No Strings Attached Page 3

  Flustered, Mitch thrust the mirror toward her. “Sure, later maybe. So listen, we’re barbecuing at six, then all sitting down for a house meeting.”

  “Whoop-de-fuckin’ do.” Mandy twirled her finger in the air. “Can’t wait.”

  “C’mon, Sarah. Don’t be snide,” Mitch warned.

  “Hello! Sarah doesn’t live here anymore. There is no Sarah. Think you can remember that?” To punctuate her point, Mandy thrust her extremely shapely leg out and let it brush against his.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, trying not to look. “Just … well, put some clothes on before you come down. Mandy.”

  “Not to worry, Mitch,” she whispered, leaning in to trace her finger down his chest. “I’ll play nice with the other children.”

  She stood the mirror against the wall and unpacked the rest of her stuff. Her CD player, the food scale she brought everywhere, and her most cherished possession: her Scrapbook of Dreams. She stood it up on the night table. It was full of photos she’d clipped from magazines and newspapers—pictures of her quarry, her future. In addition to the Star mag Kennedy candids were shots of famous actors, producers, and directors, people she idolized and had made it her business to meet, people who, Web research had shown, often “summered” on the Cape.

  People like: all the wealthy politicians, and their kin. Like John Kerry, and those ketchup scion sons. And snap, crackle, pop-a-doodle-do, some guy who produces the TV franchise Law & Order was making a movie on Martha’s Vineyard. That was so close, she could almost swim there. And now that she looked so rockin’ in her bikini, maybe she would!

  Mandy was dreamily paging through her scrapbook, tracing make-believe hearts over her favorite movie stars, when her door burst open with such force, it banged against the wall. What the—? The wind? But … no! Oh-my-gawd-jesus-mary-and-joseph—“Heeelp!” she screamed and leaped for high ground. A creature! A thing! Like a bat outta hell, it flew in and skittered across her floor! It looked like the deformed baby of a goose and an elongated rat: long neck, light fur, slimy and slinky and low to the ground. The feral, alien creature squealed and squeaked!

  Mandy jumped up and down as if her bed were a trampoline, and screamed as if her last horror pic audition depended on it. She didn’t stop even when a flabalanche-fat girl appeared in her doorway, calling for the creature.

  Mandy was freaked. She didn’t know which grossed her out more, the fat girl or her stinky—and definitely off-limits—rodent-pet.

  Alefiya Explains It All

  “It’s a rat! Get it out of here!” The redhead with bodacious lung power went flying downstairs with only a flimsy bathrobe to cover her lace lingerie. What a drama queen, Alefiya thought with a chuckle.

  Then, all through the barbecue that Mitch had so thoughtfully put together for their first night, Mandy had complained, whined, demanded, insisted relentlessly. “She brought a mutant rat with her! It invaded my room—it has germs. It stinks! Make her get rid of it, Mitch!”

  Mitch tried to calm her down, but Mandy wasn’t having it. She directed her ire at him, acting as if Alefiya wasn’t even at the table with them.

  “Clarence isn’t a rat,” Ali clarified, chowing down on the potato salad. “He’s a ferret. Actually, a black-footed ferret, which is almost extinct.”

  “Kill it then, and close the deal!” Mandy ramped up her carping. And her whining, adding several syllables to “Mi-I-I-I-itch!”

  Alefiya, who told her housemates to call her Ali, did her best to explain: “I’m really sorry he frightened you.” Mandy wouldn’t even look at her. “He’s just scared too. He hasn’t settled in yet and—”

  “Settle in? Settle IN? He’s not settling anywhere!” Mandy banged her fist on the wooden picnic table. “He’s a filthy rodent!”

  “Not really,” interjected Harper, the girl with the dimples, awesome black and blond curly hair, and skin darker than her own. “Ferrets were bred to kill rats. They’re from the weasel family.”

  “Ha! I rest my case,” declared Mandy, finally turning toward Alefiya, shooting her a look of pure revulsion.

  Ali smiled and shrugged. If she got insulted every time someone looked askance at her, she’d be a millionaire by now. She wasn’t stupid. She recognized knee-jerk prejudice when she saw it, but it didn’t make her angry. At least, not in this case. Mandy, she calculated, was not a happy human being. No one who feels good about herself treats others like that. Maybe Ali would win her over, eventually, maybe not. No way would she play the hate game, or be bullied.

