To Catch a Prince Page 14

  Helene had heard enough. She ran back through the house to her bedroom, ripped the W magazine out of her sister’s hands, and screamed, “Plan B … Nichola … Nigel … now!”

  Standing in the kitchen just outside Nichola’s door, Alexis’s jaw stiffened with rage. She heard Nigel’s voice.

  “Nicky, do you want me to tell everyone that you’re a tease? ‘Cause if you keep acting like this, that’s what I’m telling them. You said your parents were out and I should come over.”

  “But I’m not a tease, Nigel,” Nichola said between sobs. “That’s the whole point. I’m not ready. You know, I’m only thirteen.”

  “I’m not ready,’” Nigel mocked in a falsetto. “‘I’m only thirteen.’” He laughed. “Come on, Nicky,” he said in his normal, ugly voice. “I see the short skirts you wear. You’re asking for it.”

  “No! Stop!”

  Helene and Alexis exchanged looks. Alexis squeezed Helene’s hand briefly, and then tried Nichola’s door. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked.

  Nichola was crouched in the far corner of her canopy bed, her arms clutching her knees. She’d pulled her pink quilt over her, and she looked very small. Nigel, also on the bed, was kneeling in front of her.

  When he heard the door, he dropped both of his hands to his side and tried to play cool. “Well, look who we have here! Posh Spice. Ready to join the party?”

  “Nigel. Please do us the favor of leaving our cousin alone,” Alexis said, as if she were talking to a misbehaving gradeschooler. Nichola, whose face was streaked with tears and running mascara, giggled in spite of herself.

  “Uh, I was just telling Nichola good-bye. Wasn’t I, Nichola? I was just leaving. I’ll leave. Just having a good-bye kiss.” Nigel stood up and frantically grabbed his jacket from the floor.

  “Not so fast, Nigel,” Helene said, walking into the room and standing next to her sister. “You’re not leaving. Alexis and I have a few things to tell you first.”

  “I’m late already. Another time.”

  “Number one,” Helene said, leaning against Nichola’s wall. Her heart was thumping, but she needed to be calm in order not to mess this up. She tried to imitate Alexis, who could remain collected and detached even if the ceiling were caving in. “Please don’t ever come to this house again.”

  “Number two,” Alexis said, smiling sweetly, “never call Nichola on the phone. She’s much too good for you.”

  “Number three,” Helene said, mimicking Alexis’s soothing tone, “if a girl says no, she means no. And anything you try after that is sick, illegal, and totally messed up.”

  “Number four,” Alexis said, walking around so she stood directly in front of Nigel, “I need to talk to you about fashion. I am, as you may know, an expert.”

  “What’s wrong with my look?” Nigel said impatiently.

  “I couldn’t care less about your fashion,” Alexis said, looking distastefully at Nigel’s coat, an expensive Armani item he clearly ripped and stained to look cheap. “I’m talking about Nichola. What Nichola wears has nothing to do with you.”

  “Uh, Alexis, is this—” Helene had to interrupt. But Alexis put a hand up to quiet her.

  “It’s quite necessary,” Alexis said to Helene. Turning back to Nigel, she continued. “Now when artists like Marc Jacobs and Zac Posen design clothes, it’s someone like Nichola they have in mind. So when she wears a miniskirt or a strappy tank, she’s not saying that she wants to have sex with you. She’s not saying anything to you at all. She’s just wearing clothes.”

  Nichola was beaming. She looked like a little girl who’d just received a pony for Christmas.

  Nigel crouched on the pink carpet to tie his boots. Helene left the safety of the wall and stood over him. She felt like she had to be a little more explicit. “What she’s saying, Nigel, is that a girl in a miniskirt doesn’t want to sleep with you. No one wants to sleep with you, Nigel.”

  Nigel looked up and whined, “But she said tonight would be the night.”

  Alexis shook her head impatiently. “Come on, Nigel. Let me do the honor of escorting you out of the Hussein house.”

  As Helene jumped on the bed to talk to her cousin, Alexis distastefully held Nigel’s coat between forefinger and thumb and led him through the many rooms to the front door, letting go only when he crossed the threshold.

