Citizen Girl (31 page)

A swarm of tourists engulfs us, buying me a moment before they pass. ‘Kat, I’m flattered, really. But what I want, what I need right now is to get Magdalene the funding Guy promised.
I
promised. I just – this has
got
to happen.’

She swoops her hand in a circle around me, as if encompassing my aura. ‘I like that. Meet me tonight and you can tell the boys I’ll come to a pitch tomorrow.’ She scribbles an address on the back of a business card. ‘Party’s at eleven. See you outside.’

*

‘Have some cheese, it’s the house specialty.’ Julia slides over a plate of Ritz crackers gobbed with orange smush. I pick one up, surprised that the Harvard Club, bastion of the intellectual and social élite, specializes in something that so closely resembles Cheez Whiz. Julia polishes off her Reuben. ‘Well, there’s no denying it must have been awkward.’

‘No.’

‘But it’s over.’

I raise an eyebrow.

‘This Kat character’s given you a second chance. What you’re helping Magdalene accomplish can’t be overstated—’

‘Julia, maybe I’m not doing it justice – Kat full on slapped her.’

‘I’m not saying it wasn’t uncomfortable. I’m just saying, add it to your record book. Mine’s long enough: meals around the samovar with the kitchen staff while my male colleagues are being served out front, lap-dances for all.’ Her voice echoes in the wood-paneled room. ‘What meeting haven’t I conducted with a hand on my knee?’ Our retired crimson-clad cohorts glance up from their chowder.

‘It’s just that suddenly my mother’s in that hotel with me. I already feel like this job is letting her down on just about every principle she ever instilled in me and now —’

‘She’s in a different milieu. I challenge her to step into your shoes and do anything differently.’

‘She painted, “Tell me who you walk with and I’ll tell you who you are”,
over my crib. She
would have duct-taped
Kat to the Eames chaise and talked at her until Kat “let go of the anger”.’

‘Which would have gotten you where, exactly? Honestly, Girl, what does Kat’s anger have to do with what you’re trying to achieve?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I look back at those women, whose protests I stepped past to get to work, and where are they today? They’re foaming at the mouth over parking permits in a ballroom at the Marriott – it’s performance art. So keep Grace out of this. Business and mothers don’t mix.’ Julia wipes her mouth neatly with the linen napkin.

‘You make it sound so easy.’

She breaks into a deep laugh. ‘Do I? It’s not, it’s ridiculously hard. But I can’t feel sorry for this Liz – she sounds like a drug-addled brat, who, thank God, still has the conscience to want to do good. Which is fortuitous, because I’m managing three suicide attempts, an ectopic pregnancy, six HIV positives, and a bed shortage. So …’

‘I know,’ I say quickly. ‘Thank you for taking the time to talk me down when your hands are so full.’

‘Of course.’ Julia flips open the leather case to check the enclosed bill.

‘Oh, please, let me, it’s the least I can do.’ I reach over for the check.

‘Don’t be silly.’

She calculates the tip, while I look down at the chipped plate, embossed with a scarlet H, as is everything in the room. Pushing the sounds of the slap from my mind I concentrate on counting the ubiquitous H tie-clips, jaunty
red scarves and Veritas earrings, so unabashedly prevalent as to suggest a prime layer of H tattoos, jaunty red thongs and Veritas piercings.

‘So, Girl.’ Julia places the pen into the fold of the leather case. ‘You’ll go to your party, I’ll go to my fundraiser, we’ll both do our work. And, God willing, Magdalene will have its coffers lined by the end of the week. Okay?’ Julia returns her gaze to my fretful face. ‘Girl, you didn’t instigate it, you didn’t stay for it, so don’t obsess. Just get on with it, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I say.

Julia offers me the last cracker, but I push the plate towards her.

‘Suit yourself.’ She pops it into her mouth.

That evening the cab snakes down Seventh Avenue, and I’m committed to getting on with it. I straighten my tank that says, ‘Just Browsing’ in Swarovski crystals and lean down to untuck my jeans from where they’ve wedged between my heel and the sole of my stiletto slides.
Ring-ring, ring-ring, ring-ring—

‘Hello?’ I fumble open my new cell.

‘Did I do it? Am I your first call?’ Buster’s voice comes to me in patches.

‘Yes!’ I grin. ‘Oh, this is so exciting, I’m talking to you from a cab, on my very own phone.’

‘You’re such a nerd,’ he laughs. ‘Where’re you headed?’

‘I’m going to this party thing with Kat – Muffin?’

‘Shut up. That’s so fucking cool. Wait till I tell Sam. Camille goes all the time – she’s a
member
.’

