11
Get Sweaty, Look Sexy, Dance Freaky
“Eeeeee!” Perrin squeaked and hopped for warmth, battling the sudden temperature drop and sounding a lot like the mouse she’d dressed up as tonight. “Let us in already!”
I pressed my finger three seconds longer on the bell of Lucia’s chrome-and-glass Tribeca apartment. It was rude, but we were freezing.
“Fancy-schmance building,” murmured Sadie, huddling deeper inside her fake-fur cat coat. “Doesn’t Robert De Niro live here?”
“People think De Niro lives in every single building in Tribeca,” said Tom.
Sadie giggled. “Maybe he does.”
“Well, I don’t see him up there.” Rachel had stepped back to squint up in the window. “But I am seeing a vast parent conspiracy. Yeesh. What if it’s that kind of party?”
“Then we all drop the cyanide tablets together,” murmured Keiji-the-Hulk. “After we eat, of course. I bet there’s good ’derves.”
“Parents?” Sadie pursed her lips side to side to make her wire whiskers twitch. “What is she thinking?”
“Who knows? Of all the guys at Lafayette, Lucia picked Claude,” reminded Rachel. “So who knows what further secret insanity she’s capable of?”
Perrin had started a round of jumping jacks. “It’s the freezingest night of the year tonight. Why’d I only wear a hoodie?”
I’d underdressed, too, in a bubble-gum-pink overcoat that I couldn’t believe I’d ever picked out for myself, let alone wanted to wear in public—but it beat the electric-pink ski jacket that I’d left hanging in my closet. Except the ski jacket would have been warmer, and the left pocket in my overcoat had torn so that its bottom hem was weighted with at least a pound of loose change. My cold fingers dug for a handful of coins stuck in the hem, but then I couldn’t manage to pull everything back up through the lining.
At Addington, there was always a nurse or a therapist with a blanket or a warming pad, making sure I was retaining my body heat. Tonight was the first time in months that I was in genuine discomfort—and there was nobody looking to rescue me from it. Which was kind of awful and wonderful at the same time.
“JAY-sus.” Tom grimaced, flashing his Day-Glo vampire fangs. “Answer the door already, Lucia. I can practically taste my mug of cider.”
I’ve been here before. The thought knocked the air from my lungs just as the door swung open to reveal Claude in a gold silk shirt and black pants paired with a velvet blazer that gave off a hint of vintage p**n star.
“Claude! Is that a costume—or are you merely acknowledging that you’re the creepiest person we know?” Perrin made a face as we all stumbled like a flock of badly herded sheep into the warmth of the foyer. I laughed along with the others, but my thoughts raced in a private blizzard.
Yes, I’d been inside this apartment! I’d been here to see something—what?
Claude gave Perrin the finger. He was overly excited and way too full of himself as he led us through the sumptuous foyer. “Let that dude take your coats. He’s their butler, a pretty cool guy,” Claude explained as a uniformed man began to whisk away our coats and stack them under his arm.
“There’s a lot of beautiful art here,” I said to Rachel as it struck me. A painting. Yes. That’s why I’d been here. To look at a painting.
“Yeah?” Rachel gave me a look. “How do you know? Did Lucia tell you that?”
“Um, I think so.” I’d been here, but not with Rachel. But it was familiar enough that I could have predicted the art deco furniture, the black-lacquered wood polish and gilded mirrors. Blood rushed to my head as I stepped in deeper.
Where was the painting? Someone had told me things about it, whispered them in my ear, when I’d seen it hanging here for the very first time.
We were all following Claude, who was still insisting on playing host. “It’s a duplex with the roof deck. It belongs to Lucia’s uncle,” he explained, “and he’s a big-deal art collector. They’re in a house swap. Right now he’s living in Bologna with his family, and that’s why Lucia’s family’s here.”
“Was Lucia’s family depressed to find out you came with the place, Claude? Kind of like their own pet weasel?” Perrin teased. She and Claude had dated briefly freshman year, and they had a way of dealing with each other that was rude and yet affectionate—the secret language of exes.
“Yeah, yeah, keep on me, Perrin. Like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing. Best views in the city. Check out the gold-leaf detail in the doorway. Eighteen-karat.”
I didn’t care about gold leaf. Which was the room that held the painting? This party was strange, too crowded and too formal, too many blank faces staring me down into social quicksand. But when I closed my eyes, I could feel myself back here, only in a less-stressed zone, wandering again through these vast, extravagant rooms as if lost in a lovely dream. With him—I’d been with him. The boy who kissed me on the bridge was the same one who’d whispered in my ear.
“We’re screwed.” Now it was Rachel whispering in my ear. “This scene is totally old people. Worse than church. Not how I saw my Halloween.”
“Give it a few more minutes.” I spied Lucia’s kid sister—she couldn’t have been more than eight—handling a tray like she was running the party. Cute, but obnoxious. It was definitely that kind of party. But I wanted to explore. The living room was enormous and yet secretive, with long, dark corridors and closed doors in all directions.
The painting wasn’t down those halls. It was in a darker room…the dining room. Yes, that felt right.
“Hey, where’s the dining room, Claude?”
“I’ll show you. By the way, Lucia’s parents are totally prego about drinking. Italians aren’t hung up on stupid legality,” said Claude over his shoulder as we followed him to the far end of the living room, then through an open archway and into the velvet cocoon of the dining room—yes, this was it—where the table was a king’s feast of runny cheeses, glowing pink sushi, and oysters on their iced, tiered platters. “Try the oysters; they’re like fifty bucks a pound. You have to use those tiny forks.”
Right over there.
Goose bumps sprouted over my arms.
Near the corner. You’d miss it unless you were looking for it. The tucked-away, wood-framed square was overshadowed by a pair of old-fashioned portraits hanging above the sideboard. I sidled closer, leaving Rachel to maneuver a cup of punch from the crystal bowl, while Tom clattered up his plate with oysters and Claude bragged about the caviar like he’d harvested it himself.