The Elite Read Online Free PDF Page A

one of Madison’s most and least favorite things about her. And right now, Sophie’s obvious lusting after her idiot ex- what ever was getting on her last nerve.
    Madison sat up, stretched her arms over her head and pinned back her hair while pretending to laugh along, but inside she felt horrible—like she’d somehow slept through the annual sale at La Perla, or lost her favorite pair of silver Manolo sandals. Drew was supposed to be the one guy she could usually count on—so then why didn’t he stay and spend the summer with her? Why hadn’t they run away to Paris and left everyone behind to live in some garret on the Left Bank, surviving on nothing more than stale croissants and love? Why wasn’t he there now, apologizing? Not as if she’d even consider forgiving him at this point anyway.
    Well, at least not right away . . .
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    to
    grandma’s
    house
    we go . . .
    “Casey Anne McCloy! You’re finally here!”
    Casey winced as she walked into her grandmother’s slightly cramped, two- bedroom apartment, sighing heavily as she let go of her suitcases, which promptly hit the hardwood floor like a series of gunshots. She absolutely hated it when anyone used her middle name. It was so outdated and weirdly Southern—especially when it was paired with her first name. Casey Anne . It sounded like she should be one of the fringe characters in Steel Magnolias . And Casey loathed most chick flicks—
    she thought they were totally condescending.
    “Right,” her mother would’ve snorted. “They’re so much worse than those celluloid nightmares from the eighties that you’re so addicted to.” What ever. Casey had perfected the art T H E E L I T E
    of rolling her eyes and stomping off to her room whenever her mother started in with her feminist bullshit—and slamming her bedroom door loudly behind her for emphasis never hurt either . . .
    Elizabeth Conway—otherwise known as Nanna—moved into The Bramford in the fifties, and, as a result, the apartment was completely rent stabilized, which meant that she paid a fraction of the astronomical sums the other tenants in the building shelled out monthly. So, after her grandfather’s death a few years ago, Nanna just stayed on at The Bram. “Why should I go anywhere?” she’d sputter indignantly. “I have my friends and my clubs. You’ll have to carry me out of here in a box,” she’d add smugly, promptly removing one of her hearing aids so that no one could argue with her—and no one usually did.
    Casey looked around the large living room, decorated in shades of ocean blue and white. White rag rugs were strewn across the blond wood floor, giving the impression of sea and sky instead of granite and steel. Plants in colorful ceramic pots were placed on every available surface. One wall consisted of a series of three large windows—shut tightly—and covered with sheer white curtains. Nanna, as usual, was always cold, and didn’t believe in air- conditioning. Great , Casey thought surveying the transparent panes of glass. She was probably going to suffocate in her goddamn sleep.
    “So, how was your trip?” Nanna grabbed Casey’s arm and propelled her over to the soft, powder-blue couch at the speed of light. Sometimes Casey thought that Nanna, at seventy, had 2 7

    J E N N I F E R B A N A S H
    way more energy than she did at sixteen. It was kind of ridiculous.
    “It was OK.” Casey noticed that Nanna was wearing a slightly moth-eaten black cashmere
    cardigan—despite the
    relentless heat—and a pair of white linen pants. Her feet were encased in the black Chanel ballet flats she always wore, and a rope of creamy pearls gleamed in the soft wrinkles of her neck. Her straight white hair was still full, chin- length, and brushed back from her face. A pair of gold bifocals hung from a pearl chain, and the room was thick with the powdery scent of Chanel No 5. Casey loved how Nanna always looked so put- together. “Quality,” she would always say, shaking