Mystic City (13 page)

Making Love, Not War

These days, getting cozy with your sworn enemy is all the rage.

By now, everyone knows the story of Aria Rose and Thomas Foster’s secret romance—how they defied their parents and fell in love. But unlike Romeo and Juliet, this pair of New York City lovers is getting their happy ending: a wedding at the end of the summer, just after the August 21 mayoral election in which Thomas’s older brother, Garland Foster, is running against registered mystic Violet Brooks.

The teen lovebirds have been mum on any details, leading us all to wonder: How did they meet? How did they convince their parents—whose political rivalry dates back to the early twentieth century—to let them be together?

“Forbidden love has been around since the beginning of time,” says Professor Jinner of West University. “It’s a theme we’ve seen in the earliest plays and books.”

Then why is everyone so obsessed with Aria and Thomas?

“I’m fourteen years old and I’ve never even been to the East Side,” says Talia St. John, whose family supports the Roses. “But now my mom says we can go. There are probably so many cute boys over there, and now I get to meet them! Everything is changing, and I like it.”

Well put, Talia.

But seriously—the union of Aria Rose and Thomas Foster will erase the invisible dividing line that has marked our city for years. And most people see this as a good thing.

Aria and Thomas, no strangers to the flashes of paparazzi cameras, have frequently been photographed on both Manhattan’s East and West sides.

“They’re showing that two people really can make a difference,” says Talia.

And let’s face the truth: it doesn’t hurt that they’re both gorgeous.

Thomas, with his movie star looks, has been making girls all over the city swoon for years. And Aria has the classic features of a storybook princess.

Plus, they really do seem to be
in love
. Even a simple touch of his hand on her back shows how taken Manhattan’s no-longer-so-eligible bachelor is with his bride-to-be.

Perhaps even more remarkable is the number of Aeries couples who have admitted to having their very own star-crossed romances—former Rose and Foster supporters who have joined together, putting aside their past differences to unite against the mystic threat.

“I never thought we’d be able to marry,” says Franklin Viofre, a Rose supporter who’s been having a secret affair with Melissa Taylor, a Foster supporter. “But now that Thomas and Aria are showing everyone that this is okay, I proposed. And she said yes!”

Not everyone is happy with the changes, of course. There have been small protests from those on both sides who seek to keep things the way they’ve always been: separate. “No good will come from this union,” says an anonymous source close to the Fosters. “Mark my words.”

Only time will tell. But for now, let’s celebrate.

—from the
Manhattan View
, an Aeries society e-column

• IX •

“Earth to Aria? Hello?”

I look up from my TouchMe. Kiki and Bennie are staring at me like I’m a creature from another planet.

“Can’t you actually
break
during your lunch break?” Kiki motions to her half-eaten chopped salad, then to the dining area of Paolo’s, the restaurant in the government building where I’ve been working for the past two weeks. “What’s so important that you can’t focus on us for an hour?”

“A
half
hour,” I say. “Sorry. Work is just a lot more … work than I expected.”

Filing, getting coffee, and basically being Benedict’s unpaid assistant is far from glamorous. And while it does get me out of the house every day and away from my mother’s hawk eyes, I am totally and completely bored.

“Well, tell us about it!” Bennie says. Today she reminds me of a child—her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she’s wearing a pastel blue-and-green day dress. “You basically fell off the Aeries—I have no idea what you’ve been up to, other than the
pics I’ve seen of you and Thomas online. Somebody’s been getting some action! And by action I mean
tongue
action.”

“Seriously,” Kiki says. “Haven’t you ever heard of getting a room?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s all for show, guys.”

The girls exchange a confused look.

“I mean … it’s important for us to look like we’re in love,” I clarify. “Important for the election.”

I think back to the other night, when Thomas and I went out to dinner on the Lower East Side and had our picture taken outside the restaurant; how his arm fit snugly around my waist as he pulled me close to him, how his breath smelled like the cinnamon gum he was chewing as he leaned down to kiss my cheek. How I felt like, for a split second, maybe this was meant to be—until one of the paps yelled, “On the lips, guys!”

