by Ward, Susan
She smiles, and I nod.
She makes a silly face. “Good, let’s have fun.”
The valet opens my door and I step out. Crap, it’s packed tonight. Loud music pours outside from the building. A long line is waiting down the block. Even paparazzi. Something must be going on in the club. Thank God Zoe got us on the VIP list.
I strut toward the front of the rope line. Instantly eyes from every direction follow me in heated stares. Tonight I hate it. I want green eyes following me in a loving stare.
I wish Bobby were here.
He’s been gone less than a week and I can’t believe how much I miss him. Thanks a lot, Chrissie, for ruining my life. But then, Mom is beyond comprehension of late. First she takes away the Tahoe trip, then my keys, grounding me from my car—thank you, Alan, for whatever you told her—and then she lets me go out with Zoe, but sets a curfew at 1 a.m., when I’ve never had a curfew before.
Way to go, Chrissie, if your goal is totally confusing parenting. I’m surprised she didn’t shove a family condom at me before I left.
Two weeks apart from Bobby is going to be torture.
The interior of the club is a crush of bodies. We are let into the upstairs lounge, the private section above the dance floor, and find two vacant spots on a dark red leather sofa against the glass viewing wall.
Zoe drops down beside me. “I love being up here. We can watch everything, and have the guys drool and not be able to get to us.”
The way she says that makes me laugh for the first time tonight. “You do look amazing.”
She beams. “Yep. I do.” Her gaze shifts to the waiter closing in on us. “And the serving guys here are freaking hot. What do you want to drink?”
My brow crinkles. “I don’t want to drink tonight. It’s no fun to drink when I’m not with Bobby.”
She wraps her arm around me and gives me a shake. “Come on, Kaley. I’m the DD and you need to lighten up.”
I order an appletini.
An hour later, I’m on my third, we’ve been laughing nonstop and done more than our share of dancing, though I’ve only danced with Zoe because it didn’t feel right to dance with a guy other than Bobby. Not that we haven’t had guys prowling after us and they definitely watch when we throw shapes on the floor, but we’ve been in our own private zone and it’s been fun just whooping it up with Zoe.
I smile at her over the rim of my glass. “Thank you for being such a good friend.” I crinkle my nose. “You were right. I needed to go out and have fun. I’ve just been so damn down lately.”
Her pretty face clouds with understanding. “Are you feeling better?”
I make a slight pout. “Not really.”
“Well, that’s because your glass is empty,” says a deep male voice and I turn in time to see a guy drop down on the sofa beside Zoe.
She arches a brow. “Excuse me. Did I say you could sit there?”
I stifle a laugh, but not a smile. It’s amazing how much more confident she is lately.
The guy drapes his arm across the back of the couch until his fingers are nearly touching my bare shoulder. “Beautiful girls shouldn’t be alone.”
Zoe tilts her head, staring at me, and we both roll our eyes.
He leans around her and points at my empty glass. “Let me order you another one. I’m Lucky, by the way.”
“Lucky?” Zoe smirks.
He shifts his gaze to me. “Lucky Richter.”
He says that as if his name should mean something, but it doesn’t to Zoe—and she’s more plugged in to the Hollywood scene than I am—and it means even less to me.
“I’m with the band,” he says in a way that conveys he realizes his name means nothing to us. He fixes his eyes on me. “I’d really like to dance with you.”
“I don’t want to dance,” I say coolly.
“Oh, you want to dance with me.”
Oh crap.
“I’m looking for a girl for a video,” he says slickly. “A music video. I think you’d be perfect, but I want to see you dance first.”
Persistent and trying to impress me. Band comment—nope, that one didn’t strike pay dirt with us the way he thought it would. Name drop—well that was a bust. Artfully cultivated pickup stare—not bad, but not interested. Music video—just plain lame.
I wonder if girls fall for any of that.
“I don’t want to dance. I don’t want to be in a video,” I say firmly.
“You’d make piles of money,” he presses. “In six months, you could be the hottest video girl in LA.”
