Life of the Party (33 page)

I didn’t care
what they thought, not in the least. I was having the best time of
my life, just like I had hoped. We were having one of the hottest
summers on record that year too, as if even Mother Nature was
smiling on me. Nearly everyday was the same bright hot sun in the
clear blue sky. Charlie and I spent every possible moment we could
in skimpy little bikinis, sun tanning in the backyard and reading
magazines and talking and laughing, stretched out on loungers and
enjoying the heated quiet of the lazy summer afternoons, smelling
the fresh cut grass from the gentle whir of neighbouring lawn
mowers.

Amidst the
utter perfection, there was only one thing in the whole world that
could have made my summer even better. Something that I wanted
desperately, but for some reason, hadn’t happened.

Grey and I
hadn’t had sex yet.

I tried not to
let it bother me. I mean, we made out practically every chance we
got, so he must have wanted me, at least a little. But every time
things got really hot and heavy, every time I began to think there
might be a chance, he’d pull away and stop us. I just didn’t
understand it. I was living in a state of constant lust; I spent
nearly as much money on fancy underwear as I did on blow. None of
it worked. My total lack of experience mixed with just a dash of
insecurity and made it nearly impossible for me to broach the
subject with him. So I fretted to myself, wondering what I should
do, what I could do to make him want me more. I loved him
desperately; I wanted to share everything I could with him, to
experience it all with him, to know every part of him. The secret
fear that began to gnaw at my mind every time he stopped us was
that he didn’t feel the same way.

“Mac!
Mackenzie!” Marcy’s impatient voice jolted me from my wayward
thoughts. I shook my head and returned to the present.

“Yes?”

“Are you even
awake?” Her dark eyes glared at me. “I was talking to you.”

I sat up and
focused on my sister. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

She shook her
head in exasperation. “I was asking what you think.”

“Oh,” I noticed
for the first time that Marcy was standing on the stage before
tri-fold mirrors, each reflecting back a picture of total elegance
and beauty. The dressmaker was pinning and pulling at the vast
layers of gauzy white fabric as she hemmed up the bustle. The
wedding gown Marcy wore was gorgeous; satin encrusted with jewels
and embroidery in the typical princess cut, the skirt about four
times wider than Marcy was, the train about four times longer.

Mom stood by,
glaring at me with blatant disapproval. Her lips were thin, pursed
so tightly that they matched the color of her face. That was
another one of her signs, like the nose flare. She was not happy
with me.

“Wow, Marce.
You look great.” I smiled woodenly and nodded. Mom shook her head
at me, clearly not impressed with my response, but as she turned
back to Marcy her face totally transformed. She smiled grandly at
her eldest daughter, her face radiating pride as she oohed and
aahed over the fit and the cut and the fabric. Marcy practically
glowed with happiness at my mother’s abundant compliments, her
beautiful face beamed as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her
dark eyes met my mother’s and they shared a happy, teary smile

That was about
the time I felt the need to excuse myself again.

When Marcy’s
alterations were finally finished, we bridesmaids were next. I
stared at the dress hanging in the change room like it was my
mortal enemy. It was pink—light, fluffy, cotton candy pink. Pretty
much exactly what Mom had wanted for my grad. It was cut in the
same style as Marcy’s wedding dress, with a tight fitting bodice
and a knee length, poufy skirt. If the skirt had been but a bit
shorter, it would have looked exactly like a ballerina tutu.

I couldn’t help
but shudder as I stepped into the layers of crinoline. I zipped up
as best I could on my own and then went to stand before the
tri-fold mirror as well, surrendering myself to the mercy of the
dressmaker and her fabric tomato full of pins.

She frowned at
me, her face wrinkling. “You’ve lost weight since last time.” She
decided, pinching the fabric around my waist. I couldn’t decide if
she meant it as a compliment or not. “This’ll have to be taken in.”
She frowned.

“Typical first
year college student,” Whitney laughed, stepping out of the change
room behind me in her tutu. “They can’t ever afford anything to
eat.”

Whitney was
probably just jealous. Her ass hadn’t seen this side of a size four
in years. “I’m actually not going to school this year.” I informed
her.

