The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove

familiar, so“ Lights, camera, action,” a thick southern twang interrupted us. We looked up into the bright-white bulb of a video camera.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” I asked, yanking my dress back down.

Baxter Quinn, dressed all in black, loomed over us with a camera perched on his shoulder. To add to my annoyance at being interrupted, I couldn’t help frowning at the fact that Baxter was noticeably Kate-less. His light hair contrasted starkly with the creepy bags under his eyes. He was heroin-hot, and I could see why Kate would go for him, though he was miles from my taste. He looked like a vampire with that long coat of his flapping lightly in the breeze.

“Now how am I supposed to get the good stuff on tape if I knock?” he sneered. “Anyway, the last time I checked, this library was open to anyone Rex gave the green light to.”

I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms over my chest.

“The rich,” Baxter said, gesturing at Mike. “The royal,” he continued, turning to me. Finally, he pointed at himself. “And the relief.” He opened up his black trench coat to expose a pharmacy’s worth of powders and pills.

Mike nodded at Baxter’s trench coat. “Are you so stoned you forgot it was a costume party?” he asked.

Baxter went to punch Mike’s shoulder playfully, but instead he stumbled into the coffee table and ended up sprawled on the couch. Anyone else, I would have helped to his feet, but since Baxter’s next stumbling fall would only be a matter of minutes away, I decided to save my energy.

“Don’t you recognize my costume?” he slurred at Matt, making himself comfortable on the couch and crossing his legs on the coffee table. “Every dude knows that the best part of Mardi Gras is Girls Gone Wild. Since I dabble in filmmaking, I’m shouldering the task. All the top tits are out tonight.”

I rolled my eyes, suddenly glad Kate wasn’t here. “I didn’t think Rex would give the library liquor green light to such a strung-out drunken pig.”

“Feisty, Nat,” Baxter said, leaning over and attempting to run a finger up my thigh from the couch. I swatted him off.

“Let’s see that crotch shot again,” he said. “Usually, things don’t get that hot and heavy till at least midnight.” He fiddled with the camera to play back some of his footage. “So far the juiciest thing I’ve got from down below is Justin Balmer tripping over his boa.”

“What?” My ears perked up. “Let me see that. What’s J.B. doing?”

“Asking to get punked is what he’s doing,” Baxter said, rewinding his footage to show us. “Someone should cut that kid off. He’s one drink away from being worth the price of admission.”

“You said it,” I muttered as Mike and I leaned down to look over Baxter’s shoulder. The camera was so wobbly that it was hard to see much, but J.B. was definitely making an ass of himself. He was poolside, flashing a sock-stuffed lacy bra he must have borrowed from some Bambi. He was sporting red lipstick and a short leather skirt with fishnets — pretty much the opposite of classy.

My eyes narrowed.

“Let’s get down there,” I said.

Mike nodded, happy for a reason to get away from Baxter. He made a last run for the good champagne.

“Royal road pop,” he said, handing me the refill. “Who knows what the plebs are drinking down there?”

“You sure you don’t want to do one more sex scene for the camera?” Baxter called out. “I could make you big on the Internet.”

“Bye, Baxter,” I said, leaving him slumped on the studded leather couch. “Thanks for the preview.”

On the staircase, Mike and I paused again for another pose in front of the gilded mirror. Why was it that every time I caught a glimpse of myself looking so good, my father’s trashy text flashed into my mind?

I started down the stairs again, but Mike pulled on my hand.

“Don’t stray too far when we get down there,” he said. “Can’t have some masked man swooping in on you.”

“Promise,” I whispered back, glancing once more into his dark eyes.

In the kitchen, we passed the crawfish-boil buffet and the sign above it reading, Bite the Tail and Suck the Head. We paused behind a crowd of guys that had formed in front of the refrigerator. They each had a beer in one hand and a string of beads in the other. They were attempting a very drunken drum roll on their thighs.

“What do we have here?” Mike asked.

“Ask and you shall receive,” one of the guys answered, tossing Mike a strand of beads.

Soon, a line of girls filed in to stand in a row before the crowd. Their hands were poised at the hems of their shirts.

“And. . flash wave!” one of the guys cued.

The girls all whooped, and one by one, they lifted up their shirts in a contagion down the line. When all the lacy bras had been shown off, everyone was rewarded with exchanges of beads and saliva.

“Encore!” the guys shouted.

“Moving on,” I said to Mike, and pulled him out to the tent.

At least the party outside was a step up on the classy scale. A band played old New Orleans blues songs on a rotating stage in the middle of the dance floor. Most of the upper-classmen were getting freaky around the band, holding giant feathered masks up to their faces.

From the bar, Kate waved in her hot-pink negligee. Her hair was in a high braided bun, and she seemed to be the only girl at the party who hadn’t bothered to cover up her face with a mask. Her feathered heels clacked on the parquet as she dashed over to us.

“Don’t you two look all regal?” she asked, giving Mike a once-over and me a solemn nod of admiration.

“We ran into Baxter upstairs,” I said, watching her face light up as she tugged the negligee lower on her hips. I leaned in and cupped her ear. “He looks like he could use a little mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

“Say no more,” she purred, then pounced past us towards the house. I wasn’t sure why she was after Baxter at all, but I was nothing if not charitable to the deserving. I wouldn’t stand in their way. And anyway, I had more important things on my mind. Like finding J.B.

I scanned the rest of the crowd, spotting some senior girls in the far corner. They were serenading each other with massive multicolored boas. It was one big cloud of feathers flying over variations of tight black dresses.

“You want to go dance with the girls?” Mike asked.

I looked around to see what else was going on. I did love to dance, and there was something pretty sexy about everyone being incognito behind his or her mask. But I also wanted to be cognito when Mike ran into J.B.

An unwelcome hand on my ass told me I didn’t have to wait any longer. I spun around and lowered my mask.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” J.B. purred. “I thought you were someone else. A girl I used to know. My mistake.”

I raised my palm to slap him, but Mike was standing right behind me.

“Hands off,” I muttered to J.B.

“C’mon, doll face. Don’t you know flesh is fair game on Mardi Gras?”

“Don’t call me that,” I hissed, my stomach seizing up at the sound of the nickname. “And for the record, my flesh is never fair game for you.”

“Hey,” Mike said, joining the conversation. “Balmer, you are one fugly woman.”

“And you didn’t dress the part,” J.B. said, taking in Mike’s tuxedo. From the self-conscious look on his face, it might finally have occurred to him how ridiculous he looked. “I thought you were going all out with me.”

“Change of plans,” I shrugged, thinking back to what Baxter had said upstairs about J.B. asking to get punked. “You look like you need another drink. Maybe it’ll make you forget how unflattering those fishnets are.” I turned around and spotted a crowd gathered next to the pool. “Look,” I said innocently. “Keg stands. That looks fun.”

“You want to do a keg stand?” Mike asked.

“No,” I said. “J.B. does.”

J.B. looked me up and down. His eyes were glassy and drunk. I couldn’t figure out why I suddenly felt more naked than I had when Mike had my dress hiked up around my waist.