“It is, love,” she answered. “And you two are wearing the most gorgeous shoes I’ve seen since I got out to East Hampton. I adore espadrilles for summer.” I watched as the girls nearly fainted into the arms of their respective Stetler brothers.
“You look amazing,” Katharine told Jacinta reverently, and I watched as several of the assembled girls nodded in agreement. Jacinta walked back up the steps toward them.
“Katharine and Audrey, yes?” she asked. They bounced up and down like eager puppies and nodded.
“You looked divine at Alexandra Fox’s birthday party earlier this year,” she said. “I reposted a few snapshots of you two on the blog.”
“Oh, we saw,” they said in unison.
“It was the coolest thing,” Katharine said. “The coolest thing ever.”
“We took a screenshot and printed it out and hung it up!” Audrey nearly shouted. She was one of those people who gets louder and louder as she gets drunker and drunker.
“I’m so glad you two are here,” Jacinta said sincerely, wrapping them both in a spontaneous hug. Their eyes nearly popped out of their heads as they hugged her back. You would’ve thought God himself had descended from Heaven to embrace them.
We continued on our way down the staircase, with people falling all over themselves to say hello to Jacinta. Those who tried to shake her hand invariably got a hug. She paused and asked about a dozen people how they were doing, and if the food was all right, and did they need something else to drink, and had they tried the Ferris wheel yet? Word rapidly spread through all the rooms in the house that Jacinta Trimalchio herself had made an appearance, and an ever-growing crowd followed us through the house as if Jacinta were the Pied Piper of Hamelin. As we slowly made our way to the back deck, I caught snatches of chatter.
“I heard she’s a distant cousin of Prince William,” one girl said to her friend.
“She’s definitely not American—you can tell she’s trying to hide an accent,” a boy in a peach bow tie said to his date (a boy with whom he was holding hands).
“She’s soooooo thin,” a tiny girl in pink ballet flats said to her friend. “I mean, like thinner than L.A. thin.”
“Her parents are dead,” a drunk guy announced to no one in particular. “She’s this orphan heiress.”
If Jacinta heard any of the comments, she didn’t let on. She was too busy sweetly greeting strangers and telling them how honored and delighted she was that they’d made time in their schedule to come to her little party. I’d never seen someone so obviously rich display so much genuine gratitude. Even in her wig and layers of makeup, Jacinta was the most authentic person at the party.
On the deck, Jeff Byron immediately came over to me.
“I didn’t know where you went,” he said, and something in his voice pleased me. He wasn’t whining, exactly, but he hadn’t been happy about my exit. I liked that.
“Miss Naomi,” Jacinta said, “do you want to ride the Ferris wheel with me?” Jeff looked at her, startled, taking in the unusual get-up and those Cleopatra eyes.
“I’m Jacinta,” she offered, opening her arms for a hug. “And you’re Jeffrey Byron. I’m such a fan of Byron Records. I’m so glad you could make it!” Jeff looked bewildered as Jacinta enfolded him in her arms. When she stepped back, he said, “You’re Jacinta Trimalchio?”
“I am,” she said. “Are you enjoying yourself? Did you like the appetizers? If you’re still hungry, there’s lots of food in the backyard. The grilled lobster is really, really great. And how do you know Naomi?”
“We just met yesterday,” I said. “We have a—friend, I guess, in common.”
“Really?” Jacinta said, her eyes lighting up. “What friend?”
“Delilah Fairweather,” Jeff said. “Do you know her?”
Jacinta’s eyes widened, and she smiled so energetically I thought she might break her own face.
“We were just talking about her upstairs,” she said. “She is my favorite up-and-coming model. I think she’s just absolutely amazing. Jeff, you’re friends with her boyfriend, Teddy Barrington, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Jeff said, looking a little surprised.
“I see you together in photos on Facebook all the time,” Jacinta said by way of explanation. Then she let out another sweet laugh. “Oh God, that sounds a bit stalker-ish, doesn’t it? It’s just that I’ve got to go through all the party photos to pick the best ones for my blog.”
“Trust me, I know,” Jeff said reassuringly. “All the girls at Trumbo are obsessed with The Wanted.”
“I was hoping Delilah and Teddy would come tonight,” Jacinta said. “I was too shy to send them invitations, but I figured if their friends were here. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m sure they were just busy,” I said. “Next time you should send them invitations.”
“I’ve really been wanting to meet Delilah,” Jacinta said, looking out at the Ferris wheel. “I think she’s the next big supermodel. In a couple years, everyone will know her name.”
“And her father may be president,” Jeff interjected.
“Oh, but she’ll be famous on her own,” Jacinta said wistfully. “She’s too good to stay unknown.”
She turned her big green eyes on me, and I watched her hesitate. Finally, she said, “Would you ever have her over to the house, and invite me over, too?”
I was surprised by the timidity with which Jacinta issued the request. You’d think a girl who could summon two hundred strangers to a party wouldn’t be too worried about meeting a new person, especially not a person she’d already praised several times in public on the internet. I was beginning to think Jacinta was something of a Delilah Fairweather fangirl.
“Of course I will,” I said. “Any time you want.”
“Oh, Naomi!” Jacinta exclaimed, wrapping me up in another tight hug. “I would be soooo grateful! I’m so glad we’re friends!”
“Me too,” I said, my voice muffled against her armpit. She was much taller than me.
A horde of excited girls descended on Jacinta then, asking if they could take photos with her, and she graciously obliged them. As they jabbered at her like hyperactive geese, Jeff leaned over.
“It’s the Jacinta Trimalchio?” he whispered without a trace of sarcasm. “I mean, it’s really, really her?”
“It’s really, really her,” I whispered back.
“Wow,” he said in wonder. “I can’t believe she’s real. Any Trumbo girl who missed this party is going to be seriously pissed off.”
My stomach was starting to growl, which always happens when I’ve had too much alcohol. I had determined that several glasses of water and some food were in order, lest I wake up hungover the next day. I’m a real lightweight when it comes to alcohol, and Skags has taught me some tricks over the years to prevent the dreaded morning-after headache and stomach trouble. The funny thing is that Skags doesn’t drink at all, but she says she likes to watch out for her stupid friends. She’s sweet that way.
“Let’s go down to the carnival,” I suggested. “I want to check out the food tents.”
“Oh, you just want me to win you a stuffed animal,” Jeff said.
“I’m a feminist, Jeffrey. I will win my own stuffed animal.”
“Do feminists ever ride Ferris wheels with men they’ve just met?”
“Feminists do whatever they want. That means I’ll see how I feel after I get some grilled lobster in me.”
He took my hand and led me down the stairs, past the lower level of the deck, and into the backyard wonderland of lights and music and delicious food smells.
We ate grilled lobster, grilled corn on the cob, funnel cake (we split one), homemade gelato (I got salted caramel; he got mint chocolate chip), and cotton candy. At the bar tent, we ordered a ginger ale for me and a beer for Jeff, who high-fived Giovanni as if they were old friends.