Size 14 Is Not Fat Either (28 page)

To tell you the truth, it’s actually a good thing I’m as big a girl as I am. I might not actually have survived
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if I’d been a size 2.

But since (truth be known) Doug doesn’t actually outweigh me by all that much—plus, I saw him coming, and so had time to reflexively clench—I just lie on the floor with the breath knocked out of me. I haven’t sustained any internal injury. That I can detect, anyway.

Gavin, on the other hand, doesn’t do as well. Oh, he’d have been fine if he’d just stood there. But he has to make the mistake of trying to pry Doug off me.

Because Doug—no surprise, really—fights dirty. No sooner has Gavin grabbed him by the shoulders than Doug’s whipped around and is trying to gnaw one of Gavin’s fingers off.

Since I can’t allow one of my residents to be eaten, I pull back one of my legs and—still clenching my coat and purse in one hand—land a heel in an area of Doug’s body where most guys really would rather not have a heel. Hey, I may not do yoga—or much of any exercise at all. But like all girls who’ve lived in New York City for any period of time, I know how to inflict serious bodily harm with my footwear.

After Doug crumples to the floor clutching his private parts, all hell seems to break loose, with objects and bodies being thrown around the loft as if it has suddenly transformed into a mosh pit. The mirrors behind the shelves above the bar are smashed by a flying billiard ball. Gavin manages to hurl a frat boy into the wide-screen TV, knocking it over with a crash and a burst of sparks. The size 2s are squealing and fleeing out into the hallway past theFAT CHICKS GO HOME sign, just as one of the pinball machines collapses under Jordan’s weight (I don’t ask what he was doing on top of it…or why his pants are halfway around his ankles).

Fortunately there’s so much chaos that I’m able to grab Gavin and shriek, “Let’s go!” Then the two of us each throw one of Jordan’s arms around our neck (he is in no condition to walk on his own) and drag him from the loft and down the hall…

…just as the sprinkler system goes off due to the fire started by the knocked-over television.

As the size 2s in the hallway shriek because their blow-outs are starting to curl, we duck through an exit markedSTAIRS , and don’t stop running—and dragging a semiconscious ex–boy band member—until we burst out onto the street.

“Holy crap,” Gavin yells, as the cold air sucks at our lungs. “Did you see that? Did yousee that?”

“Yeah,” I say, staggering a bit in the snow. Jordan isn’t exactly dead weight, but he’s not light, either.

“That was not cool.”

“Not cool? Not cool?” Gavin is shaking his head happily as we slip and slide along Washington Square North, trying to make our way west. “I wish I’d had my video camera! None of those girls was wearing a bra. When the water hit them—”

“Gavin,” I say, cutting him off quickly, “look for a cab. We need to get Jordan back to the Upper East Side, where he lives.”

“There are no cabs,” Gavin says scornfully. “There’s no one even out on the street. Except for us.”

He’s right. The park is a dead zone. The streets around it have barely been plowed at all. There isn’t a car to be seen, except way over on Eighth Street. None of the cabdrivers there can see us, however, no
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matter how frantically I wave.

I’m flummoxed. I don’t know what to do with Jordan. I believe his claim that none of the car services are able to make it over the bridges. And no way am I calling his dad—the man who told me nobody wants to listen to my “angry-rocker-chick shit”—to see if he can swing by in the family limo.

Jordan himself is happy as a clam, stumbling along between us, but he’s definitely the worse for wear. I can’t just leave him on someone’s doorstep—tempting as the idea seems. He’ll freeze to death. And it’s blocks—longblocks, not short ones—to the subway, and in the opposite direction—we’d have to go past Waverly Hall to get to Astor Place.

And I’m not risking running into any angry frat boys. Especially since I can hear sirens in the distance.

The fire department must be automatically notified when the sprinkler system goes off.

Between us, Jordan raises his head and cries happily, having heard the sirens as well, “Oh, hey! Here come the cops!”

“I can’t believe you were ever engaged to this guy,” Gavin says in disgust—revealing, albeit accidentally, that he’s been Googling me. “He’s such a tool.”

“He wasn’t always like this,” I assure Gavin. Although the truth is, I think Jordan probablywas always like this. I just never noticed, because I was so young and stupid. And besotted with him. “Besides, he’s getting married the day after tomorrow. He’s a little nervous.”

