In the Club Page 2

“It’s probably nothing,” Coco said, looking like her good old messy and tired self. She wore her hair in a cute pixie cut, but several strands were sticking up at the back of her head. “I mean, that’s just what I’m assuming. I wasn’t called here. I just came along for the walk.”

  Madison frowned. “Well, this can’t be good.”

  “Just relax,” Lex answered. She stepped past Madison and gave Damien’s necktie a playful tug. “So, how’s my favorite bad boy?”

  Damien growled like a hungry dog. “I’m better now that I’m here, with my lips barely two inches away from yours.”

  Lex snuggled closer to him. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  Madison rolled her eyes.

  “I just want to ravish you, Lexington,” Damien whispered, sounding more and more like some actor on daytime TV.

  “Ravish?” Coco said, confused. “Isn’t that a vegetable?”

  Madison stared at Lex, who stared at Damien, who stared back at Coco.

  Duh.

  “What?” Coco asked. “Did I hear wrong?”

  Madison shook her head. “Damien said ravish, not radish.”

  “Oh.” Coco shrugged. It was the defeated gesture of a girl who had never excelled at phonics. “It still sounded…tasty.” She nudged Lex’s arm and winked.

  “Anyway, Damien was just leaving,” Madison snapped, growing more tense as they stood outside Reverend Mother Margaret’s office. “Right, bad boy?”

  Damien clucked his tongue. “You getting rid of me so fast, love?” He cupped Lex’s hand in his and kissed it.

  Lex threw her head back, playing along with the game. “We’ll see you tonight, right?”

  “A party wouldn’t be a party without me.” Damien nodded at Madison and Coco. Then he turned around and yelled “Cheerio!” before running back down the hall and out of sight.

  “You see?” Coco said. “I know I heard it right that time. He keeps talking about food. He just mentioned Cheerios.”

  Madison stared hopelessly at her best friend. “Cheerio is a salutation. It’s how they say good-bye in England.”

  “It’s so hot,” Lex added.

  “Hot?” Coco wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t make sense to me. Do we all go around saying Cocoa Puffs to each other?”

  “Whatever the case, Damien is top on my most wanted list.” Lex reached into her own bag, pulled out a compact, and checked her reflection in the small circular mirror.

  “If you’re so hot for him, why haven’t you hit him up for a date?” Coco asked.

  Lex snapped the compact shut. “I don’t ask guys out. They have to ask me out. And besides, when it comes to serious relationships, Damien isn’t…well…all that serious. Everybody knows he’s a little gay.”

  “Is he?” Coco raised an eyebrow.

  “Only about a quarter gay,” Madison said. “Which, when you do the math, comes out to about once every three months. So it’s not really a big deal.”

  Coco nodded in agreement. “Anyway,” she said, “I wanted to tell you both that I definitely can’t make it tonight. My mom is still making me fly out to California with her to some Zen meditation retreat. Three whole days without my cell phone or laptop! I swear, ever since she bought that hotel in Malibu, she’s gone crazy.”

  “Three days without a cell,” Lex whispered gravely. “Be brave. Be strong.”

  “Come on,” Madison snapped. She grabbed Lex’s arm and quickly air-kissed Coco good-bye. “We have to go. We’re already late.”

  Coco glanced at her watch. “Ugh. Chemistry in five minutes. See you guys Monday.”

  Standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the closed door of the principal’s office, Madison and Lex hesitated. Then Madison said in a low voice, “Do you think Park got one of those notes too?”

  Lex sniffed. “Probably not. And it doesn’t matter, because she took the day off.”

  “That’s right. I forgot.” Madison gritted her teeth. Their sister, Park, had called in sick that morning so that she could join her boyfriend, famed actor Jeremy Bleu, on the set of his newest movie. Damn you, Park, Madison thought, we need you. And that really was the truth. In Park’s calm and reassuring presence, even the most nerve-wracking moments seemed trivial.

  “Do you think Reverend Mother already called Dad?” Lex whispered, a hint of panic in her voice.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Madison curled her fingers around the brass knob and gently opened the door.

