Saporosity: The Story of Luke and Lana Read online

  SAPOROSITY

  The Story of Luke and Lana

  By Rachel Blake

  For my mother. My first best friend, personal cheerleader and voice of reason since day one. Thank you for teaching me what it is to be a great mother.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  EPILOGUE

  ONE

  "Can you believe he brought her?" My friend, Emily, sneers as she picks at her bright red nails. No, not my friend. That's being too generous. I've known the girl my entire life but I would not consider her a friend. But I wouldn’t consider her an acquaintance either. I'm not sure what a spoiled brat like her would be categorized as. I don't like her and I know she doesn't like me but when we're at these functions she always seems to come to me with an absurd piece of gossip like we're besties. If besties secretly wanted the other to fall in the middle of a crowded room. Frenemies seems a little overplayed. A social colleague, perhaps. Wait, what did she say?

  She sighs dramatically as she flicks her wrist in annoyance. I just shrug, completely clueless with the conversation we’re having, and take another sip of expensive wine. She flips her bleached extensions over her shoulder as she continues to glare over my shoulder. I follow her gaze and spot Calvin Harris and the petite blonde he brought with him that has Emily so engrossed. Ah, sweet clarity, now I see what she’s been barking about. His date is pretty. Innocent and sweet looking. Natural. Nothing like Emily or anyone else you'd find at these functions.

  "That dress, seriously," Emily says, taking a sip of wine I know she'll throw up later.

  I glance back at the nervous looking girl again. She's wearing a simple black dress with simple black heels. They're clearly not the designer threads you're used to seeing at these parties and it makes me like her immediately. It's just a bonus that she seems to be pissing Emily off by simply existing. Talk about holding power over someone.

  "I think she's pretty." Emily looks at me like I've sprouted a second head and I have to hide my smirk. "Very understated. Haven’t you heard? That's so in now, Emily." I don't know if that's in but what can I say, I’m gunning for a reaction.

  "It's secondhand trash," she spits out, harshly. The tips of her ears turn red and I'm convinced that smoke will start billowing from them at any moment. She's just like her mother. Like my mother. And that most certainly is not a compliment.

  "Ladies." The smooth voice comes up from behind me and I internally cringe.

  "Carter," Emily says with a fake smile before focusing back on Calvin and his date.

  "Looking good, Lana," Carter says so close to my ear that I get goosebumps. Not the good goosebumps. The type of goosebumps that make you want to take a shower to wash them away. I take a step to the side and turn toward him as if I'm preparing myself for battle.

  "Hello, Carter." He gives me a wolfish smile with his perfectly bleached teeth.

  "I mean, seriously. She couldn't be any more out of place here. What was he thinking bringing her here? She clearly doesn't belong with us."

  Emily's face scrunches in disgust. Mine scrunches at the fact that she included me in her ‘us’ category.

  "This party is lame. Why don't you and I get out of here?" Carter asks, taking a step into my personal space, completely ignoring Emily's ranting.

  I take a step back but he doesn't seem to notice, his overly confident smile never faltering from the lack of interest that I'm clearly showing. He's a good looking guy, light wavy hair that's slicked back, tanned skin, blue green eyes. Too bad he's a complete tool with a repulsive personality. I ignore them both and continue to chug my wine like it’s water.

  "She probably got that dress at a consignment shop. The fabric is just so," Emily shutters and I down the rest of my glass before setting it on a tray passing by. Yes, I suppose cotton can be quite offensive to some people. I scan the room, looking for my out. Mr. Leroy's fifth wife just got a boob job. Maybe I'll go chat her up about it, Lord knows she loves to show those suckers off.

  Or there's Mr. Leroy's third wife who is now Mr. Kenzie's fourth wife. She’s always up for going on about the hottest new diet fad she’s been trying. She always claims to have lost so much weight from it but somehow always looks the same to me. And of course there’s always Pervy Pete. His real name is George Peterson but everyone calls him Pervy Pete behind his back because his dates are at least half his age. And that is no exaggeration.

  "So, what do you say?" Carter says, gliding a finger down my bare arm all creepy like. Oh, yea, he’s still here. I pull my arm away and smile. He’s totally going to be Pervy Pete in about 20 years.

  "That would be fun, except for the fact that I rather be with... well anyone else, honestly." His grin widens as if I’m flirting with him. Playing hard to get.

  Without another word I turn and walk toward Calvin and his date. They're talking to Emily's mother and I know they are in need of a rescue. It's written all over their faces. I don't know why Calvin subjected her to one of these parties in the first place. I'd skip it in a heartbeat if I could and I know he would too.

  "Hello," I say, rudely interrupting whatever Mrs. Johannes was carrying on about. Calvin gives me a small smile and the blonde looks relieved, yet hesitant about the interruption.

