She smiled. “Did you talk to him?”
“No,” I sighed. “I missed it. But he asked you for my number, and I gave it to him,” I mustered.
Vaughn clapped her hands together enthusiastically. “That’s amazing!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug.
“Okay, okay,” I said, prying her off me. “Hit search.” I nodded to Google.
She took a deep breath and hit the button. Of course, Perez came up. But there were so many others: The Superficial, Just Jared, Hollywood Tuna, TMZ, all of which marveled at Baron’s face-sucking abilities. Some of them, though, also speculated about KissnTell. They wondered who was behind the new, mysterious site with only one, albeit ridiculously juicy, post. Before we could process the news, my phone started buzzing. Then Vaughn’s phone buzzed too.
Neither of us ever received calls except from one another and, occasionally, our mothers. It was a veritable high-stress symphony. I leapt over our handbags, strewn across the carpet, and grabbed my phone from the bookshelf. I pointed to Vaughn’s, exactly where I’d left it on my desk. We answered at the same time:
“Hello?” we said.
“Anais?” said a man’s voice, which I immediately knew belonged to Austin.
“Hi,” I croaked.
“What do I look like?” Vaughn asked, confused, as though the person on the other end of the line had just asked her that question. I frowned at her.
“It’s Austin. The photographer? From last night?”
“I know,” I said, smiling. He laughed lightly. I heard Vaughn faltering, trying to describe herself.
“Well, look,” Austin started, “I just called to say congratulations. Your story’s everywhere.”
“Thanks,” I murmured. “I didn’t really know what I was doing.”
“Whatever you did was exactly right,” he said.
“You mean tonight?” I heard Vaughn exclaim, looking to me, wide-eyed, trying to get my attention.
“Um, could you hold on a second?” I asked Austin.
“Sure,” he said. I muted the call and gave Vaughn my best what the hell face.
“No, sounds great,” she was saying, nodding profusely. “We’ll be there.”
“What? Where?” I exclaimed.
“You, too,” she said, hanging up. She jumped up and down. “That was Baron Fucking Caldwell. He just invited us to meet him at Greystone Manor tonight!”
“Why’d he ask you what you looked like?” I asked.
Vaughn shrugged. “He wanted to make sure he was calling the right person.”
“He got so many numbers last night, he didn’t know which was yours?”
“He’s Baron Fucking Caldwell!” she retorted.
I sighed and unmuted Austin. “Sorry about that,” I said.
“It was nothing,” he said casually. It must have been the way he said it. Suddenly, I felt so lightheaded.
“Hey, I should tell you,” I started, making eye contact with Vaughn for strength, “we’re heading to Greystone Manor tonight and then maybe to an after-party at Baron Caldwell’s.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Would you be interested in that? For, uh, business purposes?”
“Sure,” he said. “Just let me know when you’re headed over there.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Okay,” he said. “And congratulations again.”
I hung up and threw my Blackberry on the bed, scratching my forehead.
“Is he coming?” Vaughn asked. I nodded. She pranced in circles about my room. I got back into bed and flicked on the TV, settling on a rerun of Jersey Shore.
Everything started to sink in. I had homework, a lot of it, which needed to get done otherwise I’d fall behind, my grades would slide, and I’d get rejected from all of my top colleges. Now that the blogosphere was aware of KissnTell, we had to strike while the iron was hot and land a really big story, or at the very least, maintain the site so we could continue to drive traffic and maybe, hopefully make some money for my college fund. On top of it, I had to figure out how to navigate the treacherous landscape of romance. I knew nothing about boys, or how you’re supposed to act when you like one, and I really liked this one. I didn’t want to inadvertently sabotage it.
Vaughn stood before my closet, periodically ripping articles from their hangers and throwing them to the floor. I muted The Situation.
“What are you doing?” I asked, flummoxed.
“Making a pile of stuff I can work with,” she replied without turning away from the sparse rack of clothes. I sighed. She bit her nails. “I’m thinking I can re-wear my denim leggings and the shoes and just find another top … not sure what to do with you, though.” I rolled my eyes. Her phone blared once again. She gasped, surprised by the noise. She picked it up.
“Fuck, it’s my mom,” she said.
“She probably wants the car back. What should I do?”
I shrugged. “Answer it,” I said.
She sighed and picked up the phone. “Hey,” she groaned into the receiver, unenthused. “It was good … Uh-huh … I don’t know, I was thinking I’d spend the night again … Moooom! Come on! Why not? But I need the car! You have another one!” She sighed, kicking the carpet. “Fine, I’ll return the car, but I’m sleeping over … I do spend time with you! I do not only talk to you to ask for stuff! Well, isn’t it your job as like, parents, to like, provide for me?” Vaughn stomped her foot. I could hear Darlene shouting on the other end of the line in her thick, Brooklyn accent. “Okay, okay,” Vaughn sighed. “I’ll be back first thing on Sunday … Family dinner, sure … Okay … Bye.” She hung up, tossing the phone on the floor.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I have to return the car,” she said, glum. “Do you think Austin would give us a ride to Greystone Manor?”
I shrugged.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“I just don’t know if I can pull this off …” I murmured.
“Of course you can!” she pleaded, approaching the bed. She sat down next to me and stroked my hair. “We’re the smartest people we know,” she said. “We can handle it.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath.
She was right. I needed to calm down. It’s just that we were growing up so fast. I mean, not compared to the other Cranbrook kids; but for us, this all happened very quickly. Vaughn had her first kiss. I had my first crush. And we were an Internet sensation. I wanted it all to slow down so I could appreciate it. Unfortunately, I was about to learn, there was nothing slow about this town.
13.
