decided. She had thought Tony was blowing her off altogether, and that she'd go home from her big senior prom completely empty-handed—which is to say, with nothing more than a pathetic story for her journal about how she got all hot and bothered when an amazing girl needed her necklace fixed.

She'd also been positive Tony thought she was a jerk after she walked out of his video interview.

Maybe she and Tony could hook up after all—she was still willing to give it a try. And if not, at the very least, she could make nice to him so he wouldn't use the embarrassing parts of the interview in his prom night documentary.

She checked in with Marianna and Lisa Marie to see if they wanted to come, but there was no way. Marianna and Luke were doing their best Cirque du Soleil impersonation, wrapped around each other in a corner, and Lisa Marie was back in full regal mode, holding court in the middle of her circle of guys.

Okay, so she was outta there. Excellent.

Tony was wearing a white silk scarf draped around his neck when she spotted him in the lobby. He looked so calm and relaxed, Heather immediately felt the same way. It was so easy being around him. Was that a good sign? Did it mean she liked guys after all?

“Hey,” he greeted her. “Just you? No friends?”

“They're doing their own thing,” Heather explained.

Tony nodded. “It's better this way.”

Uh-oh. How come?
She tensed slightly at the thought of being alone with him, but he wasn't giving off any
I want to jump your bones
vibes, so she decided not to worry.

“So I'm parked in the garage. You want to just follow me?” he said.

Heather nodded, glad to be taking her own car. That way, she'd still be in control. She liked being in control. She could leave anytime she wanted, if the whole thing didn't suit her taste.

They drove up Connecticut Avenue and turned down some pretty, tree-lined side streets just across the line into Chevy Chase. Most of the houses were dark at this hour. Tony pulled up in front of a gray clapboard-covered house with a wide front porch and graceful columns. Lights glowed inside.

“Nick's parents are in Spain,” Tony explained as they walked up the front steps.

He opened the front door without knocking and held it open for Heather. Inside, just past the entryway, she saw a large square living room where Nick's friends were hanging out. The place was decorated with exquisite Arts and Crafts furniture and a large, beautiful Oriental rug. Some people were curled up on leather chairs, others were sprawled on the rug, sipping champagne from crystal flutes or drinking from cut-crystal lowballs. They were watching a DVD on a large plasma screen high above the marble fireplace.

“Hey, everyone, this is Heather,” Tony said, introducing her when someone paused the DVD.

There were about eleven people, girls and guys. Tony introduced her to Nick and tried to introduce a few others, but someone had unpaused the movie, and they'd gone back to watching it.

“Grab a drink,” Nick said, gesturing toward the bar.

What a cool scene,
Heather thought. So much hipper than the party she'd just left. Half as many people in three times as much space—that was a good start. And even though they were drinking, no one was being loud or disgusting. It was smokier than she liked, what with the cigarette smoke lingering in the air. But the ceilings were high, so the smoke rose up. It wasn't too hard to take.

I could get used to this,
Heather thought. She instantly felt comfortable with this crowd. Most of them were film buffs—she recognized Talia and Jordan, who had both directed arty student films last year. The other guys were part of the hipster/film crowd at St. Claire's, the people who always wore black.

“What are we watching?” she whispered to Tony as he handed her a glass of champagne.

On the screen, a young Frank Sinatra was chewing up the scenery in some old black-and-white film. Corny, melodramatic music swelled in the background.

“Looks like
The Man with the Golden Arm
,” Tony answered.

“It is,” the guy sitting on the floor near them said. “We're doing clips from our least favorite films. This one's my pick.”

“Unbelievable music,” Nick sneered as the orchestra swelled to a dramatic crescendo. “Someone should've given the composer a Valium.”

Everyone laughed.

“Yeah, well it
is
a film about drug addiction,” the floor guy said.

“Okay, Valium for the composer, but the lighting guy could have used an upper,” Talia joked. “I mean, what's with how dark this thing is?”

“There's a reason it's not called
film blanc
, Talia,” someone said. “What do you expect?”

“I expect to be able to tell the difference between the actors and a carpet stain.”

“Did you see that camera shadow?” Jordan called out. “You could see it in the whole opening shot.”

“Wait . . . wait . . . here comes the worst part.” The guy on the floor sat up and pointed at the screen. “Now watch. Frankie's going to leave the bar. Watch the jukebox . . . they're going to pull it out of the way . . . here it comes . . . to make room for the camera to get out the door.”

Heather watched closely. This was fun. Yup—he was right. The jukebox slid out of the way, seemingly all by itself.

“I know it's Sinatra,” the guy on the floor said, “but it doesn't deserve to be on a classics list.”

Heather curled up in the corner of a plush couch and took another sip of her champagne. Yum. The bubbles felt good. Half a glass, and she already felt slightly tipsy. But it was all good. She wasn't designated to drive anybody at this point. And besides, by the time she left here, she'd be sober again.

“Okay, who's next?” Nick said, stopping the DVD.

Jordan handed him a different video, and Nick popped it into a player nestled in a carved wooden wall cabinet.

The movie came on. Instantly everyone started hooting and booing. It was Jennifer Garner in
13 Going on 30
.

“Talk about a bomb. This turkey nearly ruined her career,” someone said.

“What career?” Tony joked.

“Yeah—she was so desperate after this movie bombed, she started dating Ben Affleck.”

Heather laughed. It was refreshing to be with people who actually thought dating Ben Affleck was a comedown!

“Check out this cheesy glitter effect when she transforms into thirty,” Jordan said.

“What—you'd prefer she just twitch her nose?” Talia said.

“No, I'd prefer the vaporization effect they used in
War of the Worlds
—for the whole
film
,” Jordan joked.

“I haven't seen anything this cheesy since Tinkerbell.”

“Hold on. We do
not
mock Tinkerbell,” the guy on the floor said.

“Which one? The druggy Julia Roberts version in
Hook
? We mock that one all the time,” Nick said.

“I stand corrected,” Floor-guy said and bowed.

“Whoa! Check out the dress,” Talia gasped. “They had better costume design in
March of the Penguins
.”

“Better dialogue, too,” Tony added.

Everyone laughed.

Funny!
Heather thought. She couldn't quite keep up with these people—well, she couldn't top them, anyway—but she was loving the whole scene.

Jordan grabbed the remote and ran the DVD up to the party scene, where Jennifer Garner did an impersonation of John Travolta dancing in
Saturday Night Fever.

“They should take away her Screen Actors Guild card for that,” Nick commented.

“Yeah, that's the worst dancing I've seen since Hugh Grant in
About a Boy
.”

“No, this is worse,” Jordan argued. “It goes on much longer.”