‘I see, very impressive. So what are you up to?’ I tug a loose thread from the hem of my tank.

‘Yeah, well, that’s why I called. I’m out with this kid from work, it’s another bachelor thing and I just wanted to give you a heads-up about it.’

‘Okay,’ I say, not sure where this is going.

‘Cool?’

‘Cool to what?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ he mutters. ‘I can’t believe I’m standing out here having to call you.’

‘Out where?’

‘The Hustler Club.’

‘You’re calling me from outside a strip bar?’

‘You’re going to a sex party!’

‘Buster, I don’t understand, are you looking for me to give permission?’

‘I don’t know, I’m communicating,’ he mutters.

‘So I’m informed that you’re about to spend the evening paying women to act like they want to fuck you. Thanks for the update.’

‘You’re being a total hypocrite right now.’

‘How long have you known about this bachelor party?’

‘I don’t know – a few weeks.’

‘And you’re telling me now? What would you have done if I hadn’t gotten a cell?’

‘The point is, I’m telling you. I thought that’s what you wanted,’ he sighs. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, let’s deal with this later. I’ll meet you at your place.’

‘Fine,’ I say, plate full.

‘Fine, so we’re cool?’

‘Fine, so we’re not going to talk about this now.’

‘Okay, later.’

I flip the phone closed and slip it back in my clutch. NoroomonmyplaterightnowNoroomonmyplaterightnow Noroomonmyplaterightnow.

Smoothing back my hair, I start to feel very sixth grade: the fast girls are about to sneak me into my first R-rated film and I’m expecting … I don’t know what I’m expecting. Really happy women. Peaceful, ecstatic women. Women who are redefining comfort. And a check for a million dollars.

Under the lingering stench from the nearby meatpacking factories, Kat and Liz are waiting in matching mini satin trench coats. ‘Hello,’ I say, awkwardly brushing their proffered cheeks just below sparkling painted butterflies.

‘
Ciao
, darling! Wait right here.’ Kat, clearly having moved on from the events of this afternoon, deposits us in the queue hugging the brick wall, then marches along the barricades to the front of the line.

I turn to the subtly vibrating Liz. ‘How are you doing?’ I ask gently.

She stares at me with every ounce of her attention.

‘Feeling better?’

‘Oh, yeahyeahyeah,’ she nods rapidly, her eyes like blue pupil-less saucers in the glare of the few bare bulbs signifying the entrance. ‘Yeah, I’mnotdrinkingtonightjust hadsomemethandthatshoulddome, youwantsome?’ she rattles before sucking on her water bottle.

‘No, thanks.’

‘Okay, let’s roll!’ Kat reappears to grab Liz’s ass and
propel her past the line, which is packed with a confusingly large number of men.

‘
Dude
, you’ll never guess where I am,’ a passing male voice cheers loudly into his cell. ‘I’m at
Muffin
…I know! I get laid every time I come here.’

Kat reaches back to take my hand and we clear the ropes. Stepping inside, Kat stares on impatiently as Liz shows her Muffin card, painstakingly counting out balled-up fifties to grandfather me in as a member. ‘This way, darlings!’ Kat parts the velvet curtains and the music blasts us as we pass into a disco-lit, glitter-strewn club peppered with clusters of other early birds. On stage the MC, a lithe, heavily made-up man, paces in a cropped top and low-riding red vinyl pants. He surveys the scene, his microphone poised beneath his sparkly mouth, ‘Come on, you horny goddesses, let’s get dancing!’

‘Woohoo!’ Kat, her right hand still positioned on Liz’s ass, uses her left to lift mine in a celebratory cheer, which is shared by the other small gaggles of twenty-something, Agent Provocatuer-clad guests.

I follow up the stairs to a roped-off VIP area behind the speakers. ‘Ah, the co-founders of the revolution!’ Kat screams in greeting to a raven-haired couple who look to be about my age. Thin, beautiful, and utterly androgynous, both offer languorous waves from the leopard-skin couch where they loll amidst magnums of champagne. Kat slides down her trench and then tugs off teetering Liz’s, revealing matching sheer tops and minute denim skirts barely grazing their gartered thighs. Following suit I remove my own jacket and rest it with theirs. Below, people are
starting to flood in as the volume of the hip-hop music rises, the women rapidly peeling down to bare breasts, while the men lounge comfortably in suits. It’s
Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe:
the music video.

‘Drink, darling?’ Kat helps herself to a mini-bottle of Piper from the sterling ice bucket.

‘Sure,’ I reply, staring out at the revolution that so far looks strikingly similar to the regime.

‘Romy,’ the pixie-cut woman nods up at me by way of introduction. ‘And this is my brother, Remus.’ He takes my hand with a limp, clammy grip.