“So does that mean you
are
in love?” Kiki takes another bite of her salad, then stares at me cryptically. “That you remember?”

Her question makes me tense—and upset. The only possible memories I have are weird dreams where I can’t see Thomas’s face. I know Kiki wants me to confide in her. But I have nothing to say about Thomas, and with Hunter, well … I don’t think even
she
would understand that. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Bennie says, sensing that I’m uncomfortable. “What’s your schedule like—from start to finish. Go!”

“Well … I get up every morning—”

“Duh!” Kiki interjects.

“—and brush my teeth and shower—”

“Aria! Get to the good stuff!”

“Fine, fine,” I say, chuckling. “My dad and I ride the rail together—”

“How’s that?”

“We don’t talk much. Light stuff—the weather, the wedding. His office is in the same building on the top floor but I rarely see him during the day. Mostly I’m just the office bitch. I get water and coffee for people when they want it, organize some of the older filing systems, and process the mystic draining reports. It’s pretty boring, actually.”

Bennie takes a sip of her Diet Coke. “Have you made any friends?”

I think about the people who work on the floor with me. They’re all much older, and while everyone is pretty nice, it’s fake nice—I know it’s only because of who I am. “Not really. I miss you guys.”

“We miss you, too!” Kiki cries. “Why don’t you just quit? Wouldn’t it be more fun to hang out with us?”

“I
am
hanging out with you,” I reply, motioning to the table.

Kiki waves her hand. “You should be hanging out with us
all the time
. Yesterday we got mani-pedis at that spa downtown that we love, and while the woman was painting my nails I just started crying, because all I could think was
Aria
loves
to get her nails painted
.” She sniffles. “This is our last summer before you get married, Aria, and then everything will be different.”

I start to say that nothing will change when I’m married, but in my heart I know that isn’t true. “I can’t quit. But I’ll definitely make more time for us to hang out.”

“Good,” Bennie says, smiling at me. “You can start this weekend.”

“What’s this weekend?” I ask, knowing that Thomas will likely want to spend time with me.

Kiki stares me down. “You can spend
one
night away from Thomas.” There’s an edge to her voice that surprises me, and I wonder if she’s still upset about the affair and the overdose. Not necessarily that they happened, but that she wasn’t privy to them before anyone else was.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I miss you,” she says. “You see him, like, practically every night. What happened to girls’ night? Gossiping, watching crappy TV, trying on each other’s bras.…”

“We never tried on each other’s bras,” I say. “That’s weird.”

“I don’t mean
literally
,” Kiki says. “It’s an expression. I think. Regardless, we used to do everything together, Aria. Now … it’s like I barely know you.”

“Fine,” I say. “Let’s have a girls’ night.”

“No!” Bennie shouts. Kiki and I look at her, confused. “I mean … I’m having a little soiree. My parents are vacationing in Brazil. It’s the perfect excuse to do something fun.” Bennie immediately begins texting. “Don’t mind me. I’m just setting reminders to hire a caterer, and maybe a DJ … oh and we’ll need a few bartenders, too—”

“Whoa there,” I say. “Why don’t we just have a small get-together? Us girls?”

“Stop being so selfish!” Kiki’s face is getting flushed; she unbuttons one of the buttons on her blue Oxford shirt and fans herself
with her napkin. “I want some action! Some romance! You’re both in relationships, and I’ve got no one,” she says, pouting. “I just want a boy to kiss me. Is that too much to ask? Kiss me with some tongue.”

Bennie thinks for a moment. “Don’t worry, Kiks. I’ll ask Kyle to bring along some of his friends. There was this boy in his literature course last semester I always thought was sexy in a, you know, collegiate kind of way. Brown hair, brown eyes—”

“Oh, I just
love
the color brown,” Kiki chimes in.