“Really? Six months?” I say that as if I’m impressed. “Crap, and here I thought doing the college thing was smart. That takes four years.”
His eyes flash briefly before he tucks his annoyance behind a wolfish leer. “Don’t mock me. I make things happen.”
Why can’t he just go away like everyone else with a soft brush-off? Time to ditch this guy as quickly as I can.
Before I can say anything, Zoe does a wide-eyed clueless look and says, “Are you really with the band?”
His eyes shift briefly to her and he nods.
“How?” she asks in overinflated excitement.
He frowns. “How what?”
“How are you with them? Marriage or domestic partnership? Or are you their bitch?”
I laugh—rapid zinger from Zoe so unexpected.
I adjust in my seat and stare through the glass. “We’re talking and I’d appreciate it if you gave us our space.”
He grins. “You’re drinking. Have one drink with me. I’m sure if we talked I could convince you to come to the set tomorrow.”
I ignore him and make a show of checking the time on my phone. Crap. It’s after midnight. Chrissie wanted me home by one, which is so lame.
“Let’s go, Zoe. I really need to hit it.”
Zoe finishes her mineral water and nods.
“You didn’t give me your name,” Lucky says quickly.
I smile. “That’s right. I didn’t.”
He starts fishing through his pocket. “Let me give you my card.”
I don’t take it. “No. Really, not interested.”
We start making our way toward the stairs and, fudge, he’s close behind.
Zoe leans in to me. “That jerk is stalking us,” she whispers, annoyed. “I don’t want him following me out to my car and getting my plates or something. You know if he’s a creeper he can find us that way.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not stalking us. He’s not going to get your plates. I’m sure of it. But if he follows us to the door, I’ll get a bouncer to bounce him away from us.”
Her eyes widen. “How can you be sure?”
I pause at the bottom of the stairs and jut my chin toward the landing above. “Because he’s already running his I’m with the band, let me put you in a video game on another girl.”
Zoe turns and then she crinkles her nose. “What a slimeball. And definitely not very selective. She looks like—”
“Caroline,” we finish in unison.
We laugh and turns toward the exit.
Oh crap.
We can’t even get to the doors.
A solid wall of bodies blocks the path to the exit as they crowd near a booth between me and the only way out of here. What the hell is going on? There’s a noticeable stir above the deafening noise of the band. I wonder who’s sitting there. It’s after midnight. It’s an elite rockers’ club. It must be someone with how electrified the chemistry of the room is.
Crud, they’re in my way.
Great. Freaking great.
“Oh crap, how do we get out of here?” Zoe says anxiously.
I frown. “Maybe we can get around it by going through the dance floor. You lead. I’ll follow. I’ll keep a lookout for the creeper.”
“No, you lead. I’ll follow. You’re the better dancer,” Zoe teases and then makes a face.
I start making my way through the bouncing throng of people moving in time with the thumping bassline
and shifting in and out of focus in the flashing lights. I take two steps forward and then spring back to avoid getting hit. I see a narrow space to cut through. Good, nearly out of here. It’s swallowed up before I can get there.
I’m knocked several steps off my feet by a flurry of limbs, I stumble, and then turn. Crap. What happened to Zoe? I ease up on my tiptoes trying to see above the crowd. God, where’d she go? Nope, can’t see her.
I try to move toward the stairs and the bodies push me back the other way. I scan the crowd. I’ll never spot her in this.
I feel a hand on my hip…thank God…then it moves to my butt cheeks…oh no…and I whirl. Fuck, it’s the creeper. How did he get next to me on the dance floor? He grasps my hips and starts moving his body into me.
“Get your hands off me,” I scream, trying to break free, but he’s suddenly all hands, clutching and pulling and holding me against him.
I try to escape, but he’s repulsively strong and pulls me full-body against him, flattening me against his parts and giving me the feel of him with his moves. The feel of him is nauseating.
“I have a boyfriend, you asshole!”
