Tristan! Welcome back!” exclaimed Jasper von Holstadt, plucking the unlit cigarette from his mouth and thumping Tristan’s shoulder. Jasper’s cig was his trademark gimmick, always dangling from his lips in that “give-a-shit” way that girls went wild over.
“Jas! How’ve you been?” Tristan grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling. “I heard your dad caved and finally bought you that Porsche.”
“Damn right he did. I lost it for a few days though. Forgot where I parked it and had to pretend to the old man that I was having it cleaned.”
T laughed. He settled into an empty armchair, pulled out his vintage gold Zippo and lit up one of Seb’s cigarettes.
“Yeah, go ahead. It’s a free-for-all,” Seb said sarcastically, snatching the pack and lighting one for himself, too.
“Come on, don’t be so tight, you’ve probably got ten more of those hidden in your jacket.” Tristan put on an official voice. “Concealed about your person.” No one was allowed to smoke in Emerald’s, of course, but the boys never paid attention to rules and the bouncers turned a blind eye. Just like they did with everything else that went on in the club’s nooks and crannies.
“Anyway,” Tristan said, shifting to the edge of his seat and giving Seb a quizzical look, “what are these rumors I’ve been hearing about you and Mimah Calthorpe de Vyle-Hanswicke? Did she really pay you a thousand pounds to sleep with her? That’s kind of skeezy, isn’t it?”
Seb took a drag of his cigarette and stared at the disco ball revolving above them. This was irritating; all people seemed to do these days was to ask him about Jemimah Calthorpe de Vyle-Hanswicke. He had no idea where the rumors had come from. All he knew was that he’d been the focus of gossip for days and it was making him very uncomfortable. Seb had always been perfectly content to be overshadowed by Tristan. He wasn’t a center-of-the-group, life-and-soul-of-the-party type of guy. He was just… well, he wasn’t even sure who he was anymore.
It was time to deflect the talk.
“Dunno,” he ventured. “Last I heard, Mimah had become a raving lesbian.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Tristan slapped the arm of his chair.
“Er, yeah. Totally. I saw her coming on to Arabella Scott at some party last week. It was hilarious.”
“Arabella?” Tristan smirked, inhaling smoke. “Well, at least Mimah’s got good taste. Bella’s hot.” He grinned slyly. “Hotter than you are, anyway.”
“Dickhead!” Seb punched him in the arm. The two friends chuckled and Tristan, feeling a rush of wellbeing, contentedly surveyed the group around the table. His eyes fell on Alice, across from him. She looked good tonight. She was wearing something white and floaty, and it suited her. He wondered when they’d have a chance to talk. There was something he needed to say.
Just then, Seb and Jasper cracked up, and he turned back to find out what he’d missed.
“Mmmm, yeah, how interesting.” Alice nodded to George Demetrios on her side of the table, pretending to listen as he droned on about his grandmother’s houses and olive orchards in Greece. Someone get me some drugs or I’m going to die of boredom, she thought. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Tristan and the others. What was making them laugh so hard? T was probably telling raunchy stories about his summer of fucking “love.” All boys were the same. That was why Alice was planning to be very careful when she finally let one… do it to her.
She sighed. T looked so hot with his hair long and quiffy like this, and she knew very well how muscular he was under his blazer and baggy jeans. All she could think about was him grabbing her in his arms and pressing her up against a wall. That one over there, under the exit sign, would do just fine.
God, she hated him. And it was hot in here.
Tristan glanced up as Alice slipped past Tally out of her seat and hurried away, her slim hips swaying. She couldn’t possibly be leaving, could she? No, her white pashmina was still on the couch. He got up abruptly and trailed her through the club.
Reaching the back entrance, Alice pushed aside the curtains and glided up the external stairway to the street. It was cool and quiet out here. Rows of Georgian and Victorian houses, their stuccoed facades painted white, shone in the streetlights like ghosts, and she leaned back against one, feeling its chilly bricks through her peasant-style blouse. By now the line had dispersed, music was pulsing up faintly from below, and in the east a stain of sunlight was just breaking through the dark.
