Chapter 6
On the other side of the ballroom Kim Renwick watched as the new girl stepped away from the bar, a goblet of wine in her hand.
“What the hell is going on tonight?” Kim said.
She was surrounded by groupies who were more than eager to tell her everything she wanted to hear. But to this question, none of them had an answer. Pauline Wabash, Amy Thayer, Rosalyn Smith, and Andrea Peterson, four girls Kim allowed to hang on her like a cloud of dirt, four daughters of families who pledged their loyalty to Kim’s parents many years ago, and not a one of them knew what was going on.
Useless. All of them, useless. The girls, the lawyers, the consultants, the private investigators, the accountants, the stylists, the designers, the models, hell, even the student interns. More than a decade of planning to get Kim into the ballroom as one of three girls wearing black. Useless!
Not four girls wearing black. Kim was to be one of three, dammit. Kim, the winner. Mary, the girl who only wanted to come in second. Samantha, the girl so desperate for attention she’d enter the contest knowing she would probably die in the end.
And then she showed up. Nicky Bloom. The name rang in Kim’s ears and bounced off her tongue. She whispered it to herself over and over again, listening to the words clatter like a rumbling train. Nicky Bloom Nicky Bloom Nicky Bloom Nicky Bloom Nicky Bloom. What in God’s name was Nicky Bloom doing? Who just walks into the Homecoming ball at Thorndike Academy, having been at school barely two weeks, knowing no one at all, and wears a black dress?
“Who does that?” Kim said. “Who does she think she is? Who does she know?”
“She doesn’t know anybody,” said Pauline. “Her family just moved to DC this summer.”
“She knows someone,” said Kim. “It’s a conspiracy. A goddamned conspiracy.”
“What a stupid bitch,” said Andrea.
The other girls giggled but Kim remained solemn. It would be a comfort to think that Nicky Bloom was some crazy renegade who didn’t know what she was doing, but that wasn’t the case. Kim could tell from that little confrontation in the center of the ballroom. Nicky had looked Kim in the eyes without any fear and said Fuck You. It was the way she said it—there was no bluff in her voice at all. She was inviting Kim to retaliate.
Nobody did that to Kim. Nobody did that to any of the Renwicks, which was precisely why Kim had lost her temper, making a fool of herself in the process.
Nicky Bloom totally played her. She caught Kim by surprise and made her look weak in front of everyone. Then she walked away, knowing full well there was nothing Kim could do about it.
And the way she walked. She moved with the sort of regal confidence that the mothers of every girl at this party tried to teach their daughters. It was something you either had or you didn’t. You can train a girl to glide across the floor with a book on her head, but you can’t train her to move the way Nicky Bloom did. That girl walked like a winner, and people noticed.
Nicky was wearing a vintage Francesco dress, the sort that was all over the Paris runway in the late sixties. It was the kind of look Kim wanted for herself. Vintage. Classy.
The god-damned stylists had told her not to do it.
“You’re not a throwback, Honey,” her stylist had said. “You’re cutting edge.”
And while it was undeniable that Kim looked outstanding in her ultra-modern see-through print, she couldn’t help but wonder if the immortals would prefer the more classic style of Nicky’s outfit. Especially Sergio. Tonight was the only chance any of them got to be in front of Sergio. If anyone at the party sensed that Sergio had taken a liking to Nicky rather than Kim….forget it.
The more Kim looked at her, the angrier she became. Nicky had a weathered look about her that matched her style. Freckles on her arms, a cream-colored sheen to her legs, a hardness to her body.
Whereas Kim was the product of a daily regimen at the gym, Nicky looked more like a girl who liked to play outdoors. She looked rugged. She looked real.
No, Nicky Bloom wasn’t a stupid bitch at all. She was just as prepared for this contest as Kim. She’d been preparing for it for years, in secret. She was a ringer brought in specifically to ruin Kim’s night and her presence had changed everything.
“This new girl is here to defeat me,” Kim said. “Someone powerful is behind this. Someone who wants to take me down. But who?”
“Yeah, who?” Andrea echoed.
Who? was a silly question, practically rhetorical. Everybody in Washington wanted to take down the Renwicks. It came with the territory. They were the top of the pyramid, at least among the humans. That position made them a target, but it was nothing the family couldn’t handle. On the contrary, the reason the Renwicks were on top was because everyone knew not to mess with them.
Kim’s parents began scouting out potential competitors fifteen years ago, when Kim and the other girls now standing in this ballroom attended the high-end preschools of the world. By the time Kim was in fifth grade, her parents had the names of twenty girls on a list. The prettiest, wealthiest little girls in the world, girls who might land a spot at Thorndike and think they were worthy of wearing black to Homecoming. They were girls who fit the profile. The Renwicks went down the list, one by one, and made sure anyone who had a real shot at beating Kim chose not to enter. They arranged ambassadorships, cabinet posts, and golden parachutes for the parents who agreed. For those who didn’t, they arranged for a knock on their door from the IRS, or a few pictures of naked children on their hard drive.
“Word is there’s something going on with Nicky and Ryan,” said Amy.
“Ryan Jenson?” said Kim.
Amy nodded.
“How come I didn’t know this?” said Kim.
“Because until just now Nicky was the new girl who wore cotton slacks and denim shirts and nobody cared,” said Amy.
“And Ryan ceased being somebody a long time ago,” Pauline added.
Of course. Of course Ryan Jenson was involved. If anyone at the school had an axe to grind with Kim it was Ryan. Fortunately, he was a problem easily resolved. Kim had been holding the goods over Ryan’s head since freshman year. She’d have to make sure she got a dance with Ryan tonight so they could have a little chat.
“What time is it?” Kim said, having neither a watch nor a cell phone to check. Dangling gold earrings and a matching pendant were the only accessories her stylist had allowed.
Rosalyn’s outfit included a watch precisely so she could answer this question for Kim. “Eight fifty eight,” she said. “Dancing begins in two minutes,” she added, as if any of them needed a reminder of the night’s agenda.
Kim’s mind was spinning now. Nicky Bloom, Ryan Jenson, the dance, the year ahead – she would have her dad get to work on Nicky’s whole family the minute the dance was over, but even that wasn’t soon enough. Nicky Bloom was already here. The Homecoming Masquerade had started. Sergio would come out later to dance with the girls wearing black. Somehow, she needed to ensure that Sergio’s first impression of Nicky Bloom was a poor one.
“Rosalyn, you’re done drinking for awhile,” Kim said. “Your next glass of wine won’t be until ten o’clock.”
“How come?” Rosalyn asked, or rather, whined.
“I’ll explain later,” Kim said, now looking around the room at all the guys. The scheme brewing in her mind required help from a boy. It was too obvious a ploy to have Rosalyn act alone. Somehow, the incident she now imagined needed to look like it was Nicky’s fault.
Who among the guys would be most eager to help?
Her eyes stopped at Art Tremblay, the former pipsqueak who had turned into quite the little he-man. Art Tremblay, with his protein shakes and three-a-day workouts….the loser had always been desperate to break into the most popular tier at school. He would love the opportunity to do Kim a favor.
“We don’t want to act too soon, but we’ll need to get moving before ten thirty to make sure we nail her befor
e Sergio comes out,” Kim said.
“What are we going to do?” Rosalyn asked.
“We’re going to watch as Nicky Bloom accidently spills a glass of wine all over her vintage Francesco dress.”