The Christmas Orphans Club(26)
seven
Hannah
Christmas #7, 2014
The elevator opens directly into Theo’s apartment.
Holy shit.
I thought that only happens in movies. I turn to Priya and see my shocked expression mirrored on her face.
We’ve heard Finn recount his visit to Theo’s ad nauseum over the last year, the apartment getting nicer with every retelling. I assumed he was exaggerating, but realize I owe him an apology.
Priya and I stand glued to our spots outside the elevator gaping at the enormous Christmas tree taking up most of the foyer. It looks like it was plucked from a department store window. The tree is wrapped in rainbow lights and dotted with quirky candy-colored ornaments. A stick of butter, a hot-air balloon, a glittery pink roller skate. Clumps of silver tinsel, the kind my mother objected to on account of the mess, are heaped on its branches.
Finn comes skidding around the tree, eyes wild, and almost knocks off a hot dog ornament with his elbow. He grabs my arm. “You’ll never guess who’s here!”
“Okay, then tell us,” I say.
“It would have been so much better if you guessed. But get this—Clementine Del is here!” He bounces on his toes waiting for our reaction.
“The singer?” Priya asks, confused.
“Yes, the singer! Here! In the living room! She’s even prettier in person. Theo knows her!” he gushes. Only a genuine celebrity could eclipse Finn’s excitement over seeing Theo again. Good thing we skipped the guessing, or we would have stood in the foyer all night. Her music is a little too bubblegum for my taste—in her most memorable music video she’s unironically dressed in a pink tulle gown in a life-sized replica of a Barbie Dream House—but I’m still impressed she’s here.
He leads us down the hallway and into the living room where, true to Finn’s word, Theo and Clementine Del are sipping cocktails on a cobalt velvet couch while Nat King Cole croons from a record player in the corner. Clementine, dressed in black-and-white polka-dot palazzo pants and a cropped yellow sweater, looks at ease here. Her sky-high gold platform heels are cast aside beneath the coffee table, and her white-blond hair is twisted into a messy knot held in place by a pen. When we walk in, a throaty bark of laughter explodes from her like Theo just told a particularly bawdy joke. She grabs his arm as she cackles.
Theo pops off the couch when he notices us, somehow every bit as excited to talk to us as he is an actual pop star. “You’re here!” He gives us both a double cheek kiss while Finn settles back into an armchair opposite the couch.
Despite the occasional selfie shared by Finn, my memory of Theo faded over the past year, or maybe the camera dulled his chiseled bone structure. His hair is longer, too, the ends curling around his ears like one of the Stark brothers on Game of Thrones. It suits him. I’m surprised to realize his good looks go toe-to-toe with the woman sitting on the couch, who if I’m not mistaken is a spokesmodel for any number of makeup and fashion brands.
“First order of business is cocktails,” Theo says. “Clem made margaritas!”
“Not very festive, but it’s all I know how to make! Unless anyone wants a shot of whiskey, I can make that, too. I’ve spent too much time on the road with boys. That’s all my band drinks.” Her voice is familiar from her songs. Her newest single, “Queen of Hearts,” is currently inescapable, playing in every yellow cab, Duane Reade, and coffee shop across the city on what feels like a constant loop.
Theo pours two margaritas from a crystal pitcher on the sideboard.
“Okay, introductions,” he announces.
Before he has a chance to start, Clementine focuses her attention on me. “Wait, I know you.”
“Me?” I point at myself and then glance over my shoulder to see if there’s another famous person standing behind me. The way tonight is going I wouldn’t be surprised.
“You know . . . her?” Finn asks, his voice dripping with shock.
“Yes, you brought me a tea. Didn’t you?” Clementine asks, oblivious to Finn’s incredulous tone.
Technically, she’s correct. I brought Clementine a mug of chamomile tea when she came into the radio station last year to do an interview with Elvis Duran, the host of our morning show. Over the past three years, I’ve brought all manner of beverages to every type of celebrity at the radio station: a Diet Coke for Katy Perry, a Red Bull for Snoop Dogg, a venti mocha Frappuccino for Ed Sheeran. Most don’t bother to say thank you, and I can count on one hand the ones who ask my name. I certainly didn’t expect Clementine Del to remember me a year later. I’m instantly won over by the gesture. “Um, yes. At Z100, right?”
“I knew it! I never forget a face. Names are another story, though. Remind me of yours?” Clementine unfolds herself from the couch and reaches out her hand to shake.
“I’m Hannah.”
“Lovely to meet you. Again, as it is.” She rolls her eyes at her own forgetfulness. “Everyone calls me Clem.”
“Clem,” I parrot back as I shake her hand.
“And this is Priya,” Theo jumps in. He throws an arm over Priya’s shoulder, while her mouth hangs open as she struggles to process this evening’s unexpected turn.
“Lovely to meet you,” Clementine says. She collapses back on the couch, tucking one leg up underneath her.