“What?” I cut him off, not believing what I was hearing.
“I just figured you were hormonal.”
Okay, first off, it so wasn’t his business if I was hormonal or not—which I totally wasn’t, by the way—but that was just plain rude. I don’t care if he was going to write my application essay himself and deliver it straight to the Dean of Admissions. Milo was being a jerk.
“I think I’m done,” I said, pushing the last few fries away.
“You sure?”
I nodded. “Positive.”
He shrugged and grabbed my remaining fries and shoved them into his mouth before getting to his feet. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t want to hesitate as I let myself into the house. Milo had given me a pep talk before he drove past the gates, about being the best I can be…no, wait, that’s the army. I mean, he told me I didn’t need JT to be with me. Which I know was true, because I’d done amazingly well in seventeen years without him. But still…I’d checked every phone line in the house, checking the missed call numbers and all the voicemails before running upstairs in case my cell phone was acting up and I’d missed a message somewhere.
I checked all my emails.
Nothing.
Not a word.
’Course, I needed to think more like a guy, if that was at all possible. To him, it would probably be no big deal. Guys didn’t care about this stuff, especially the supposedly bad boys like JT. He was intensely proud of his past; where he’d gone and what he’d gone through to be where he was today. Like breathing.
The last thing I wanted to do was stick around home, feeling sorry for myself. So I grabbed my car keys, scribbled Dad a note that I’d gone out for a while, and headed for the garage.
I hadn’t meant to show up at JT’s.
I’d gone out for a drive, a little window shopping. Get myself a sundae from Ben and Jerry’s and to pick up a couple of pieces from Rico’s.
I hadn’t meant to take the scenic way home.
Way scenic, actually.
I took a chance he’d still be in L.A. and not have made the trip out to Malibu for some reason.
I sat in his parents’ driveway, leading up to the gates, thinking the smart thing, the wise thing, the what-I-really-needed-to-do thing, was turn my car straight back around and go home like a good little girl.
Keyword being good.
Except right then, I wasn’t really into good.
I looked at the address on the ripped piece of paper I’d found to write on in my wallet, then back at the gated house again. Rolling down my window, I leaned out to the intercom and pressed the button. “Hello.”
Great, I sounded normal. I was afraid I’d either sound timid or like an animated cartoon character hopped up on helium. Who didn’t want a girlfriend who sounded like that?
“Gate’s open,” JT’s voice replied.
Right. I slid out of park and watched as he appeared at the front of the house. I really wasn’t about to go charging through the gates (new car + paint damage = unhappy Daddy) and I didn’t want to rush out of the car, either.
He must have figured that out as he came jogging towards the gates and hit a button on the other side. In one steady motion, the gates retracted enough for me to go through. I coasted inside and parked in the semi-shade of a palm tree and waited.
Before I could open the door and step out of the car, he was already heading my way.
Way too late to zoom out of the driveway like my sudden case of nerves were demanding.
I rolled my window down the rest of the way, taking a quick second to check I didn’t have a hot fudge mustache or goatee going. How attractive would that have been?
“Hi.”
Okay, so it just happened there was a copy of the tabloid lying oh so casually discarded on the passenger seat to my right, my purse next to it.
A girl had to get her message across somehow, right?
I didn’t want to sound like the typical girl, all why didn’t you call, but I figured this totally warranted some kind of a why moment. I was about ready to ask did you see…?
But he was already leaning in the open driver’s window.
“So you saw, huh?” he asked as he swiped the magazine and began thumbing through it as he stood back up.
“Couldn’t miss it.”
You know, what between the cake, autographing the magazine for Sorche, and then Trish’s copy and Milo taking a photo of the moment to capture it for eternity. I totally wanted to steal the camera and delete it, but I didn’t want to hurt Trish’s feelings.
He opened my door, and I stepped out, following him back around the side of the house.
“How about we play for something?” JT grabbed the basketball he’d no doubt abandoned when I pulled up.
“Like what?”
“You win, you’re officially my girlfriend. I win…”
I sighed. “You make it sound like I need a title or something.”
“You don’t?” He arched an eyebrow. “First, you were obsessed over the official use of the term date—”
“Hey, you were the one practically stalking me like I was your next meal,” I countered.
He laughed as he tossed the basketball in my direction. “What do you say? Unless you’re afraid of a challenge?”
Ha! As if. Not likely. I was more likely a little more afraid of making a fool out of myself. Basketball was not where I excelled. And Google had told me JT was great at it, even playing in some Hollywood Celeb charity games.
