Don’t get me wrong. I had goals and dreams as any other Manhattanite.
One day, I’d like to own a magazine. Something glamorous like Vogue, lifestyle-focused such as Town & Country, but reaching a younger demographic. I already had a name for my publication: Debauchery. It’s brilliant, isn’t it? I plan on using it for my graduation thesis. That is, if I live long enough to see my graduation.
Swigging another sip of the warm champagne, I sighed at the thought of the last few years. They’d been very near-death experiences. I’ll get in to that later.
“Are you listening to me?” Mama shouted.
“Yes. Maybe.” I wiped my lips and asked, “What did you say?”
“I said that Poppy White is writing an exposé on you and your Manhattanites.”
“Whaaa?” A heaviness of concern filled my liquor-soaked stomach. I stood so fast the water from the bidet hit the ceiling.
Crap!
Hedda Hopper yapped, running around the bathroom as if a fire hydrant broke loose.
“That little tart is doing a whole book on you and your friends.”
Eyes blinking, wiping myself, I tried to collect my fuzzy thoughts. See, Mama was a bit of a drama queen. She could take the littlest thing and turn it into an epidemic. The key was to act as I always did, as if it was no big deal, which always drove her batty.
Pushing the red button to ‘off’, I took a deep breath, tried to still my heart, and asked in a calm tone with a fake smile on my lips, “I wonder what the book will be about?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Viveca.” She seethed. “It could be that you are the wealthiest eighteen-year-old in town, who runs around with the most famous group of teenagers in the world.”
“Hmmm, that…” I sighed, feeling a bit guilty as my insides quivered. It was all such old news. “Mama, who cares? Let Poppy write what she wants to. People have always talked about us. Sooo. What.”
“Meet with her. See if you can get your hands on a copy of the manuscript. Try and spin this into something positive.”
I laughed hard at what she wanted and at the palpitations in my heart. In the eyes of the general public, there was nothing positive about my group of friends. People loved to hate us. That reminded me…
“Thanks for telling me, Mama. I’ll see what I can do. Listen, I’m going to meet the girls today. We have an appointment for…something…special.”
“Tell your Manhattanites I send my regards and I’ll call you when I get back. I plan on seeing the Whites and talking to them.”
“Why do you care so much?” Unsure of how she’d respond, I bit my lower lip.
“Because, I love you and don’t want to see your name dragged through the mud more than it already has.”
Clutching the locket she’d given me as a little girl, which I still wore around my neck, I thought that was the sweetest thing she’d ever said to me. In a way, her words helped my hangover dissipate. I glanced down at the champagne bottle on the floor and replied, “Thanks, Mama—”
“Not to mention every time your name gets in the paper, our Farnworth Firewater stock takes a nose dive and our investors threaten to pull out.”
And there it was, what mattered most to my parents: money. Not family, health or happiness. Only their fortunes.
The anxious tightness, which had left my body a moment before, returned.
See, this was why my older brother, Vahn, had been estranged from my folks for the last few years. He wanted no part in their liquor dynasty. Last I’d heard, he was living in Bali farming Arabica coffee.
As bat-shit-crazy-fuck-society as that sounded, there was a part of me that was jealous of my brother’s ability for reinvention. He had no expectations to live up to, except his own.
Understanding Mama meant well—she always did—I spoke my goodbyes and hung up the phone.
With an hour to kill till I had to meet my besties, I leaned against the doorway staring at my boyfriends for a minute. By that time, they were both awake and extending their muscular arms for me to come join them in bed. I hated to play favorites, so I dove my naked, freshly douched body onto the bed between them.
Charmaine Whitedove to the Rescue
One hour later
Bowery, Manhattan
The silver-haired lady, with a thin face and deep-set wrinkles around her cold blue eyes, made me nervous. “What brings you four in to see me?” Her crisp voice sent a chill up and down my spine as we sat around the dining room table in her Lower East Side townhouse.
On my lap, Hedda’s entire toy dog body tensed. Perhaps it was the overwhelming smell of anise, sage, peppermint, and—my least favorite of the bunch—sandalwood, which burned from the incense temple in the corner.
