“We had the best time. He’s the one who got me into baking.”
“He baked?”
“A guy can’t bake?”
“It’s not that, I just figured people with money had other people do that for them.”
“He wasn’t like that at all. My grandparents didn’t even tell him they had money until he was in college. They lived in a normal house in the suburbs. But on the weekends they’d come out here too. My grandfather told my dad it was his boss’s house and they were allowed to use it. But he didn’t drop the fact that my grandfather was the boss. So my dad had a pretty normal childhood until he showed up at college and saw his grandfather’s name plastered on one of the academic buildings.”
“Had to be a shock.” Even rich families had their secrets.
“It was. He didn’t do the same to us, plus my mom never would’ve settled for a middle class existence. She wanted the big house and the even bigger parties. But anytime my dad came out here I’d come with him. The cattiness of all this”—she waved her hand at the couples and groups smiling and laughing all while casting judgmental glances, or checking over their shoulders every couple of minutes to make sure they were being paid attention to—“was something I was more than happy to escape.”
“With the food you make, you should’ve been the queen bee of your own little domain.”
A sharp exhale shot through her lips. “Showing up with chocolate and carbs in this crew is right up there with drowning puppies in a shallow creek. Baking did not make me popular. I gave my treats to teachers and the staff at school. My mom forbade having them in the house for more than twenty-four hours, so it kind of became a habit for me to give my baking away. And once my dad was gone…” She got a far-off look and I hurt for that little girl who had wanted to do something that made her feel closer to her dad and had had it taken away by the one person who should’ve done anything to help her during that time. But having a kid didn’t make someone a good parent.
“After my dad was gone, I didn’t do it as much as I would’ve liked, which is why even with how terrible my house is, the kitchen made it worth it. Plus, I snuck in a new oven and fridge. I told Elle the landlord had paid for it.”
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“She’d have insisted on splitting the cost and she was strapped for cash. I didn’t want her to feel bad about it, so I did it.”
“Look at you keeping secrets. I had no idea, Julienne Fries.”
She let out a stuttering laugh and finished the rest of her drink. “Just so you know, we have a room together. I hope that’s okay.” Her hand tightened on the glass like she was bracing herself.
“No problem. I’m cool crashing on the floor. I’m sure even that will be nicer than some of the places I’ve slept.”
Her eyes widened and she waved her hands. “No, I can sleep on the floor or on the couch. I invited you.”
“Come on, Frenchie. I might be a jock, but I’m not an asshole. I’m not going to have you sleeping on the floor or the couch, especially when you’re supplying me with all this top shelf booze.” I snagged two more glasses from the passing server’s tray.
“We’ll figure it out when we get back to the room. I’ll head to the bathroom and then we can find it.” She chugged the glass I handed her and handed it right back, laughing at my slack jawed face.
“It’s not like it’s straight vodka.” With her costume bag, she headed toward the bathrooms.
I finished my drink and eyed a table of mini versions of foods I’d inhale if I wasn’t trying to keep myself from embarrassing Jules. Slowly, like I used to when I came into a new house, I ate one and counted for a full minute before I ate another.
Showing up to a new house as a foster kid was a surefire way to find yourself locked out of the fridge. Some families were awesome and they’d put a small stash of fruit and snacks in our rooms for the new kids, knowing we’d feel awkward in a new place. Others had locks on the fridges or on the kitchen. It was better to figure out the lay of the land and the rules first.
But I learned early to always eat whenever food was offered. I never knew if a social worker would show up to pick me up and cart me away to somewhere new. Hours sitting in the back of her car or hanging in an office just waiting. I hated that jittery feeling I got whenever I was left waiting for long stretches. It was like sitting in the doctor’s office for an appointment cranked up to eleven.
After I ate as many as I figured I could without lifting one of the trays and just pouring the food into my open mouth, I picked up my backpack and the costume bag I’d slid under the table. I hoped this thing didn’t include tights or some goofy Shakespeare pants.
I’d never worn a costume like this before. The Halloween parties we threw at the Brothel were usually togas or some other costume that could be thrown together in an afternoon scramble once we’d secured a few kegs. When I was younger, if I was ever in a place that had trick-or-treating, I’d used my football uniform, my pillow case, and whatever face paint I could score off other kids, and go door to door as a zombie football player. With how everyone here dressed, I’d probably be in an outfit three sizes too small.
Finishing my drink, I checked the room for Jules. Had she said meet her somewhere else after the bathroom to find our room, or to just meet at the room? The last thing I wanted to do was screw something up and embarrass her. It was strange how different she was from the pod people all around us. I couldn’t blame her for inviting me. She needed someone else to watch her back and make sure they didn’t drop in whatever alien parasite or microchip these people had in their brains.
These women looked at me like people who’d never been told no in their whole lives. And I knew firsthand what kind of fuckery that brought about. It made it hard to see Jules rubbing elbows with people like this. She didn’t exactly scream ‘look at how much money I have’ like every other person in this place.
From the watches to the shoes, I’d seen these same looks on many donors at the fundraiser the Coach and university ‘requested’ we attend.
I checked the room for Jules and didn’t see her. After asking one of the servers to check the bathroom for me, I went in search of my date and the room we’d be sharing. All weekend. I threw up the mental vault to keep any thoughts that weren’t strictly friendly from invading my mind. I definitely didn’t need to be thinking about Jules under the covers and what exactly she might be wearing or not.
10
Jules
My low heels clicked on the marble floor on the way out of the bathroom after drying my hands. Turning up my winning smile, one that had hurt my cheeks for days when I was younger—who knew cheek muscles could be conditioned?—I opened the bathroom door.
“Of course she’d end up with a guy that huge. It’s the only way she’d find someone she wouldn’t crush in bed.”
Chet and his friends laughed at the end of the short hallway outside of the bathrooms, right by the bar.
“Those kinds of girls always put in the extra effort. She’d probably have been a good lay.”