So now Jacqui had a better plan: She would do a great job for the Perrys this summer so they would recommend her as a live-in nanny for one of their rich friends. That way she could move to New York City for her senior year of high school and go to Stuyvesant, an elite public school in the city, through their foreign-exchange program. If she did well there, she'd have a chance to attend NYU and make something of her life. She had Eliza's friend Kit to thank for putting the idea in her head when they'd hung out together in Palm Beach over winter break. He'd told her about his older sister, who hadn't done a lick of work at school until senior year and was now a freshman at NYU.
In order to make her dreams happen, Jacqui had made a bunch of new rules for herself, the most important being No More Boys. They were just distractions, and if Jacqui had been able to resist the temptations of the cutest guys in Brazil, she could definitely do the same in the Hamptons. She was going to keep her head down, take care of those kids, and attend an SAT prep class on her nights off. God help her, she was going to show the world she was more than just an empty-headed Gisele clone.
She perused the pages of the guidebook: There were photographs of sweater-wearing coeds sitting on green lawns, and an endless array of statistics concerning minority enrollment, merit scholarships, and alumni testimonials. Okay, so it was just a
17
teensy bit boring. Surely there was something else she could do while waiting. She slammed the book shut and looked at her watch. Eliza was due to pick her up in a half hour, and Scoop looked awfully inviting across the street. Just because she was getting serious about school didn't mean she couldn't indulge in her favorite extracurricular activity, did it?
A girl's got to have a new bikini, after all.
18
eliza learns that hell is made for famous people
"YOU GOT ANY EXPERIENCE WITH NIGHTCLUBS?" ALAN
Whitman asked, once the three of them were seated on plastic-wrapped leather club chairs in the back of the room. He had barely glanced at the resume Eliza had handed him. To Eliza's chagrin, her chair made a squishy, sticky sound like an embarrassing bodily function whenever she moved. Thankfully, neither of the guys seemed to notice.
"Not specifically," she replied. "But I'm really eager to learn. I read in the Times that you guys are looking to expand into publicity, marketing, and upscale lifestyle branding, and that's really where I see myself making a--"
"Do you know any celebrities? High-profile people?" Kartik interrupted with an intense look on his face as he put the tops of his fingers together in an upside-down V-shape without his palms touching.
"Uh ..." Eliza said warily.
"Like Jessica and Ashlee? Or the Perry twins?"
19
"Of course, we went--I mean, we go to school together," she said, relieved.
"Who doesn't? But that's good. Because we really need that kind of crowd here," Kartik said, frowning. "There are five new nightclubs opening this summer, and we need to have the hottest people here. I don't want to see has-beens, nobodies, fuglies. I want to see Mary-Kate Olsen puking in the bathroom, if you know what I mean."
Eliza nodded.
Alan hooted. "Damn, Kartik, don't be so hard on her just because she blew you off!"
His partner ignored him, boring his eyes into Eliza. "I can't tell you how important it is to get someone in here who recognizes everyone from Tara Reid to Page Six reporters. You've got to know the scene." He paused meaningfully. "We had a kid at Vice who didn't let JC Chasez in! I mean, I know it's hard to recognize those 'N Sync guys without Justin, but man, did I hear about it then. You know, when it's kicking, this place is going to be like Beverly Hills, SoHo, and Saint-Tropez combined, but on the beach to boot!"
Eliza didn't bother to point out that Saint-Tropez was on the beach.
"It's a real demanding position. You're like the quarterback driving up the lane," Alan interjected, mangling his sports metaphors. "Every night in Seventh Circle is going to be the center of the freaking universe, you know what I mean? That's the
20
way we operate. Like a freaking constellation of stars!" He slammed his fist on the zinc-topped coffee table.
"Here's the deal," Kartik said pompously. "This place is all about celebs. Without celebs, we don't get the mooks who pay the thirty-dollar entrance fee to gawk at 'em."
Alan nodded wisely, adding, "Overpriced, watered-down, six-ounce cocktails taste that much sweeter if Chauncey Raven's at the next table fondling her new husband. So, invite the Perry twins, give them a table, make sure it's one up on the second level where they can see everybody and everybody can see them. Keep. The. Celebrities. Happy. Dig?"
"Anything they want, anything!" Kartik said, picking up the refrain, and it dawned on Eliza that she was watching a carefully choreographed song-and-dance routine. "Lindsey Lohan wants a pizza from Domino's at 3 A.M.? Done! Avril Lavigne needs a private helicopter back to the city? Done! R. Kelly wants a stripper for his birthday party? Double-done!" He punched the air to emphasize his point.
Eliza nodded briskly. At the magazine, during a celebrity shoot, she'd once had
to fill a toilet bowl with gardenias every time the diva went to the bathroom, so she was used to catering to a set of ridiculous demands.
"Of course, the rules change for civilians," Alan said in a silky tone. "If it's a group of guys, double the drink bill--they'll never notice. Keep the tables turning, unless they've reserved it for the entire summer, and in that case, keep the five-hundred-dollar