He flattens his hands on my behind and lifts me up against him. Yuck. Enough. I lift my heel from the ground, ready to impale his foot with my Jimmy Choo, then all the bodies start to move so rapidly I can’t keep up.
“Get lost. Now. Before I decide to help you leave,” a low, raspy voice snaps, somehow heard above the thundering music. “I’m taking you home. Now.”
I’m released so abruptly the world spins and my mind can’t keep up with the shifting patterns in front of me. “Fuck off,” I scream at the creeper.
Lucky skedaddles away.
Breathing heavily to steady myself, all at once I become aware of a sudden unnatural hush surrounding me.
Then I see what everyone is staring at.
My thoughts race off in a dozen directions.
Oh fuck, that’s Alan.
Did he really just save me from the creeper?
I was doing fine on my own.
Those black eyes start burning in to me and my body covers in prickles. Damn, he’s pissed. I didn’t scream fuck off at him, but by his expression I can tell he thinks I did and he is furious.
This is freaking humiliating. Reality smacks me in the face with sudden clarity. I just created a scene in the middle of a packed club with Alan Manzone. Yep, there are already cell phones out catching this Kodak moment on video.
I want to drop through the floor.
This is going to be awful.
“Does your mother know you’re here?” he snaps.
Nervously, I babble the first words in my head. “Does my mother know you’re here? Better question.”
OK, that was a little funny. Not even a smile. Shit!
He gives me the stare. “Do you have a car?”
Why is he studying me that way? Oh great, he thinks I’m drunk. Nope, not doing this concerned friend of the family routine. You want to act like my father, admit you are my father.
“Zoe drove. I’ve had my keys taken away for two weeks. Thanks for telling my mom about me borrowing your car the other morning.”
He rudely lets amusement show in his eyes.
“Borrowing? Interesting choice of words. And I didn’t say a word to your mother. I said I wouldn’t and I didn’t.”
Another lie. My temper explodes. “Bullshit. I don’t believe anything you say.”
“We are leaving. Now. I’m taking you home.”
He tries to guide me toward the exit and I stand rooted in place. “I’m not leaving without talking to Zoe.”
“You can text her from the car,” he says coldly.
Shit. I can’t disappear and leave without her. That’s like an unwritten girl rule. She’s my best friend and she’ll hate me forever.
“Why do you have to always ruin everything?” I say dramatically, hoping he’ll relent.
His face remains impassive. Somehow he forces me out of the club without ever putting a hand on me, and we’re on the front sidewalk before I know how we got there and Zoe is in the freaking club without me.
He gives his ticket to the valet.
I whirl on him. “You don’t have any right to tell me where I can go or what I can do.”
“That’s enough, Kaley. You’re embarrassing us both.”
“Fuck, you are such an asshole. Don’t you get it? You just embarrassed me in there.”
“The only one to create a scene tonight was you, Kaley. And there is no way in hell I was going to leave you in a place like that alone. Do you even have a clue what could happen to you, drunk, in a place like that?”
“Place like what? Someplace you’d go? Zoe and I like to hit clubs. Dance. Even Mom wouldn’t freak out about that. We don’t do anything. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Then I’ll ask your mother when I get you home, and if I’m wrong, I will apologize.”
I cross my arms and turn so I’m no longer facing him. “Don’t bother. You’ve already ruined my night enough.”
His car rolls to a stop in front of us at the curb. A Porsche this time.
Alan crosses to the valet to get his key and waits outside the car until I climb in the passenger door. The attendant closes the door behind me, and Alan puts the car in gear and pulls away from the club.
I take my phone and rapidly message Zoe the 411 on my sorry state of affairs. I stare at the screen, willing her to text back. I’m going to worry until she does.
“I’ve always cared about you, Kaley. Don’t expect me to stop now. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s not what I intended. I was concerned.”
I look up to find his gaze intently on me. How does he have the nerve to say that to me after the confrontation in Ian’s kitchen?
