I stood on the porch of the carriage house, frantically punching numbers into my cell to the only person I could think of. An empty Coors can sailed past my head. My eyes followed the can to the backyard where I caught a glimpse of one of Bayview’s finest taking a leak in Miss de France’s red hibiscus. A few feet away lay Brice passed out on his back, and a very drunk buddy who was trying to wake him up.
Please answer the phone, I thought. Please, please, please.
“Hello?” Nick’s deep voice came through the phone like a desperately needed blood transfusion.
“It’s me, Brooke,” I wailed.
“What’s wrong?” His voice had morphed to red alert. “Have you been in a car accident or something?”
“Well, actually, I was, sort of, but...”
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I have another problem.”
“You mean a car crash isn’t enough?” I pictured his face as one big question mark.
“Well, the Sisters came over with some guys from Bayview, and then more people showed up. They’re all drinking, doing pot and destroying the place. And I can’t get them out!”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
I sat on the steps, counting the seconds until Nick came. Counting and crying and worrying. What if James called the police to haul us off to jail before Nick got here? I imagined the scene. Cops everywhere; the Sisters and me handcuffed in the back seat of a couple of squad cars; my parents bailing my sorry ass out of jail.
I looked at the Victorian for a rustling of lace curtains, but nothing. Maybe Miss de France had changed her mind about showing movies. Maybe she and James were just as scared as I was.
The time on my cell glowed ten-fifteen when the sound of tires in the gravel driveway sent me flying down the stairs. When Nick got out of his van, I threw myself into his arms.
“Thank God you’re here!” I whimpered. “I didn’t know who to call.”
Nick peeled me off his chest. “It’s okay. Anthony and I will take care of these guys.”
Anthony? I turned my head in time to see my Thursday afternoon dance master pull up in his Trans Am. Wordlessly he got out of the car and pulled one of the puking twins out of the hibiscus.
“Okay, party boy,” he yelled. “Time to give it up and go home to Momma.”
“Who says?” twin number two shouted before sailing through the air like a flying squirrel and landing on Anthony’s back.
“Says me.” The answer was from Nick, who just as effortlessly picked the teen off his cousin like an unwanted anchovy on a slice of pizza.
“Anthony, watch out!” Maria’s voice cut through the muggy night air. I glanced up to see my other uninvited guests stampede down the stairs.
Quinn was the first to hit the St. Augustine and the first to attempt a punch at Nick. It wasn’t a good idea. Blocking the punch, Nick put his arms around a flailing Quinn in a bear hug.
“I don’t want to hurt you, buddy,” Nick said in a voice that sounded like he was reading a bedtime story. “So why don’t you and your friends take off before you make me and my cousin really mad?”
Like a losing general, Quinn looked around to count his troops. Out of eight buddies, two were passed out, one was puking, and three were headed for their car with their girlfriends. That left only the general and two very drunk friends.
Quinn turned to face my rescuers. “You Greek guys always think you’re so friggin’ tough.”
Anthony laughed. “We don’t just think we’re tough. We know it.”
Sudsy and Tamara left right after the guys from Bayview. Maria and Anthony had left together after them. Nick and I sat on the steps. Silence never sounded so good.
“I never had the chance to ask you about your accident. Was your convertible towed or what?”
“Well, actually, the Green Lady was in the repair shop already. I was driving Miss de France’s Rolls-Royce.”
“Oh, brother.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not really that bad. Just a fender.”
“Do you have any idea what that car is worth?”
“No, and please don’t tell me.”
We were quiet again, me remembering how I’d backed Rose Bud into the Tastee Freeze sign, Nick looking up at the stars. I waited for the lecture I knew I deserved. Instead, Nick pointed up into the inky night sky.
“Do you know what star that is?” he asked.
“Which one?”
He took my hand, directing it to a bright-bright star. Totally surprised, I jumped like I’d been touched with a cattle prod.
“That one. It’s really a planet, Jupiter. It’s a lot brighter than usual because it’s as close to the earth as it can get. It only happens something like once every twenty or thirty years.”