  The reception area of the principal’s office fanned out before them, a rich tapestry of reds, golds, and browns. A long sofa occupied the left-hand corner, two Tiffany lamps perched on either side of it. There was a glass coffee table, a bookshelf, and a tall wall unit made of dark cherry wood. The expensive music system piped out a steady stream of Beethoven.

  Seated at the L-shaped desk on the right side of the reception area was the principal’s secretary, Mary Grace Burns. A short, wide woman with bright red hair, big owlish glasses, and pale skin, Mary Grace had been a member of the school’s administrative team for nearly twenty years. She was one of those quiet and highly efficient assistants who said nothing but knew everything. She glanced up from her desk. “Good afternoon, Madison. Good afternoon, Lexington.”

  Madison dipped into a proper curtsy. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Burns.”

  “Hi,” Lex said dryly, immediately imparting her I-really-don’t-want-to-be-here attitude.

  Mary Grace gestured toward the sofa, then got up and disappeared into the small kitchen.

  Madison and Lex sat down. They both stared at the closed door ahead of them, where Reverend Mother Margaret was tending to her myriad duties as commander in chief of one of the world’s most exclusive prep schools.

  “I really hope this doesn’t take long,” Lex muttered. “We have a lot to do before tonight.”

  “Be quiet,” Madison snapped. “And for God’s sake, don’t mention anything about tonight.” But even as she doled out the order, Madison knew that tonight was exactly what was on everyone’s mind.

  Tonight, Manhattan’s newest and most exclusive nightclub, Cleopatra, was opening its doors to a select group of invitees—celebrities, fashion designers, actors, directors. Which meant, of course, that most of St. Cecilia’s student body would be in attendance. The social event of the season, it had already garnered massive amounts of press all over the world. Cleopatra was being billed as an extraordinary experience in New York nightlife—not necessarily because of its exclusivity, but because it had been erected from scratch on a trendy Lower East Side street, an architectural masterpiece straight out of the ancient Egyptian era. Cleopatra was the latest entrepreneurial brainchild of Trevor Hamilton, mogul and media king, and proud father of the most famous triplets on the planet.

  Madison, Park, and Lexington were the club’s official guests of honor. In just a few hours, they would be emceeing yet another socially significant party.

  Mary Grace emerged from the kitchen holding a tray. She set it down on the coffee table with a nod.

  Madison and Lex reached for their complimentary cups of espresso. Madison was already wired, so she took only a few quick sips. Lex, on the other hand, dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into her cup, stirred it quickly, and downed the shot in a single gulp.

  Just as the door to the principal’s office swung open.

  Reverend Mother Margaret John came strolling into the reception area, her long black habit nearly sweeping the floor, her black veil with its ring of white set perfectly over her head. She was a small woman, but she exuded an air of authority. Her blue eyes were deep-set, her thin lips sealed in a perpetual frown. As prioress of the Order of Our Lady of the Avenue, it was Mother Margaret’s responsibility to both run the school and manage the student body. The latter was the most challenging aspect of her job.

  Madison shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wanted to say something polite, but the words just didn’t come. She focused her gaze on the ivory rosary beads cinched around Mother Margaret’s
waist and uttered a prayer for mercy.

  The nun dropped a manila file and a sheaf of papers onto Mary Grace’s desk, then turned around slowly. “Madison, Lexington. You may proceed into my office.”

  Madison led the way into the spacious room. The three large windows afforded a generous view of Central Park. She and Lex sat in the hardbacked leather chairs and watched as Mother Margaret shut the door and walked around to her side of the desk.

  Before sitting down, she shot Madison a long, hard stare.

  Madison blanched.

  “Miss Hamilton, are you suffering from cataracts?” Mother Margaret asked sarcastically.

  “Excuse me? I…uh…no…” As her voice trailed off, Madison realized she was still wearing her sunglasses. She removed them promptly. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, mortified that she hadn’t taken them off upon entering the office.

  “That’s quite all right.” Mother Margaret sat down. “I’m sure you’re both wondering why you’ve been summoned. I would have called Park as well, but she’s apparently…not feeling well.”