Wearing a cream-colored silk blouse, crystal chandelier earrings that chimed when she flitted about, and the most over-the-top glittery eye shadow (which I might’ve worn in drama class as a kid), Charmaine Whitedove commanded quite the presence.
You might’ve heard of her. She’s the psychic, medium, astrologer, shaman, and healer to all of Manhattan’s socialites. And by all, I mean anyone who can afford her. At one thousand bucks an hour, the lady wasn’t cheap.
“My mother, Birdie Easton, referred us. I’m Lex,” said my best friend forever (BFF), who sat to my right in her favorite stretchy dress, which kept her taut in all the right places. “Mom’s been coming to you for years. Did she tell you why we’re in need of your services?”
Charmaine shook her head, focusing her attention on Blake Morgan, my gay best friend (GBF), who sat across the table all doe-eyed and cute as hell. Regardless, he was scared as shit. So was I.
Like me, he had reservations about being there. Blake didn’t believe in anything other than his Episcopalian faith and felt this whole contacting-the-dead thing was sacrilegious and a one-way ticket to Satan’s labyrinth.
Earlier, I’d reminded him that in the eyes of some faiths, so was being a homosexual, having sex before marriage, getting loaded, and smoking pot, but he sure as fudge didn’t let that stop him. Hello!
“We’re desperate to find a solution to turn our luck around.” He pulled his wavy blond hair back from his face, revealing the scar from the plane crash we’d been in the previous summer. My mind burned with the memories of the day the jet we’d boarded had fallen from the sky. “For the last year or so, ever since we got out of juvie, we’ve been having near-death experiences.”
“I see,” muttered Charmaine, as she shimmied her chair closer to the table and put her palms up in the air, like she was reaching for some invisible object.
Nervous, I petted Hedda. Perhaps a bit aggressively, which I always did when I became uncomfortable. I guess in a way my dog was my stress squeeze ball.
“Tell her,” Taddy Brill, my very best friend (VBF), nudged me as Charmaine continued to move her hands slowly in the air. Doused in a heavy spritz of tuberose, she sat to my left. Recently single, she’d had the worst time out of all of us. I couldn’t even attempt to find the words to describe the Hell she’d been through.
“We need your help in resetting our karma,” I finally spoke as Hedda licked my hand. “Last year, Lex’s penthouse blew up and we were charged with arson. We didn’t do it. But whoever did wants us dead. Then a few weeks later, we were all in a plane crash that busted up Blake’s face.”
“Thanks, Viveca,” Blake hissed in my direction gloomily.
“Well, it’s the truth! And more recently, last winter, right before the holidays, we all got roofied at a club and wound up in the hospital.”
With sudden tears in her eyes, Taddy added, “Unknowingly, I was three months pregnant at the time and miscarried.”
We sat in silence for a minute, allowing our nightmare to fill the air like some thick, black cloud that had been following us for as long as I could remember. Lowering my chin, I glared at the oak rings on top of the wooden table. Suddenly, I wished we hadn’t come. I wanted to be alone and not talk about it anymore—if ever again. It was all too pa
inful for me.
“What do you suppose brought on this chain of caustic events?” Charmaine lowered her voice, trying to be mysterious.
“We killed a boy,” Lex spoke with a heavy bitterness as every ounce of color washed from her face.
She was the only one in our clique who could talk about that night. As Blake had once said, the girl was made of Teflon.
When we’d gotten arrested and had faced the trial, it was Lex who’d articulated everything so clearly. Blake had blacked out and couldn’t remember squat. At the time, Taddy had emancipated from her parents and was almost as much a mess as me, and I…well…I couldn’t keep it together. For reasons I’ll get to in just a minute.
“I loved him,” I admitted, bending my neck forward.
“I buried him,” Taddy confessed. “It was my idea to cover it up. We didn’t mean to do it.”
From the look on Charmaine’s face, she appeared to have heard all of this before. “I remember Birdie telling me about the case. The judge ruled it an accident, right?”