“Chey?”
“Deal.” I was glad I wore my sneakers and not a pair of my heeled sandals, like I usually wore.
I dribbled the ball like I knew what I was doing, and he looked half-impressed, so I knew I must have been doing something right. Nonchalantly, I brushed past him, did one of those moves I suddenly remembered from one too many gym classes, and watched the ball bounce off the backboard.
Just once, could I have done something cool and slightly impressive and have had it go in?
The karma gods were so against me.
JT grabbed the ball, a smile on his face. “Good try.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
Might as well just brand a big L on my forehead right now, because there really was no way that ball was going through that hoop; well, thanks to me, anyway.
I tried my best to block him from going to the net, which honestly didn’t do much but cause that amused smile of his to cross his face as he easily sidestepped me and sent the ball whooshing through the net.
“Nice one.”
“Thanks.” He caught the ball as it headed towards the ground. “Okay, how about a little amendment. You make this shot, you’re my girlfriend?”
“How about this? I miss this shot, you go with me to some club opening next weekend?”
“Sounds like I win either way.” He bounced the ball to me. “Go for it.”
I moved a little closer, dribbled the ball once or twice before closing my eyes and shooting the ball in the air, hoping it went somewhere near the net.
“Well?” I asked as I heard the ball bounce back off the pavement.
JT laughed from nearby. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”
27
Things settled down to pretty quiet after the tabloid incident, which I was really grateful for. Rico kept sending over invitations, and Trish would leave me a stack every morning on the edge of my desk. Sor would look them over and pick a few, and we’d try to hit a place or two every night, even if it was just to pop in and look around. As she said, I had to earn my Vanetti pay check somehow.
It was usually Sor and I who went to the public places; I didn’t want to go out with JT anywhere we’d end up being chased, so we tended to lay low and hang around the beach, or here in the theatre room watching old movies from Dad’s collection or binging something on Netflix.
And even better, we all managed to avoid Adriana. Sor and I had spotted Fiona and some of the entourage the other night at one charity pa
rty, but the wicked witch of Hollywood hadn’t seemed to be in attendance. After her comments at the birthday party, the last thing I wanted was to come face to face with her again. I didn’t quite need any more time with her.
“Delivery!”
I looked up from my tablet as Trish walked into my bedroom, two dress bags in hand.
“What the…” I started, turning around in my desk chair to see better.
“From Rico, apparently.” She handed me a small envelope and laid the black bags on my bed. “Just arrived. Didn’t you hear the doorbell?”
“Thought it was Dad’s trainer.” I shrugged as I studied the heavy cream envelope, my name in copper gel pen. I figured the handwriting was Lorna’s, since it had a definite feminine loop to it.
“So?” Trish took a seat on the edge of my bed.
“I wasn’t expecting anything,” I said with a shrug, using the corner of my nail to rip the envelope open. Looked like a note inside.
“Good news, I hope.”
I nodded my agreement as I pulled the paper out and unfolded it to see Rico’s note.
Chey,
Wanted to give you an update on the opening. Everything is moving well, and we’re about to start putting the final touches on and bring in the clothing. Reminder to keep next Friday night open since the House of Vanetti launch party will be the place to be!
And it wouldn’t be the same without our face there.
Expect a lot of fun and a few surprises!
Sent along a couple new pieces for you. One you should recognize immediately, and the second is one Lorna said was you the moment she saw it.
See you soon,
Rico
PS: Two more billboards went up this morning!
I’d been by the store once for a tour, wearing a hard hat while the crew worked to put the finishing touches on everything so Rico and everyone could start bringing over all the boxes and racks of clothes covering the offices. It was starting to feel exciting. I couldn’t wait to see all the plans I’d heard about finally come to fruition. And it was something I’d get to be a part of.
I glanced towards the dress bags. I was definitely beginning to feel spoiled.
“What’s he say?”
I tapped the envelope against my hand. “Not much. Reminded me the big opening’s next week, and he sent along something for me to wear to the opening.”
Trish smiled. “I thought he might.”
“Did you talk to him lately?”
“No, just Lorna the other day. She wanted to check your schedule for the rest of your time in Los Angeles.”
Time that I was suddenly reminded continue to slip away.
“For?”
“She didn’t say. But she said she’d send a couple of invites my way to the party. For your dad, too.”
I laughed. “I thought maybe I’d take him as my date.”
“Ask him. I’m sure he’d love it.”
“Yeah.” I hoped so.
Just then, her cell phone went off. After taking a quick check, she sighed. “I gotta take this. See you downstairs?”
