Chapter Text
It’s been a week since Drea and Eleanor peppered their respective campuses with Drea’s bright pink revenge fliers. Drea tells Eleanor they were “reliably sourced” from a “generous benefactor,” which sounds to Eleanor like some kind of bribery, but she doesn’t care quite enough to inquire further. If Drea is getting free stuff from somewhere, by all means, continue getting free stuff.
The first client that Drea has managed to procure is an NYU junior; tall, blonde, and way too attractive. Her name is fucking Rainbow (rich-crazy-white parents, one has to assume) and she has recently been cheated on, and then dumped, by one Richard Huntington III.
(“Dick,” Eleanor says gleefully, the first time Drea tells her this. Drea throws a pen at her head.)
Richard (Dick) and Rainbow had been together for eight months before she found out about the several women he had also been seeing. Not just sleeping with–actually dating, with like entire separate personalities, Rich and Ricky and Rich and even Dick (Eleanor cackles at that, and Drea searches for another pen). He had whole lives with these girls, anniversaries and memories and dreams for the future.
Rainbow found out when he gave her his phone to make them dinner reservations (“He couldn’t fucking do it himself?” Eleanor asks.) and saw three text notifications pop up in succession to three different nicknames about three different dinner plans. The fight was huge and dramatic and ended with Richard somehow accusing her of cheating, before kicking her out of their shared apartment and making melodramatic several tweets and Instagram posts about her betrayal. Rainbow had to scramble to find someone to stay with, and by the time she made it back to Richard’s place to get her stuff, he had burned it all. What kind of man is starting bonfires in New York City?
The whole thing is fucking absurd.
The advantages of lesbianism, Eleanor thinks. Not having to deal with these clown men. Then she remembers her horribly dramatic unrequited Situation with Drea and shuts the hell up.
Advantages of lesbianism my ass.
Especially when she and Drea are crammed into Drea’s tiny dorm bed, Eleanor against the headboard and Drea sprawled out on the other end, laying over Eleanor’s shins. They’ve been spitballing about revenge schemes, which so far have included everything from murder to blackmail to threatening notes under his front door, but have yielded nothing practical.
Eleanor glances over at Drea’s laptop, open in the corner of the bed, and Drea has an Amazon cart filled to the gills, total in the hundreds.
“Dre,” she says, “aren’t we doing this whole shindig because you don’t have money?”
Drea looks up at her from her spot on the bed, laying on her stomach with her feet kicked up like some caricature of a schoolgirl. Her gaze is fucking mesmerizing, framed by her eyelashes all the more at this angle, and Eleanor almost has to shield her eyes.
“Well we need to invest, Nora,” Drea answers. “We’ll never get anywhere if we don’t have some starting capital, that’s like, Business 101 or whatever.”
Eleanor can barely hear a word she says. Drea’s sweater has fallen off her shoulder, and Eleanor thinks she might go insane if she catches a glimpse of even one more inch of her fucking shoulder. She feels like a boy in middle school who can’t do his schoolwork due to feminine shoulder distractions. Except, ya know, she wasn’t made up by the administration to enforce their misogynist dress code.
“Anyways,” she says, snapping herself out of that haze before it escalates further, “I think we need to go simpler. I’m pretty sure we don’t need…what the hell do you even have in there. ‘RC Drone with Altitude Hold and Drone Headless Mode Quadcopter Excellent Drone’?”
Drea snaps her laptop shut. “You never know. We might. And I–”
“Don’t tell me you’ve cut some kind of deal with Mr. Bezos, my brain just might melt.”
“No one can cut a deal with Jeffrey. I’m pretty sure he hates every human being on Earth.”
“Definitely true.” With her laptop shut and full attention on Eleanor, Drea’s eyes are even more fucking captivating. Eleanor’s been silent too long. Drea gives her a Look.
“So what did you mean by ‘simpler’?” Drea asks. “Simple has never been my thing.”
“And I know that, fair lady,” Eleanor responds, in some kind of mangled British accent, jumping out of her gay stupor and right back into their rapport. “Not really ‘simple,’ per se. Perhaps just less Amazon-based.”
“Ooooh, color me intrigued,” Drea says, sitting up across from Eleanor.
“Multiple identities for multiple girls, right?” Eleanor says, back to normal. She feels something like sparks shoot up her spine, and her gaze goes intense as her lips curl into a smile. “So what if we follow through on that genius idea?”
***
Eleanor slips back into revenge planning way too easily–like it’s a second skin. Fits just right, like the old Yale sweatshirt she stole from Drea in a moment of weakness. Comforting, in some strange way.