  Alexis watched Nigel walk down the path. She needed to sit Nichola down and have a chat with her. She had meant what she said to Nigel, but Nichola did dress quite inappropriately sometimes. She was such a beautiful girl and it was such a shame to see her looking trashy.

  When Nigel reached the sidewalk, he paused and turned around. His bashful, hangdog expression was gone, and true to form, he had a little sneer on his face.

  “Remember,” Alexis warned, “you’re not allowed back on the property.”

  “Well then, Lexy,” Nigel called back, “you’ll have to come over here. There’s a little something I think you’ll be interested in.”

  “Good-bye, Nigel. I’m going inside now.”

  “It’s about William,” he said, lowering his voice so she had to strain to hear. “Prince William, that is.”

  Alexis hated herself more with every step she took down the walkway. Why am I doing this? she asked herself. He’s a total sleeze. Why am I listening to him? But the call of William was too great, and soon she stood next to Nigel on the sidewalk.

  “Don’t worry, Lexy; I’m not going to bite,” he said, cackling.

  “Please,” she said, trying to maintain her calm, “never call me Lexy again. My name is Alexis.”

  “I thought, Alexis, that you might be interested in this.” Nigel reached into the pocket of his ridiculously reinvented coat and pulled out a flyer. “It’s a little party I’m throwing. On Friday night.”

  “That’s the night of the end of summer dance,” Alexis said, remembering with a hot flash of shame how she’d been uninvited to the dance.

  “Exactly,” said Nigel, holding the flyer for her to see. “And this is the anti-dance. I’m so sick of the stupid dance with its formality and sappy themes. So I’m throwing an alternative party at my house at the same time. And here’s a little secret: Your friend William promised to attend. He’s over the dance scene as well. All the same girls, he said to me. So, Posh, don’t you want to win the bet? It shouldn’t be hard. You’re much more beautiful than Helene. You just need to be in the same room with William. And you can be, if you do what I say.”

  Alexis reached for the flyer, but Nigel lifted it out of her reach. “How can I believe you?” she asked. “How do I know you’re not lying to me about William?”

  Nigel smiled. He slowly dipped back into that disgusting coat and came out with his cell phone. “Listen to this,” he said, dialing voice mail and handing his phone to Alexis.

  “Nigel. It’s Jont. Got the flyer for your party. It’s rad. Forget the dance, I say. Tim’s coming too. And Justin. And even Wills said he’ll make it, so you know it’s gonna be legit. Later.”

  “That’s your Wills,” Nigel said, snatching his phone back. “Now, don’t you want to see the flyer.”

  “Sure,” Alexis said, staying calm as a doll although inside she was screaming. They were talking about William! She reached again for a flyer, and again Nigel raised it above her head.

  “Say you want it, Lexy. Say you want it. Tell Nigel you want it.”

  Alexis would never, ever say those words to Nigel, so she came up with another tactic.

  “Look!” she screamed, pointing down the street. “The cops. Helene must have called them.”

  Nigel spun around, and Alexis grabbed the flyer out of his hand. She turned and walked up the steps as he nervously sprinted away.

  Nichola Gets Smart

  “ALEXIS, DARLING, WHY don’t you pack up early?” Lady Brawn was saying as she checked the layouts for the September issue. “I can finish this up myself. I don’t want to get too dependent on you, now that you’re leaving us tomorrow.”
>
  “Sure,” Alexis said, tying her coat and trying to look pleased. The truth was, the offices of Vogue were the only place she felt the slightest bit happy these days. At home she and Helene were still barely on speaking terms. Nichola, newly released from Nigel’s clutches, was following Helene around everywhere like they were best friends. And it’s not even worth mentioning Simon and Laszlo. They still hadn’t called. She and Helene were leaving next Wednesday, and this summer was coming to a truly depressing conclusion.

  Well, she thought, waving good-bye to the receptionist and exiting Vogue’s forbidding doors, a mood like this calls for a little shopping therapy.

  Alexis stood on the curb waiting for a cab. She’d shoved one hand in the pocket of her Burberry coat, and she could feel a piece of paper. Now, as a rule, Alexis never, ever kept anything in her pockets. It broke the line of the garment. So she pulled it out immediately. It was Nigel’s Xeroxed flyer.