“Not day after tomorrow,” Gavin says. “Tomorrow. It’s past midnight. It’s officially Friday.”

“Crap,” I say. The Cartwrights have to be wondering what happened to their youngest son. Tania’s probably frantic. If she’s even noticed he’s gone, that is. I can’t send him back to her like this—with his pants half open and lipstick marks all over his face. God, why can’t he be just alittle more like his brother?

Oh, God. His brother. Cooper is going tokill me when he finds out where I’ve been. And I’m going to have to tell him. I can’t drag Jordan home like this and not explain.

And Ihave to take Jordan home. It’s the only place I can bring him. I don’t think I can carry him much farther. Plus, I’m freezing to death. Pantyhose are definitely not suitable legwear the night after a blizzard in Manhattan in January. I don’t know how those girls in the low-riders could stand it. Weren’t their belly buttons cold?

“Okay,” I say to Gavin, as we reach the corner of Washington Square Park North and West. “Here’s the deal. We’re taking him to my house.”

“Are you serious? I get to see where you live?” Gavin’s grin, in the pink glow of the street lamps, alarms me.“Sweet!”

“No, it’s not sweet, Gavin,” I snap. “It’s theopposite of sweet. Jordan’s brother is my landlord, and he’s going to be upset—veryupset—if he hears us come in and sees Jordan like this. So we’ve got to be quiet. Super-quiet.”

“I can do that,” Gavin says gallantly.

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“Because it’s not just Cooper I don’t want to wake up,” I tell him. “My, um, dad is staying there, too.”

“I get to meet yourdad ? The one who was injail ?” Oh, yes. Gavin’s definitely been Googling me.

“No, you don’t get to meet him,” I say. “Because hopefully he, like Cooper, will be asleep. And we’re not waking him up. Right?”

“Right,” Gavin says, with a sigh.

“Heather.” Jordan is dragging his feet a bit more.

“Shut up, Jordan,” I say. “We’re almost there.”

“Heather,” Jordan says again.

“Jordan,” I say. “I swear to God, if you throw up on me, I will kill you.”

“Heather,” Jordan says for a third time. “I think someone slipped something into my drink.”

I look at him in some alarm. “You mean this isn’t how you always are after a party?”

“Of course not,” Jordan slurs. “I only had one beer.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But how many glasses of wine did you have before you got downtown?”

“Only ten,” Jordan says innocently. “Hey. Speaking of which. Where are my skis?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re fine, Jordan,” I say. “You can pick them up in the morning. Why would someone put something in your drink?”

“To take advantage of me, of course,” Jordan says. “Everyone wants a piece of me. Everyone wants a piece of Jordan Cartwright pie.”

Gavin, who gets a faceful of Jordan’s beery breath as he says this, wrinkles his nose. “Not me,” he says.

We’ve reached Cooper’s house. I stop to dig my keys from my purse, and give a mini-lecture as I do so.

“Now, when we get inside,” I say to Gavin, “we’re just going to dump Jordan on the couch in the living room. Then I’m taking you back to Fischer Hall.”

“I don’t need no escort,” Gavin says scornfully, his street slang coming back now that there are no Tau Phis in sight and he’s feeling cocky again.

“Those frat boys are angry,” I say. “And they know where you live—”

“Aw, hell, woman,” Gavin says. “Steve-O don’t know shit about me except my name. I was never cool enough for him ’cause I don’t like putting chemicals in my body.”

“Except twenty-one shots.”

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“I mean except for alcohol,” Gavin amends.

“Fine,” I say. “We’ll argue about it later. First we’ll put Jordan down on the couch. Then we’ll worry about getting you home.”

“It’s two blocks away,” Gavin says.

“Heather.”

“Not now, Jordan,” I say. “Gavin, I just don’t want you—”

“Heather,” Jordan says again.

“What, Jordan?”

“Cooper’s looking at us.”

I look up.

And sure enough, there’s Cooper’s face in the window by the door. A second later, we hear the locks being thrown back.

“Okay,” I say to Gavin, my heart beginning to pound. “Change of plans. On the count of three, we ditch Jordan, then run like hell. One. Two.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Cooper says, as he comes out onto the stoop. He’s wearing cords and a wool sweater. He looks warm and calm and sensible. I long to throw myself at him, bury my head against his hard chest, breathe his Cooper-y scent, and tell him what a terrible evening I’ve had.

