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NEW YEAR'S EVE
"As if we needed more inspo," Trix says looking up from the floor.
"Sorry, couldn't resist. Got to set the ambiance." I smirk.
I just put on The Lumineers' Flapper Girl. It's a mood, a vibe, an audio aesthetic. Here for it.
"Well, it's appropriate." Trix says, blotting her lips on tissue paper.
"Lumineers are always appropriate." I remind her.
"Ya, ya. We gotta document this, you know. We NEED to get a pic tonight. We can be the new cover art for this song." Trix looks at me in the mirror.
I laugh at her. Meg comes into the room half naked, flaming hot curling iron in hand.
"Yes. Because! It's some New Years Eve rave," Meg screams into her phone. She drops her makeup back and lip-gloss and mascara tubes scatter the floor. "Shit. Shit. Shit."
"No. It's not a 'New Years Eve Rave'," I correct her. Trix laughs next to me, applying her own makeup in the LED mirror on the floor.
"Yea, that was last night!" Trix laughs. "This is so much better!"
"Apples and oranges," I say, blotting my lips.
"Think prohibition meets speakeasy," Trix says to Meg. She's not listening.
"Meets flashy flappers and dapper fedoras." I add.
"God, why do guys look so good in suits and fedoras?" Trix whines.
"Because they look classy for a change?" I offer.
"Classy dudes? What a nice change of pace," Trix says, applying more lipstick.
The remnants of our dinner are scattered on the floor with make up bags and brushes and the strand of pearls about to be around my neck. Chips and guac. That was our dinner. Compliments of the resort gift shop/convenient store hybrid. The chip bag crinkles under Trix's leg when she grabs her eye pallet and the avocado is turning brown already.
"Man, I'm starving," I mumble, clipping the pearls.
"You'll thank me in an hour when the first drink gets you drunk," Trix shrugs.
"Always looking out for me," I laugh.
"Shit!" Meg still screams at her phone, wedging it between her ear and shoulder.
"I still can't believe your dad got us in. I mean it's so exclusive. I can't wait!" Trix rambles.
"I know. It's going to be unlike any other New Years party I've ever gone to." I say. It's true.
"No. NO!" Meg is still screaming into the phone.
"Put the phone down," Katie yells, yanking the phone from Meg's hand.
I look at Trix in shock and she laughs.
"So," Trix says, turning back to me. She watches me straighten the clip in my hair.
"So?" I ask.
"Trav told me you and Brooks shared a room last night," she says.
"Is that a question?" I roll my eyes.
"Just stating the obvious," she shrugs. "Oh come on, Em. It's been months now. First Thanksgiving and now New Years?"
"Want me to name holidays too?" I say, over applying more mascara.
"Are you two dating again or what?" She asks.
"Trix, how many times do I have to explain that we're just –keeping it low key?" I face her. I know she sees right through me.
"Seems pretty high key to me. You're one holiday weekend away from being official," Trix warns.
"Can't have that," I joke.
"Emmy, look. I love ya. And I love Brooks. Hell, I even love you and Brooks together. But just –maybe decide what it is, ya know? Before it's too late." Trix looks back to the mirror. Meg steps into the room again, with her bra and tights.
"I know," I nod.
I know Trix is right. I know normal friends with benefits don't fly cross-country to spend Thanksgiving together or invite them on a romantic couples' weekend over New Years. I know they don't crawl into each other's beds just to be close. No sex involved. That is high key.
Later. I'll worry about it later. I roll my eyes at my self and focus on tonight.
My look is almost complete. And about time as we've spent the last two hours getting ready in the girls' suite (aka Meg and Nate's room). I must say it has paid off.
Trix dons an emerald sequined dress with lacey tights. She's tucked her copper curls into place beneath the black velvet headband tied cross her forehead. A shimmering silver dress hangs on Meg's tiny frame, its odd feathery fringe matching perfectly to her headpiece. She's wearing a small cap topped with deep raven plumage. Katie wears a black shift dress with layered pearls and a matching bracelet.
Then there's me and my extra *sextra* self. I take a step back for a full-length check in the mirror. Gold and blush dress with beaded fringe that sways when I walk. Hemline def not 1920s approved. Black tights. Black heels. Old Hollywood curls pinned into a faux bob. And a black birdcage veil that drapes over my left eye.
Not too fucking shabby.
"Are you guys all ready?" I ask, looking down at the gold invitation on the foyer table.
"Yes," Meg nods.
"Let's go!" Trix echoes.