“Not at
all?”

“No.” I shook
my head.

“Are you
kidding? That would cut into her constant drinking and partying,
wouldn’t it Mac?” Marcy raised an eyebrow at me, her arms crossed.
“It’s so cool to get wasted all the time, Whitney, didn’t you know
that?”

I looked up at
my sister’s face in the mirror. She was obviously pissed at me—her
dark eyes were flashing and she wore the same look my mother had
all day, her face frowning with impatience and irritation. I
shrugged at her.

“I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”

“Right, sure.”
Marcy leaned back in her chair, glaring at me. It was silent for a
moment, awkwardly so. Whitney and Marie looked at each other
uncomfortably, like they didn’t quite know what to do. I could
practically feel their heated stares boring into me, but I ignored
them, staring at myself in the mirror like I was completely
oblivious.

My dress didn’t
fit right anymore. I had lost a size over the last few months. The
dressmaker pinned the fabric tight to my skin and I was amazed by
how much extra material there was. I hadn’t realized I was losing
weight. Really though, my diet was nothing but a hearty serving of
drugs and alcohol, so I guess it made sense. I was just never
really hungry—I mean, I still ate of course but it really took a
backseat to other things. I liked my new size though, now I had
really lost whatever might have been left of my baby fat.

I looked up at
my face. My cheekbones were more pronounced too—attractively so, my
cheeks sunk in slightly from the lost weight. It was like I was
seeing myself for the first time, or through someone else’s eyes or
something. I saw long, slim legs; a firm butt and tiny waist; flat
abs; a long, sleek torso; high, perky breasts and nicely toned
arms. I gazed at myself with wonder. Maybe it was just the cocaine,
but I felt beautiful. I looked beautiful. A surge of newfound
confidence suddenly boosted my thoughts. I was beautiful. There was
no way that Grey couldn’t want me. All I needed was a little
self-confidence.

Now, even more
so, I couldn’t wait to get home.

“So, how long
do you think this will take?” I blurted foolishly, completely
forgetting the plentiful resentment that already filled the room,
emanating towards me from four pairs of narrowed, watchful
eyes.

Marcy stood
from her chair. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mackenzie,” she spat, “am I cutting
into your precious time? How thoughtless of me. I thought that
maybe you could take a few minutes from yourself and focus on
my
wedding.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “But
apparently that’s impossible. Don’t worry, though, we’ll have you
home in plenty of time so you can go and
drink yourself
stupid!
”

She yelled the
last part at me—which was very un-Marcy like—and then stormed off
down the hallway. I watched her go in the mirror. Whitney and Marie
followed after her, but not before shooting daggers at me with
their glares. I turned and stared after them, wide-eyed with
surprise.

“What the hell
is
their
problem?” I wondered. I couldn’t think of anything
I’d done to deserve all this anger. I hadn’t made us late for the
appointment or anything even though I’d only gotten like, three
hours of sleep. And yes—maybe I was a little tired—and yes, maybe a
little hung over—but really, weren’t they totally overreacting?

“
You
are
their problem.” Mom declared through narrowed eyes, her expression
scorching with disappointment. “I can’t believe you. Seriously
Mackenzie, what’s going on?”

“What do you
mean?”

“You know what
I mean. I’m not an idiot, okay? You look terrible all the time, and
you have this awful attitude every time I see you. Dammit,
Mackenzie, you can’t even sober up enough to be here for your
sister. It’s her wedding, for God’s sake!”

“I’m right
here, mom.” My voice rose defensively as I turned to glare back at
her. The dressmaker gave up all pretence of work and just sat back
on her heels, listening to us, enjoying the drama as it ensued. I
gave her a look.

“I know you’re
here, but you’re not
here
.” Mom scoffed. “I bet you’re still
drunk from last night.”

“No I’m not.
Mom, come on. You were young once, I’m sure you did a little
partying. Why is everyone making such a big deal about this?”

“Partying on
the weekends is one thing, but today is a Wednesday, and you knew
we had this appointment.” Mom sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing
her forehead with her hand. “Mackenzie …,” she shook her head,
“maybe you should just go … sit in the car or something.”

