Frost - Marianna Baer

gotten from her in a long time.

Even Celeste seemed like she was relaxed and having fun. A

whole group of Japanese tourists must have mistaken her for a

movie star because they asked if they could have their picture

taken with her. Of course, she obliged, taking off her coat so her

fabulous outfit would be visible.

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We ended up at a matchbox-size Indian restaurant in the

East Village for dinner. The ceiling and walls were decorated with

so many flickering, multicolored Christmas lights it was like being

inside a kaleidoscope. Along with the frenetic Bollywood music,

the table full of curries, and everyone talking, it was sensory

overload of the best kind. At the end of the meal when the bill

came, David took out a credit card and handed it to the waiter.

“How much do we owe you?” Viv called over the blaring

strains of the sitar.

“I’m taking care of it,” he said.

“What?” I said. “No way. That bill must be huge.”

“Yeah, man,” Cameron said. “I wouldn’t feel right.”

“Look,” David said. “It’s not a big deal—this place isn’t

expensive. Just saying thanks for the weekend.”

When the waiter brought the receipt back for David to sign, I

said, “Are you sure? Let me give you some cash, at least.”

“Leena,” he said quietly, folding up the yellow copy and

placing it in his wallet. “I’m trying to impress you here. You’re not

making it very easy.”

“Oh.” I stared down at the tablecloth, a stupid grin on my

face.

The temperature outside had dropped. None of us were

dressed for it, and I shivered in my thin coat as we stood on the

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sidewalk, debating what next. Without a word, David draped his

hoodie over my shoulders. I moved closer so I was leaning slightly

against him, and rested like that until a minivan cab big enough

for all of us came down the street, and we decided to head back

to Viv’s house for the time being. During the ride, Celeste

suggested we go to a bar in a remote, waterfront neighborhood in

Brooklyn that she’d been to over the summer with Band Boy. She

promised they wouldn’t card us, and if they did, I was the only

one without a fake ID.

“Will there be guys?” Abby asked. “Cute guys?”

“Actually,” Celeste said, “there’s a sign on the door that says

Ugly Guys Only. Is that a problem?”

“At least Cameron and David will be able to come in,” Viv

said.

Everyone laughed. I settled back against the comfy seat and

closed my eyes. We’d made it through the day and no one was

fighting.

David was sitting next to me. I felt his hand, warm on my

knee. He squeezed it and I squeezed his hand and I thought,

Maybe we should just die right now, in a car accident. Because it

didn’t get better than this.

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Chapter 21

DESPITE CELESTE’S ASSURANCE we wouldn’t be carded, I

wasn’t taking any chances. Back at the Parker-Whites’, I put on

my nicest jeans and a black turtleneck sweater that made me look

older and more sophisticated, and pulled my hair into a twist at

the nape of my neck.

“You look like a librarian,” Celeste said from the bed she’d

claimed.

We were sharing a room here, too, with twin beds, framed

photos of Japanese temples on the walls, and a massive golden

Buddha statue watching from the corner.

Insisting I could do better, she had me try on one of the

many dresses she’d brought—a red-and-black-pattern vintage

Diane von Furstenburg. The silk stretched over me, cool and

slinky, and seemed to fit. Then I looked in the mirror.

“No way,” I said immediately, taken aback by how exposed I

felt. This sort of dress—tight, low-cut, curve-enhancing—was

obviously designed for someone with a different sort of build. Or,

rather, a different sort of personality. And definitely someone

with different footwear, I thought, looking across the room at my

selection: scuffy, brown, lace-up boots or Chucks.

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A knock came at the door. Celeste said, “Come in,” at the

same time I said, “One minute.” Her voice must have been louder

because the door opened. David stood there.

“Wow,” he said.

I crossed my arms in front of my boobs. “I was just trying it

on,” I explained. “I’m not wearing it.”

“Really? Why not?” He turned to Celeste. “It’s yours, right?

You should give it to Leena for good. To wear on a daily basis.” I

blushed as he grinned at me.

“It was Mom’s,” Celeste said. “I’m not giving it to anyone.

What did you want, anyway?”

David’s smile faded. “I actually need to talk to you.”

“I have to use the bathroom,” I said, picking up on his serious

tone of voice. “You guys can talk in here.”

I decided to wear my hair down, and just a little mascara and

lip gloss, so I didn’t actually have that much to do in the bathroom

to waste time. I ended up posing in front of the mirror, trying to

appreciate David’s opinion of my new look. I liked that he’d been

so enthusiastic, but wearing something so sexy and sophisticated

still felt strange: as much of a lie as my friends’ fake IDs. Not to

mention, it seemed more than a little weird to be trying to look

good for a guy in his mother’s dress.