  I would consider Calvin my closest friend, not that we grew up braiding each other’s hair or painting each other’s nails, but we've had a kind of silent understanding growing up. A kinship of sorts. Our parents are the same. Their peers are the same, as are most of their kids that we were forced to be around, but not Calvin and not me. We hate this pretentious life of obligation. I'm not sure if that makes us independent or ungrateful. I know what my mother would say...

  "Oh, hello, Lana," Mrs. Johannes says with her surgically altered nose turned up toward me.

  "Mrs. Johannes, it's always so nice to see you. You look wonderful," I say with a perfectly polite smile to match my perfectly polite tone. I turn to Calvin's date.

  "I'm Lana," I say, sticking my hand out.

  She immediately relaxes at the sound of my name and shakes my hand. Calvin must have told her about me and that makes me smile.

  "Misty," she says, quietly. This girl is going to get eaten up alive if she doesn't start exuding a little more confidence. These people devour self-doubt like it's Xanax around here. I drop her hand and give Calvin a big toothy smile. He looks at me cautiously. It's a look I know well. The one he always gives me, like he never knows just what is going to come flying out of my mouth.

  We may both hate the carefully carved out expectations of our life but Calvin falls in line without hesitation. I have a bit more difficulty conforming to it. I always have. And for that, I'm in constant trouble with my parents, or more accurately, my mother.

  "Christie here was just telling me how she met Calvin. It appears she serves him coffee." I refrain from rolling my eyes. Misty clears her throat but Calvin jumps in.

  "Misty is a student at NYU. She works at the coffee shop I stop at ev
ery morning."

  Funny, because Calvin hates coffee. He must really like her. I glance at Misty and she's staring at her shoes like they hold the key to her escape.

  "What are you studying?" I ask before Mrs. Johannes can dole out another dig. She glances up at me and smiles.

  "Graphic design."

  "That sounds interesting." Nothing like the boring business MBA's or law degrees each and every one of us around here received.

  "And what can you do with that? Print t-shirts?" Mrs. Johannes laughs condescendingly before continuing.

  "My Emily just received her MBA in Marketing. She received a job offer at one of the largest PR firms in the country." I almost gag. My Emily. So gross. She turns to Calvin like she just got a brilliant idea and I know whatever it is she’s about to say is going to be cruel.

  "Calvin, dear, you should ask her to show you around her new office. I'm sure there are plenty of contacts you can make. You two can grab lunch at that adorable little bistro when you're finished just around the corner from her building." I wish I could say that her trying to set up Calvin and her daughter right in front of his date was shocking, but it's not in the least. I've seen her do it on a handful of occasions. Now that I think of it, I'm not so sure Emily has ever had a date that hasn't been orchestrated by her mother. I almost feel bad for her, but then I remember who we’re talking about and the feeling passes as quickly as it came.

  "I already received an offer at Patterson Corp. that I plan on accepting." She waves her hand like it's nonsense.

  "You two, always fighting that attraction of yours," she says with a chuckle. She is in rare form tonight. I glance at Misty and she looks like she's been slapped in the face. Before she can continue on with another rude comment I butt in.

  "I think lunch is a great idea. We can all go. Me, Calvin, Misty and your Emily."

  "Oh, well that would be..."

  Mrs. Johannes trails off and gives a face like she's eaten something sour. Probably her personality.

  "It will be fun, you should come too, Mrs. Johannes," I say with my perfect smile in my perfect tone, showing nothing but my perfect etiquette.

  "I'm not sure if that would be a good idea."

  "Oh, why not?" Her face pinches with unease.

  "I think it would be a much more enjoyable date with just the two of them, dear." She says dear, but I'm sure there are a dozen other words floating around her head that she'd really like to call me. I shake my head.

  "Oh, I don't think so. And then Emily wouldn't be forced to judge the people passing by for their clothing choices or lack of money. You could do it for her. That way Calvin wouldn't think she's the pretentious narcissist that she really is."

  "Excuse me?" Mrs. Johannes gasps, outraged.

  I continue even though the tiny little voices in my head are telling me to stop. But I can’t. Once I’ve gotten started I can never stop. Besides, she clearly deserves it.

  "And then they'll wistfully fall in love. I'd plan a fall wedding myself. The trees in Central Park are to die for that time of year. They'd photograph just perfectly. Maybe Misty can print t-shirts as wedding favors." Mrs. Johannes's mouth is hanging wide open like a fish out of water. I glance at Misty and her face is similar but Calvin is stifling a laugh.

  "Well, I never," she says, pursing her lips before walking off. Calvin bursts into laughter and I smile, but I shouldn't be. I'm going to get some major verbal backlash for that one. I have yet to master the art of reining it in once I get started.

  "You're going to get in so much trouble for that," Calvin says, still amused.

