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“Lovely to talk to you too, darling,” she replies, laughing. “Did I wake you up or something? I thought it was only?—”
“You didn’t wake me up. You interrupted Natalie’s fourth outfit option.”
“Oh, I forgot Natalie was coming this weekend! Are you guys going out?” The sounds of seagulls and surf echo in the background. Emma’s from New York City but spends every summer in the Hamptons.
“That was the plan,” I respond. “We’ll see if we ever leave the hotel.”
Emma giggles. “Not everyone can throw on a dress and look like a runway model, Saylor.”
I don’t answer.
“So, how is it?” she asks eagerly.
Filling her in on an Adler Beck-less version of Scholenberg so far takes up the rest of the time the girls need to get ready. By the time we’re hanging up, everyone’s ready to go.
We traipse down to the lobby and out onto the street.
“So, where are we going?” London asks.
I prepare for everyone to turn to me. I’ll have to text Ellie again.
But Natalie’s the one who answers. “I know the perfect place.”
I don’t have a suggestion and she sounds confident, so I climb in one cab already waiting outside the hotel with everyone else. It’s a sedan, definitely not designed to seat seven, but the driver doesn’t seem to mind. He deposits us in an industrial neighborhood I wouldn’t expect to contain a trendy club and cheerfully collects his fare.
“How did you hear about this place?” I ask Natalie after we’ve all tumbled out of the cab, critically studying the bland concrete exterior in front of us.
“Extensive research,” she replies, grinning. “It was the most consistent hit for a Kluvberg player hangout. According to TravelAdvisor, there’s always this long of a line for just that reason.” She nods to the line curving around the exterior of the building. To her credit, they’re all trendily dressed people about our age.
“You’re joking,” I say flatly. The last thing I want to do is to spend the night fending off a bunch of Adler Beck-wannabes.
“Nope, totally serious.”
“Sounds like a rumor they might have started themselves,” I mutter.
“Come on,” London declares, striding toward the front of the line. Everyone else follows, me included. “Hi, we’d like to go in,” she tells the beefy man clad in all black. Protests sound behind us, but a raised hand from the bouncer quiets them.
“Name?” he asks gruffly.
“Wh-what do you need a name for?” Natalie asks, losing a bit of her bravado.
“This is a private club, miss. No entry unless you’re on the list,” the man responds. None of the other girls speak. Natalie looks crestfallen. I may not want to be at this particular club, but I’m not great about being told I can’t do something.
I step forward. “My name is on the list.”
Natalie gapes at me, contributing nothing to the act.
“What is it?” the bouncer asks, tapping a pen against the clipboard impatiently.
“Well, here’s the funny part,” I start, giggling slightly. The guy glances up and falters a bit when he focuses on my face. I crank up the ditzy blonde act, twirling a strand of hair around my pointer finger as I sway in my heels. “See, there was this guy I met earlier at a restaurant, Lecker—I don’t know if you’ve heard of it?” I toss out the name of the ritzy eatery Ellie told me she was meeting her family at hoping to add some credence to my story.
First rule of lying: add random details. It seems to work, because the bouncer nods, his stoic expression softening.
“Anyhoo, he came up to me and was flirting. Then, he asks me to meet him here later. But he’d already asked for my name, and my friend Tiffany here”—I yank Natalie forward—“read some article about how you should never give a strange guy your actual name when you’re traveling because then he could track you down later. I mean, you should hear some of the stories my sorority sisters have told us about the creeps out there. So, I didn’t tell this guy my real name, but then he tells me he’ll put my name on the list here. And I couldn’t come clean then, right?”
The bouncer eyes me apprehensively. I have no idea if he believes me. If this place is really as popular as Natalie claims, I’m guessing he’s heard it all.
“What name did you tell this guy?” he asks. Well, maybe not all.
