Beautiful Malice (7 page)

13

R
achel and Carly and I stopped at Carly’s house on our way to the party. Carly took off her school uniform and changed into a pair of jeans, a tight pink tank top, and a pair of flat gold sandals. She offered to lend us something to wear and I chose a pair of jeans and a striped T-shirt, but all of Carly’s clothes were far too big for Rachel.

“You’ll just have to wear your uniform,” I said.

“I’m going to look like such a loser,” Rachel whined, looking down at herself. And though she had already removed her school tie and untucked her shirt, there was nothing she could do about the length of the skirt—a long, dark-green kilt that hung well beneath her knees, an obvious sign of our private-school status. “I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Who cares?” I said. “You’re going to stick out anyway. You’ll be the youngest person there, the only fourteen-year-old within a hundred miles.”

“But I—”

“Rach,” I interrupted. “Stop complaining. You shouldn’t even be coming, remember. These are my friends, not yours.”

Rachel and I both took our hair out of ponytails and let it hang loose—Rachel’s long and straight and golden, mine brown and curly-wild. We borrowed some of Carly’s lip gloss and made our eyes dark with her mascara and eyeliner.

Carly took her cell phone from her schoolbag and switched it off. She tossed it on her bed. “If you don’t want your parents calling,” she said, “leave yours here, too.”

Rachel looked at me, uncertain, waiting for me to make the decision. I shrugged, took my phone from my bag, switched it off, and tossed it on Carly’s bed. Rachel quickly did the same.

When we’d squirted ourselves with some of Carly’s mother’s expensive-looking perfume—bottles of which covered her dressing table—we set off. We didn’t have enough money for a taxi, so we decided to walk. After we’d been walking for five minutes, idly discussing which houses we did or didn’t like as we passed them, Carly reached into her shoulder bag and brought out a plastic bottle.

“Hold on a minute,” she said. She stopped walking, twisted the cap off, and took a long drink. The way her eyes watered and the way she gasped as she lowered the bottle revealed that she wasn’t drinking water.

“Vodka.” She held the bottle toward me. “With a bit of lemonade. Want some?”

I shook my head in amused disbelief, but took the bottle anyway. I should’ve known that Carly wouldn’t go to the party without some alcohol. She was the first girl at our school to start drinking, the one who arranged for someone older to buy it for us whenever we needed it.

I lifted the bottle to my mouth and took a tentative sip. It was strong. Much more vodka than lemonade. “God, Carly, that’s lethal,” I gasped as I handed it back.

“Rach?” Carly held the bottle out toward Rachel and lifted her eyebrows questioningly. Rachel looked at me as if for permission.

“May as well.” I shrugged. “You won’t like it, though. It tastes like gasoline the first time you try it.”

Rachel took a small sip and, as I knew she would, screwed her face up with disgust.

“Yuck. That is
vile,”
she said.

“It’s just a means to an end.” Carly shook her head when Rachel tried to hand the bottle to her and pushed it back into Rachel’s hands. “The more you drink, the easier it gets. It’ll help you relax, help you have a good time.”

Rachel did what Carly suggested and put the bottle to her lips and took another drink.

“Not quite so bad,” she said, making a face. “But I think I still like normal lemonade better.”

Carly laughed. “But normal lemonade won’t help you enjoy yourself the way this will. Take my word for it.”

I’m not sure why I didn’t worry about what Rachel was drinking. I still don’t know why I didn’t take care of her better, monitor her drinking and make sure she stayed sober. I guess the vodka had an almost immediate effect on me—on all three of us. We shared the bottle as we walked, each of us taking frequent sips, and soon the alcohol started to taste better and we started taking greedier swigs.

When the bottle was empty, Carly stopped walking.

“Hold on.” She put her bag on the ground and pulled out a large glass bottle, turning it so that we could see the label: Stolichnaya Vodka. “You didn’t really think I’d let us run out, did you?” She grinned. “We’ll have to drink it straight now. There’s no more lemonade.” She refilled the plastic bottle and held it out to Rachel. “You can go first. It’s going to taste like fire again. But you’ll get used to it.”

Rachel took a large swig. The expression on her face as she swallowed made Carly and me laugh.

By the time we arrived we were all quite tipsy. Rachel had a neat circle of flushed skin on each of her cheeks and a huge grin on her face. She looked pretty and innocent and very young.

“How do you feel?” I took her hand in mine and smiled. The vodka had dissolved all my earlier irritation, smoothed out all my rough edges. I no longer felt so mad at her for coming with us. It just didn’t matter. “Are you okay?”

We hadn’t entered the shed, but we could hear the music, the
dum dum dum
of the bass, the sound of voices and laughter, young people having a good time. Young people with no adults around.

