Yes. “Um . . . I’m not sure. Maybe if you just tone it down a bit.”
Holly sighs. “Tone it down a bit. That was my parents’ favorite saying when I was growing up. ‘Holly Thelma Isles, tone it down a bit!’”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Really?”
She nods. “Why?”
“That’s my dad’s favorite saying. Well, except his is: ‘Nessa Joanne Mulholland, tone it down a bit!’”
“Joanne, huh? I’ll swap you.”
“Thelma? I don’t think so. Anyway, like you were saying, why don’t you just try keeping things light and fun, but forget all the subservient stuff. That’s the stuff I hate seeing.”
Holly snorts. “That’s the stuff I hate doing. I could have beat them all at badminton with one hand tied behind my back. I think I’ve just got to chill out for a while. Be me. And not worry about . . .” She pauses.
“Boys?”
She shrugs.
“Men?”
“I guess that’s the word I’m looking for.”
I nod decisively. “Right then. Step one, stop looking for PM, and step two, just try having a good time.”
“It sounds so simple when you say it like that.”
“Like you told me, try not to think about it so hard. Go with the flow, as they say. Think you can give it a whirl?”
“I think so.”
Well, good. Time to change the topic, I think. “Hey, I just remembered. I’ve got something for you, as well.”
“What’s that?”
I reach into my pocket and pull it out.
“Oh! Edwina!”
This makes me pause. “Edwina?”
Holly nods. “Edwina and Lucy are my spares. This is Edwina. Edwina, meet Nessa.”
“I think we’ve already met,” I laugh. “Intimately.”
Suddenly, a shadow looms over the two of us. Well, the three of us (Holly, me and Edwina). “Ladies. Can I offer you something to drink?” It’s the scary drinks waiter.
“Hmmm,” Holly says, still holding Edwina out (nipple up) and not making any moves to put her away. “I think I’ll have a peach and mango smoothie, my good man.”
“I’ll have a tab, thanks,” I say. “Nessa Mulholland. Cabin 252b.” I pass him the voucher. “To start, I’d like to put a strawberry frappé on it, please.”
“Of course, ladies.” The scary drinks waiter turns and heads off.
“Oh, and a bowl of maraschino cherries, as well!” I say as he goes.
Beside me, Holly nods. “Smart thinking,” she says. And we both settle back for an hour or two of afternoon drinks and gossip.
We’re halfway through our second round of drinks when I spot them. The young couple, off to our right, taking photos of us. “You’ve seen them, have you?” Holly says to me, without turning around to look. “They’ve been there for at least ten minutes, snapping away. I hope they got a good close-up of my leg-hair stubble.”
“Ten minutes? Really?” I hadn’t noticed them until now. Then again, I hadn’t noticed Holly’s leg-hair stubble, either.
“You develop a special kind of vision in this game. A wider kind of vision. In case one of them has a knife, or something worse.”
“A knife?!” This makes me sit up a bit. I twist around to have a better look at them.
“No, it’s okay. The one with the knife’s still in jail. I hope. Oh, look. They’re going. Good.”
She’s right; they are walking off now they’ve been spotted. But when I turn around again, I can’t do anything but sit, mutely, and look at Holly. Her words have sunken in, and now I don’t know what to say. Those people. I’ve just realized something—how are they any different from me? I mean, why am I sitting here with Holly and they’re over there? And maybe Holly sees this written all over my face, because she moves into action, swinging her legs around off her sun lounge and placing them onto the deck beside me so we’re sitting much closer together.
“I knew we should have talked about this sooner. I guess this is all a bit weird for you, Nessa.”
Still mute, I nod as I look into her eyes. The eyes I’ve seen on a million movie posters.
“I mean, you must wonder what I’m doing. An old pathetic person hanging around with you, cramping your style.”
What? My eyes go round now. Hang on a minute. Holly thinks she’s cramping my style? As if! And she’s not old. Or pathetic. Holly’s . . . amazing. I go to open my mouth, but she shakes her head, and I realize she wants to say something important, so I let her continue.