  “That’s right,” Lex responded, quick on cue. “She’s been under the weather all week.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see that you’re feeling well, Lexington.” Mother Margaret folded her hands and leaned forward in the chair. “From the looks of it, you have a lot of energy.”

  “Totally,” Lex said. “I’ve been trying this new macrobiotic diet—but not very strictly. I mean, I still eat chocolate. And I can’t resist the burgers at J.G. Mellon. But still—I’m trying.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Mother Margaret’s voice was sharp. “I’m talking about this new uniform you’ve invented. Today it’s diamond studs, yesterday you were prancing around with bright pink ribbons on your blazer, and the day before you replaced your loafers with stilettos.”

  “Those weren’t actually ribbons,” Lex replied, her tone utterly devoid of fear. “They were handmade silk boughs, given to me by Betsey Johnson.”

  “And they’re entirely inappropriate!” Mother Margaret shook her head. “Because of you, Lexington, every young woman in the school is demanding uniform updates, and I want it to stop immediately.”

  Madison was shrinking in her chair, unnerved by Mother Margaret’s rising voice. She gave Lex a pleading glance, but the glance did no good.

  “Excuse me, Mother,” Lex shot back, “I don’t understand why I’m being held responsible for the behavior of every girl in the school. Instead of demanding that it stop, maybe you should consider what’s being said. Our uniforms aren’t very stylish. They could use an upgrade.”

  “An upgrade?” Mother Margaret said faintly.

  “Yes. Like, well…instead of the red and white pattern, why not something a little more eye-catching? Why not pink and black? Or—wait—even better…tan blazers and skirts with pink accents? And I’d be happy to redesign your habit too, Mother. I know black is slimming, but don’t you want a little splash of color every now and then? And instead of that veil, why not a—”

  “Enough!” Mother Margaret shrieked.

  Lex frowned. “I’m only trying to help!”

  “But you’re not helping! You’re ignoring the rules—as usual.” A pause. “As of tomorrow, you will return to wearing the navy blazer. No high heels. No ribbons—”

  “Boughs,” Lex corrected her, speaking very matter-of-factly. “They were French silk boughs. Ribbons are for wrapping gifts.”

  “I don’t care! You will not wear them to school again! Is that clear?”

  A tense silence fell over the office. Then Lex sighed impatiently and said, “I guess so.”

  Mother Margaret pressed her hands to her temples and closed her eyes, clearly distressed. When she opened them several seconds later, she focused on Madison.

  And Madison couldn’t stop herself from flinching. I didn’t do anything, her mind screamed. I always wear the official St. Cecilia’s uniform.

  “Madison,” Mother Margaret said in a calmer voice. “I would now like to address the other issue that’s concerning me, and I know I can count on you to be agreeable and respectful.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Madison cleared her throat nervously. “Of course.”

  “Good.” Mother Margaret gave her a quick smile. “Now, would you please tell me a little more about this nightclub event that more than half the school seems to be attending this evening?”

  Shit. Madison felt her stomach knot. She was under strict orders from her father—and everyone at Hamilton Holdings, Inc.—to keep the details about the opening night of Cleopatra private. Rumors about what the nightclub would be like and how much money had gone into its construction had been circulating through the media networks for months, but not a single one of those rumors had ever been confirmed. It seemed the whole world wanted to know what this new extravagant slice of nightlife had in store for its guests.

  “Madison?” Mother Margaret said. “Is there something wrong, dear?”

  “No, there isn’t.” Madison straightened in the chair and assumed a businesslike posture, just as her father had taught her to do several years ago. There was no easy way out of this one. Mother Margaret was as curious—and as aggressive—as a tabloid reporter, but she went about collecting her information ambiguously. If sugary tones and bright smiles failed, she often resorted to guilt or holy language. But those tactics wouldn’t work today. Madison knew to keep her mouth shut.

  She looked Mother Margaret squarely in the eye. “There’s not much I can tell you about tonight’s event, except that it’s very exclusive, and that a lot of planning has gone into it.”

  “Yes, dear. I’ve heard that much. But I’m still very concerned.”

  “About what?” Madison asked her bluntly.

  “About the kinds of things that might go on in a nightclub. You must remember that when you are in public, you are representing St. Cecilia’s Prep. Antics of an…unsavory nature would be terrible publicity for the school.”

