Sorority Girls With Guns (11 page)

“
You know you probably permanently damaged the carpet and will have to pay for that?” Richard asks.

“
Well, the damage happened in
your
room, and it would have been so much worse if we hadn’t bleached it.” I try to block out the five dollar mochas I see smiling at me from large signs on the coffee shop door. “Since you need to act richer or forfeit the bet, you might as well pay the bill for the carpeting.”

You're paying for the damages," Richard says.
"It's your room, " Morgan argues. "And we did it for the bet!"
"You're still responsible for the damage you caused," Richard says. "And you
will
pay it out of your cash stash."
"We can split it," I begrudgingly tell Morgan. "Maybe it isn't that bad. I mean, the carpet was pretty trashed to begin with."
"But you
are
moving into a nicer hotel room, and I've already picked one out," Morgan says, holding up her phone and waving it at Richard.
He heaves a sigh like she just asked him to carry her up Mount Everest without an oxygen tank. Or shoes. "Are you kidding? How did you even find a vacant room, let alone one in the most expensive hotel in town?"
"There's an app for that. And that is
not
the most expensive hotel in town. The
four
most expensive hotels in town were all full." Morgan pulls the phone away from Richard's scowling face and taps the "Book" icon. "I'm putting it on my card, which doesn't count against me because it's to force
you
to keep up your end, using our cards to live like a rich person."
"Not every rich person wastes money," Richard says. "I don't suppose any of you have ever read that book about everyday millionaires?"
"Yeah, yeah, we had to read it for Econ class," Matt grumbles. What he means is that he read a few pages of the Cliff's Notes. "But the bet agreement said you'd live like
normal
rich people, not the four percent of the four percent!"
"He's right," Tiffany says. "You won't get to experience what we go through if you don't try enjoying money for a few days."
"Yeah, I'm sure your life is so hard."
"If it's so easy, then you should have no problem living it for a while," I say.
"And if you don't move into this room today, you
will
forfeit the bet," Morgan says. "I've forwarded confirmation to your Dumb phone." That's what she calls those dinky phones that only make calls and send texts and do nothing else. Usually the only people I see with them are my grandparents' age, but of course Richard has one fifty years ahead of schedule.
He rolls his eyes. “I'll move in right after you settle with the hotel."
"You can't just stay in the room," Charlie says as we all scramble to pay our separate checks. "That won't give you a taste of how people treat you. You'll have to throw a party."
I dig my fingers between the booth cushions and fish out a dinner mint, a condom wrapper (eww!) and one grubby penny. "You're not seriously hoping to pay with that, are you?" Tiffany asks, her nose turning up so much she looks almost like she did before her nose job.
I roll
my
eyes this time. "No. I plan to pay with this." I dig into my jeans pocket and pull out a foil wrapper that, until   yesterday, held a chocolate-peanut butter granola bar and shake out its contents.
Morgan's brows pull together in confusion. "Where'd you get all those coins?"
"Mostly digging around under vending machines," I explain. "Also, I walked through the drive-through of every fast food place within walking distance. Those places are a gold mine! Do you know how many fat junk food addicts are too lazy to get out of their damn cars to retrieve a quarter?"

Chapter Fourteen

It turns out that the rug is not ruined; as Morgan pointed out earlier, the carpet in that shitty room was already pretty stained. The desk clerk looked at the spot and thanked us for sparing her staff a big mess to clean up, after we “spilled a big bowl of soup accidentally”. She only charged us twenty dollars for airing out the room, just to get rid of the bleach smell.

One problem down, one more to go. We arrive at the Luxe Hotel, and Richard checks in, mumbling and shuffling his feet and gasping in horror when he sees the bill Morgan signs. Then he starts looking around the hotel as if expecting to be attacked by, I don’t know, rich people coming to steal his Toyota-driving soul. When the desk clerk asks if he’d like help with his bags, he practically yells, “No, thank you!”

Then Tiffany kicks him with a knock-off Prada shoe. “Is that how a gentleman of your stature is supposed to behave?” she hisses loudly.

Richard grits his teeth and turns back to the clerk. “On second though, ma’am, I think I could use a little help, if you don’t mind.”

He proceeds to tip the porter, a kid not much younger than us who fits the target market for zit cream, a hundred dollars. The guy thanks Richard profusely and says he’d be happy to help if Richard needs anything in the future.

No shit.

“
Well, I give you points for thinking of the generous tip on your own,” Matt says, as the door closes behind the happiest porter in the world.

Richard smiles smugly. “I charged it to your credit card.”

Matt nods. “Yeah, well, sometimes you have to spend money to make money.”

“
You really think this video thing is going to go viral?” Morgan asks.

“
Maybe.” Matt shrugs. “If it doesn’t, we can force pledges to watch the videos for hazing week.”

“
Won’t they be too drunk to notice that Richard still isn’t acting like a rich person?” I ask.

“
What do you mean?” Richard frowns at me. “I checked in. I gave a kid a hundred-dollar whopper of a tip. I paid someone to carry a couple suitcases I can easily lift myself. I’m staying in this ridiculous palace-“ He sweeps his arm around the room, which could
only
hold about four Hummer stretch limos, so he’s obviously seriously exaggerating here. “-even though my room at the other hotel was perfectly acceptable.”

I flop down on the couch, a modern, understated black model with the cushions so soft they seem to mold to my ass. “Rich people don’t call clerks ‘ma’am’, Richard.”

“
Now hang on, you’re feeding into his delusions,” Morgan says, sitting down at the carved marble desk and pulling a nail file from her purse. “Not all rich people are assholes, and he’s still allowed to be polite.”