She suspects she’s always been like this. Her parents used to tell her stories about her bargaining for a later bedtime, or hiding the other books in the classroom so her first-grade teacher would read her favorite, or switching the lunchboxes in the cubbies so she could blame it on the one kid who kept glaring at her during storytime.
(Even at her lowest, in those months after camp when most girls at school wouldn’t even make eye contact with her, she tried to catch herself in these tricks. Like–ha! Gotcha! You got up to pee, so now you have to shower (you haven’t in a week); all part of my master plan.)
Eleanor has tried to give it up, move on, but God, if it doesn’t feel good to get back into it, coming up with the craziest, most unhinged intricate shit imaginable and then figuring out how to make it all work.
“Are we bad people?” she asks Drea.
“Who gives a fuck,” Drea answers, tapping away on her laptop.
So she’s sure it’s fine. It’s fun, to be quite honest with you, and it’s not like it’s hurting anybody, really. Just boys.
Just Dick.
After an extremely helpful message from Rainbow regarding Richard’s contact information, the pair of them are currently signing one Richard (and Rich, Rick, Ricky, Dick, Dicky) Huntington III up for every email list they can get their fucking hands on. Colleges. The fucking CollegeBoard itself. Every stadium, concert venue, and convention center they can think of. Starbucks, Dunkin, Coffee Bean and goddamn Tea Leaf. And dozens more, anything that comes to mind.
“Here’s a list–10 worst bulk email newsletters,” Drea says, not looking up from her computer.
“Add ‘em to the pile!” Eleanor cackles. She is in the process of signing Ricky up for every NBC newsletter for every major US city. It’s a long list.
Drea’s phone chimes from where it’s sitting on her dresser, and Drea leaps up to grab it. “Fucking bingo!” she yells, grabbing Eleanor’s water bottle on her way back to the bed. “Rainbow came through!”
She turns her phone around to let Eleanor see the goods: Richard’s social security number, credit score, annual income, address–fucking everything.
Another Rainbow message pops up: Have fun, girls!!! :)
“Men are so stupid,” Drea says.
Eleanor winks at her before opening several banking tabs on her laptop. Trust me Rainbow, we will.
***
In the end, their bounty is as follows:
97 email lists, guaranteed to cumulatively send out an email a minute.
Several nearby Jehovah’s Witness and Scientology groups, recently alerted to a potential new member who is very interested in learning more.
5 new credit cards, distributed among Rainbow’s friends and acquaintances.
And $1000 in Drea’s Venmo account at the end of it all.
(“Fifty-fifty,” Drea says, already using what Eleanor has dubbed her ‘law school voice.’
“Well you printed the fliers and scouted out our clients,” Eleanor shoots back.
“Yeah but you came up with the credit card idea,” Drea argues. “That’s pretty much priceless.”
Drea’s brows are raised in that specific way that means that she’s having fun, arguing with Eleanor. Her eyes are bright. God, Eleanor has a thing for her fucking eyes.
“Seventy-thirty,” Eleanor says, knowing it won’t hold. “Final offer.”
“Sixty-forty,” Drea counters. “And that’s my final offer.” And her lips curl in that wicked way.
“Deal,” Eleanor says. She puts on her fake-serious face, eyebrows scrunched and nose upturned, and offers her hand as if for a handshake. Drea takes it. Eleanor holds on for dear life, just to feel Drea’s palm under her own for as long as possible. Her hands are slightly smaller than Eleanor’s, carefully manicured, dreadfully soft.
Drea drops her hand. Relief and devastation.)
All in all, a pretty good deal.
***
The bass thumps through Eleanor’s spine as she shifts into a new arrangement on the couch, leg bouncing at supersonic speed. Drea’s hand comes to rest, burning, on her knee.
“You good?” she asks, more with her eyes than with words. Eleanor can only nod.
They’re in someone’s apartment, some friend of Rainbow’s (she wants to say Cloud, actually? Maybe Cumulonimbus? It would keep with the theme, at least.) and Eleanor feels like she’s going to melt into the couch.
It’s a fabulous party—no expense spared. Drinks and decor and all kinds of drugs all generously paid for by Dick Huntington. Or Rich, or Ricky, depending on who you ask. Eleanor’s got a cup in her hand still, probably some kind of vodka mixture, and she’s pleasantly tipsy.
The issue is: Drea has been inching closer to her on this couch for the past twenty minutes.
They’re talking to someone who Eleanor knows is named after some kind of insect and who is endlessly fascinating; she talks in an impossible to place drawl that might be Deep South or might be Valley girl, but either way, makes her story about getting lost in the mall looking for the pretzel stand especially invigorating. Miss Insect has just found the large display map in the food court when Drea’s shoulder nudges against hers. It is fucking annoying, primarily, because Eleanor is deeply invested in this pretzel chronicle and Drea’s stupid shoulder is warm against her own.
