Chapter 36
36
June 9
I’m standing at the curb in front of my building, carry-on luggage in hand, the evening sky dark above me. A car honks twice. Someone shouts.
The city is humid and groggy. A group of girls with vivid eyeshadow stumbles my way. Their loud chatter dissolves into whispers as they glance at me, recognition flickering in their eyes. I shield myself with my hand, grinning.
I pull up my phone and refresh my feed, clicking through the Belladonnas’ profiles. Not a single post about a trip. A clandestine mission.
Angelique’s been posting daily updates of her baby bump. She’s in her second trimester, her stomach bulging just slightly over her clothes. And she looks as radiant as ever, smiling confidently with pearly veneers, snaggletooth long gone. I send a heart to her as a heavy black vehicle stops in front of me.
A bald man wearing a black suit climbs out of the driver’s side. He lumbers, big and menacing. “Chloe Van Huusen?”
My heart patters in my chest as I nod.
He opens the back door. “I’m here to pick you up.”
“Oh! Okay. Thanks.”
He takes my luggage to the trunk as I make my way into the vehicle. The floor is covered with a soft beige rug. The seats are stitched from luxurious leather, equipped with neck and ankle massagers. The car door closes automatically, city din dulling to a hum behind the tinted windows.
Instinctively, I whip my phone out to take a selfie, wanting to share this opulence to all my viewers who live vicariously through me.
The driver’s slate-gray eyes latch on to mine in the rearview mirror. “You can use your phone but no photos. Miss Melniburg’s orders.”
“Sorry!” I squeak, putting my phone down.
The car starts with a low, almost undetectable vroom . City lights zoom past the window.
“Where are we heading?”
“Teterboro Airport.”
“The one for private jets?”
“That’s the one.”
I sit back in my seat, biting my lip with excitement.
A private jet. Best trip ever.
The driver pulls up right next to the airplane. And I mean right next to it.
One step, I’m on tarmac, another, I’m on a red carpet leading up the jet.
They do the briefest security check—no TSA agent verbally accosting me to take out my laptop and liquids—before my carry-on is stowed in the luggage compartment and I’m allowed to board. The whole time, I’m itching to take a photo. This is such a wasted opportunity.
When I step onto the plane, high-pitched shouts of “Chloe!” ripple through the air, battering my eardrums. Eight Belladonnas have arrived before me. They look almost identical in their soft gray sweatpants and tank tops. I’m out of place in my jeans. I must have missed a memo.
Bella Marie stands where a flight attendant should be. Unlike the rest of the Belladonnas, she’s dressed in a loose baby-blue dress and welcomes me with open arms. Though she’s barefoot, she still towers over me, with her chin hitting my temple. Her hug is perfumed with honey and citrus, her hair smells like salt and the beach. When we part, I’m captivated by her bright smile and crystal-blue eyes. She slides her impossibly soft palms down my arms and clasps my hands as if she cherishes my fingers.
“I’m so glad you could make it, darling.” The way she says darling is music to my soul. I haven’t seen her in person since the event—she’s always jet-setting around the world—but the way she locks me in her gaze convinces me we’re the closest of friends. “Enjoy your bubbly and have a seat.” She takes my Birkin and hands me a glass of fizzy champagne.
“My bag?”
“We’re stowing it for the ride. Is there something you need?”
“My phone’s in there.”
“There’s no signal in the air.”
“I downloaded White Lotus to watch—” Then I remember. No devices! Technology cleanse! Yay! “Never mind.”
She smiles and gestures toward the back where I presume my seat is. The jet’s interior is sleek and beige, accented by tortoiseshell and glazed wood.
I say hi to all the Belladonnas, who are seated near the front of the plane, gathered in a cluster. The seats aren’t arranged in rows, but like a lounge or a conversation pit. Their heads pop up like gophers with perfect beach waves as I walk through the aisle.
“Chloe.” The sound of spearmint gum smacking between teeth. Kelly twirls a lock of black hair between her fingers.
I still can’t tell if she likes me or not, but I decide to match her energy. “Kelly.”
“Chloe, I love your new hair,” says Emmeline.
I had lightened it to a warm chestnut shade. “Oh, thank—”
“Yes, yes, just love the new hair,” adds Ana.