“That’s correct. But the fact remains…we still took a life.” I bit down on my thumbnail. I hated myself for it. Always had and forever will.
Lex leaned forward and recalled, “It was our junior year at Avon Porter. We’d snuck off campus and had been in the woods, drinking. Vive’s boyfriend, Sanderloo, had been tripping on acid or something. All I know is he just snapped and started gay-bashing Blake. He’d knocked him unconscious and wouldn’t stop beating him. Vive panicked and picked up a shovel. Hoping it would make him stop, she struck him on the back of the head—”
“He died instantly.” Taddy’s posture slumped slightly.
At first, Charmaine didn’t reply. Instead, her right eyebrow, which appeared painted on to her face, shot up toward the tin ceiling. “Would you like me to contact him?”
“Yes.” My breath quickened as I rubbed my palms together. “Please. We have to put this behind us.”
“Did you bring a picture of him?”
Nodding, I pulled a class photo of Sanderloo from my handbag. Lingering with the image in my hand for a minute, I told him I loved him.
He’d attended the military academy down the street from Avon Porter. Just seeing the photo made my insides all warm. I would always love him.
The psychic took the photo and studied it for what felt to be eternity before muttering, “He was seventeen.”
“That’s correct.”
“You were each other’s first loves,” Charmaine started to sputter the facts out as if they were coming off the photo.
Tears streaked my cheeks as Hedda buried herself deeper into my lap. “Yes.”
“You were pregnant the night he died.”
Blinking rapidly, I nodded, feeling somewhat rooted in my chair. “With our daughter.”
“Let’s form a circle and hold hands. I’ll see if I can speak to him. I don’t channel spirits to take over my body anymore. That’s just way too exhausting. But if he wants to be heard, I’ll get him to speak to me. Okay?”
Heartbeat racing, nearly exploding, I reached for Taddy’s hand first, then Lex’s.
“Sanderloo. Are you there? It’s Charmaine Whitedove. I’m here with your girlfriend, Vive, and her friends. They’d like to speak with you. Will you come out and talk to us?”
Nothing.
The lights didn’t flicker as I’d seen on TV. No voices moaning from the other side like in those horror movies.
Hedda growled softly.
“Sanderloo. I know you’re scared. It’s okay. Are you there?” she asked again. Then her body started to jerk from left to right.
“This is ridiculous,” Blake erupted with frustration, trying to let go of Lex’s hand.
“Be quiet.” Lex glared at him, yanking his arm into her bosom.
“Aww, there you are. Hello, Sanderloo.” Charmaine’s voice softened. “I’ve got him. He’s terrified you’re going to hurt him again.”
My heartbeat accelerated. It felt as if it might lurch out of my body.
“Sweet Jesus.” Taddy closed her eyes so tight, it caused her entire face to squish up. So did Lex.
“What’s he saying?” I asked, returning my focus to Charmaine.
“Give me a minute.” Tilting her neck back, causing her hair to fall over her ashy white face, she added, “He says...he was…mad…that you and Blake had slept together.”
“Say whaaa?” Taddy shouted as her eyes appeared damp and bright.
“Sanderloo and I were on a break,” I defended, feeling as if I was a junior in high school all over again.
“Regardless, it broke his heart to know you’d slept with someone. He wasn’t gay-bashing Blake that night. Sanderloo wanted to fight him man-to-man. Whoever won…would have your heart.”
Wiping my eyes, I gave Taddy a squeeze and confessed, “I didn’t know that.”
“He says someone is indeed out to kill all four of you.”
“Who?” Blake’s eyebrows drew together.
“Someone who seeks revenge.”
“Dammit, woman, who is it?” His patience faded.
Charmaine smiled eerily at all of us. A warm, rosy glow flushed over her complexion. “Sanderloo says he watches over your baby girl. She’s doing well, living with a nice family in New Jersey. She just had her third birthday.”
“That’s right. It was Tuesday.” I’d gotten so trashed that night, trying not to think about my baby. Inhaling deeply, I realized Charmaine avoided Blake’s question. Struggling to catch my breath, I replayed what she’d just said in my head. The pain of hearing about my baby stabbed my heart as my stomach hardened.
