Friday night, the waiter at Tao set a bowl of velvet-corn-and-crab soup in front of Lola, trying with the other hand to inconspicuously cover his nose. Lola sank lower in her chair, glancing around the table at her sisters and her grandmum to see if anyone had noticed. The last thing she wanted to do was go anywhere in public, but her grandmum had insisted on taking them out for dinner. That afternoon a cab had splashed electric green gutter water all over her. At first she was convinced it would make her “guttaaa” shoot more authentic, but four hours later she smelled like a foul mixture of turpentine and old bologna.
Lola pulled her sweatshirt close to her neck. She’d tried to cover up the stench by wearing a freshly washed Gap hoodie, but it seemed like anyone who came within a one-foot radius of her needed a gas mask.
At the other end of the table, Margot adjusted her pea-size hearing aid and winked at Lola. She’d signed the release form for the Gunther Gunta shoot, insisting Emma would be thrilled that Lola was modeling. But when her mum rang yesterday from Tahiti and Lola tried to tell her about it, the connection kept breaking up. Lola imagined her on a beach somewhere with Winston, sipping drinks with those silly umbrellas in them. She wanted her mum to be happy, she did, but she wanted her to be happy in New York. She needed her here, to tell her about the time she modeled in the Atlantic Ocean in January, or had to walk down the runway dressed in an alligator-skin evening gown, her face painted neon green. She was the only person who could understand.
“Cheers!” Margot hooted to the girls, holding up her dirty martini. “Here’s to my date with Walter Hodgeworth.” She took a swig of the murky liquid.
Stella let out a deep breath, not bothering to lift her Diet Coke. It was bad enough that her grandmum wore leather pants to dinner, even though she had a serious case of pancake bum. But now she’d spent half an hour keeping on about Walter’s “young physique.” Stella glanced around the crowded restaurant, taking in a sixteen-foot Buddha towering over a reflecting pool with live carp. Two tables over, a group of Sex and the City wannabes discussed their dating escapades a little too loudly.
Just then three waiters circled the table, dropping plates of Dragon Tail spareribs and Thai crab cakes. “I already got thirty-one responses to the invite,” Cate whispered to Stella as she plunged her knife into her soy ginger–glazed salmon. “Betsy Carmichael wants to cover Myra’s makeover for Ashton News.” Cate put emphasis on the word Myra, as if to say, See? I’m trying. “She even wants to do an exclusive interview on my split from Chi Beta Phi.”
Stella stuck a lobster dumpling in her mouth and practically swallowed it whole. She was starting to feel like she was going through her own split. Pippa and Bridget had finally e-mailed, but only to announce that Bridget had highlighted her red hair and Pippa was now dating Robin Lawrence, who—just last spring—was someone Stella fancied. They’d signed the e-mail “Miss you!” even though they hadn’t asked about her new school, or Winston, or anything really. Their lives in London were barreling on, without Stella, and it felt like they didn’t even care. “We saw Blythe in Saks today,” Stella mentioned.
But Cate didn’t respond. She was eyeing her plate suspiciously, her nose scrunched up like she’d just gotten a whiff of cheap perfume. “I think my salmon is bad.” Cate raised her dainty hand in the air, signaling for the waiter.
Lola felt like she was sitting on a heating vent. From across the table Andie stared at her, her brown eyes wide. Stella and Cate didn’t know about Gunther—and it was better that way. The last thing she wanted was Cate listing all the reasons why she wasn’t qualified to be a model, or Stella blabbing it to their mum the next time she called from Tahiti. Lola wanted to be the one to tell her.
“I’m sure it’s brilliant,” Lola insisted a little too loudly. But the waiter was already there.
“The salmon doesn’t smell right,” Cate said, pushing the fish with her fork. She offered the plate to the waiter, but he didn’t take it.
Instead, he narrowed his beady eyes at Lola. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “But it’s not the salmon.”
Lola pulled her hoodie tighter around her, trying to conceal the stench. But Cate was already leaning in, sniffing her like she was a container of yogurt that was past its expiration date. “Lola, is that you?”
At the other end of the table, Margot tried to change the subject. “Did I mention Walter ran a marathon last year? He’s very active.” She patted down her stiff blond hair.
“Lola,” Stella hissed, grabbing her sister’s arm and lifting it up. “You smell like a rubbish bin!”
“All right, luvs, let’s not make a scene.” Margot let out an uncomfortable laugh. At the table next to them a couple in their forties watched in horror as Stella stuck her nose in Lola’s armpit.
“You’re dirtier than Margot’s martini,” Cate said. Stella laughed loudly and a few other tables turned to look. “You better take a shower before tomorrow. I don’t want you stinking up my”—she glanced quickly at Margot—“town house.”
Lola’s nose twitched as she pushed farther away from the table. She knew Cate was talking about the bloody party, but she didn’t care about it anymore. Kyle was online earlier, but when she’d asked him if he was actually coming tomorrow night he’d signed off. She pictured him cuddled up on a love seat, watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire with Imaginary Girl, holding her tight during the scariest part, when Harry is in the graveyard with Voldemort. I love the way you smell, he’d whisper, breathing in her Clinique Happy perfume.
