Maya leaned back against the counter. “Emily, I think I know what’s going on.”
Emily looked away quickly, trying not to blush. “No, you don’t.”
Maya’s eyes softened. “It’s about your friend Hanna, isn’t it? Her accident? You were there, right? I heard that the person who hit her had been stalking her.”
Emily’s canvas Banana Republic purse slipped out of her hands and fell to the tiled floor with a clunk. “Where did you hear that?” she whispered.
Maya stepped back, startled. “I…I don’t know. I can’t remember.” She squinted, confused. “You can talk to me, Em. We can tell each other anything, right?”
Three long measures of the Gershwin song that was twinkling out of the speakers passed. Emily thought about the note A had sent when she and her three old friends met with Officer Wilden last week: If you tell ANYONE about me, you’ll be sorry. “No one is stalking Hanna,” she whispered. “It was an accident. End of story.”
Maya ran her hands along the ceramic sink basin. “I think I’m going to go back to the table now. I’ll…I’ll see you out there.” She backed out of the bathroom slowly. Emily listened to the main door waft shut.
The song over the speakers switched to something from Aida. Emily sat down at the vanity mirrors, clunking her purse in her lap. No one said anything, she told herself. No one knows except for us. And no one is going to tell A.
Suddenly, Emily noticed a folded-up note sitting in her open purse. It said EMILY on the front, in round pink letters. Emily opened it up. It was a membership form for PFLAG—Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. Someone had filled in Emily’s parents’ information. At the bottom was familiar spiky handwriting.
Happy coming-out day, Em—your folks must be so proud! Now that the Fields are alive with the sound of love and acceptance, it would be such a shame if something happened to their little lesbian. So you keep quiet…and they’ll get to keep you!—A
The bathroom door was still swinging from Maya’s exit. Emily stared back at the note, her hands trembling. All at once, a familiar scent filled the air. It smelled like…
Emily frowned and sniffed again. Finally, she put A’s note right up to her nose. When she breathed in, her insides turned to stone. Emily would recognize this smell anywhere. It was the seductive scent of Maya’s banana gum.
22
IF THE W’S WALLS COULD TALK…
Thursday evening, after a dinner at Smith & Wollensky, an upscale Manhattan steak house Spencer’s father frequented, Spencer followed her family down the W Hotel’s gray-carpeted hallway. Sleek black-and-white Annie Leibovitz photographs lined the halls, and the air smelled like a mix between vanilla and fresh towels.
Her mother was on her cell phone. “No, she’s sure to win,” she murmured. “Why don’t we just book it now?” She paused, as if the person on the other end was saying something very important. “Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She clapped her phone closed.
Spencer tugged at the lapel of her dove-gray Armani Exchange suit—she’d worn a professional outfit to dinner to get into award-winning essayist mode. She wondered who her mom was talking to on the phone. Perhaps she was planning something amazing for Spencer if she won the Golden Orchid. A fabulous trip? A day with a Barneys personal shopper? A meeting with the family friend who worked at the New York Times? Spencer had begged her parents to let her be a summer intern at the Times, but her mother had never allowed it.
“Nervous, Spence?” Melissa and Ian appeared behind her, pulling matching plaid suitcases. Unfortunately, Spencer’s parents insisted that Melissa come along to Spencer’s interview for moral support, and Melissa had brought Ian. Melissa held up a little bottle labeled MARTINI TO GO! “Do you want one of these? I could get one for you, if you need something to calm you down.”
“I’m fine,” Spencer snapped. Her sister’s presence made Spencer feel like roaches were crawling under her Malizia bra. Whenever Spencer shut her eyes, she saw Melissa fidgeting as Wilden asked her and Ian where they’d been the night of Ali’s disappearance and heard Melissa’s voice saying, It takes a very unique person to kill. And that’s not you.
Melissa paused, shaking the mini martini bottle. “Yeah, it’s probably best you don’t drink. You might forget the gist of your Golden Orchid essay.”
“That’s very true,” Mrs. Hastings murmured. Spencer bristled and turned away.
Ian and Melissa’s room was right next to Spencer’s, and they slipped inside, giggling. As her mother reached for Spencer’s room key, a pretty girl about Spencer’s age swept past. Her head was down, and she was studying a cream-colored card that looked suspiciously similar to the Golden Orchid breakfast invite Spencer had tucked into her tweed Kate Spade bag.
The girl noticed Spencer staring and broke into a glimmering smile. “Hi!” she called brightly. She had the look of a CNN newscaster: poised, perky, congenial. Spencer’s mouth fell open and her tongue lolled clumsily in her mouth. Before she could respond, the girl shrugged and looked away.
The single glass of wine Spencer’s parents had allowed her to drink at dinner gurgled in her stomach. She turned to her mom.
“There are a lot of really smart applicants up for the Golden Orchid,” Spencer whispered, after the girl rounded the corner. “I’m not a shoo-in or anything.”