  She doubted she’d get Mandy to accept Clarence as a sweet, curious, and loving pet. So she offered, “I’ll keep Clarence in my room, away from you—is that all right?”

  “No—”

  “Fine.” Mitch raised his palm like a Stop sign.

  “Not fine—!”

  “For now,” Mitch said through gritted teeth, glaring at Mandy. “After dinner, when we’re all here, we’ll take a vote. That’s how it’s going to work, with this … um … issue, and everything else. Now, who wants another hot dog or burger?”

  Ali jumped up. “I do! I’ll help you.”

  In spite of mean-spirited Mandy, Alefiya was crazy-happy. Flipping hamburgers, turning hot dogs, just being here! Already Harper was her favorite. And that Katie! You just wanted to be around her, she radiated light. Mitch had to have the sweetest soul. The house itself oozed with charm. She loved the oddly shaped rooms, the cozy living room, her own slope-ceilinged bedroom.

  The front lawn needed work, and here in the backyard the profusion of wildflowers and weeds could be plucked and replanted. Alefiya envisioned a garden with hydrangeas, impatiens, and maybe she could cajole some roses to survive. For Harper, a vegetarian, she could definitely do a vegetable garden. The poor kid had only eaten salad and bread for dinner. She must be starving. “Do you like tomatoes and cucumbers?” she asked Harper. “Those’ll come up fastest.”

  Harper looked confused, and when Ali explained her idea, she said, “That’s really cool, but why would you want to do that? Isn’t it a lot of work?”

  “Sure, if it’ll buy your ferret-vote,” snarled Mandy, who’d overheard and misinterpreted.

  Ali explained, “I’m all about gardening, growing things. I’m working for a landscaper this summer.”

  Katie came over and, noting Ali’s gray and blue college T-shirt, asked, “Do you go to Tufts University?”

  “Botany major,” Ali confirmed. “At least, that’s what I’m declaring. I have two more years to get my parents to accept that.”

  Mandy mumbled, “If you have two more years, better invest in a much larger T-shirt, since this one, probably triple extra-large, is straining.”

  Katie looked stricken, and Harper looked like she was about to whale on Mandy, but Ali laughed, making a mental revise: Mandy hated her not for being an Indian-American Hindu, but for being fat. She said, “You’re probably right, but that’s okay. I’m fine with the way I look. Maybe you’ll learn to accept yourself as you are too.”

  Mandy glowered. “So you not only look like Buddha, you even spiel that Zen crap. How perfect.” She turned on her heel and stomped into the house.

  Harper balled her fist. “She’s toxic! She needs a lesson in courtesy, and if you don’t want to, I’ll teach her.”

  “Not the best strategy,” Katie countered coolly. “We should back off. If you give people like her enough rope, she’ll hang herself, without our help.”

  “So we should tiptoe around her like we did this morning and let her pop a fresh can of venom at everyone in her path? No way!” Harper contested.

  “You—we—have nothing to gain by confronting her,” Katie asserted. “I’m not saying we should let her step all over us, but we haven’t been here one full day. Let’s see how it plays out. Besides, I bet Mitch will be able to deal with her.”

  Steaming, Harper turned to Ali. “What do you think? Let her hang herself, or do it for her?”

  Alefiya said thoughtfully, “I think the bit
ch has self-esteem issues.”

  Mitch Makes the Rules—Like It or Not

  Mitch intertwined his fingers and cracked his knuckles. Time for the formal meet and greet. Which he’d planned to dispense with over a casual barbecue. But Sarah’s—ahem, Mandy’s—tirade had pretty much canceled that, flat out. Besides, the entire group hadn’t arrived. Joss Wanderman, the first to answer Mitch’s ad, would obviously be last to show.

  Mitch decided not to wait any longer. This was his third summer at a share house, and he knew the drill. He didn’t mind being “rule boy.” It was just like being the RA at his college dorm, a position he was well suited for. He liked managing, imposing order on chaos, being proactive, smoothing things out, and making the peace. He’d been doing it all his life!