“And then, the map, like, disappeared,” Miss Insect continues. “And I was like, whoa, what? That’s not supposed to happen. It started showing me, like—” (here she takes a long sip of her drink, which is something bright green) “—ads for bath and beyond works and shit.”
“Bath and Body Works,” Drea mutters, clearly also enthralled.
“But then,” Madame Bug says, “I turn around and see—shit.” The huge crowd in the other room has gone suspiciously silent. “What’s happening in there, I wonder.”
“Chrysalis!!!” someone calls from the other room, and Chrysalis ( Chrysalis ) stands up, whispers “to be continued…,” and bows graciously before stepping into the other room.
“Damn,” Drea says, face dangerously close to Eleanor’s neck. “I really wanted to hear what happened next.”
Eleanor nods slowly, not wanting to disturb Drea, who has lodged herself far too close to Eleanor, before slowly turning her head so they’re face to face.
It’s too much. Drea’s eyes—drop to her lips? Or has that drink hit her harder than she thought it did?
A glass suddenly shatters in the other room, snapping Drea to attention as Eleanor jumps a foot in the air.
“ Jesus fucking Christ,” she says, putting down her drink to run her hands through her hair. Drea’s eyes hazily track the movement. Eleanor stands and pulls Drea to her feet beside her before they both warily stalk into the other room.
There stands Richard Huntingfuck III, in all his wretched glory. He looks like he’s been sobbing and running a marathon simultaneously. He is also the culprit of the broken vase on the floor, flowers and water scattered around in a puddle at his feet.
Rainbow’s in the corner, her eyes wide and head down. The rest of the room is silent, sick with tension, eyes cast down and hands fidgeting. Eleanor feels Drea go rigid beside her, her spine straightening to full height (all five-foot-two of it).
Before Eleanor can say a single word, Drea steps forward, her boot clacking heel-toe on the hardwood.
“I think you should leave,” she says simply.
Richard huffs out a laugh. “And why is that, sweetheart?”
“You’re clearly not wanted,” Drea answers. “Or invited. And you’re just generally ruining the vibe. So I’d have to recommend that you leave. Now.”
Richard’s single laugh grows into a full-on chuckle. A chortle, if you will. Rainbow looks up at the sound, hands still intertwined.
“She ruined my life,” Richard—no, Dick says, pointing at Rainbow. “She ruined it.”
“And I’m sure you did much worse,” Drea smiles. “So I’ll have to ask you again. Please leave.”
Dick takes a halting step toward her, then another. “Or what, sweetie. You’ll put me in time out?”
Almost instinctively, Eleanor steps out in front of Drea, chin up. She’s taller than him, she notices, by at least an inch or two.
“I don’t think you want to know what she’ll do,” she says lowly. “Or what I will. I’ve got your mommy’s phone number, Dick. And the dean’s. Do you think they want to know all about your little adventures? And God knows what else I could come up with.”
Dick steps back, hands fisting at his sides, crunching the glass under his feet. He stares up at Eleanor as the room holds its breath, before turning towards the door. “Bitch,” he mutters, and Drea would’ve run at him if Eleanor hadn’t been there to stop her, arm around her shoulders. The door clicks resoundingly behind him.
The room explodes into cheers, applause sounding through the small space as everyone exhales at once. Eleanor spots someone—cloud girl?—cleaning up the glass as Rainbow bounds into view.
“Thank youuu,” she croons, clearly wasted, kissing them both on the cheek. “Fuck that guy, right?”
“Fuck that guy,” Eleanor and Drea say in unison, glancing up at each other with matching smiles when they realize. Rainbow kisses Eleanor’s forehead before gliding off to lap up water from the kitchen sink.
Someone puts on Fergalicious and the night escalates from there: everyone screaming the lyrics, bass pounding, floor shaking, neighbors yelling through the ceiling to turn it down. Drea’s hands end up on Eleanor’s waist, burning through her thin button down, and all Eleanor can remember is color and light and warmth, ending up sinking down into Drea’s bed because her own is too far away, (“the entire 1 away, Dre, the red one—” “Yeah yeah yeah yeah, Nora, just lie down.”) and Drea’s bed is comfy, all old worn blankets and Drea, and she’s sure she’s done something embarrassing but she doesn’t know what, and maybe right now she doesn’t need to care. Drea’s bed is soft, and so is Drea, and there are hands back on her waist as she fades into sleep.
***
The credit cards are cancelled the next morning. But Eleanor wakes up to an email notification that her RC Drone with Altitude Hold and Drone Headless Mode Quadcopter Excellent Drone, courtesy of everyone’s best friend Dick, is on its way.