Rachel just stared at me, still smiling, and nodded. She started moving her body in time with the music. She raised her eyebrows, and cocked her head, as if to listen more carefully to the notes.

“Come on.” Carly stood behind us and pushed us gently forward. “We’re not going to stand out here all afternoon. Much as I love you both, I didn’t walk all this way just to hang out here with you two.”

It occurred to me as we headed inside that I hadn’t actually thought any of this through very carefully. We’d planned to be gone for only an hour. We’d planned to get Rachel home by five, with plenty of time to practice the piano. But we’d been at Carly’s for a good ten minutes and the walk had taken another forty. And as I watched Rachel heading into the party, the bounce in her step matching the rhythm of the music, I realized that it was now inevitable that we’d be late getting home. If Rachel had just gone home, everything would have been okay. I could have called Mom and Dad later and made up some excuse for my absence, said I was doing homework at Carly’s. They would have been annoyed but not as angry as they were going to be now that Rachel was involved. Rachel being home late would be a big deal, she was still only fourteen and was missing out on piano practice—and missing piano was always a major crime. And I had no idea how we were going to hide the smell of vodka. One thing was certain: we were going to be in trouble,
big
trouble.

I may as well make the most of it
, I thought as I followed Rachel inside.

14

A
lice walks ahead of us. She’s only a fraction in front, barely two steps, but it’s enough to make it difficult to include her in a conversation, enough to make it clear that she’s not in the mood to talk. I don’t think she’s unhappy or angry or upset—far from it, she’s in good spirits, glowing with energy and beauty, clearly excited to be going out on such a beautiful autumn evening and enjoying the last of the warm weather.

But she gets like this sometimes, preoccupied and silent. Robbie and I know her well enough not to worry that she might be upset or offended about something; we understand that she is sometimes happier not to participate. Robbie even made a joke about it once. Robbie and I were talking animatedly of our shared love of music—from rock and pop to opera—when we discovered that Alice had fallen asleep on the sofa. We had no idea how long she’d been asleep. We’d been talking on and on, oblivious, for hours.
I think she’s tired of our constant blathering, Katherine
, Robbie had said, laughing, when we found her.
I think we talk too much. We’re boring
her to death
. And he’s probably right. Robbie and I never run out of things to say to each other—our conversations can continue for hours and hours.

In fact, Robbie and I talk so much, and get along so very well, that I started to worry that it might be upsetting Alice. I wondered if she might not be jealous. But when I asked her if she minded me talking to Robbie so much, if she wanted me to back off, she shook her head and looked at me quizzically.

“Why? I love it that you get along. My two favorite people in the world. I’m thrilled that you’ve got so much to talk about,” she said.

“Oh, good. I was scared you might be … well, think that I was stepping on your toes, that you might be jealous.”

“Jealous?” Alice shook her head, looked thoughtful. “I’ve never been jealous. Of anyone. Of anything. I can honestly say that it’s not an emotion I’m familiar with.” And then she shrugged. “Jealousy’s a stupid, futile little sentiment, if you ask me.”

It’s Friday night and I probably should be at home studying. But I studied hard during the week, and both Robbie and Alice had begged me to come out. School is important, I know that, but right now my friendship with Alice and Robbie is more so. Right now, having fun, living the life I’ve denied myself for so long, seems more than important. It’s crucial.

Robbie and I are talking about skiing. Robbie loves it and suggests that the three of us head to the slopes next winter.

“I’m not very good, though,” I admit. “I’ll probably just slow you down, ruin your vacation.”

“I’ll teach you,” Robbie promises. “You’ll be good by the time we leave.”

I laugh. “Such arrogance. You don’t even know how bad I am. To teach me to be good at skiing would be something close to a miracle.”

“He taught
me.”
Alice turns around and slows her pace so that she can walk beside us. She shuffles between us so that Robbie and I are forced apart and she can walk in the middle. “I couldn’t even stand straight on the skis, but a week later I was skiing like a champion.” She hooks her arm through Robbie’s and smiles up at him. “And you are so sexy when you’re skiing.” She looks at me. “He’s just so confident and in charge when he skis. So totally lovable.”

Robbie suddenly stops walking and looks down at Alice. He is frowning. “Lovable, huh? You could have fooled me. That’s not quite the impression I got when we were there.”

Alice laughs and pushes her body closer to Robbie’s. “Silly,” she says. “You obviously don’t understand me, then.”

Robbie doesn’t respond to Alice’s affection the way he usually does. Instead, he shakes his head in a gesture of irritation. “We’re here,” he says, unhooking his arm from Alice’s. He nods toward a bar that has the sign “Out of Africa” in front of it. “This is the place.”