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Before going back to the bedroom, I glanced in the medicine

cabinet to see if anything had been abandoned there. While my

doctor prescribed me antianxiety pills for emergencies, I

occasionally snagged a few other types from my and my friends’

parents—only when it was obvious they weren’t actively taking it.

Nothing here, though.

Eventually, I figured I’d given Celeste and David long enough.

Celeste stood in her black lace underwear, surveying the

remaining clothes in the closet.

“What do you think?” She held up a fifties aqua-blue diner

waitress dress and a black top that looked like it was made of

ribbons.

I pointed to the aqua blue.

“Eh. I think the black,” she said.

Celeste rehung the blue dress and hopped toward the bed.

Her eyes were bloodshot.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

She sat down and began wriggling the top over her head. I

noticed that there were a couple of bruises on her torso, too. Like

the ones on her thighs. Were they really from Whip? I’d thought

she was just saying that to annoy David, but maybe they were. I

couldn’t imagine how else they might have happened. What did

people do to each other in bed that would make bruises? Did it

feel good at the time?

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“Celeste, you okay?” I said again.

She pulled the top down. “Yup,” she said. “That David. He

always likes to make sure I’m in a cheery mood when we’re going

out.” She shook out her hair. “You know, you don’t have to wear

that just because he said you should. I can tell you’re

uncomfortable in it.”

“I think I will,” I said, running a hand over the smooth fabric.

“It’s fun to wear something different for a change.”

“Hmm.” She stood up to admire herself in the mirror and I

realized that the black ribbon top was actually a dress. Sort of. It

barely reached below her underwear. “You might be right, you

know,” she said.

“About?”

“David. Your hesitation.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I guess if you guys wanted to be together it would

have happened by now. Right?” She turned so she could see

herself in side view. “Maybe I tried too hard to push you together,

for selfish reasons. Maybe you’re not his type. I made it all up in

the beginning, saying that he liked you. He’s that way with

anyone who has boobs.”

“Oh. Maybe,” I said, just to end the conversation.

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This new attitude of hers was completely bizarre. And the

only possibility for what caused it, that I could see, was that she

was jealous. She was used to being the center of David’s universe.

As much as she said she didn’t want so much attention from him,

maybe now that David was acting blatantly interested in me she

was having second thoughts.

“Do you think my bruises are too obvious in this dress?” she

asked.

“It’s a bit short,” I said. “You could wear leggings under it.

Although, not over your cast, I guess.”

“Too short? You mean, too sexy?” she said. “I’m just

following your lead.”

She was jealous. For a minute I considered not wearing the

wrap dress, so I wouldn’t be the target of these digs all night.

Then I remembered the expression on David’s face. Forget it. Let

her deal. I sat on my bed, shoved my foot in my boot, and pulled

at the laces.

When I finished tying up both boots, Celeste was still looking

at herself in the mirror, holding the dress up a little bit so her

thighs were bare. After a second she let it drop, then turned to

face me. I was dreading her next comment about David, but

instead she said, in a strange, tight voice, “What do you think’s

happening in Frost House right now?”

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After the six of us convened downstairs all dressed and

ready, we called a car service—the Brooklyn version of a cab—to

take us to the bar. We split into two groups; I went with the

Lazars. Somewhere during the ride, I wondered if Celeste and

David were members of a Mafia family and their little private talk

had actually been about setting me up for a hit. Because after

driving through a couple of normal neighborhoods, our car

crossed under an expressway, into an area with warehouses and

dilapidated liquor stores. Eventually, we turned onto a

cobblestone street.

“I didn’t know cobblestone streets still existed,” I said as the

car jostled forward. “This area’s pretty desolate, huh?”

A pair of skinny dogs trotted alongside us for a minute before

sliding through a gap in a barbed-wire fence into an abandoned

lot.

“I bet I could find some great stuff for projects here,” Celeste

said. I prayed she wasn’t going to tell the driver to stop so she

could pick up a desiccated rat carcass or something.

Earlier, when she’d asked me what I thought was happening

in Frost House, I’d been spooked by her tone. And by the

question.

“Nothing,” I’d said. “Seeing as it’s empty. Right?”

She’d seemed surprised I’d even answered, like she hadn’t

meant to ask it at all. “Of course,” she’d said. “I was kidding.”

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The driver took a left on a street that was lined with parked

cars. On one side was the water. On the other side was a small,

dark storefront with a neon sign of a dolphin curved around an

anchor. Above it was a sign that said BAR. We tumbled out of the

car and walked up to the door. As David held it open, warm light

spilled out along with the sounds of low voices and live music.

Bodies filled the long, narrow space; a band was squeezed in the

middle of the crowd. We worked our way inside and found Abby,

Viv, and Cameron just taking off their coats.

David and Viv said they’d get our drinks. The rest of us