“You’ve just got this really great take on life, Nessa. Your whole Marilyn thing—it’s just awesome. Not to mention trying to find PM for me. And it’s so refreshing that you don’t . . . hmmm… how can I put this? That you don’t want anything from me. Adults always want something from me. Not that you’re a kid, of course I’m not saying that. What I mean is you’re not old and jaded and only out for yourself.” Holly looks at her hands for a moment. “I just feel like I can tell you things and you won’t, you know, betray me. Oh, I don’t mean betray, it’s too strong a word . . .” She shrugs and looks up again to give me a small smile. “Am I making any sense at all here?”
I think for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”
Holly reaches out to grab both my hands. “Don’t get old and jaded, Nessa. Hold on to you if you can. Hold on to you and how you look at things. It’s important to remember who you are inside. Sometimes, as you get older, you forget. And that would be a great shame in your case.” She takes a deep breath. “Ugh. I’m sounding ridiculous, aren’t I? Sorry.”
I shake my head, our eyes finally breaking contact. “No,” I say. “What you just said—I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Holly smiles. “Well, good. Because I meant it. Every word and . . . oh.”
“What?” I say, but then follow Holly’s eyes across the deck. It’s Ted.
“Oh, no. It’s Ted,” she says with a groan.
I turn to face her again. “Don’t you like him?” How could anybody not like Ted? He’s such a sweetie. I still can’t get over the fact he gave me ten copies of that photo.
“Who? Ted? It’s not that I don’t like him, he’s just . . . like my shadow. After five years it gets a bit boring.”
Five years? Huh? “What do you mean?”
Holly sits up a bit. “Ted. You know, my personal paparazzo.”
Oh. Oh, no. “What?” I only just manage to get the word out, my mouth is hanging so far open.
“Hi, Ted!” Holly calls out now, and Ted runs off.
I’m not sure what to say. All the things I’ve told him—my name, who my dad is, what Holly and I have been doing—they all whiz through my head at a million miles an hour. “I thought he was the ship’s photographer,” I end up saying quietly. And how idiotic am I? No wonder he was so surprised that first time I met him. My asking how much his photos cost. Wince. And where I could find them. Double wince. No wonder he acted so weird—he probably thought I was going to throw his camera overboard or something. How embarrassing.
“What’s the matter?” Holly looks over at me.
“Oh, nothing. Nothing. I was just thinking it must be awful, having someone follow you around all the time. As in, professionally. Not just like the people before.”
Holly shrugs. “Well, yes. But I’m lucky. Ted’s a really nice guy. A sweetie. Very shy, though.”
I wince again now. A sweetie. Just like I’d thought. But, hang on. “Shy?” I say. After all, shy doesn’t exactly fit in with the job description.
“Well, with me, anyway. Just look at him!”
I look over to the far side of the deck and spot Ted—peering around a corner, camera at the ready.
“And you can’t tell me he’s not cute.”
She’s right. I forgot to mention that the other day. Ted actually is super-cute, with gorgeous wavy brown hair and brown-flecked green eyes.
“I think it’s the tan that really sets him a
part. All that waiting around for me outside movie studios and the like,” Holly continues.
She’s right again. He does have a nice tan. Which highlights his green eyes perfectly.
“Hmmm. If he wasn’t my personal paparazzo, I’d have invited him out for dinner a long time ago, I think.”
I turn and look at Holly now. “Why don’t you? It’d save him chasing after you for one evening at least.”
Holly laughs. “No, I couldn’t. It’d be too . . . weird. And, I mean, if it worked out, he’d have to quit, wouldn’t he? And then I might get an awful personal paparazzo like that ugly, rude one that my friend—”
For the second time this afternoon, a shadow falls over us and we both look up.
Unfortunately, this time, it’s not the drinks waiter.
It’s Marc.
Oh.
He moves over beside Holly’s sun lounge and ignores me when I say hello.
“Hey!” Holly says. “Guess who was just here? Ted!”
Marc groans. “Great.”
I wince when I hear this and wonder if I should come clean about Ted. To both of them. But no. I’d just look stupid, wouldn’t I? How was I to know that Ted was a paid-up member of the paparazzi? I thought he was the ship’s photographer and that getting Holly seen would lead to more male meetings, if you know what I mean.