Instead, I say, “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can,” Cooper says. “Well, come on. Get him inside.”

We drag Jordan inside, with effort—especially since Lucy appears and begins jumping excitedly all over us. Well, me, actually. Fortunately, my thighs are so frozen I can’t feel her nails as they rake my nylon stockings.

It’s as Lucy leaps up in an effort to lick Jordan’s hand that he suddenly becomes very vivacious, saying, as we haul him past Cooper, into the foyer, “Hi ya, bro! What’s happenin’?”

“Your fiancée called,” Cooper says, as he closes the door behind us and begins working all the locks.

“That’s what’s happening. Did you just take off without telling anyone where you were going?”

“Pretty much,” Jordan says, as we let him go and he flops back against his grandfather’s somewhat dilapidated pink couch, where Lucy begins licking him in earnest. “Ow. Nice doggie. Make the room stop spinning, please.”

“How did he even get down here?” Cooper wants to know. “There aren’t any cabs. And no way Jordan took the subway.”

“He skied,” I explain lamely. It’s mercifully warm in the house. I can feel my thighs twitching as they
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defrost.

“He skied?” Cooper raises both eyebrows. “Where are his skis?”

“He lost them,” Gavin says.

Cooper seems to notice Gavin for the first time. “Oh,” he says. “You again, eh?”

“You shouldn’t be mad at Heather,” Gavin begins. “It was all that guy’s fault. See, she was trying to sober him up with a brisk walk around the park, but he wouldn’t go for it. Fortunately I was passing by and was able to help get him here, or who knows what would have happened. Guy could have frozen.

Or worse. I hear there’s a doctor who jumps on any drunks he finds in the park and harvests their kidneys to donate to wealthy Bolivians on dialysis. You wake up in the morning all achy and you don’t know why—and boom. Turns out someone stole your kidney.”

Wow. Gavin really is the king of the improv. He lies with such ease, and so convincingly, I can’t help wondering how many of the stories he’s fed me over the months I’ve known him were fabrications like the one he just came up with.

Cooper, however, doesn’t look impressed.

“Right,” he says. “Well, thank you for your aid. I think we can handle it from here, though. So goodbye.”

“I’ll walk you back,” I start to say to Gavin, but a voice from the hallway interrupts me.

“There she is!” My dad comes in, dressed in pajamas and a robe. It’s clear from the way a tuft of what’s left of his hair is sticking up in the back that he’d been asleep, but Tania’s call had wakened him as well as Cooper. “Heather, we were so worried. When that Tania person phoned, and then we couldn’t find you—don’t you ever do that again, young lady! If you’re going to go out, you had better darn well tell one of us where you’re going.”

I blink, looking from my father to Cooper and back again. “Are you serious?” I ask incredulously.

“I’llwalk Gavin back,” Cooper says, making it evident that he’s anticipated my next move—avoidance.

“Heather, get some blankets for Jordan. Alan, call Tania back and tell her Jordan’s crashing here for the night.”

Dad nods. “I’ll say he was at an impromptu bachelor party,” he tells us. “And came here to sleep so as not to disturb her.”

I just stare—mostly because I’ve forgotten my dad has a first name, and that Cooper had just used it.

But also at the preposterousness of what Dad’s just said.

“Jordan doesn’t have any friends,” I say. “Who’s going to throw him a bachelor party? And he’d never be that considerate, not to disturb her.”

“I do so have friends,” Jordan insists from the couch, where Lucy has progressed to licking his face.

“You two are my friends. Or six. Or however many you are.”

“I don’t need anyone to walk me back,” Gavin declares, as Cooper reaches for his coat.

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“Maybe not,” Cooper says grimly. “But I need some fresh air. Come on.”

The two of them go out, leaving me alone with Jordan and my father—two men who both abandoned me when I needed them most, and then both came crawling back when I didn’t need—or want—them at all.

“You owe me,” I say to Jordan, after I’ve stalked back into the living room with a blanket—and a salad bowl to throw up in—for him. Even though I’m fairly positive he won’t remember any of this in the morning, I add, “And I’m still not coming to your wedding.” To my dad, I say, “Don’t tell Tania I was with him when you call her.”