“Hurry!” Jack hissed at the cabbie through clenched teeth. It was Wednesday evening, and instead of a night of drinking and gossiping with Sarah Jane and Genevieve at an exclusive MoMA garden party, she was freaking out in the back of a cab, racing back down to her apartment in Tribeca. She’d been planning to talk to the girls about J.P.’s annoying new domesticity while smoking cigarettes and getting way too drunk on rosé in the sculpture garden. She felt like she’d aged thirty years in a weekend, and had been looking forward to just acting like a dumb teenager for the night. But instead, she’d received a phone call from J.P. as soon as the skinny, bitchy girl manning the door had allowed her in. He’d called to tell her that he and his parents were expecting her for dinner at her apartment. She’d had to leave Sarah Jane and Genevieve, who had been flirting with a cute older guy with a Scottish accent, and hail a cab in the middle of the absurd mid-town evening traffic. Now they were finally almost downtown.
“Here’s fine!” Jack practically screamed as the cabbie almost sailed past the building. She stuffed a twenty in his fist and ran inside, her Chanel flats clacking against the wood floors of the lobby. It was decorated in different shades of wood, making it look like a ski château in the Alps or some luxe hideaway near the Grand Canyon. A waterfall made of rainwater was the focal point, and different types of Japanese cherry trees dotted the perimeter. Not like Jack was pausing to appreciate her surroundings. All she cared about was making it to her apartment to make sure anything hideously embarrassing, like her underwear or tampons or the half-eaten tube of raw cookie dough in the fridge, was hidden before J.P.’s parents got there.
“Miss, I just sent your guests up!” the night doorman announced grandly.
“Fuck!” Jack whispered under her breath, breaking into a run toward the elevator. Perfect, perfect, perfect, she chanted to the same rhythm as her heartbeat as the elevator door slid closed.
The door to the elevator opened into her apartment and Jack could hear the loud, Russian-accented voice of J.P.’s mom.
“Hi!” Jack exclaimed, hoping she didn’t sound out of breath or seem too sweaty. The back of her Marc Jacobs organic cotton jersey dress, received in yesterday’s mail as a housewarming present from a nearby boutique, felt moist against her back. Yuck.
“Eez beautiful!” Tatyana Cashman tottered over to Jack and planted a kiss on her cheek. Jack smiled, not sure if Tatyana was referring to her or the loft.
Or the billboard picture of her in the loft?
“You like your palace, Jackie, baby?” Dick Cashman asked jovially, settling into one of the elegant white organic cotton–covered wingback chairs in the center of the apartment. The chair groaned slightly under his weight.
“It’s amazing,” Jack mumbled. Candice and Jeannette, the robot-twin publicity assistants, were sitting on one of the teak and hemp couches in the corner, looking over dozens of printouts.
“Hey, gorgeous!” J.P. said, walking out of her bathroom and wiping his hands on the sides of his Diesel jeans.
Jack smiled tightly at J.P., trying to send him a psychic message that she—that this—was not okay. Now that they’d all made themselves comfortable, maybe they could explain what the fuck they were doing in her apartment?
“Good!” Dick boomed. “So, we’re trying to figure out the snacks for our little shindig on Friday and I thought, might as well see how you’re settling in. Considering you’re part of the family and all.” He nodded. Just then, Jack realized that a swarm of caterers were huddled by the kitchen on the other end of the apartment.
“Well, I’m surprised.” Jack smiled at Dick before glaring at J.P. He shrugged his shoulders slightly in a don’t blame me, this was his idea way. She noticed her peach-colored La Perla cami-sole lying in a rumpled pile next to the white, organic cotton overstuffed English sofa. Jack hastily edged it under the couch with the tip of her boot.
“Glad you’re making yourself at home!” Dick Cashman exclaimed as he triumphantly held up a wrinkled Snickers wrapper that he’d found wedged in the cushion. “I like ladies who eat!” he boomed, winking one bulging eye at Tatyana, who was absentmindedly stroking her blond, volumized hair as if it were a pet. Jack looked down and saw two of J.P.’s gross, slobbery puggles running around the apartment, trailed by Magellan. They’d better be housebroken.
“I’ll take that.” Jack snatched the wrapper from him.
“So, we’re having dinner?” she asked desperately. She felt like she was supposed to play hostess, even though she had no idea who the caterers were, what they were making, or what Dick’s PR bitches were doing here.