Alice breathed in deeply. She loved these thick, late-summer nights when the dawns started early and went on forever. If the weather stayed this good, they’d be able to sneak out through the fields well into October to meet the boys in secret, halfway between St. Cecilia’s and its brother school, Hasted House.
Something rattled on the iron stairway. Alice jumped. Tristan.
“Hello, stranger,” he said. He sauntered up next to her, smelling of soap and cigarettes.
“How was France? Did Dom and Hugo piss you off as much as usual?”
“Umm. They were fine.” Alice paused, studying the new gold sandals that she’d bought last week at a market stall in St. Tropez. She left one of those long, awkward silences that she knew T hated.
Tristan cleared his throat. “So, what else? What’s been happening while I’ve been away?”
“Actually,” Alice said crisply, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I thought you’d still be in East Hampton with… what’s-her-name. Nice of you to come back.”
Tristan studied her warily. “Oh, Dylan? Yeah, she was… well, I mean, that was just a summer thing. Fun for a while, but… whatever.” He trailed off. Great start. Talk about clearing the air.
“Hey, here’s an idea,” he tried again, jumping playfully off the curb. “Let’s sneak over to Italy again at half-term, just the two of us. Or even somewhere else. I think we’ve got ten days off. It’s funny, I can’t stop thinking about how much fun we had this summer.”
Alice pursed her lips, trying not to grin. This couldn’t be more perfect! Not only had Tristan broken up with that American tart but here he was, basically admitting how much he’d missed her. She shrugged, as if she were utterly bored by his childish schemes.
“Mmm, that would be nice, but half-term’s no good. It’s my cousin’s engagement party in Rome, remember? Italian Vogue’s throwing that huge bash for her. You’re on the guest list. I mean, I think you are.”
“Of course!” T said. “I forgot—Coco’s finally marrying that Italian film star of hers. Well, we’ll just have to go partying in Rome instead, then.”
“I suppose so. Anyway”—Alice turned away down the staircase, making sure Tristan had a view of her bare, suntanned back—“see you inside. I’m getting another drink.”
In the back room of the club, the DJ had started in on his repertoire of cheese. He was playing “Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira, and Tally was gyrating provocatively, her short dress skimming her thighs. She was double-fisting martinis, and each time she moved, the drinks sloshed about.
“Oooooh,” lip-synced George Demetrios, raising his arms over his head like a zombie and grinding his groin into Tally’s ass. Alice rolled her eyes. That song was so 2006.
“Hey, Ali.” Tally stumbled across the dance floor. “There you are. I saw you go outside with Tris. So, what do you think? What are we going to do?” She shoved a cocktail into Alice’s hands.
Alice stared at her. Not again. Why did Tally keep talking crap? She should really sober up.
“He told me he dumped that girl.” Alice raised her voice as clearly as she could above the music. “Look, I know we didn’t want him messing around with some American bitch. But it’s over. Why are you making such a big deal?”
Abruptly, Tally stopped dancing. “Hold on, he didn’t tell you the other thing?”
“What other thing?” Alice almost screamed. “Stop being so cryptic and spit it out!”
“Fine.” Tally looked offended. “I just thought T would have said, that’s all.” Sinking down onto a plush sofa nearby, she patted the cushion next to her. Alice sat.
“Tristan broke up with Dylan because she lived in New York and he had to come back here,” Tally explained. Her face was cracking into a sly smile.
Alice shrugged. “Yeah?”
“I said lived,” Tally went on. “Note the tense.”
Sipping from her glass, Alice narrowed her eyes.
“Just before Tristan left, he suddenly found out that Dylan was moving to London—stalking him—like, right away. And wait, here’s the funniest part.” Tally giggled. “Dylan’s coming to St. Cecilia’s! Can you believe it? Starting tomorrow, Tristan’s ex-girlfriend is going to be in our class.”
Alice coughed. She was choking on her martini.