“Well,” Holly says, putting her drink down on the table in between us. “I’d better run. I’ve got three dates tonight.”
“Three?!” Marc and I say at the same time.
Holly laughs. “It sounds a bit much, doesn’t it? I’ve got drinks, then dinner, then more drinks lined up. Oh, Nessa, tell your dad I’m sorry I can’t make it, won’t you?”
Huh? My dad? He hadn’t told me he’d invited Holly to dinner. “Um, sure,” I say.
Marc shoots me a look. What? He’s got a problem with my dad now? I roll my eyes. Who knows what’s going on in his head?
Holly jumps up so she’s next to Marc. “Okay, see you, Nessa! I won’t forget: no PM, have a good time. No PM, have a good time.”
“Um, great. Bye Holly,” I say. “Bye Marc. Bye Edwina.”
Holly laughs when Marc gives me a quick glance.
“No PM? What’s PM? And who’s Edwina?” I hear him say as he and Holly make their way across the deck toward the stairs.
***
Again, it comes to me in the middle of the night. With the ship’s engine going full steam ahead next to my left eardrum, I sit up straight in bed, just like last time. (Why it always happens in the middle of the night, I’ll probably never know.)
This time, the Marilynism practically winds me.
How could I not have seen it sooner? How could I not have picked up the clues? The signs were all there, clear as day. Bigger signs even than the Hollywood one that Holly lives under.
No wonder Nessa’s Lessons in Love felt so wrong and didn’t work out. Aside from being ridiculous, it wasn’t the answer.
The answer was always there. I just didn’t realize it.
But now I’ve found it: it’s Ted. Ted is the answer.
Like I said, how could I not have seen it sooner? After all, it’s too Gentlemen Prefer Blondes to be true. I’m Lorelei and Holly is Dorothy, and Ted . . . Ted is the private detective. The guy who ran around taking the photos of the girls on the cruise ship. Ugh, what’s his name again? Starts with an M or something. Hang on . . . Malone. That’s it! Ernie Malone.
Oh, this is too much. Too much! First, Holly knowing the line from the movie when we were boarding the ship, the two of us being on a cruise ship together, her meeting up with me on the sun lounges, her need to find a decent guy, and now Ted.
I’ve been going down the wrong track trying to get Holly to meet every man on board. The right man’s been under my nose (and her house’s front hedge) all the time. And isn’t that typical? Isn’t that how it happens in all the great romances? In novels and movies and, oh, everything? It’s always the guy who’s been there all along that the heroine ends up with. Always!
Holly’s words from this afternoon come back to me now . . . A really nice guy, a sweetie, you can’t tell me he’s not cute, I’d have invited him out for dinner . . . Oh, it really is too good to be true. Holly likes him! Holly likes Ted!
Oh. Wait. Hang on.
This.
This is why I’m here.
When Holly said all that stuff about me this afternoon, about being myself, she was on to something. Obviously we met for a reason and this is it.
Ted.
I have to somehow get Holly and Ted together.
Holly’s future happiness depends upon it.
When I wake up, my dad’s gone. There’s a note on his bed saying he’s got a few people to interview and he’ll be back later (and that I should behave myself). I phone Holly to find out how her dates went last night, but she doesn’t answer. So, with nothing else to do, I take a quick shower and head upstairs, pick up a croissant and a banana and then make my way to aqua aerobics.
Holly and I have done it twice already, and both times we were the youngest in the pool by about thirty years (that’s including Holly), not to mention the only people not wearing those funny flowery bathing caps. You know the ones? They look like rubber bath mats that sit on your head. Anyway, we liked it because we could pretend we were exercising and doing something good for ourselves and still chat at the same time.
Halfway through the class, I’m doing a “mule kick” (don’t ask), and as I bend upright again, I glance up at the deck above us. I then stop mule kicking, or any kind of kicking, immediately. Because there, walking past on the deck above is Holly and my dad. Talking and laughing again. Just like the other day. I wonder what they’re talking about. Oh, no, I hope it’s not the study. I’d forgotten all about Holly volunteering for that, to tell the truth. Come to think of it, what am I doing mule kicking around a pool? I’ve got things to do—I’ve got to get Holly off Dad’s study, and I’ve got to come up with some kind of a plan that will see Holly and Ted completely and utterly and foolishly in love by the end of this trip. Hey! Maybe I’ll be able to swing it so the second problem cancels out the first one.