He pulls open the door and steps aside so that Alice and I can go in ahead of him. I smile at him as I pass, and though his mouth curves upward the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. And I can tell by the stiff way he holds himself that he is upset or angry or both.

Inside it is very dark, lit only by small lamps on the walls and candles on the tables. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust but when I do I see that the walls are a deep red and that there are brightly colored cushions on each of the chairs.

“I’ll go to the bar and get us some drinks,” Robbie says.

“What an excellent idea,” says Alice. “I’ll have a bottle of champagne.”

“A whole bottle?” Robbie stares at her. “Don’t you think that’s a bit—”

“No,” Alice interrupts. “I think it’s perfect. A bottle. Thank you.”

Robbie shakes his head and looks at me. “Katherine?”

“Lemon, lime, and soda, thanks.”

Alice rolls her eyes.
“‘Lemon, lime, and soda, thanks.’”
She imitates me in a high-pitched, mocking voice. “No alcohol for Miss Goody Two-shoes.”

“I can’t, Alice. I’m underage. I don’t have ID.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Katherine,” Robbie says. “I’m just going to have a soda. I’ve got soccer tomorrow. Alice can drink alone tonight.”

“Wow.” Alice sighs. “What a load of fun you two are. Lucky me.”

Robbie frowns down at her, his mouth set, his eyes cold, before turning away and heading toward the bar.

Alice watches him walk away. “I think he’s mad at me,” she says, shrugging. She looks around the room, staring openly at the other customers.

I turn to watch Robbie, who is standing at the bar, waiting for our drinks. He is staring straight ahead, his face blank. He looks miserable.

“What just happened?” I ask Alice. “Why is he suddenly so angry?”

“Oh, I think I reminded him of something when I talked about our ski trip. He got a bit upset when we were there. I spent some time with one of the ski instructors. Just one night. Robbie didn’t like it.”

“‘Some
time’?
‘One
night’?
What do you mean?”

Alice doesn’t look at me. She is staring at a couple at a table to the side of us. “I mean exactly what I said.” She sighs and speaks in a clear, deliberate voice, as if I have difficulty hearing or understanding. “Just one night. With another man. In his room. I’m sure you don’t want the details. Robbie wasn’t happy. He seems to have some kind of misplaced proprietary feelings toward me.”

I’m so shocked by what Alice is admitting that I can think of nothing to say, and I sit there stupidly for a moment, my hand over my mouth. I knew that Alice had a fairly casual view of her relationship with Robbie, I knew that she was far less committed than he. But that she actually spent the night with another man while on a trip with Robbie is astounding. Either it was an act of deliberate cruelty or, just as shocking, it proved that Alice had some kind of bizarre inability to imagine how such behavior would affect Robbie.

Before I have the chance to gather my thoughts and make some kind of intelligent response, Alice jumps up from her seat and starts waving her arms.

“Ben!” she calls out as she leaves our table and approaches the couple that she’s been watching for the last few minutes. “Ben Dewberry! It
is
you. I thought I recognized you. I’ve been staring and staring, and then I heard your voice. I knew it was you, for sure, as soon as I heard you speak.”

Alice is so loud that there is a moment of silence in the bar as people stop talking to listen. Ben and the girl sitting opposite him—a tall girl with long, wild red hair and pale skin—stare at Alice as she approaches. Ben looks shocked, almost frightened.

“Alice.” He stands up and extends his hand as if to shake Alice’s, but she ignores it and steps close to embrace him. She kisses him, hard and for too long, on the lips. When she steps back, Ben’s cheeks are flushed and he looks uncertain and embarrassed. “Wow. What are you doing here?” He has an Australian accent.

“Having dinner, of course, silly. The same as you.” Alice takes hold of Ben’s hand and turns back to face our table just as Robbie arrives with the drinks. “Robbie, Katherine. This is Ben. Ben Dewberry, the first true love of my life.”

Ben looks over Alice’s shoulder at his companion and shrugs, starts to say something, but Alice, who has her back toward Ben’s friend, tugs on Ben’s arm.

“Come and sit with us,” she says. “Come on. We can all sit together.”

“Oh. I don’t think …” Ben looks at his friend. “Philippa and I …”

Alice spins on her heel and faces Philippa. “Hello there. I’m Alice.” She lets go of Ben and puts her arm out toward Philippa. They shake hands. Alice smiles and Philippa nods, smiles stiffly.

“You’ll come and join us, won’t you?” Alice says. “At least come over and sit with us for a while. Ben and I haven’t seen each other for years. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Philippa and Ben agree to join us, and as they gather their things, Robbie looks at me, his expression one of irritation and disbelief, and rolls his eyes. The waitress helps us pull a table over and join it to ours to make enough room for the five of us.

