Better Than Perfect (5 page)

“Here you go,” he said, turning off the car and handing me my keys.

I took the keys from him, opened the door, and headed for the building, relieved that my legs were holding me up. I'd walked a few feet from the car before I realized I hadn't even thanked him for the ride.

He was just closing the door of my car behind him when I got back. “Thanks,” I said, embarrassed by my rudeness.

“No problem,” he said, and he seemed to mean it.

“I really appreciate your driving me,” I added.

“It's no big deal,” he said.

There was a loud bang from the far side of the van, and the girl from the passenger seat said to someone I couldn't see, “Do you have to be such a complete wanker?” In reply, a voice I was sure was the driver's answered, “Blow me.” Both of them sounded pretty annoyed, but my driver didn't bother investigating.

“Look, I don't know you, but are you sure you're okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” I said. Immediately, to my complete and utter humiliation, my eyes started to well up.

He took a step toward me. “Jesus,” he whispered. He patted the pockets of his cargo shorts, and on the third try extracted a couple of napkins. “They're clean,” he assured me, pressing them into my hand.

“I'm really . . .” I blew my nose. “I'm really okay.” Since I was still crying, I probably wasn't making the most convincing case for my okayness.

“Can I help you find your friend?” he asked.

I balled up the napkins and stuffed them in my pocket. “I'm just . . . I've had a really hard day. I'm sorry that . . . I'm really okay.”

He studied my face, not rudely but curiously. “Well, okay then,” he said finally. “I hope everything's . . . okay for you.”

“Yeah,” I said again. “Thanks.” I suddenly remembered his name. “Thanks, Declan.”

He gave me a two-fingered salute. “Anytime.”

Feeling like a total ass for losing it in front of Declan, I headed toward the main house, which rose up over the parking lot like a mountain. There was a sign above the glass-and-wooden door I'd been walking toward that read
EMPLOYEES ONLY
. I opened it and went inside, where I found myself in a long, low-ceilinged corridor lit by fluorescent lights. It was nothing like the wide, carpeted hallways with their rococo moldings and wall sconces holding faux candles that I knew from upstairs at the club. I passed metal carts piled high with dirty coffee cups, used plates, and crumpled napkins, following the sound of loudly banging pots and pans, and then, pushing through another glass-and-wooden door, I found myself in the enormous kitchen.

There were at least a dozen people running around, all wearing hairnets and black aprons with elaborate white script
M
s on them. At first I didn't think Sofia was there, but then I spotted her over in a relatively quiet corner, standing in front of an enormous tray of pastry puffs that she was methodically filling with cream from a pastry bag.

I crossed the kitchen, half expecting someone to stop me, but everyone was too intent on whatever they were doing to care about who I was. Sofia jumped and spun around when I tapped her on the shoulder.

“Juliet!” She popped out one of her earbuds. “What are you doing here?”

Having started bawling when Declan asked me if I was okay, I was surprised that I delivered my news to Sofia without a single tear.

“My mom's in the hospital,” I said. “She . . . she swallowed some pills.”

“Oh my God,” Sofia whispered. She put down the bag of cream she'd been holding and wrapped her arms around me.

I hugged her back for a long minute, then stepped away. “I'm okay,” I said, even though she hadn't asked. Suddenly I didn't want sympathy and I didn't want to be hugged. “They're not sure what happened. They won't know until . . . I don't know when, actually.” As I realized I had no idea how they were going to figure out what had happened with my mom, I gave a weird laugh, almost like a bark. Were they just going to ask her?
Mrs. Newman, you were found passed out on the floor of your bathroom. Did you mean to take too many pills, or was it an accident?

Sofia watched me with an odd look on her face, waiting for me to explain, but all I said was, “I just . . . I don't want to go home.”

“No, of course not.” She started to untie her apron. “We'll go to my house.”

“Let's go, Taylor,” said a thin guy with a beard carrying another tray of cream puffs. “This is no time to socialize.”

“Frank, I have to go,” said Sofia, pulling off her hairnet. “I have an emergency.”