  He gathered them in the living room, planted himself on the club chair, and took stock. Katie shared a couch with Ali; Harper, her feet tucked under her, had claimed the recliner (though she sat upright in it); Mandy sprawled out on the other couch.

  These first days always felt like MTV’s The Real World, except these housemates were not handpicked by some producer to live together. This bunch was as random as random gets. As in: Unlike most summer share houses, whose members mostly knew one another, these were the scraps—like the people at a party who don’t know anyone else. You bring them together hoping their one thing in common will be enough to forge a bond.

  It was his first summer as a “scrap” too. In the past, he’d gone in on some cool house with his frat buddies from Harvard. This season was to have been different—only not like this. Mitch had planned to spend it in luxury, at his girlfriend’s house—that is, Leonora’s parents’ palatial spread in Chatham, and without them there. Just thinking of her made his heart race.

  But at the last minute, Lee’s folks changed plans: They were spending the summer in Chatham after all. No friends, male or female: That was the rule.

  Which had sent Mitch scrambling, ending up with this bunch. It was always a crapshoot, though, he told himself. You never knew how things would play out. Often the best of friends came out of the summer bruised and battered, not talking to each other. Maybe the scraps would prove a better mix.

  He glanced at Mandy, already stinking up the room with her toenail polish. And at Harper, fire in her eyes.

  Or not.

  He chose the cute blonde, Katie Charlesworth, to introduce herself first. She had real charisma. He had a good feeling about her. And no, not just because she was obviously well bred and wealthy. He respected Katie for splitting her rent with the clearly less well off Harper Jones. Mainly, Mitch hoped to start this meeting on an up note, and Katie’s smile was dazzling.

  Katie did not disappoint. “I’ve lived in Boston all my life and, starting on Monday, I’ll be working as a day camp counselor at the Luxor Resort. I’m pretty normal, really. No allergies or bad habits—that I know of! And the only thing I’m addicted to is orange juice!”

  “What school do you go to?” Ali asked.

  “University of Pennsylvania,” Katie answered without pause.

  “Yeah, right. I’ll just bet you do, Doogie Howser,” Mandy cut in.

  “Rule number one,” Mitch said in an effort to nip the sniping in the bud. “If you have a problem with someone, come out and say it.”

  Mandy pouted. “She’s a college student like I’m a—”

  “Trash-mouthed ho?” challenged Harper, leaning forward in her chair.

  Mitch quelled the sick feeling in his stomach, although what Mandy said did give him pause. Was it possible she was right about the very young-looking Katie? At this point, it didn’t matter. Who cared if she was totally underage? This had to work out. End of story.

  “What exactly is your problem?” Harper shot daggers at Mandy. “You wanted the biggest room, you chased us out, you got it. Score one for the tr—”

  Mitch started to interrupt, but Harper let it go. Folding her arms defensively, she said, “I’m a New Yorker, I’m a vegetarian, a Democrat, and”—she paused to stare down Mandy—“I go to NYU.”

  Mandy rolled her eyes, and blithely went on with her pedicure.

  “One more thing,” Harper declared. “I’m allergic to the stench of nail polish.”

  “Tough,” Mandy retorted. At Mitch’s glare, however, she closed the bottle. “I’m done, anyway.”

  Alefiya—Ali—went next, energetically describing her summer landscaping job. What was it about her that bothered him? Mitch had no qualms about Katie—or Harper, for that matter. Mandy, he could handle. But this one? He wanted to like her. She was sweet, easygoing, good-natured. She’d been the first to offer help with dinner. Of course, on the flip side, she’d done such a messy job of it, he’d had to spend an extra half hour scraping the grill. A sign of general slovenliness? That could be problematic.

  “Are you going to cook curry?” Mandy asked Ali, “’cause I can’t stand the smell of that shit.”

  Mitch was poised to intervene, but Ali breezily laughed. “I can’t stand it either. No worries.”

  Relaxed, Mitch mostly tuned out as Mandy presented—rather, invented—herself, listening only to be sure Harper didn’t kill her.

  His own well-rehearsed intro consisted of his roots in Boston, without naming neighborhoods; his current status as a senior at Harvard, without noting all the circumstances; and his summer gig teaching tennis at the Chelsea House in Chatham. He mentioned he’d be up early every morning for a daily run on the beach, if anyone cared to join him.