“Yeah, be down soon.”
With a wave, she left, and I turned back to checking my silent phone. I had a movie premiere to get ready for in a few hours.
That same movie premiere Dad had invited JT to; he’d also invited Sorche and Milo and Trish. I tried not to take it personally it wasn’t going to be just the two of us.
Sorche was already on her way over, and Dad’s stylist was going to put in a repeat performance. My dress was already hanging on the back of the closet door. I just needed to kill time.
***
I had to admit, walking the red carpet was really exciting. Even when it had felt nauseating for a few horrible moments when I stepped out of the car and tried to ignore the sheer number of people there.
Dad kept waving at the crowd pressed up against the barricades, signing autographs and posing for photos, of which I took a couple of him with fans when they handed me their phone as I tried not to look around in too much awe. I mean, I thought I knew what Dad’s life entailed, but this…well, this was like dropping me in the middle of it without a parachute.
The few places Sor and I had gone to, we’d been pretty well allowed to wander in freely, stopping for a couple photos, but that was about it.
Finally, he moved past the fans, and we headed farther down along the carpet, closer to the step and repeat as Sor had been trying to school me in the car. At first, I was sure she’d meant take a step and repeat your pose, which really seemed monotonous, but then, what did I know?
Anyway, we caught up to where some other people had stopped to talk to various members of the press. I took a deep breath and looked around, rubbing my bare arm anxiously. Dad got pulled away from us towards what looked like an Access Hollywood reporter, so I stood quietly a bit behind him when I heard someone shout my name.
“Chey!”
It happened again.
I glanced over at a perky blonde holding a microphone in the press line and who seemed to be waving me over. I looked to Sor for silent help, and she moved up to join me from where she’d been posing for pictures.
“Look, it’s Chey and Sorche,” she practically squealed. “How is your first Hollywood summer, Chey?”
“Hot!” Sor exclaimed with a laugh and a nudge to my ribs, which made me flash my well-practiced smile.
Blondie laughed a few seconds later, dipping the microphone closer to my face. “Chey, you’re making a big name for yourself around here.”
I blushed, and Sor squeezed in closer next to me as a couple people pushed by us to get to different reporters. I thought I saw a glimpse of JT further down the carpet, but I couldn’t be sure.
“That, she is,” Sor agreed, and I was thrilled she was taking over talking.
I wasn’t sure I could make my voice work at will. It seemed I had a sudden impromptu case of stage fright.
I managed a small, more realistic smile at my friend and waited for the reporter to speak again.
“So, is that dress another product of the fabulous Rico Vanetti? I swear, every time I drive down the street, there is yet another billboard with your face on it.”
“Yes, it is.”
Wow, voice worked. Amazing. Sor elbowed me and raised an eyebrow, and I did a little twirl, showing it off.
“It looks amazing. Sorche, what about you?”
Sor rattled on about her dress for a few moments and did her own twirl while I caught sight of Dad moving to a few reporters ahead of us and waved as we made eye contact. I could see the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smile as he winked and started talking to another reporter.
Finally, Blondie was done with us, and we moved down the line. I joined Dad just as JT caught up to us.
“Cheyenne! JT!”
The reporter a few feet ahead waved Dad away, and the two of us got closer. I caught the quick flash of amazement on Dad’s face before he disappeared into the thickening crowd, and I wanted to go after him, but JT caught my elbow and smiled reassuringly at me, leaning in close.
“He’ll be fine,” he whispered, pulling me towards the reporter. “Just let him go.”
“If it isn’t the hottest duo in young Hollywood right now. How did you two meet?”
My stomach tightened as I heard the question, and I let JT answer, his dimples appearing, and I managed a weak smile, trying not to strain my neck and go chase after my father. The one thing to be grateful for was JT kept the ‘how we met’ story very PG.
There was a party, we’d bumped into each other—literally—and been hanging out ever since.
We moved through the press row, continuing to be called over every few moments and posing for what seemed like a thousand pictures before we escaped and JT went in search of something to drink while Sor and I hung outside for a few minutes longer.
“You gotta go in sometime,” Sor said softly as we watched Milo head inside.
“Do I have to?” I asked half-seriously
.
Without a word, she grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the entrance.
The doors shut behind us and immediately, I started looking for two people. Dad and Trish. One to apologize to, and the other to ask for guidance, because I think I’d just committed the ultimate Hollywood Daughter faux pas—never, ever upstage your famous parent.
Cruel Summer Page 31