“Perfect with your skin tone,” says Sophia.
“You can’t say that, Sophia. Don’t you know it’s racist?” Lily says.
“Is it?” Sophia asks.
“It’s not—” I begin.
“Yes, it is,” Lily says. “I’m a mother to a minority. I know this kind of stuff.”
“I don’t see race, only foundation shades,” Maya says. I’m not sure if she’s joking, but I am sure that she’s had more lip injections since I last saw her. “You look like a 23C Warm. Have you had a chance to try the newest One Drop foundation line? We have over fifty-six shades. Very inclusive for every person. I think I sent it to you last week.”
It weighed fifty-eight pounds. I borrowed a cart to haul it into my apartment. “I received it in the mail, but I haven’t gotten the chance to use any.”
She bats her long fake eyelashes, her blue smoky eyes shimmering. “Oh.” She returns to her conversation with Sophia and Lily. They chatter. Something about engagement and click-throughs. Then a ripple of sparkling laughter, a secret joke.
I’m left standing in the aisle, champagne in hand, attention pulled away from me like a slap. I push the feeling aside and make for an empty seat near the back of the plane.
Angelique is sinking into her plush airplane chair, the brown seat belt loose against her bulging stomach. A glazed table is between us. An opened bottle of champagne and a skinny glass, wet with condensation, sit on Angelique’s side.
She waves. “Oh my god! Chloe!”
“Hey! How are you?” I ask.
“Just trying to make myself comfortable.” She smooths her palm over her stomach. I notice her heavy-handed coral blush and I wonder if she’s trying to obfuscate the green peeking through on her cheeks. “I’m sooooooo eager to get this over with.”
“Are you sure you should be going on this trip? You don’t look well.”
Her expression twists, utter shock and confusion spreading through her lips.
“Sorry,” I blurt, feeling like I said something wrong, though I’m not sure what.
“Isla!”
The Belladonnas turn like flowers attracted to the sun. Iz appears with a large black tote bag slung over her shoulder. Her curly hair is tied back in a scarf, her brown eyes wide as she scans the jet.
The Belladonnas welcome her with a raucous chitter. With their faces turned away, I can’t tell who’s speaking.
“Isla, nice to see you!”
“Oh my god! Isla!”
“Isla, congrats on half a mil!”
“Yes, congrats!”
“The algorithm gods are just eating up your content.”
“One million in no time!”
Iz seems overwhelmed as she nods and smiles. Bella Marie exchanges her bag for a glass of bubbly. Iz takes the seat beside me.
“Looks like everyone’s already gotten a few drinks in.” She sips her welcome champagne. “Better catch up.”
I nod, downing my champagne as well. It tickles my throat. Angelique tops off our glasses with golden liquid, then fills up her own. Iz and I share a surprised glance.
“Should you—” Iz starts.
“A glass a day is A-OK. My mom drank all the time and look how I turned out!” She giggles. “And this is basically juice anyway. Totes kosher.”
Something slams shut, rattling the jet. Conversation ceases. Bella Marie steps into the aisle. I think it’s the dim lighting of the plane, or maybe the alcohol swimming in my veins, but her movements are uncannily fluid.
“Darlings, I am so excited to welcome you to our yearly retreat.” Her voice is a delicate thrum, at a volume where I strain to hear. “As in the years before, this trip will be an opportunity to reconnect with our true selves, to recharge away from the distractions of technology. I hope this trip brings you all a greater sense of relief and inspiration. Please remember, darlings, everyone on this plane today is a safe space. We do not judge. We listen and we share.” She smiles. “We are family.”
“We are family,” the Belladonnas coo.
Iz glances at me with a dumbfounded smile.
“Without further ado…” Bella Marie smiles and turns to knock on the cockpit door.
The engine starts, loud and sharp.
Iz raises her hand. “Can you tell us where we’re going now?” Thank god for Iz. She’s the only one who can ask questions and get away with it.
Bella Marie smiles. “My home.”
“Home,” a Belladonna hums.
Iz arches a brow. “Which is… France? Moscow?”
“No, no, no, darling. It’s in the Caribbean, near Saint Marten. One of our islands is there.”
“One of— Like, a whole island? Just for yourself?”