“Well, I think this experiment was a success. You’re the talk of the town!” Dick crowed, glancing around the apartment in approval. “What do you say we sample these snacks? My problem is, they always cut the food so small at these fancy parties they don’t give anyone a chance to really dig in!” Dick boomed as he led the group to the glass-topped dining room table. Instantaneously, the caterers converged around them, plunking down various plates of delicate-looking miniature quiches, beef skewers, sushi rolls, mini lamb burgers, and elegantly crafted bite-size prosciutto sandwiches. Jack’s stomach rumbled, and she wished she could dig in without all these people around.
“Are you treating my beautiful boy all right? He is so much happier and healthier with you than with that messy little hippie girl,” Tatyana said, squeezing Jack’s knee and sticking three mini-quiches in her mouth. Jack smiled, despite herself. Maybe having J.P.’s parents here wasn’t too bad.
Just then, her cell erupted into the first strains of The Nut-cracker.
“That’s my ballerina!” Dick announced randomly, grabbing several more lamb burgers.
“Sorry!” Jack mouthed, turning away from the table as she fished her phone from her black Marc Jacobs satchel. She frowned at the unfamiliar number on the display, wondering if it was a request for an interview or something.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Jacqueline Laurent?” An elderly sounding wavery voice asked, pronouncing her name as if it were two first names.
“Yes,” she replied brusquely.
“This is the School of American Ballet. We wanted to let you know that the board was extremely impressed with your audition a few weeks ago. We’re thrilled to offer you a scholarship in our apprentice company. Do you have any questions?”
“No. Thank you!” Jack breathed, shutting her phone as if she were in a dream. In the middle of everything, she’d almost forgotten about ballet and the scholarship audition she’d had to do after her father cut her off. She was back! She couldn’t wait for her feet to hit the sleek black stage of Lincoln Center, to hear applause after a particularly difficult jump combination, to know that people were applauding her not only for her looks and poise, but for her talent. Her real talent. She grinned widely to herself, grabbing the glass of Veuve that had appeared in front of her as if by magic.
“Celebration?” Dick asked hopefully, his own glass of Veuve cocked in the air.
“I got a scholarship for ballet,” she burbled happily, grinning at J.P., knowing he’d understand. He’d always known how important ballet was to her, that it separated her from other girls and made her special, made her unique, made her Jack.
“Scholarship? Well, hell!” Dick suddenly looked enraged, his beefy red neck straining against his pink hand-tailored shirt. He looked like a wealthy rancher who’d just found out all his cows had run off the range. “We can’t have J.P.’s girl on scholarship! I’ll buy the ballet! What’s it called? The American Ballet Company? How much?” Dick reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold Montblanc pen and a leather-bound checkbook.
“Um, dad?” J.P. gave Jack’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “This is Jack’s thing. She earned it.” Jack smiled, grateful that he understood.
“You can’t buy the ballet, Dick,” Jack said hurriedly. “It doesn’t really work that way. It’s sort of an honor to get a scholarship from them,” she added, looking around the skeptical faces of Tatyana, Jeannette, and Candice.
“Nonsense. I’ll buy you the whole city! It’s your oyster and I’m happy to pay for it, Jackie baby! You’re the love of J.P.’s life. What’s ours is yours,” Dick said grandly. As if to underscore the point, one of the chefs marched in and plunked down a large tray of pigs in a blanket.
Jeannette and Candice simultaneously wrinkled their noses. “We said festive. This isn’t festive—the entire menu looks like we’re catering for the circus,” Jeanette exclaimed, following the caterer into the kitchen.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” Tatyana asked suspiciously, placing her hand on Jack’s arm. Jack nodded uneasily. She wished she could just escape, but she had nowhere else to go—this was her home now. J.P. smiled at her reassuringly, and she relaxed. Everything was fine.
“Jackie’s just a little overwhelmed,” Dick narrated, his red face gleaming in the candlelight. “And I don’t know about you ladies, but I like these little franks!” To prove his point, he shoved two in his mouth.
Jack smiled. So what if J.P.’s parents saw her apartment as an extension of their own? At least she and J.P. understood each other. Everything was perfect.
Until she finds the surprise one of the puggles left in her Sigerson Morisson pumps.