  THE ANTI-DANCE

  COOLER, BADDER, DRUNKER

  THIS FLYER ALLOWS YOU AND ONE FRIEND ONLY.

  Helene would have pointed out that “badder” was not actually a word. But Alexis only stared at the black scrawl and thought, William. This summer was not over for another week. And the bet didn’t end until the plane ride home.

  Alexis took a cab to the Mayfair district and walked into the first store she saw, determined to find the perfect item of clothing, the one that would alter her mood and win William’s adoration. The store was called Yolk, and as in most fancy stores, only about six things hung on the racks. Usually Alexis drooled over each one.

  Not today. The seams were uneven. The blouses cost two hundred pounds and had only one sleeve. This whole eighties fashion thing seemed, for the first time, a rip-off. The pants and stilettos were just like pants and stilettos in every other store this summer.

  “Thanks,” she called to the shopkeeper.

  She tried the next store. The same thing happened. Everything was totally nice. The silk was heavenly soft, and the cuts were just right for the season. But nothing would salvage her mood. Nothing would win William. Nothing would work as her talisman.

  For a few minutes Alexis stood outside on the street. It was early dusk, and it had begun to rain. The streets were filling up with after-work shoppers. Elegant women, wearing all the clothes she’d just seen inside the shops, rushed by, swinging bags that held more of the same fashionable clothes. Alexis watched in awe and confusion. She had a deep longing to run home, grab Helene, and call off the bet. Then they could be best friends again. Then they could call Simon and Laszlo and apologize for their behavior. The four of them could order pizza and spend the evening watching reality TV.

  Stop it, she told herself harshly, then looked around to see if anyone noticed she was talking to herself. You are Alexis Worth. You love to shop. You will find the perfect item. You will look gorgeous in it. William will take one look at it and fall in love. Helene will be so happy for you that she’ll be your best friend again. We’ll both move to London to be with William. Then Simon and Laszlo will still hang out with us, because they are cute and fun.

  And with that pep talk, Alexis returned to the stores. She was, as Hugo Worth often said, determination personified.

  Meanwhile, back at home, Helene was despondency personified. She sat in the mauve living room and picked up a book, only to throw it down, disinterested. She brought her sketch pad and pencils to the peach room, where there was better light. But she managed to draw only a black circle in the middle of each page, sighing all the while.

  Aunt Barbara, who had been watering the geraniums, paused in the doorway and watched her niece. Helene had been like this for days. This normally bubbly, sunny girl was now moping like Nichola. (Aunt Barbara was not the most perceptive woman on the planet, so if she noticed Helene’s mood, it had to be bad.)

  Barbara couldn’t take it anymore. Helene was her sister’s daughter, her responsibility. Surely there was something she could do. Something like … tea!

  “Helene, honey,” Barbara began, “I can’t stand to see you sulking like this. Even the flowers are starting to droop in sympathy. Come and have a nice, warm cup of tea with me in the kitchen.”

  Aunt Barbara had adopted the British belief that tea could fix most things that ailed you. Helene had no choice but to comply. She tore out each drawing of black circles, crumpled the pages, and followed her aunt into the kitchen.

  “Now,” Barbara said, pouring Helene a mug of tea and filling it to the brim with milk and sugar. “Tell me why my happiest niece is suddenly Miss Darkness.”

  Helene sucked in her breath. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to storm around and feel bitter and sorry for herself. But Aunt Barbara was looking at her with the same eyes as her mother. She was stroking Helene’s forearm, just like Helene’s mother did. And suddenly Helene couldn’t contain her sorrow anymore.

  “Alexis and I have this stupid bet, and it’s tearing our friendship apart,” she said, feeling like a wave was crashing inside her. “We promised to dedicate this summer to catching this one guy. But there’s another guy who I really like, Laszlo. He’s just so great. He’s cute and funny and weird in a way that I really appreciate. He doesn’t just do the normal thing. He turns every one of your assumptions on its head. He’s mature that way. Anyway, I really, really like him. And he was going to ask me to tomorrow’s dance. But I totally ruined it because of the bet. He thinks I don’t like him.”

  “So why don’t you end the bet?” Aunt Barbara asked.