“—and I think his name is Don Marco,” Bennie says. “Or maybe it’s Paul. I can’t remember. Anyway, this will be so much fun!” She stops texting and looks up at me. “I’m going to invite a few people from the Foster side. Is that all right?”

I think of Gretchen Monasty, how she told me at the plummet that some things should just remain separate. Well, screw Gretchen. “Sure, Bennie. Whatever you like.”

She grins. “It’ll be, like, the first time kids from both sides are hanging out together. The blending has got to start
somehow
, and a party is as good an event as any, right? Just make sure you, like, grind up on Thomas in front of everyone. Show people that true love is what it’s all about!” She glances back down. “Ugh. My to-do list is already huge. I need some major assistance.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Kiki says, looking to me as if to say,
Will you?

Before I can respond, my TouchMe buzzes. There’s a text on the screen from Patrick Benedict:

YOU’RE LATE

“Girls, I gotta go.” I motion for the waiter and ask him to put the bill on my tab.

“Will you be there this weekend?” Bennie asks. There’s a hopefulness in her voice that I don’t want to squash, and I find myself saying yes.

“I guess that’ll have to do …” Kiki says. It feels like her green eyes see right through me. “For
now
. Don’t think I’m not planning you a kick-ass bridal shower, fool.”

The office itself is on the two hundredth floor of the Rivington building, just above Fortieth Street on the West Side, about thirty blocks from our apartment. This part of the city used to be called Hell’s Kitchen, before the Conflagration. Now it’s Rose headquarters.

I say goodbye to Kiki and Bennie, then walk through the body scanner in the lobby and am granted access. It’s two p.m., which means that it’s time for my afternoon coffee round.

After I take the elevator, I walk down the hallway, passing Benedict’s office and those of some of the other executives, and a stainless steel door without a keyhole or a touchpad. I’m not sure what it’s for, and nobody else seems to know, either. Then the hallway opens into a maze of cubicles, which is where I work.

I slip off my cardigan and hang it over the side of the cube I’ve been assigned. Near me are twenty other desks, spread out evenly. The stack of manila envelopes on my desk has piled so high I fear it will topple over.
Mental note: Get on those
. They’re copies of the draining reports from over ten years ago, before everything was streamlined electronically. I have to transfer all the
data onto the TouchMe system, but it’s taking longer than I expected.

I hope Benedict doesn’t yell at me.

“Eleanor, would you like any coffee?” I ask the woman at the cube next to me. She’s in her midthirties, with straight blond hair that is so glossy it hurts my eyes.

“A mocha,” she replies,
“nonfat.”
She speaks to me as though I’m hard of hearing. “As in, without any fat.”

“Right. Anything else?”

“It’s just that yesterday my mocha had fat in it. As in the milk was at least two percent.”

Despite her actual words, I’m pretty sure what she means is
You’re dumb and I hate you
.

I just nod and repeat, “Nonfat.”

“Steve,” I say, heading south, where a man with a yellow-and-pink striped tie is perched at his desk, pecking at his TouchMe and occasionally letting out a high-pitched giggle. “Coffee?”

“Hazelnut. Iced.” His voice is monotone, almost robotic. “Large. Sugar,” he says without even looking at me.

“Okaaay,” I say, backing up and continuing to make the rounds. I even write the requests down on a notepad to make sure I don’t forget any.

Marlene four desks down orders an Americano, no sugar.

Robert at the far end of the floor asks for a tea, not coffee. “My stomach can’t handle the acid,” he says.

I take the rest of the inner office’s orders, then head back into the hallway where the private offices are. I’ll save Benedict for last,
since he tends to yell rather than speak. He’s the only person here who doesn’t seem intimidated by my last name—likely because he works so closely with my father and already knows he’s on Dad’s good side.

I jot down a few more orders—two regular coffees, one pistachio muffin, and an iced cappuccino—before I knock tentatively on Elissa Genevieve’s door.