I blinked at
her a moment, incredulous. “And why the hell should I do that?”

“Because,” Mom
was exasperated, her brown curls bouncing as she spoke. “You are
doing your damndest to ruin this day for your sister.”

“No I’m
not—”

“Mackenzie!
Just go!” She demanded. “I don’t want you near me right now.”

Her words
shocked me. I stared at her defiantly a moment, but there was no
apology in sight. “Fine.” I turned back to the mirror, my fists
clenching angrily. I glowered down at the dressmaker. “Can you get
this off of me now?”

“Off?” She
looked up at me in confusion.

“Yes, off,
off!” I pulled at the dress is frustration and pins popped off
everywhere. She put up her hands to help me but I pushed them away,
stalking past her off the stage and back into the dressing room,
slamming the door shut behind me. I sat down on the little bench
inside and leaned my head back against the wall. My veins were
thrumming, my blood pounding with coke-rage.

“I’m so sorry,”
I could hear my mother apologizing to the dressmaker, “I’m so
embarrassed.”

“No, no, it’s
fine …,” the lady answered in her thick Russian accent. I rested my
head in my hands and took a deep breath in, trying to calm myself.
She
was embarrassed? They were the ones that totally ganged
up on me, like I was a total loser or something. I felt like
crying; I just couldn’t understand why everyone was being so mean.
I hadn’t done anything wrong. So I partied a little bit, so what? I
wasn’t hurting anybody. What was the matter with a little harmless
fun?

It was none of
their business anyway, I decided. They could go screw themselves. I
stood up then and took the pink tutu off, careful not to jab myself
with the remaining pins. Then I put my clothes back on, noticing as
I pulled my black tank top over my head that it did smell pretty
bad, but I really didn’t care.

Once I put
myself back together and gathered my things, I stepped out of the
change room to face my mother again. Calmer, more in control of
myself. Marcy still hadn’t returned.

“Here.” I
handed the dressmaker my gown. “I’m sorry.” I hoped I hadn’t
wrecked anything with my little fit.

She nodded and
took the pile of fabric from me. “It’s okay. I’ll make do.”

I turned to my
mom. “Can I have the keys?” I demanded, completely avoiding all
contact with her as I did so. If I had my way, I wouldn’t have to
speak to her ever again. She dropped the set into my outstretched
hands and I turned to leave before she could say anything more.
Grabbing my purse on the way out, I headed for the car and spent
the rest of the day in exile.

The day from
hell was finally over. Mom dropped me off late in the evening after
the quietest ride home in the history of the world. The tension in
the car was almost tangible. The lights were on inside my house as
we pulled up at the curb; loud music was pumping out, noisy
laughter filtering through the open windows to meet us on the
street. I was cheered by just the sight. Mom peered up at the
apartment, a worried look on her face as I opened the door, totally
prepared to leave her without even saying goodbye.

“Mackenzie,”
she stopped me just before I could. I didn’t answer, but sighed,
turning to show that she had my attention. I’d been waiting for her
to apologize all night.

“Mackenzie,”
she started again, “I need to tell you something.”

I nodded for
her to continue.

“I talked to
Marcy about it and she’s still willing to have you as a bridesmaid,
but you have to promise to be sober. If you honestly can’t do that
… then she’ll … she’ll find someone else.”

My response was
a blank stare. “Are you kidding me?”

Mom shook her
head.

I could feel
the anger building again. I let it escape in a hiss through my
teeth. “You guys are unbelievable. When did I become this … this
raging alcoholic to you? I party a little, yes, but I’m not a
friggin’ idiot.”

“Marcy just
doesn’t want her wedding ruined—”

“Heaven
for-fucking-fend that precious Marcy ever be disappointed.” I got
up out of the car. I felt so … betrayed by them, I couldn’t help
but swear. I could feel my hands trembling. “You really think I’m
capable of ruining her wedding? Thanks mom. Thanks for thinking so
highly of me.”

I think she was
shocked by my reaction. Her face looked crushed. “Mackenzie—” she
started.