  “Unsavory?” Madison shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean, Mother. You’ll have to clarify that.”

  Mother Margaret John shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was losing her little fight to get the dirt on Cleopatra, and she knew it. “I mean that many young adults—even smart ones like yourself—can sometimes lose themselves in environments that promote sin.”

  “Where did you get the idea that our father’s newest business venture is promoting sin?” Madison asked, a purposeful edge to her tone.

  Mother Margaret cleared her throat nervously. “I didn’t mean to imply that, dear. I’m just concerned. It’s being talked about all over the news, this nightclub opening. I just want to make sure that my students behave themselves. You know how…prone young people are to scandal.”

  Lex clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

  “Is there a problem, Lexington?” Mother Margaret snapped.

  Lex narrowed her eyes at the nun. A playful smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. “As a matter of fact, there is. It smells in here.”

  “Smells?” Mother Margaret’s voice was instantly alarmed. “Like what?”

  “Like…” Lex paused and stared at the nun, trying to insinuate the obvious. “Like something old.” She jumped when she felt Madison kick her shin.

  Sniffing the air, Mother Margaret opened her desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of Chanel No. 5, and sprayed both her wrists. Then she turned her attention back to Madison. “As I was saying, dear…”

  Madison cleared her throat. “Please don’t worry,” she said, feigning a smile, her voice at once confident and comforting. “My sisters and I—and all our friends here at St. Cecilia’s—will be on our best behavior. Nothing wild or out of the ordinary is going to happen tonight. It’s going to be a perfectly innocent evening.”

  In the short silence that followed, Madison wondered what the penance was for lying so blatantly to a nun.

  2

  Park It on the Set

  “Action!”

  The
director’s voice boomed across the set a moment before the cameras started rolling. Park Hamilton stood somewhat aside from the cluster of production assistants gathered at the corner of West Houston Street in Greenwich Village and trained her eyes on the tall, muscular guy hanging from a harness seven stories in the air. The sight made her dizzy. Why on earth would anyone want to perform a stunt that dangerous? She listened as gasps fluttered around her, then turned and surveyed the crowd of onlookers: it was thick with ardent fans, all of them pointing up at the actor who looked like a rugged angel suspended in the sky.

  Jeremy Bleu was an eighteen-year-old superstar. More importantly, he was Park’s boyfriend, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off him either. Right now, his black hair was tousled and sweaty and a splatter of fake blood stained the right side of his face. He was in character, playing an ordinary college freshman trying to save the world from a nuclear bomb blast. The movie was titled Short Fuse. This particular scene called for Jeremy to dangle from a balcony while a killer attempted to cut off his fingers. Exciting, yes, but Park would have preferred a stunt double up there in the air.

  She sighed and shook her head for the millionth time. That was Jeremy—always eager to push the envelope when it came to his work. He was a perfectionist, obsessed with getting every last detail right. He needed to experience his work viscerally. Doing his own stunts was apparently part of the creative process. As much as Park hated it, she couldn’t deny that the view from the street was simply delicious. The worn jeans hugging Jeremy’s bottom half accentuated all the right parts, and his wet T-shirt clung to his chest like a second skin. It was no wonder all the women were drooling.

  She and Jeremy had been dating for nearly seven weeks now. Their romance was headline-making news, a favorite of the tabloids and the paparazzi. They couldn’t go out to dinner without someone snapping their pic. They couldn’t steal a kiss in private without it ending up in print. Even now, huddled off to the side of the set, she felt several cameras zooming in on her. The next caption, probably beneath a picture in Star magazine, would read something like: PARK HAMILTON DOESN’T LET HER MAN OUT OF SIGHT. The thought made her laugh. It was so not true. She enjoyed Jeremy’s company, and she was totally hot for him, but she wasn’t the type of girl who believed in keeping a leash on a guy. Her life was busy and full and chaotic. She needed her own space—room to concentrate on school-work, philanthropic ventures, and the responsibility that came with managing the new Triple Threat clothing line. If anything, it was Jeremy who wouldn’t let her out of his sight.