“You're not going anywhere, Taylor,” said the guy, carefully placing the tray down. “We've got two hundred people for dinner. Two seatings. You're here until midnight.”

He sounded harsh, but it didn't seem to frighten Sofia. “Frank, I'm serious. I have to go.”

Frank pushed the tray of pastry shells farther back on the table and turned to face us. Now I could see why she wasn't scared of him. He was a big guy and he had a beard, but he probably wasn't much older than we were.

“Look, Taylor, I want to help you and, you know”—he glanced at me—“your friend. But I can't let you go. Seriously. Mitch will have my ass.”

“Frank—” Sofia started.

But I interrupted her. “Sofia, it's okay. Really. I'll just . . . I'll wait for you.”

“Juliet, that's like”—she checked a clock on the wall—“five hours.”

“It's fine,” I said.

“Do you want to go home and wait for me? I'll give you my keys. My mom will be there.” She turned to get her bag.

“No!” I grabbed her arm, my voice sharper than I'd meant it to be. I didn't want to sit with Sofia's mother. Suddenly, all I wanted was to be by myself.

“Juliet, what are you going to do until midnight?” she asked, so anxious I almost thought
she
was about to start crying.

Sofia's being upset only made me more calm. “I'll be fine.”

“Do you want to just stay here? They'll never notice you. There's like a thousand members here tonight. You could say you're a guest of the Robinsons.”

“Taylor,” snapped Frank, “we've got to get this tray finished. Let's go.”

Sofia ignored him. “Seriously. Just stay here.”

“Sure,” I said, but I couldn't really imagine saying I was a guest of Jason's family when I wasn't. Grace and Mark weren't chill about things like that. If I called and told them where I was, they'd probably let me have whatever I wanted. But they wouldn't like it if I started signing their names for stuff without asking.

“Just go to the library and take a book or something, okay? I'll call you as soon as I can.” She hugged me again. “It's going to be okay,” she whispered in my ear.

I hugged her back, then recrossed the kitchen, walked back down the long, empty corridor, and stepped outside into the sticky summer evening. Even though my phone was in my pocket, I'd missed three calls, one from my aunt Kathy and two from my dad. They'd both texted me, too. My aunt's text said she was taking the red-eye and she'd be at my house in the morning. My dad had just written:
Where are you?

I didn't want to text my dad back. Why should I have to tell him where I was? He was a smart guy; let him figure it out himself.

I texted my aunt and told her I'd meet her at the house. Then I looked up at the darkening sky. I pictured Jason asleep in the villa his parents had rented, pictured waking him up to tell him about my mom. He'd be shocked, like Sofia had been. And then he'd say, just like she had,
It's going to be okay, J. Everything's going to be okay.

But was it? How could everything be okay after what had happened?

There was a garbage can right next to me, and I had the crazy fantasy of tossing my phone into it so I wouldn't have to deal with any more calls or texts from people. After that, I could just get in my car and drive away. I'd find a job in a diner somewhere, waiting tables. I'd been planning on applying early to Harvard. Surely I could get a job waitressing.

I stood there, holding my phone and looking at the garbage can for a while, and then I chickened out. If I ran away, they'd find me. And once they found me, I'd have to come back. And when I came back, everyone would know I was the crazy girl who'd run away to work at a diner.

Instead of running away from home, I texted my dad. I told him I was okay. I told him I was with Sofia. I told him I would meet Kathy at the house in the morning. I asked him to stop texting me.

Because I was a good girl. And good girls didn't throw away their phones or leave home or make their parents worry about them for no reason.

I'd left my bag in the car, and now that I had several hours to kill, I headed back to retrieve it. When I got to my car, Declan, the girl from the passenger seat, the guy who'd been driving, and the kid who'd gotten out of the van earlier were talking to an older guy in a blue button-down and a pair of khakis. He was writing something on a clipboard, and as I approached, he ripped off a piece of paper and handed it to the girl.

“Display that prominently on your dashboard so security can see it,” he said, and she nodded.