  Mitch craned his neck to look out the front window. No one was approaching. He shrugged. “I wanted to go over the house rules with everyone, but it looks like Joss isn’t going to make it. So, I’ll just begin. Feel free to ask questions.”

  Unsurprisingly, Mandy had the first one. “How come you get to make the rules?”

  He patiently explained again that he’d signed the lease, thereby securing the house, and had taken on the overall responsibility for it. In language Mandy understood, he said, “My ass is on the line here, that’s why.” Besides, he was the only one with share house experience.

  He cleared his throat. “First, the obvious stuff. Drugs. It’s your business, but it becomes everyone’s problem if you do it in the house. So don’t.”

  He purposely avoided looking in Harper’s direction, figuring her—dangling earrings, peace sign, earth-girl—for a potential culprit, at least for weed. But she gave no sign of caring one way or the other. No one did.

  So he went on. “Overnight guests. Again, your business. But too many people in the house invites chaos. We should set some limits—maybe one to a person, two or three per weekend?

  This time, Harper snickered, staring at Mandy. “How many in the starting lineup of the Red Sox?”

  Mandy took the bait. “At least I’ll be having guests.”

  Harper stared at her stonily.

  Mitch jumped in. “Anyway, rule number three: parties. Great fun, bad idea. No matter how much control you think you have, stuff gets trashed, the cops come; if there’s drugs, we’re all screwed. What it means, people, is we end up paying for restitution. And I don’t know about you, but I can’t afford it. Any problems with anything so far?”

  Katie contributed, “I agree. I’ve done lots of weekends, like at my friends’ parents’ homes. And it always becomes this mass event—somehow word gets out, and even though you might’ve invited, like, ten people, before you know it, one hundred are there. It gets to be a scene pretty quickly.”

  Mitch smiled at Katie. An ally. “Now, for the more mundane stuff. Food. You’re responsible for buying your own, so label yours—it’s really bad form to steal, or ‘borrow,’ someone else’s.”

  He avoided sending a “this means you” message to Mandy.

  “Now, money. There’s a landline phone we can share, and even though you all have cell phones, we’ll split the cost for local calls. Anyone calls out of the area, just keep track of it. I brought a laptop, which I can keep in the kitchen if you wan
t. Wireless Internet, for whoever needs it. Anything any of us buys for the house is split six ways. I’ve already bought first aid stuff—you never know when you’re gonna need ’em. I put everything in the downstairs bathroom. Also, the cleaning supplies—”

  Mandy interjected, “Speaking of cleaning? You need to clean my room. The windows are filthy.”

  “Actually, Sare—Mandy,” he corrected himself swiftly, “we’re each responsible for our own room.”

  He’d raised her ire, though whether it was his answer or his near-slip of her real name, he couldn’t be sure. He rushed on. “What your rooms look like is your own business, but the common areas, including this room, the bathrooms, and especially the kitchen, need to be kept clean. To keep it fair, we’ll rotate those kinds of chores. The kitchen is the biggie. We don’t want any kind of insect or rodent infestation.”

  “Speaking of!” Mandy swung her legs off the couch and sat up straight. “I say we get to the rodent issue now.”

  Alefiya blinked. “Clarence is a ferret.”

  Mandy’s face twisted into a clenched fist. “No pets,” she hissed.

  Mitch sighed. “Usually, there is a no-pet understanding in share houses. But the truth is, I forgot to put that in the ad. …”

  The look on the Indian girl’s openly surprised face told him she was not going to volunteer to get rid of Clarence. “So, in fairness, I say we take a vote on whether the … ferret stays or not.”

  Without Joss, and Alefiya of course, the vote was split down the middle: Mitch had to side with Mandy on this one; Harper and Katie were a team. They compromised: Alefiya agreed to keep Clarence in her room—at all times.

  “Until Joss gets here,” Mandy had groused. “Then we’ll take another vote.”

  Mitch remembered one more thing. “No duplicating of keys. Do not give anyone else the keys to the house. Zero tolerance.”

  “I don’t like the rules,” Mandy sniffed, miffed at having to live with a ferret.