CURSE CLUB

TWENTY

"I know, but I like being a decent human being. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

He opens the door, and she's waiting right outside, arms folded. Her eyes are rimmed with red, as they usually have been these last couple of days. Hadley can only guess what sort of wild antics she gets up to.

"God, you stink," she says, stepping back, her face pinched in an expression of disgust. "Be glad Mother's not here to see you like this."

"She never comes up here," he says. He glances down at himself, and is unsurprised to find himself shirtless. "Alright. When's she going to show up?"

"Her flight lands at seven. No chauffeur, this time. We're going to have to pick her up."

Gently, he starts massaging his temple. "And we're going to use my Evoque."

"She likes the Evoque."

"Yeah, I know," he says, "Hard to forget, since she got me the damn thing."

"At least you have a car."

"Maybe," Hadley says, walking past her and into the closet to grab a shirt, "maybe if you didn't nearly total every car you ever drove, maybe then, she'd get you a car."

"Touché."

As Hadley bends over to pick up a pair of jeans that looks and smells somewhat clean, his phone starts ringing. He winces at the sudden sound, and turns to look at Philippa pleadingly.

She sighs. "Fine. I'm not even being a decent human being anymore. I'm being, like, basically the best twin sister ever."

"You're the good twin," Hadley says, as she picks up the phone. "I'm the evil twin. It's your job to be a well-rounded individual and have everyone like you while I lurk in the shadows, plotting the downfall of civilization."

"Aren't you supposed to be hungover?"

"Aren't you supposed to be answering my call?"

She rolls her eyes—she has this way of rolling her eyes that makes Hadley's head spin just following their motion, regardless if he's hungover or not—and answers the phone.

"Hello, this is Philippa Bishop Hadley," says Philippa, her voice suddenly nasal, "but my useless brother is too busy being a disappointment to everyone he knows to answer your call. If you'd like to leave a message, uh, go ahead. Right, if I could just know who's speaking." Philippa glances at Hadley. "Hassan Chowdhury, you say?"

Hadley stops wrangling with a pair of jeans, surprised, and looks at Philippa.

"Sure," Philippa says, frowning at him. "I'll just—"

"Give me the phone," Hadley says, holding out his hand.

Philippa hands him the phone, still scowling.

"James Bishop Hadley?" Hassan says. "That you?"

"Yeah," Hadley says. "What's up?"

"David send you that message?" Hassan sounds tired, his voice stretched so thin that even Hadley, through his hangover, can recognize it. "That dumbass sent the same thing to every single one of us. Don't look for me. He sent it to all of us, but Vic got a little 'please' at the end." Hassan sighs, heavily. "Motherfucker."

Something in Hadley twists, and he glances helplessly at Philippa, only to find her watching with that frown on her face.

"Well. I'm going to leave," Philippa says, walking towards the door. "Again, Tylenol and Advil on the table, get your car cleaned for mom, and remember to pick her up from the airport."