“What's with this one?” he asked, gesturing at my car with his elbow.

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say she had no idea whose car it was, I said, “That's mine.” My voice had an edge to it.

The man swung around in my direction. He was simultaneously pale and sunburned, like an egg someone had roasted. “And who exactly are you?”

In an instant, it was clear that the man embodied the Milltown Country Club fascist state Sofia had spoken of.

“I'm Juliet,” I said.

“Should this mean something to me?” he asked, sarcastically. He held his clipboard out to me. “If I look, will I find your name on this list? Or should I be asking you to leave now?”

My desire to tell him to go fuck himself was kept under control by the fact that if he asked me to leave, I'd have no
place to go. I glared at him, furious and scared and silent.

It was Declan who answered him. “She's with us.”

The girl, the driver, and the other boy turned to Declan, but none of them said anything to contradict him.

“She's with you?” asked the roasted-egg man, his voice dripping doubt as he looked from the four black-haired, blue-eyed people who'd gotten out of the aging van to me, blond and brown-eyed and standing in front of my spanking new Honda, my parents' birthday gift to me just four months ago.

“Tambourine,” said Declan. He shook the tambourine I hadn't seen he was holding.

A car drove into the parking lot and pulled into a spot all the way at the other end. I could almost smell the egg man's desire to go and bully the new arrival vying with his desire to stay here and bully us. The sound of the other car's door slamming shut decided him. He glanced at my license plate, jotted something down on the piece of paper on his clipboard, tore it off, and handed it to me.

“Place this prominently on your dashboard.”

I took the paper from him and nodded.

He glared at us. “And don't let me catch any of you wandering around the grounds, or I'll throw the whole bunch of you out. This is a private club, and you're here to perform, not enjoy yourselves.” With that, he turned and marched across the lot calling, “Hey! Hey!” to the guy who'd just parked and was heading toward the kitchen carrying a large green box.

“Care to tell us what this is all about?” asked the driver, turning to Declan.

“Nothing,” said Declan. “It's fine.”

“It's
fine
?” repeated the driver, sounding as sarcastic as the egg man.

“Oh, Sean, don't be an arse,” said the girl. She came over to me. Fine boned and pale, she was even prettier up close. She might have been the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in real life. “I'm Sinead. This is my cousin Sean. And this is my little brother, Danny.” She pointed at the boy next to her, and he gave me a shy wave. I gave him a wave back. “And I guess you already know my brother Declan.”

“Hi,” I said. “I'm Juliet.”

“Hi,” said Declan. “Again.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Again.” I gave him a nervous smile.

“No problem,” he said, and his face stayed serious.

“Well, this is just fucking great,” said Sean, slapping his thigh in frustration. “What are we supposed to do with her?”

“I really appreciate your helping me with that guy,” I said. “But I won't bother you anymore. Seriously.” I backed away from the van. “See? You won't have to deal with me for the rest of the night. I'm outta here.”

But as I turned to go, Sean called out, “Oh no you don't!” His voice was authoritative. I turned back around. “If Mr. Stick Up the Ass finds you on the grounds, he's going to toss all of us out,” Sean reminded me. “And I for one don't want to lose a gig I worked very hard to get.”

Sinead snorted.

“That's enough out of you, missy,” said Sean to Sinead.

“I'm sorry,” I said. I said it to Sean, but I meant it for all of them. “I really don't know how I ended up being your problem. I'm just waiting for my friend to finish working.” I could hear my voice shaking slightly, but I hoped anyone who didn't know me pretty well wouldn't notice.

I saw Sinead and Declan exchange a look, and then she said, “Are you kidding? You know what a relief it is to get a break from all this testosterone? Not that you have that much, Sean,” she added quickly.

“I'm surrounded by comedians,” said Sean, walking around the van. From the far side of it, he yelled, “All right, then, you're going to be pulling your weight if you're sticking with us,
Jules
.” He hit the nickname hard, like he knew nobody called me that and he was daring me to tell him not to.