“Awesome.” We sat without talking, Nick still holding my hand, me in total bliss.
“Thanks for saving me,” I said, finally having the nerve to talk. The light from the moon fell on his face making him as handsome as a GQ model. “I don’t know what I would have done without you...and Anthony.”
“Glad we were around. Anthony’s really a good guy underneath all the bull.” He paused. “Did you figure anything out tonight?”
I nodded. “I guess so.” A tear slipped down my cheek.
“And what was it?”
“That even though I love my carriage house apartment, maybe it would have been better if Miss de France had never given it to me.”
Nick smiled. “I guess everything’s a lesson. God knows I’ve learned a few.”
I wiped away a tear only to find another.
“Hey, none of that.” Nick brushed my cheek with his finger.
“I wish I were older,” I sniffled. “Like you.”
“No, you don’t.” His voice was bedtime story soft again.
“Yes, I do, because if I were a little older, maybe I wouldn’t be so stupid. And maybe you and I could...”
Nick touched my chin, lifting my face to his. “Don’t wish your life away, Baby Cakes. You’ll be old soon enough. Who knows? Maybe someday you and I will...” It was his turn for his voice to trail.
I smiled through my tears. And before I knew what was happening, he kissed me softly on the lips. And this time it wasn’t a pretend kiss.
Nick pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go upstairs and clean up.”
Afraid to look, I peeked through my fingers at what could only be described as disaster with a capital D. Beers cans, plastic cups and smashed chips lay everywhere. Dirt and what looked just like pee, but was hopefully beer, dotted my silver duvet. A message in red lipstick scrawled on the patent leather wall screamed Tiffany was here! Thoughts of Miss de France and her dressing room at Paramount squeezed into my addled brain. I rushed for a paper towel that I wet in the sink.
“Try Windex,” Nick said. “It works on dance shoes.”
We cleaned in silence until the apartment almost looked like it had never had the misfortune to meet Jake, Jack, Brice and the other partiers from Bayview. When we were through, we stood in the doorway. Nick reached for the light switch. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll drive you home.”
“Nick, I think I’ll stay all night. My parents think I’m at Maria’s and then I’d have to explain.”
“Brooke, don’t you think it’s about time you start leveling with your parents? That you give up this fantasy life with Miss de France?”
I nodded. “Believe me, I’m going to. Beginning tomorrow. Promise.”
“For your sake, I hope tomorrow comes.” He turned and walked out the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the carriage house stairs.
But of course I couldn’t spend the night. Not after all that had happened. I’d ride my bike home. It wasn’t far. I’d be okay. After all, it was only eleven o’clock.
Memorizing the room, I swallowed hard. My very own apartment. The space I’d been so proud of. I bit my lip to keep from crying for the third time that night. I’d thought I was so smart, but instead of being smart, I’d only proved I was majorly stupid.
The faint lipstick outline of Tiffany was here on the black patent leather wall stared back, taunting me. A reminder that the words from the girl with the ring in her nose could never be completely erased. Just like the memories of Miss de France and James in the Victorian.
From my dressing table, I picked up a pen and my birthday card from Tamara and sat down on the bed to write a note on the back.
Dear Miss de France,
I’m sorry about tonight—the party and Rose Bud and everything. Please don’t hate me. I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done, but I just can’t do this anymore.
Love, as always, Brooke
I licked the envelope and impulsively gave the letter a kiss. I glanced around the carriage house. “Good-bye gorgeous little Patent Leather Room,” I said. “Take care of yourself.”
I locked the front door and walked downstairs across the backyard to the Victorian. It’s the very last time, I thought. The very last time I will ever use this key. Bending down, I began to slip the card and the spidery black key under the pot of pink impatiens, then feeling a presence, glanced up. There standing at the lace curtained window was Miss de France, looking at me through her opera glasses. She waved, motioning for me to come upstairs. I hesitated, not wanting to go. But I owed her a real good-bye, didn’t I?