I turn to stare out the window. “I’m surprised you’re still in LA. You haven’t been around for days. I thought you’d split California.”
He downshifts. He doesn’t look at me. “I’m here for good. Moving back to Malibu.”
I check my phone. Crap, Zoe. Let me know you’re OK.
“We’ll probably be running into each other out in the clubs more often,” he teases.
I roll my eyes.
“What’s happening with you and my mother?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll let you know when your mother tells me.”
I count to ten inside my head. Enough with the glib, charming comments, Alan. It’s not going to make this any less dreadful or awkward.
We drive the rest of the way to my house in silence. He pulls into the driveway and parks.
I open my door.
He stops me with a hand. “Before we go, is there anything you want to ask? Anything you want to say to me?”
Everything inside me starts to boil. Really, he wants to talk now? I climb from the car, intending to run into the house, but then I stop. No. No. No. He may be irrelevant to who I am, he’s proven that the last eighteen years, but he isn’t to Khloe, and if he is not going to be in her life he better stay the fuck away.
I lean into the car. “Yeah. I have some things to say. Don’t do to my sister what you did to me. Don’t come around Khloe if you don’t plan to be here. Stay the fuck out of her life if you’re only going to walk once you get bored. Don’t fuck her up the way you fucked up me.”
I slam the door in his face and hurry up the walk. Just inside the front door, Chrissie pounces on me.
“What’s going on? How did you end up with Alan? Why were you yelling at him?”
My mouth drops. Is that really the most important thing here, Chrissie? Why I am yelling at Alan?
I stare at my mom, shaking my head. “How about: is everything all right with you, Kaley? Which it isn’t. Because Alan just made me cut out on Zoe without telling her, humiliated me in front of about a gazillion people—I’m pretty sure the video’s being uploaded on the Internet as we speak—dragged me home like a little girl, and I’m pretty sure just cost me my only frien
d. Do you really think I want to discuss Alan at this point, Mom?”
Chrissie’s face reddens. She stares at me, confused pucker in her golden brows, and looks like she doesn’t know what to say.
Nope, not waiting for her to figure it out.
I hurry down to my bedroom.
I check my phone.
Zoe: I’m fine. On my way home. R u OK?
Me: I didn’t want to leave without you. I’m sorry. R u mad?
Zoe: No. Totally stunned. Fucking unreal. Everyone was jabbering about it at the club. I saw it all as it went down. I can’t believe the creeper snagged you on the dance floor. What a jerk. It was sort of cool how Alan went all apeshit and made him leave. Your instinct comment. Definitely get it now. Yep. Pretty fucking unbelievable. But kind of sweet. I can’t see my dad doing that. Ian is so clueless and non-confrontational. Wait. Light changed. Gotta drive. Text u when I get home.
Alan and Mom’s voices grow louder in the front entry—crap, what is he telling her?—and I shut my door.
I flop back on my bed and cover my face with my forearms. My door opens and I sit up to find Chrissie’s blue eyes sparkly with anger sharply on me.
“You’re grounded,” Chrissie announces, stunning me with her attack out of nowhere. “Two weeks. Not just the car. Everything. I suggest you put the time to good use to rethink a few things. I don’t care if you think Alan embarrassed you. I don’t care if you’re angry about it. You have no business being in West Hollywood at Velvet Jones and he did the right thing. He hauled you out of there. He did what I’d do. So if you’re angry at him you are angry at me. Get over it.”
Slam.
CHAPTER 21
Ding.
I roll over in bed, rubbing my eyes, and reach for my phone. I swipe it open, noting the time—it’s freaking 6 a.m., Zoe—and then see the message.
I sit up, wide awake.
Bobby: Go into your driveway.
Driveway?
My heart rapidly accelerates. I must have texted Bobby a dozen times last night after the Velvet Jones incident, and he ignored every text. Now he thinks he can send me a vague message like that, blow by everything I probably typed too rapidly, shouldn’t have said to him, but hit send on anyway and in honesty kind of regret.