“
I’m not saying he has to be an asshole or that he can’t be polite,” I explain. “What I meant was, rich people just don’t use the word ma’am to people who are not rich. They might be nice, they might say please and thank you, they might even compliment the porter on doing such a great job carrying those bags. But they don’t call poor people sir and ma’am. In fact, they don’t even do it much with other rich people, unless it’s someone of vastly higher status and/or a favor is needed.”

Morgan nods, the slight sawing motion across her fingertips slowing but not stopping. “I see what you mean. Yes, you’re right. I don’t remember my parents ever calling a porter ‘sir’, even though they were always very nice and tipped well.” She smirks. “Maybe not as well as Richard there, but
well
!”

“
And they don’t look around the lobby of an expensive hotel like they think the walls are going to shake them down for more money,” I add. “Did you get a glimpse of yourself in any of the wall mirrors down there, Richie Rich? You looked like you were going to need CPR when you saw the bill! Rich people don’t act like that.”

“
Well, the point was for me to learn,” Richard says. “I’ll try not to call anyone sir or ma’am until the bet is over, all right? And I’ll act like I’m doing a yoga pose every time the bill comes.”

“
So let’s talk about this epic party you’re going to throw,” Matt says, flinging himself backwards onto the king-sized bed. His flopping pulls the duvet cover down a little, and I can see that it’s about three-quarters as thick as the mattress.

Richard gives another climbing-Everest sigh. “Fine. What do I have to do?”

“
First of all, rich people don’t usually take that attitude about parties,” I say. “Even if they’re not into partying, they don’t feel that miserable about the money.”

Richard readjusts his face into a parody of a parody of someone trying to smile. After suffering a stroke. “Great. Where do I start?”

“
First, you call down to the front desk and ask them to run a tab for room service,” Morgan says, picking up the heavy-handled, mother-of-pearl, old-fashioned land line phone and handing it to him.

“
Then you ask for a case of Diamond Champagne to be sent up,” Matt continues.

“
Make it two cases. Then you get on Twitter and Instagram and invite a whole bunch of people,” she continues, her fingers flickering across her phone. “Tell you what, I’ll help you out with that. There’s no rule that rich people can’t get help from their friends. I'm grateful for the opportunity to help.”

“
Don’t forget to tell the front desk you’ll need catering for an event you’re having in your room tonight,” I add. “They probably provide it here or can contact a local restaurant on your behalf.”

“
This is ridiculous.” Richard shoves the phone away as if he’s shoving all of us out the door. “Do you know how many starving people we could feed with the money-“

“
And most rich people don’t whine about feeding the poor!” Morgan snaps. “Of
course
we care about feeding the poor, that’s why we throw fundraisers! And because we throw fundraisers and help the needy all the time, we don’t have to be a drag at parties, a boring stick-in-the-mud that no one wants to listen to babbling about all the poor, starving people in the world.”

“
For once, Morgan is right.” I shove the phone back toward Richard. “Be sure to add ‘plus one’ to your e-vite. I want to bring Hoolio to this shindig.”

“
So I guess all you have to attend my party with expensive food and drinks so you can check up on me,” Richard says.

“
Dude, we invited half the people we met at the beach today,” Matt says. “It's pretty much open to everyone. And even if it wasn't, poor people crash parties all the time. Back at the frat house, we usually have ten or twenty people that no one knows who the hell they are at every party. I think most of them come for the free beer.”

“
And the point is to see how poor people treat the rich, right?” I add. “That's why we invited other poor people to attend your party, and we'll be here too.”

“
Attending one nice party doesn't change your overall lifestyle,” Morgan adds.

“
Okay, okay,” Richard says. “But all I'm buying are food and drinks. You want to hire a band or something, you're doing that on your dime.”

“
I feel like such a welcome guest,” Charlie says from the couch.

Chapter Fifteen

"$500 for champagne? That's insane! Can't you guys get drunk on whatever beer Wal-Mart has on sale like normal people?" Richard yells.

"
We
can, 'cuz
we're
'poor'." Matt makes quote marks in the air as he flops down on the ass-fondling sofa. "But you can't, because you're living the high life this month, buddy."

"People are going to start showing up soon, so you might wanna cool it on this whole wet-blanket routine," Charlie adds.

"I'm grateful that we have the opportunity to enjoy this wonderful champagne," Tiffany says, lifting the first bottle from its ice bucket and popping the cork. Morgan and I were so busy dealing with the party that I haven't had the chance to ask what the fuck is going on with her, and I make a mental note to do that tonight. This happy-crappy, “I'm so grateful” nonsense really isn't her.

"That bottle cost $500!" Richard rakes one hand through his already-tousled hair, while the other clutches the room service bill like Chris Christie hangs onto a donut. "Don't open any more if you don't have to, okay? If we don't open them I think we can still get our money back."

Matt clears his throat like there's a 747 lodged in it. "I don't think that's how a rich person would act, Richie Rich," he says quietly, covering the camera button on his shirt.

"Yeah, the whole point of a party is that you're supposed to forget about everything and have a good time." Morgan grabs a glass and sloshes champagne into it, letting the bubbles overflow onto the carpet. Richard's eyes go wide and his mouth opens, but a sharp look from Matt forces him to slam it shut again.

"Now start being a gracious host who cares only about his guests' entertainment and not about money, or you lose the bet," Charlie tells him.

I look around to make sure Hoolio didn't hear. So far, he's the only person at the party who doesn't know about the bet, and no one else can know before it ends or both sides lose.

Fortunately, I see him over by the window, enjoying the view. I join him, and realize that the view really is pretty awesome from up here - especially since it's nighttime, and you can't see any of the trash or pollution on the beach. Come to think of it, I didn't see any earlier today, either, when we were helping Richie Rich plan his party. Of course! The hotel probably pays someone to pick up litter on their stretch of the beach, instead of just waiting for the drunk drivers to get to them once a year.