Free Infamous by Cecily von Ziegesar Page B

bustling and a bronze antique mesh ribbon at the empire waist. It was a sign—it
had
to be a sign. Her eyes floated upward to the Vera Wang decal above the door.
    Callie imagined herself wearing the gauzy dress as she rode the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building to meet Easy. The image was perfect, like a wedding cake. She pushed on the door to the boutique, but the door caught just as the lights dimmed. The store was closed for the night.
    Callie fumbled through her Lanvin tote for her crushed package of Marlboro Ultra Lights and kept staring at the dress. It was just so perfect.
    “Wait a second.” Jenny exclaimed, putting a mittened hand on Tinsley’s arm before she could hail a cab. “Look where we are.”
    Tinsley glanced up and down Madison. “Stranded?”
    “Yeah.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “And who do we know on the Upper East Side who so graciously invited us to her parent-free house tonight?”
    “Do we have a choice?” Tinsley asked miserably. That nerdy British girl? Well, Yvonne Stidder’s was better than being on the street, so long as her parents had left her a fully stocked liquor cabinet. “I totally need a drink.” She spotted Callie, her face practically pressed to the glass outside Vera Wang, staring up at a wedding dress. Christ. That girl definitely just needed to get laid so she could stop with the goddamn wedding planning.
    The short walk toward Park Avenue felt like an eternity, crawling across crowded streets, overloaded with their heavy suitcases. Tinsley’s stacked-heel Givenchy boots pounded against the city pavement, and she started to feel a little better, even if she was still totally bitter at her parents for so thoughtlessly putting her into this situation to begin with. Finally, they stood in front number 866 East Eightieth Street, a towering stone building with a doorman who looked like an Italian movie star. He opened the door for the girls the second they paused outside.
    “We’re here to see Yvonne Stidder,” Jenny peeped, staring in awe at the giant blurry painting hanging over the sofa in the lobby.
    “Yes, of course.” The doorman tipped his hat, smiling at Tinsley as he grabbed all three of their bags and brought them to the elevator. “They’re all upstairs already. Top floor.”
    “
They
who?” Callie whispered as they waited for the elevator. “I hope it’s not all her jazz band friends.”
    “I don’t know if I can stomach a nerdfest tonight.” Tinsley punched the gold PH button.
    “At least it has to be warm,” Jenny offered, her lips slightly blue.
    “And not overrun with Hare Krishnas,” Tinsley added.
    The elevator opened into another small lobby decorated with abstract paintings and severe couches that looked too small to sit on. Straight ahead of them a door was propped open, and jazzy dance music filtered out. The girls dropped their bags inside the front door and took in the scene: the posh living room, a wall of windows looking out on the city, done up in tasteful dark blues and browns, and filled with sleek, modern furniture. And mobbed with fellow Waverly Owls.
    “There’s Kara!” Jenny cried excitedly, shedding her red pea-coat and hanging it in the open coatroom. “I forgot she’s from Brooklyn. And Alison Quentin. Thank God.” Tinsley spotted the girls on a long leather couch, surrounded by older-looking guys with martini glasses in hand.
    “This is insane,” Callie hissed under her breath to Tinsley as they stepped around Clifford Montgomery, a senior guy with perpetually tousled dark hair and black square-framed glasses. “Who knew Yvonne had friends? Cute ones!”
    “Who
wouldn’t
if they owned a place like this?” Out the full-length windows was a rooftop deck with 360-degree views of the city, a solid evergreen hedge encircling the whole thing, and a hot tub the size of a small swimming pool. Splashing around was Yvonne’s older brother, Jeremy, whom Tinsley recognized from a day back in freshman year