I glance up again and watch the two of them for a bit longer. Well, at least she’s toned down the Nessa’s Lessons in Love thing. Because, up there, Holly’s not being anybody but herself. There’s no flirting, no Miss Clumsy, no “Ooohhh I can’t play badminton because I’m just a silly girl.” Not that she’d do that with my dad. After all, he’s hardly PM material, is he? But it’s nice to see Holly look herself again. At ease and happy and really having a good time.
“Umph,” I say, as one of the little old ladies hits my back.
“Come on, Nessa!” the instructor yells out. “Olive’s putting you to shame and she’s eighty-three next week. You can kick harder than that, girlfriend. Let’s step it up!”
Over the next day or so, I spend a lot of time tipping Ted the personal paparazzo off as to where Holly will be and when, in the hope that their eyes will meet across a crowded deck and they’ll fall instantly in love. (I wish it was that easy.)
He turns up at breakfast (surprisingly, even when Holly slums it with me, rather than going to the swanky restaurant); he turns up at aqua aerobics (nice board shorts, Ted!); and he even turns up a few minutes before Holly’s appointment with the Pilates instructor, which looks kind of weird (oops).
It’s the second day of Operation Tipping Off Ted, and Holly and I are heading up for our usual round of afternoon cocktails/mocktails when we notice someone sitting in our spot. My spot, actually.
“Hey!” Holly says, turning to me and looking almost as affronted as I feel. But then we see who it is.
Marc. Uh oh, my gut says to my brain.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the three stooges,” he says.
“Three?” Holly says, taking a look behind us.
“You’re a bit late. But Ted was early. It’s funny how Ted’s always early these days, isn’t it? Anyway
, he had to leave.” Marc gives me a look. A very definite look.
Oops.
He jumps up off his (my) chair now and takes my arm, leading me away. “I’ve just got to have a little chat with Nessa,” he says to Holly.
“Um, sure. If you say so. Want me to order you guys something?”
“No, we’re fine,” Marc says, still leading me away. “Aren’t we, Nessa?”
It doesn’t look like it, I think to myself. As for my gut, it’s too busy doing cartwheels to reply.
We keep walking till we get to the railing on the opposite side of the ship. I hope he’s not going to throw us overboard, my brain says to my gut. I wish I hadn’t eaten that second fajita at lunch, my gut replies.
Marc stops and faces me, looking me straight in the eye. “Are you tipping off Ted?”
Um, wow. Get straight to the point, why don’t you? All of a sudden, I don’t know where to look. I try the deck. Then the ocean. “What?” I finally manage to say.
Marc slaps the railing. “I knew it! How could you do that, Nessa?”
“What?” I repeat myself.
“Oh, come on. You know what I’m talking about. Ted’s been turning up all over the place for the last couple of days. It’s weird. But then I realized what was even weirder was it’s only been happening at places you know Holly’s going to be at.”
I look out at the ocean again. “Why would I do that?”
There’s a pause. A long pause.
“Oh, I don’t know, Nessa. Maybe for money?”
It takes me a few moments to register what Marc’s just said. But when I do, I snap to attention. And then I do look at Marc. Right at him. My eyes bore into his. “I am not taking any money from Ted. I’m not that kind of person.” I take a step forward, closer towards him. Then another one. I try to catch my breath. “I wouldn’t do that to Holly. Ever.” My cheeks and my ears feel hot. Too hot, as if they’re about to burn off. And as the words exit my mouth, I feel strangely detached. I don’t ever remember being this angry before. Not in all my life. No-one’s ever accused me of betraying a friend like Marc’s accusing me of. For money. I could never do that. I can’t believe he’s just said this to me. I take another step forward, about to lay into him again when he speaks.
“I . . .” Marc starts, then stops, as I think we both suddenly realize how close together we’re standing. Our noses are practically touching and I can smell him—salty and warm as if he’s just been for a dip in the pool.
Diamonds are a Teen's Best Friend Page 9