bed and step on
a rubber.
Images of him penetrating me flash through my mind. I re-
member the pressure of his body, the tightness between my
thighs, and gritting my teeth. I didn’t want him to know it was my
first time.
For a split second I am bummed that I have lost my virginity to
84
Playground
a random guy I don’t know. But I rationalize it, telling myself that
I was bound to lose it eventually.
I slip on a robe and stare at the stranger in my bed.
I have to get this guy out of here.
“Hey, buddy, get up. It’s time for you to go,” I say, echoing a
phrase I’ve heard my father use.
He doesn’t flinch.
“Excuse me, whatever your name is! You’re going to have to
leave now.”
The guy scratches his head, barely conscious.
Downstairs, I hear Carmela shriek at the top of her lungs. She
must’ve just arrived. Her footsteps pound in my head as she ap-
proaches my bedroom. She stands in the doorway in a state of
shock.
“Jennifer, your father would be furious if he saw this mess! I
have to clean or we both going to be in big trouble,” she rambles.
I nod at her, excusing myself momentarily so I can go puke in
the toilet.
My parties become a huge hit, their reputation traveling to all the
private and public high schools: Uni, Harvard, Westlake, Mary-
mount, and Brentwood.
Most of the kids who come graduated Beverly years ago. I am
suddenly in “the know,” the bad girl with the attitude and wild rep-
utation. Invites to all the lavish parties, club openings, and hottest
restaurants are all at my fingertips. I no longer need to approach
anyone, return phone calls, or even smile. As a sophomore, I am be-
yond It girl status. I am an L.A. socialite and have become an infa-
mous high school legend.
At one point, I’m chilling on the third-floor patio with my Ray-
Bans, Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, Keds, and a string of green, black, and
pink plastic bracelets up and down my arms. Kids try to schmooze
me, dropping hints about parties they’ll never get invited to.
“There’s a huge bash in Aspen this weekend. It’s definitely the
place to be,” says a guy while passing a dime bag to a friend.
85
J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R
“If Jennifer’s going to be there, then definitely,” says a guy with
spiked red hair, loud enough for me to hear.
I walk down the steps, blowing smoke in their faces. “Little
children,” I say, flicking my Marlboro Light at the guy with red
hair. “You have no idea what these parties are about. Nothing’s
happening in Aspen. Robert Downey Jr. and I are kicking it here
this weekend,” I say with a smile, fucking with them.
86
Eight
Life becomes more exciting when I get my driver’s permit and
Dad buys me a red Mercedes convertible to practice with. He
doesn’t mind that I’m only fifteen; in fact, he think’s it’s ridiculous
that I have to wait, especially since I’m such a good driver.
After school, friends jump in and we cruise the front of Beverly
High singing along to the Go-Gos’ “Our Lips Are Sealed.” I get a
huge adrenaline rush while shifting the gears of my new car. Most
of my same clique of friends from elementary school are glammed
out in culottes, crop tops, and scrunch boots. We paint our faces
with Chanel makeup, hold cigarettes between our fingers, and
perch our arms out the windows.
At Pastels for blended daiquiris, the maitre d’ greets us warmly
and escorts us to our usual patio table.
J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R
“Hello, Ms. Saginor; so nice to see you again. You just missed
your father. Should we put this on his house account?”
“That would be great, Alfredo,” I say, giving him a peck on the
cheek.
After Pastels, we hit the Polo Lounge for more blended
daiquiris and then whiz over to Bistro Gardens for chopped salads
and a refill on the patio.
“It’s almost seven; I have to get going,” Hunter says.
“Dude, you are not going home yet,” I say, exhaling smoke.
“I
a rubber.
Images of him penetrating me flash through my mind. I re-
member the pressure of his body, the tightness between my
thighs, and gritting my teeth. I didn’t want him to know it was my
first time.
For a split second I am bummed that I have lost my virginity to
84
Playground
a random guy I don’t know. But I rationalize it, telling myself that
I was bound to lose it eventually.
I slip on a robe and stare at the stranger in my bed.
I have to get this guy out of here.
“Hey, buddy, get up. It’s time for you to go,” I say, echoing a
phrase I’ve heard my father use.
He doesn’t flinch.
“Excuse me, whatever your name is! You’re going to have to
leave now.”
The guy scratches his head, barely conscious.
Downstairs, I hear Carmela shriek at the top of her lungs. She
must’ve just arrived. Her footsteps pound in my head as she ap-
proaches my bedroom. She stands in the doorway in a state of
shock.
“Jennifer, your father would be furious if he saw this mess! I
have to clean or we both going to be in big trouble,” she rambles.
I nod at her, excusing myself momentarily so I can go puke in
the toilet.
My parties become a huge hit, their reputation traveling to all the
private and public high schools: Uni, Harvard, Westlake, Mary-
mount, and Brentwood.
Most of the kids who come graduated Beverly years ago. I am
suddenly in “the know,” the bad girl with the attitude and wild rep-
utation. Invites to all the lavish parties, club openings, and hottest
restaurants are all at my fingertips. I no longer need to approach
anyone, return phone calls, or even smile. As a sophomore, I am be-
yond It girl status. I am an L.A. socialite and have become an infa-
mous high school legend.
At one point, I’m chilling on the third-floor patio with my Ray-
Bans, Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, Keds, and a string of green, black, and
pink plastic bracelets up and down my arms. Kids try to schmooze
me, dropping hints about parties they’ll never get invited to.
“There’s a huge bash in Aspen this weekend. It’s definitely the
place to be,” says a guy while passing a dime bag to a friend.
85
J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R
“If Jennifer’s going to be there, then definitely,” says a guy with
spiked red hair, loud enough for me to hear.
I walk down the steps, blowing smoke in their faces. “Little
children,” I say, flicking my Marlboro Light at the guy with red
hair. “You have no idea what these parties are about. Nothing’s
happening in Aspen. Robert Downey Jr. and I are kicking it here
this weekend,” I say with a smile, fucking with them.
86
Eight
Life becomes more exciting when I get my driver’s permit and
Dad buys me a red Mercedes convertible to practice with. He
doesn’t mind that I’m only fifteen; in fact, he think’s it’s ridiculous
that I have to wait, especially since I’m such a good driver.
After school, friends jump in and we cruise the front of Beverly
High singing along to the Go-Gos’ “Our Lips Are Sealed.” I get a
huge adrenaline rush while shifting the gears of my new car. Most
of my same clique of friends from elementary school are glammed
out in culottes, crop tops, and scrunch boots. We paint our faces
with Chanel makeup, hold cigarettes between our fingers, and
perch our arms out the windows.
At Pastels for blended daiquiris, the maitre d’ greets us warmly
and escorts us to our usual patio table.
J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R
“Hello, Ms. Saginor; so nice to see you again. You just missed
your father. Should we put this on his house account?”
“That would be great, Alfredo,” I say, giving him a peck on the
cheek.
After Pastels, we hit the Polo Lounge for more blended
daiquiris and then whiz over to Bistro Gardens for chopped salads
and a refill on the patio.
“It’s almost seven; I have to get going,” Hunter says.
“Dude, you are not going home yet,” I say, exhaling smoke.
“I
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