Chapter Eighteen

JESSICA GETS UP at eleven, barely remembering that Chris put her in a cab and told the driver where she lived. She remembers her doorman helping her, though that doesn’t matter now because it is almost noon and she feels really shitty, but she has a date with some of her girlfriends to go ice-skating. She hangs around with these three girls all the time, even though she knows she is much smarter than they are. They agree about certain fundamental things, and this holds them together. They agree about who is cool and who is not. They agree that it is okay to give blow jobs but not to have sex until, like, the time is right. They agree that they should never have to buy their own drinks at bars. They agree that chicks must come before dicks. They agree that they are all sexy, but each more so than the other three. They agree that the Hamptons rock and that their parents suck, even though, like, I tell my mom everything, but not everything everything, you know? So the four of them are going ice-skating this morning, and they meet at Wollman Rink in Central Park. They wear tight blue jeans and ribbed sweaters and parkas and nice gloves. They all have good skin and are pretty. They treat guys badly, but the guys don’t care, as long as they can get maybe a blow job once in a while. Everyone knows exactly what is going on.

As they put on their skates, the girls talk about how they are repulsed by the sweet smell of nachos and fake cheese, popcorn and hot dogs. This is not their kind of food. But, alas, none of them has her own skating rink, at least not in the city. Arm in arm, they head out onto the ice. They giggle as they go.

Like, like, like, like, like, like . . .

Like, no way.

Three times around and the girls are ready to get off the ice when a gawky kid skating by himself slips and falls in front of them. The girls try to veer out of the way, but Jessica is unable to make it. And one of her skates cuts across the boy’s forehead, just under his bangs. He yells in pain and then clutches his head. Blood swirls out on the ice, and the girls all scream as they race for the edge of the rink. The boy pushes his hand on the cut to stop the bleeding. His name is Andrew. He wouldn’t have been here to begin with, but he made this plan with his friend Hunter, who can skate like a hockey player. Then he got that crazy call from Hunter about jail, and his father went down there but told Andrew he couldn’t come. So Andrew decided to go skating anyway. People always say Andrew is a little distracted. Ice-skating without girls? Just on his own? Guy’s probably gay.