  “I can’t,” Helene said, and she started bawling. “I can’t because Alexis won’t. And so if I call it off, then she’ll go ahead and win. And she always wins everything. I had a crush on William first. And if she takes him, then maybe she’ll start taking everything that’s mine. Like maybe she’ll start dressing like me and painting and getting good grades, and then our friendship will be over. We’ll be competitors and not best friends.”

  Aunt Barbara handed Helene a tissue. This did seem like a bind. She could see how determined Alexis was; it would be hard to lose a bet to a sister like that. “Well, Helene,” she said, offering all she could think of, “how about another cup of tea?”

  Nichola had her ear pressed to her bedroom door. Some words were muffled. Like did Helene say “painting” or “fainting”? Was that “moneylenders” or “competitors”? But she got the general gist. And there, sitting cross-legged on her pink carpet, she decided to repay her cousin for helping her escape Nigel.

  “Alexis, please pass the potatoes,” Uncle Saheed said. “And a smile would be good with that too. You’ve been sulking all week, I dare say.”

  Alexis pressed her lips together in a weak imitation of happiness. Nichola sighed. They were stuck in the middle of another interminable formal dinner. Helene wouldn’t look at Alexis, and Alexis wouldn’t look at anyone. Nichola had been patient through the soup, the salad, and the roasted chicken. But if her parents thought she was going to sit quietly while Alexis pressed her bread pudding into her plate without eating a bite, they were sorely misguided.

  Nichola covered her mouth and started an exaggerated coughing fit. “Oh, my,” Barbara said, “pass her some water.”

  Nichola sputtered out the water that Helene offered. “Can I be excused?” she asked, coughing all the while.

  “By all means,” said her father, “but be back for the cheese course, Nichola. I bought a quince jelly especially for you.”

  Nichola rushed out of the room, hoping no one would notice that she was headed in the opposite direction of her bedroom.

  Luckily, Helene’s messenger bag was right on her bed. Unluckily, it was the messiest thing Nichola had ever seen. She sorted through a stew of paintbrushes, newspaper clippings, notebooks, tampons, lip gloss, sparkly bracelets, folded notes, letters from America, two-pound coins, and journals until she found, on the very bottom, Helene’s cell phone.

  Nichola clutched it as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. W
hich it was. The dance was the next day, and there was no time to spare. Nichola escaped into her cousins’ bathroom, which was almost as messy as Helene’s bag. She turned the sink on full blast before she dialed, so no one could hear her talk. You can never be too careful.

  He answered right away. “Helene, I was hoping you’d call.”

  “It’s not Helene. I’m Nichola. I’m not sure if you know me. But I know who you are. I know quite a lot about you.” She affected Magda’s worldly accent and tried to sound as mysterious as possible.

  “Oh. Her number showed up. I got confused.” He sounded disappointed. “Of course I know you, you’re Helene’s cousin. But why are you ringing me?”

  “I have something important to tell you. But I don’t have much time. So please listen.”

  “I’m trying. But it’s so noisy. Where are you calling from?”

  Nichola looked at the sink. “A river. I walked all the way to a waterfall to call you. It’s that crucial that you receive this information. So please listen carefully.”

  She proceeded to tell Laszlo everything she’d heard Helene tell Aunt Barbara, returning just in time to spread quince jelly on romano cheese. She was the only one at the table smiling.

  Reinvited

  “GIRLS, PLEASE REPORT to the front office in five minutes. Wrap up your final duties, and do not arrive late to your good-bye tea.”

  Even Ms. Ming’s invitations sounded like commands. As she strolled out of the office to prepare the tea, two of the four interns hurriedly cleared off their workstations so that no trace of them would be left in the National Gallery after their summer internships ended that afternoon at five. But Helene, who had left a rather large mess of sketches, doodles, and unrelayed phone messages covering her workstation, had something else to take care of.

  “I’ll be back soon. Can you tell Ms. Ming I’m in the bathroom?” Helene called as she slipped out the back door and into the walled-in courtyard the staff used for cigarette breaks. Crouching behind a particularly large hedge, Helene took her cell phone from her pocket. She’d gotten a message from Laszlo this morning. It was totally out of the blue. And totally exciting. After they said their “heys,” both Laszlo and Helene spoke at once.