Except for Alice, who seems oblivious to everyone else’s discomfort and chats away happily, we are all very quiet and awkward as we sip our drinks. Alice talks about the summer when she went out with Ben. Ben seems uncomfortable and embarrassed, and smiles at Philippa apologetically every time Alice mentions how much she enjoyed having an Australian boyfriend and how she used to love listening to his accent.

“Let’s order some food,” Alice says suddenly. “I’m dying of starvation. You’ll order for us, won’t you, Robbs? You’ve been here before, you know what’s good?”

“Oh.” Philippa shakes her head and looks at Ben with a panicked expression. “No. We’d better go back to our own table now.”

“Don’t be silly.” Alice reaches over the table and puts her hand over Philippa’s. “We’re all enjoying your company so much. Please stay and eat with us. You know, the three of us were totally bored and irritable before you two joined us. We’re all bored out of our minds with each other, really.” Alice tips her head back and laughs. “We’ve spent so much time together lately that we can barely stand the sight of each other anymore.”

Alice continues laughing, but everyone else is silent. I stare down into my drink and try to hide my burning cheeks. I feel humiliated and upset. I’ve been enjoying Alice and Robbie’s company so much, feeling so happy to have such close friendships again, that Alice’s comment—her obvious disdain of something I’ve come to value so dearly—makes me feel ridiculous, injured.

I’m sure that Robbie feels equally upset—and for this reason I’m unable to look at him. To see my humiliation reflected in his eyes would be unbearable.

Ben says, “Sure, we’ll eat with you guys. We’re having a great time.” His voice is loud, overenthusiastic. “Aren’t we, Philippa?”

“Excellent. Thank God for that.” Alice slaps her hand on the table triumphantly. Her champagne bottle is empty and she looks slightly drunk—her cheeks glowing, her eyes brilliant—and she seems completely oblivious to the tension among us. “Let’s get some more drinks to this party,” she announces. “We’re dying of thirst here, Robbie. What do you recommend?”

Robbie clears his throat. “I’m just going to have another Coke.” He smiles at Philippa and Ben in a forced way. “What do you guys want?”

“More water?” Philippa lifts an empty glass. “If that’s okay?”

“Ben’ll have a beer,” Alice decides, nudging him, grinning. “Won’t you, Ben? You’re not a party pooper.”

“Sure.” He nods. “Why not? A beer would be fine.”

“And more champagne,” Alice says, tossing a hundred-dollar bill toward Robbie. “Another bottle.”

“Could you come and give me a hand, Katherine?” Robbie asks as he takes the money. His voice is stiff and controlled. He looks furious.

“Sure.” I watch Alice as I get up. She’s been so weirdly belligerent since we arrived that I’m afraid that my going to the bar with Robbie will incite another snide remark. But she’s leaning toward Philippa and doesn’t even glance our way as we leave.

Robbie and I walk to the bar in silence. When we reach it, Robbie turns back to look at our table.

“Damn Alice,” he says. “She’s got some kind of agenda tonight. This is going to end in tears.”

“What do you mean?” I feel a knot of dread tighten my lower belly. I don’t want anything unpleasant to happen. I don’t want Alice to behave badly, to be cruel. I don’t want Robbie and Alice to break up, or for Alice to do something so horrible that I’m forced to question my friendship with her. The idea that this all could be over is too dreadful to contemplate, and I have to control a rising sense of panic at the thought of a future without my friendship with Robbie and Alice, a future far too lonely and dull and miserable to bear. “Let’s just have dinner and get her out of here. Get her home to bed.”

Robbie stares at me. “You haven’t seen her like this before, have you?”

“Like this? I don’t know. I haven’t seen her be so deliberately unkind before, if that’s what you mean.”

He shakes his head. “This is different. I’ve seen her like this a few times now. It’s really weird. And scary. Like she’s on a self-destruct mission. There’s no way we’ll be able to get through to her tonight. She won’t listen. And I’ll bet you a million dollars she’ll want to make a big night of it. And she’ll drag Philippa and Ben along for the ride, you watch.” He laughs bitterly. “She can be ruthless when she’s like this.”

I’m not sure what Robbie is so worried about—what he’s saying doesn’t make a lot of sense—but I’m frightened anyway. “So we’ll go out and have some fun. Go dancing or something. We can look after her, can’t we? We can make sure nothing bad happens.”

“If I were you, I’d bail now, while I could. I’d go home myself, but someone’s got to make sure she makes it home alive.” He looks over at the table again.

Alice is talking animatedly to Philippa. Philippa has her arms crossed defensively over her chest and is leaning back, away from Alice. She isn’t smiling.

We collect the drinks, and as we are walking back to the table, Philippa jumps up. She walks quickly, her head down, toward the ladies’ room