Silver Stilettos

17 | fake it 'til you make it

It took me a while to find Emily's house. If the number of Audis in the driveways were any indication, it was a more expensive neighborhood than Reed's, and each home squatted on an enormous plot of land, shielded on all sides with shoulder-high hedgerows.

Emily's family had a detached garage and a long stretch of concrete in front of it that had cars packed bumper to bumper, like sixty-thousand-dollar Tetris blocks. Forced to park on the street, just a foot away from the bronze, Balmoral mailbox—complete with newspaper holder and flower box, not to mention a freaking monogram—I took a moment to get my bearings.

Was I really going to do this? Go into the lion's den and hope none of them were hungry?

I didn't give myself time to think about it. I launched myself out of the car, scurried across the lawn, and landed at her front door before self-preservation could kick in and tell me to turn around and go home.

The door knocker was, fittingly, a bronze lion with a heavy ring hanging from its snarling mouth. Giving it the stink eye, I pulled the ring back and let it fall twice on the door.

The door opened at once. It wasn't Emily standing there, but Lenox Hill. Her blond hair was ruffled, sticking up at the crown in frizzy, erratic bursts, like she'd been pulling tops off and on. I recognized the look as a side effect of trying on clothing in fitting rooms.

"Hey," she said, sounding both surprised and genuinely warm all at once. She held the door open wider in silent invitation.

The place was in upheaval. No sign of parental supervision anywhere. Clothing littered the floor from the front door to the living room, where furniture had been pushed to the walls, leaving a wide yawn of open space. 

Lyrics in brash female vocals and a pounding bass made me grimace as they pealed from a cell phone plugged into the speakers on either side of the television. My grimace deepened further when I saw that they were coming from an iTunes playlist called "King Kylie Inspired".

"I know," said Lenox. "It's a bit...much." Even as she said so, she plucked a slim flute of champagne from a silver serving tray balanced on top of a squat bookshelf. 

"Uh, yeah." The whole place was saturated in excess and I still wasn't sure if an orgy was off the menu, especially considering the sheer amount of clothing dropped between us and the door, like a trail of breadcrumbs.

A few girls from our grade were twerking in Greek togas, gold leaf circlets falling off their heads in exuberance. Underclassmen I didn't even recognize were sprawled on a vivid white settee, glasses clutched between bejeweled fingers. Costume jewelry dripped from their wrists and necks. 

Staying true to their 1920's motif, they were smoking. I couldn't hide my snort. They didn't have the elongated, sex-slinging Lucky Strike cigarettes the women of the day smoked, but stubby Camels. Ash fell onto the settee and even though it wasn't my problem, I wondered if Emily's mother would be pissed when she saw it.

One of the girls coughed, sputtering about her scratchy throat, and a practiced smoker patted her on the back. I heard her give a gentle reminder to Breathe, just breathe, yes, that's it, in and out, just like that. Those girls oozed sophistication, sex appeal, and even strength - but also, quite possibly, lung cancer. 

I exhaled my anger and disappointment.

Lenox shifted next to me and I quickly tried to mask my feelings, but when I looked at her, she didn't seem offended by my reaction. She didn't say anything, but there was a hint of an approving smile on her face. 

Huh. Who would have thought? I thought she was Emily's bitch...

"Girls!"

I turned my head to see Emily appear behind us. I sucked in a breath. She looked gorgeous in a translucent, pink-blue flapper dress that was covered in sequins and beaded floral designs. It hugged her form instead of falling in a shapeless sheath. A five-strand pearl bracelet hung from each wrist and a mantle of plushy, powder blue fur cloaked her neck and shoulders. It looked like she was wearing a well-fed Persian cat.