‘And this is my Girlie-Girl.’ Kat insinuates herself into the small space between them on the couch, leaving me to drag over two heavy ottomans from the neighboring banquette. Liz perches on the edge of hers for all of a minute before hopping up to dance frenetically by our table.

‘Did you get the package I sent over?’ Kat asks.

‘Ooh, yes,’ Romy giggles, looking at her nodding brother for confirmation. ‘We loved the crotchless ones –
very
Muffin. I think they could sell really well here.’

‘But, of course!’ Kat thrusts both thumbs into the cork, popping it to the ceiling.

‘You work for Bovary?’ Remus addresses me as he passes over a second Piper.

‘Thanks, no.’ I hold up my barely touched first. ‘No, we’re wooing Bovary to consult their stateside launch.’

‘Oh, you’re a McKinsey minion.’

‘No, I work for My Company.’

The twins exchange glances.

‘You’re not still dating
them
, are you?’ Remus asks Kat,
his black eyebrows knitting together. ‘I mean, no offense, but they don’t know dick —’

‘Or Muffin,’ Romy giggles, her small breasts momentarily shaking loose of her cocktail dress.

Suddenly the audio of an interview being projected on screens around the room supplants the music. ‘Well, I’m a … sexual person.’ Al Goldstein holds a mike to a garish redhead’s mouth. ‘I really just … love sex.’ She sniffs, running a taloned hand under her red nose. ‘I shot a double anal today,’ she says vacantly.

‘Wow.’ Al smirks into the camera. ‘That’s a double I’d like to get in on.’

‘It was really … fun.’

‘Sounds it,’ he leers. ‘I bet you come all day long.’

She blinks her false lashes. ‘I do. I come just pulling into the studio parking lot.’

‘I bet you’re coming right now.’

‘What? Oh, yeah, yeah, I am. I just love sex. I’m just … a very sexual person.’

‘Hey, when’re your next auditions?’

She blinks into the bright light, her Muffin tube top sliding down to reveal the upper crescent of her distended, saucer-sized nipples. ‘I’m just … a very sexual person. I just love … sex.’

‘And sex loves you. We’ll be right back with video legend Ginger performing
live
from Muffin in New York City, so stay tuned!’

‘Cable access. New Muffin frontier,’ Remus says.

‘Speaking of which,’ I ask hopefully, ‘when is Muffin starting?’

‘Right,’ Remus says. ‘Excuse us for a moment.’ They skip down the stairs and over to the stage, where the MC hands over the mike. ‘Testing, testing!’ Remus shouts, grinning devilishly as his voice booms over the expectant faces. ‘Welcome one and all to our First Annual Liberated Lips Party!’ Whoops and cheers explode from the exuberant crowd. ‘For those of you for whom tonight is your first Muffin Extravaganza, we are a cross-platform production and entertainment company for young heterosexual women that represents a contemporary female sexual lifestyle!’ Awkward silence. ‘And we’re here to get you hot!’ Robust cheering.

‘Isn’t it fab?’ Kat’s lips find my ear. Isn’t
what
fab?

‘Tonight we’re taking the revolution to the lips that are cut no slack in our culture of shame!’ Romy holds a slender arm aloft beside him for support as he continues, ‘We want you to use your lips to express your freedom and individuality. Let’s have some lip service, everybody! Use your mouth to shout your name!’

A raucous cry of names go up in shrieking sopranos. ‘
Kaaaaaaaaat
!’ she deafens me.

‘State your Muffin rights!’ he urges them.

‘To strip! To slap! To cum! To go!’

He breaks in to deliver his final instruction, ‘Now …
grab a dick
!’ As Romy mock-lunges her small hand towards her brother’s crotch, the MC rolls out a round table displaying a three-foot-tall dildo, upright, like a wedding cake. A frenzied uproar breaks out on the dance floor as the coiffed, panty-clad women rush the stage, as if someone shouted, ‘Fire!’ at the Victoria’s Secret runway show.

‘Suck it!’ shouts the MC, who’s reclaimed, if not his sexuality, at least the mike. The men in the crowd are wildly agog with delight. They thrust their pin-striped pelvises out, offering up their vessels of liberation. One of my eyebrows has darted so far up it’s on the back of my neck. Romy and Remus weave out of the escalating mêlée and skip back up the stairs. Reaching for fresh bottles, they plop back onto the couch, once again book-ending Kat.
One million dollars one million dollars one million dollars Not Jack Lemmon Not Jack Lemmon Not Jack Lemmon Business and Mothers Don’t Mix Business and Mothers Don’t Mix Business and Mothers Don’t Mix
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