Page 76 of Man Hands
That’s a pretty good threat, so Ash and I hug. Then she and Sadie check their lipstick in the reflective surface of the elevator panel. It’s the shiniest elevator I’ve ever seen. They should pass out sunglasses because the glare iskiller.
“Where are we, exactly?” I ask as the car rises foreverupward.
“The VanHeimlich building,” she answers. Telling menothing.
Ash has given me very few details of this party, either because A) she doesn’t know anything about it, or B) she has something to hide. It’s probably that second thing. I can only pray we’re not crashing a wedding. Or a funeral. That would actually be worse. And who throws a party on the top of a downtown officebuilding?
“Why?” I try, because I should really ask morequestions.
“There’s a new bar opening on top of the building. And they just put in some hotel suites for visiting dignitaries. None of it is open yet. This is their private previewnight.”
“Oh!” That actually sounds fun. “Are we invited, or should I prepare a story about how I know the VanHeimlich family?” They’re a family of billionaires who own half of GrandRapids.
“We’re invited. There’s a secret password. Justwatch.”
The doors finally part. I expect to see a lobby or a hallway, so I’m stunned to step out onto…a lawn. There’s grass growing on top of this tall building. It’s heaven! I see a grand water fountain, in which several partygoers are actually wading. And a bocce court! And a beanbag toss! There’s a long maple bar under a sleek awning. And since we’re on top of a building, there are views formiles.
Leaving the house is awesome.Whoknew?
We are stopped immediately by Braht. No—not Braht. It’s his younger twenty-something clone. Same blond hair and blueblood features. Same linen jacket over shorts with lobsters embroidered into the fabric. Same boat shoes and attitude. But this edition is giving Ash a frowny face instead of panting like a dog in heat. “Password, please,” Braht’s Mini-Mesays.
“Wankapin,” Ash repliescoolly.
“Wait.Wankapin?” I chortle. Really—I totally chortled. Ithappens.
But Little Braht gives me an icy stare. “It’s a flowering plant native to the Central Americanwetlands.”
“Wetlands!” Igiggle.
Heglares.
The real Braht comes bounding over, pushes his clone aside, and sweeps his hand toward the bar. “Come in! Come in! Don’t let Bramly slowyoudown.”
“Bramly?”
Hegrowls.
“Is there champagne?” Ash demands, her spine as straight as the VanHeimlich building. Braht has the weirdest effect on my friend. I just don’t understand it. He turns her Bitch Meter right up toeleven.
“Of course, milady. Step rightthisway.”
She sort of sneers at him, and I trail along, admiring the rooftop lawn. The grass pokes my toes through my sandals. I wonder how they mow up here. And can weeds even travel up to the thirtiethfloor?
The bartenders are all wearing white shirts to show off their tans. They’re so clean-cut that it’s distracting. Their teeth shine so brightly I almost needshades.
“Champagne?” a bartender asks, flashing me his gleamingsmile.
I plunk down on a bar stool. “Of course!” I say all hoity-toity like. “I always drink champagne on rooftop lawns,darling!”
The irony goes right over the poor thing’s carefully styled hair. “Comingrightup!”
When my champagne arrives, it tastes phenomenal. Even better—I spot a TV screen over the bar. Though it’s currently dark. “Pardon me, young sir.” I wave down the nearest Ken doll. “Would it be possible for you to tune that television to H&G? My fiancé’s special is on tonight.” That’s right—I’m namedropping to see Tom on the tube. But these are desperate times. “Have you seenMr. FixitQuick?”
Ken Doll has no idea what I’m talking about. But he hands me a remote control with another blinding smile and then moves off to make a Tom Collins forsomeone.
“These bacon-wrapped scallops are divine,” Ash says. She sets a tiny plate in front of me. “Drink up, honey. I got you another glass ofbubbly.”
Life is really good here on the rooftop. Tom’s show flickers to life above me. There’s no sound, but that’s okay. I don’t need sound to admire Tom in his tight-fitting T-shirt, directing the delivery of a truckload of two-by-fours. He hammers a cross-piece to a stud, and when his biceps flex, I feel it in mynipples.