“It’s why I asked you to keep this hush-hush. You know how people get when it comes to private islands.”
“Owning land is, like, a cancellable offense these days,” Ana says.
“We’ve grown too comfortable criticizing people for being affluent,” concurs Emmeline.
Iz glances at me again. I avert my eyes.
“I appreciate everyone’s discretion and sensitivity in this matter.” Bella Marie looks at Iz. “I can’t wait for you to see what my home is like. Before you know it, my home will be your home too!”
“Well,” Iz says with a shrug, “I do like the sound of that!”
“With that said,” Bella Marie exclaims, “strap in and get ready for takeoff!”
The whole plane cheers as the jet creeps toward the runway. Everyone buckles their seat belts except for Bella Marie, who retrieves a tin from a bar cart. The Belladonnas dip their manicured fingers in, each one plucking a pill and slipping it on her tongue. Bella Marie arrives at our end of the plane. Angelique takes a pill without being asked, a smile curved into her lips as she pops it in her mouth like a mint.
Iz straightens. “Should she be…”
Bella Marie smiles wide. “She’s an adult. She can do anything she likes. And these pills are totally safe.”
“Safe?”
“Totally.”
“Very safe!” someone chimes.
“The safest,” adds another.
“See?” Bella Marie offers one to me. “Totally safe.” Her eyes hold me hostage. Would Chloe take a pill without asking? Everyone’s staring, their attention pulling at me like a rope. I have to take the pill, or else they’ll be suspicious. I can’t get caught, not now.
My fingers wrap around the plain pink pill. I place it on my tongue. Before I can chew on it, it melts into something sweet. Like grape candy.
Bella Marie turns to Iz, the last two pills outstretched.
“I don’t take drugs I don’t recognize,” Iz says.
Bella Marie smiles. “Oh, they’re barely anything. Nothing pharmaceutical. You know I’m a strict advocate against the medical-industrial complex.”
“No, thanks.”
“But everyone else took one. Do you not trust us?” Bella Marie asks.
“It’s safe,” says Angelique, palming her tummy.
“You can trust us,” says one of the girls.
“We are a safe place,” adds another.
“We would never harm you.”
Their smiles are radiant as they giggle with one another.
“I can take one first if you’re unsure.” Bella Marie pops the pill on her tongue, closes her mouth, and swallows. She sticks out her tongue again. “See?”
She shoves the tin toward Iz.
Iz shakes her head. “I really don’t—”
“We’re not leaving unless you take one.” Bella Marie’s voice pitches lower this time. “This is your week to be free. Let go of all your worries. You can’t tell me you haven’t had drugs before, Isla Harris. Have fun !”
The tension in the plane swelters.
“Do it!” someone says.
“Do it!” adds another.
“Do it!”
“Do it!”
“Do it!”
“Do it!”
“Do it!”
“Do it!” I accidentally say.
“Do it! Do it! Do it!” we all chorus.
Iz glances from me to Angelique. She sighs heavily and takes the last pill. Swallows. Sticks her tongue out. “Happy?”
The whole cabin erupts in claps and cheers. I’m clapping too, the energy is infectious.
“You passed!” Bella Marie wraps her in a hug.
Iz frowns. “What?”
“It was a placebo pill. Just sugar.”
Iz’s jaw drops open. I resist doing the same.
“We all did this during our first trip,” Angelique says.
“A silly team bonding exercise,” Bella Marie says.
“You were faster than Sophia’s first time,” Kelly says. “She tried to open the emergency exit before she finally gave in.”
Bella Marie’s eyes drift to the ceiling, reminiscing. “Ah. The memories.” She twirls to the front of the plane. “Now that everyone has passed, let’s take flight!” She presses a button and “All Too Well ” by Taylor Swift plays through the surround-sound speakers. The Belladonnas belt out lyrics like Jake Gyllenhaal personally affronted them, pale forearms dancing in the air as the jet takes off.
Iz is clearly still in shock, and I am too—though I can’t show it.
Instead I grab the champagne bottle and offer it to her. She heaves one last sigh before taking it by the neck and drinking straight from the spout. The foamy alcohol sloshes onto her chin as she pulls the bottle away with a sigh. “Fuck it. Let’s party!”
The whole cabin cheers.