I was doing everything in my power to stay in my seat. I had an urge to run like a mad girl up Broadway, screaming for help. I wanted Sanderloo to be alive. I needed my baby girl. I’d like my besties to have better lives. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“Sanderloo knows that, Viveca.” She spoke in a broken whisper. “He says you have to forgive yourself. You were only doing what you thought was right.”
Suddenly, the shame of it all caused flu-like symptoms to sweep over me. I felt nauseous. “I’ve never forgiven myself. How can I? The man I loved is dead, and I will never get to see my baby again.”
Due to my time in juvie, the family court had done a closed adoption and sealed the papers. I let out an uncontrolled moan of pain from the inside of my hollow heart. I wasn’t strong enough to face this. I didn’t have it in me to carry on, or get past it. Not then. Probably not ever.
“How do we stop whoever is out to hurt us?” Mascara ran down the right side of Taddy’s face as black lava.
“He says you have to apologize.” Charmaine’s thin body trembled as she reached for Lex’s arm, pulling her closer, our circle getting smaller.
“Apologize to whom?” I begged for an answer.
“He’s gone,” she said.
“Gone?” I repeated, then bit the inside of my cheek in an attempt to hold back the impatient huff.
“Usually…I’m only able to speak with a spirit…for a minute or so.” Satisfied, she sat back in her chair.
“This is bullshit,” Blake snapped, pursing his lips in thought, an overall tightness consuming his usually gorgeous face. “There’s nothing this nut-job is telling us that wasn’t in the newspaper or on TV when it happened. Hell, Birdie probably told her all of this ages ago.” He stood, hands on his hips. “Are you coming?”
“Sit down, Blake.” Lex reached for him.
He stepped back, turned away, and mumbled, “I’m outta here.”
Hedda yapped.
As we heard the door to Charmaine’s townhouse open then slam shut, Lex, Taddy, and I remained in our seats. I didn’t think I had the energy to walk, even if I tried. I wanted to curl into a ball on the floor and die.
“Now what?” Lex’s plump face etched in confusion.
Exuding calm and focus, Charmaine reached for the notepad and a pen, which were in the middle of the table. “I’m goi
ng to write down some homework for you girls.”
Jotting on the paper, she instructed, “As Sanderloo mentioned, you need to forgive yourself, apologize to his family, and let them know he wasn’t gay-bashing Blake. Clear his name. Hopefully, it’ll reset your karma.”
“His family won’t speak to me. I’ve tried several times to contact them.” My breath hitched. Trembling, I continued, “I’m a murderer in their eyes.” I hated saying this about myself, but it was the truth.
“Start with a letter to his family. They need peace surrounding their son’s death, just like you do. I got the feeling from Sanderloo that they’re just as disquiet over this as you are, Viveca. Do you know where they live?”
Thickness in my throat, I nodded. “In New Hampshire.”
“Did Sanderloo say who is out to hurt us?”
Charmaine’s face reddened.
“Who?”
“Miss Farnworth. Sometimes, when I do a session, I learn things that might be overwhelming for a person to hear. Often, I keep that information to myself.” Her voice was soothing, yet oddly disconcerting.
“Listen, lady, I’ve flown to hell and back in first class.” I licked my lips and swallowed hard, trying not to cry. “I gave my daughter up for adoption after spending half a year in juvie. I’ve tainted and ruined the lives of everyone I love and care about. You can tell me just about anything. I can handle it. It couldn’t possibly get much worse.”
“I’m afraid this person is just getting started,” Charmaine admitted with a rasp of caution in her tone.
“Tell us.” Lex clenched her jaw. “Please, we have to know.”
“All right.” Charmaine hesitated, her ice-like eyes narrowed. “I didn’t get a name. Sanderloo said it’s a person who wants to avenge his death. He says you already know him or her. And if you don’t…he, or she, will be showing their face to you in due time.”
“Oh. My. God.” I cried out in disbelief, looking around the room for some type of lifeline to help. “This nightmare won’t stop.”