  He mirrors my thoughts exactly but I just shrug.

  "It is what it is. Besides, she had it coming." Misty glances between the two of us, still in shock.

  "Try not to listen to anything that woman says. She's pure evil. Her and her Emily," I say as Calvin chuckles again.

  "What is it with that? Her Emily, it's so...weird." I shake my head in agreement.

  "Who knows, it's all very Norma Bates if you ask me." Misty laughs this time.

  "Shit, Lana, she's talking to your mother," Calvin says, looking past me.

  I glance over my shoulder and see Mrs. Johannes pointing her bony little finger right at me, waving it around, clearly upset. My mother's gaze turns to me and I swear to all that is holy on this earth, my heart turns to ice. Time stands still and it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. I blink a few times before pulling my eyes away.

  "Let's go get drunk with the kitchen staff," I say, motioning toward the door.

  “Uh, yea, that’s probably a good idea,” Calvin says.

  We head for the back door in the ballroom, yes, my parents have a ballroom in their home, quickly and quietly. I keep my head down the entire way, hoping to escape any repercussions, at least for the time being.

  You can only hear how big of a disappointment you are so many times from your parents until it no longer has the desired affect they are looking for. I take that back, my father never says I'm a disappointment, but that's only because he never says anything to me. I can probably count on one hand the amount of genuine conversations we've had. Ones that don't include questions about what I'm going to do with my life or how well I'm doing in school.

  I glance up just slightly to see Emily openly gawking at us as we walk by. I raise my head as I stare at her appalled face. I give her my biggest smile with a thumbs up for good measure just to watch her face scrunch up like her mothers. Calvin mutters something under his breath about making things worse but I ignore him as we continue toward our destination with only one thing in mind; liquid reprieve. Besides, he's lucky my thumb is the finger I decided on flashing in her direction.

  I'd say a drink is well deserved after enduring an entire 45 minutes of that party. When we push open the doors to the kitchen the wait staff is darting around, carrying trays of expensive champagne and exorbitant hors d'oeuvres. It's organized chaos, every person focused, every movement calculated. How they move at this speed without crashing into each other always astonishes me.

  "Miss Alana," Perry, our head chef, says with a big smile.

  "Hi, Perry," I say with a small wave.

  "What can I get for you, belle fille?"

  "Booze, lots and lots of booze," I say with a grin. His face falls slightly.

  "Please no tell me you angered your mother again," he says in his beautiful French accent.

  "Okay, I won't tell you," I say as I open the liquor cabinet, surveying the contents.

  He mumbles something in French but I don't understand it. Perry is always mumbling something under his breath. He could be saying horrific things about me and I wouldn't know. I’m sure he probably does about my mother, but not me. He wouldn’t. He just doesn't like hearing her cut me down. He's worked for her my entire life. He's like an uncle to me. I grab a bottle of whiskey and hand it to Calvin before grabbing a bottle of dark red wine for myself.

  "What's your poison, Misty?" I glance at her.

  "Oh, um," she trails off.

  "We have pretty much anything. Wine? Liquor? Champagne?" She glances at Calvin before looking back at me.

  "Can I just get a beer?" She asks, timidly. I smile and nod, placing my bottle of wine back into the cabinet.

  "Beer sounds perfect," I say, shutting the cupboard and reaching into the fridge before pulling out two amber bottles of beer. I pop the tops, toss them in the trash and hand her one before raising my bottle for a cheers.

  "To Mr. Johannes," I say with a smile.

  “Lord knows that man has a long life of self-medication ahead of him. To hoping he survives it.” Calvin and Misty nod in agreement as they tap their drinks to mine. We all take a long drink followed by many, many more long drinks. It seems Mr. Johannes and I aren’t in entirely different boats.

  TWO

  "Have you lost your mind?" My mother says, calmly, as if she wants me to seriously answer the question.

  I'm sitting on the black leather couch like a small chil
d with my feet dangling over the edge. The party is finally over and all of the guests have cleared out. I’m slightly inebriated and trying to focus on her as she walks back and forth in front of me. Okay, maybe I’m more than slightly inebriated.

  I usually make it a rule not to get drunk around my mother. Nothing makes you feel more paranoid then being around this woman when you’re not in full control of yourself or the situation. But here I am, drunk and in trouble. Visions of being in this same situation nearly 10 years ago flash through my mind when my mother laid into me after getting drunk at a fundraising event. The orchestra took a small break and I climbed onto stage and tried to turn the evening into karaoke night. I still think the idea would have had some traction if she hadn’t yanked me off of stage so quickly.

  She clears her throat but doesn’t speak. She’s toying with me, I swear it. I know deep down she enjoys making me squirm. Has she always resembled Cruella de'Ville? No, that's got to be the alcohol talking.