Andie watched as Lola’s eyes brimmed with tears. She’d noticed the stench too, but knew better than to say anything. Last night, Lola confessed that part of the Gunther Gunta shoot involved not showering. While Andie washed her face Lola stood three feet away from the sink, as though she were the Wicked Witch of the West and would melt if she got a drop of water on her. “She can’t take a shower,” she finally said, unable to stand it any longer. Maybe Lola hadn’t wanted to tell them, but the only way to shut Cate up was to impress her. “Because Gunther Gunta told her not to—heard of him? Lola is modeling for him tomorrow.” She glanced at Lola and smiled.
Cate pointed a finger in Lola’s face. “You’re modeling for Gunther Gunta?”
“Yes,” Andie said proudly, answering the question for her.
Lola sat up a little straighter. Even if she smelled like a kitty litter box, there was something satisfying about Cate’s reaction. Mainly that she was having one. She only talked to Lola to complain about Heath Bar puking chunks of Fancy Feast in her new Botkier bag. When they were in the kitchen together, or the den—or anywhere—Cate barely said a word, moving around her like she wasn’t even there.
“Wow, Lola,” Stella said quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Please don’t say anything to Mum,” Lola whispered to Stella. “I want it to be a surprise.” Last week, Emma had spent so much time planning the wedding Lola had barely seen her. Growing up, her mum was always busy with work, but now it was even worse. She had a new contract with Ralph Lauren, she had a new husband, and she had two new daughters. Lola couldn’t wait for her to come home from the honeymoon so they could be alone. She would show her the photos from the shoot and they’d talk about Gunther and his silly accent. Maybe they’d even be on Ralph Lauren billboards together—as mother-and-daughter models.
Stella pinched her nose as she popped a lobster dumpling in her mouth. “Oh she’ll be surprised.” Her voice sounded like she had a cold. “But you have to take a shower. Otherwise we’re going to quarantine you.”
“Let’s just eat, okay?” Andie said, taking a bite of her spare ribs. Cate rolled her eyes in protest, but eventually everyone returned to their dinners.
Lola let out a deep breath, relieved. She didn’t care if Cate called her Dumpster Diva or Stella forced her to wear a plastic hazmat suit around the town house. It didn’t matter. Only one person’s opinion counted: Gunther Gunta’s. And tomorrow, with his help, she’d be a supermodel.
Late that night, Lola was twisted up in her blankets, unable to sleep. When she’d walked into her room after dinner, Heath Bar had hissed and darted under the bed, like she was a burglar with bad hygiene. The stench had now taken on a slight seafood odor, probably a side effect of her corn-and-crab soup. It was so awful she’d tried to stuff her nose with earplugs, but they kept falling out.
She rolled around, finally pulling her shower cap off. She’d hoped it would keep her pillowcases clean, but now her roots were slicked with sweat. Her leg was itching badly like it did when she’d gotten stung by a jellyfish in Mykonos.
Nooo baaathing. Gunther’s voice echoed in her head. One with the guttaaaa. She dug her nails into her calf and scratched the spot, but it felt even worse. She flipped on her bedside lamp and went into the loo, staring at the white claw-foot tub. She could just wash her leg and go back to bed. Just her leg. Gunther wouldn’t be able to tell that her calf was any less “feelthy” than the rest of her.
She ran the bath and stepped in, hiking her pajama pants up to her knee. The warm water ran over her shin. She lathered up her hands, smelling the sweet scent of the Bath & Body Works Cucumber Melon body wash. No baaathing! The voice said again. She imagined Gunther Gunta with his arms crossed over his chubby belly, staring disapprovingly at her through the thick lenses of his glasses. One with the guttaaa!!
She knew she shouldn’t—she couldn’t. But the body wash smelled so inviting, and the warm water felt so nice on her skin. She peeled off her pajamas and tossed them on the floor. With one quick turn of the tap the shower started, rinsing away the nasty green gutter water, the crab soup, and the horrible stench that had been following her around all day. I zed no baaaathing! the voice hissed. But Lola ignored it as she inhaled the fresh scent of Andie’s rosemary mint Aveda shampoo. Showering felt too good. Tomorrow, before the shoot, she’d just have to find another way to be one with tha guttaaa.
TO: Cindy Ng
FROM: Andie Sloane
DATE: Saturday, 9:46 a.m.
SUBJECT: Party tonight…
Umm…new development on the Lola front. I was going to tell her about Kyle, I was, but then she told Clay to come tonight…as my date. So I can’t back out of the party now.
Can you please (seriously I’m begging you, please) distract Lola when Kyle gets here? Clay has to leave to go to the Ludacris concert with Brandon. You’d only have to keep her in her room for an hour or so while I hang out with Kyle.
Andie
TO: Andie Sloane
FROM: Cindy Ng
DATE: Saturday, 11:08 p.m.
SUBJECT: Re: Party tonight…
Ugh. I just woke up and I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus. My nose is stuffed up, I still have that awful cough, and I get dizzy whenever I stand up too fast. If you need me to come, I’ll come, but you may have to push me around in a wheelchair.
xoxox
Cindy
PS: I still think you’re being insane. Just tell her the truth!