ENTERING THE GREY AREA
Vaughn
“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked. Anais had answered the front door sporting frayed Abercrombie jeans rolled up at the ankle, a navy American Eagle ruffled cami, and metallic sandals. I had walked back to Anais’s around eight, having dropped off my mom’s car at my place, stared at my Calculus textbook for about forty-five minutes without answering a single problem set, showered, and changed into my rockin’ outfit. Anais frowned, dipping her chin to her chest to take a second look at herself.
“It’s no good?” she asked meekly.
I shook my head, pushing past her into the living room. “The fact that you have to ask me that is deeply unsettling,” I retorted. Pam was sitting cross-legged on the couch flipping through fashion magazines while the TV. droned in the background.
“I thought we were supposed to look like we’re not trying,” Anais objected. Pam looked up from her magazine at the distressed sound of her daughter’s voice.
“Yeah, like this,” I said, motioning to my awesome outfit: cutoff jean shorts I’d had since my first summer at Camp Wanake, one of my brother’s oversized white undershirts, a couple of sterling chains I stole from my mother’s jewelry drawer, and the platform gladiator sandals from Urban Outfitters. Anais shook her head, bewildered.
“You look like you just rolled out of bed and have plans to take an accidental heroin overdose later,” she said.
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“Exactly! That’s cool. You, on the other hand, look like you just dropped off your six-year-old son at hockey practice and have plans to hit up Whole Foods later.”
Anais gave me the finger. I groaned, shooting Pam a pointed look. “What do you think?” I asked, allowing her to play referee.
She shrugged helplessly. “You’re just going to the movies, right? Does it even matter?” she asked. Anais glared at me. Yikes. I had almost forgotten we were lying to Pam. I was so used to being able to tell her anything, I forgot all about the illicit nature of our plans.
“Right, but, uh …” I faltered, trying to think of something that would get Pam on my side. “There’s a really cute guy who works there, at the Laemmle. Last time he kind of flirted with Anais, and I just, um, want her to be fashionably prepared, you know?” Anais shot daggers in my direction, blood rushing to her face, but I ignored her.
Pam smirked. “I see,” she said, thoughtful, regarding Anais. “In that case, let’s rethink the clothes.” Anais threw her hands up in frustration as I silently rejoiced. She looked cute to go to the mall or something, but to Greystone Manor? No way, José.
“What about the little ruffled dress I got you at the J. Crew sale?” Pam asked, making her way into Anais’s room. I trailed her, curious, as Anais groaned, flopping onto the couch. Pam retrieved a hanger hosting a lilac dress with a ruffled collar made from some kind of cotton blend. “She could wear this with the silver sandals, right?” I bit my lip.
“Is there a way to toughen it up a bit?” I asked. Pam smiled, hooking the dress to a doorknob.
“I’ve got the perfect studded belt,” she said, bustling into her room to find it.
“Perfect!” I exclaimed.
She made a big fuss, but by the time Austin arrived, she was happy she entrusted her wardrobe to us. We asked him to pick us up a few blocks away so Pam wouldn’t hear him pull into their driveway and wonder who was the strange, hot, older dude driving away with her sixteen-year-old daughter. We made our way down the block and caught sight of him, leaning against a Subaru Forester in a worn t-shirt and jeans, his arms crossed over his chest. His wide, optimistic eyes immediately landed on Anais. She looked to her feet, suppressing a smile. The lilac dress looked like cotton candy against the hazy L.A. sidewalk; her green eyes and strawberry blonde hair shone. She was so nervous her cheeks glowed peach and dewy.
Austin straightened himself out and took a tentative step toward us. “Hey,” he said, gazing at Anais.
“Yo,” I replied.
“You guys look … incredibly beautiful,” he said. Anais smirked, rolling her eyes.
“Thanks,” I replied for her, pinching her elbow.
He nodded and gestured toward the car. “Hop in,” he said, smiling. “Sorry it’s kind of a mess.”
I made my way to the back seat. Anais followed, attempting to climb in after me, but I shoved her discreetly to the front of the car. She grudgingly rode shotgun with Austin. I glared at her. She was being so awkward. I guess she really liked him or something. We pulled out and made our way to Ventura Boulevard. It seemed none of us knew what to say.
“So, uh, what’s your story?” Austin asked, breaking the silence, his brow furrowed in the rearview mirror.
“What do you mean?” I asked. He took a right onto Van Nuys Boulevard.
“I’ve been outside The Viper Room almost every weekend,” he started, stealing a glance at Anais. “I’ve never seen you two there before.”
I froze, swallowing. We should’ve come up with a decent backstory before we left the house.
Anais leaned back in her seat, sighing. “We’d never been there before,” she said calmly.
“Oh,” he said flatly, confused.
“We usually go to Teddy’s,” I interjected.
“No we don’t,” Anais snapped. She shot me a glance over her shoulder. “I don’t want to lie to him,” she murmured, her eyes wide and pleading. I leaned back in my seat, stunned. She really liked this guy.
“Lie to me about what?” he asked.
“We’re in high school,” she said. I rubbed my eyes, probably destroying my makeup.
He scratched his forehead. He didn’t seem pissed or shocked or anything, just a little taken aback.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Sixteen,” she said.
He nodded, resigned. “You look older,” he said. “But pretty girls always do.” He flashed her a quick, flirtatious smile and lurched into the left lane on Ventura Freeway. I inched forward in my seat.
“You’re not mad?” I asked.
He shrugged, as though my question warranted no further response.
“I completely understand if you don’t want to take us out anymore since we’re, um, underage,” Anais managed.
He grinned at her. “I want to take you,” he said. She smiled, fiercely blushing. He returned his gaze to the road. “Anyway, I’m underage, too.”
“What?” I blurted.
“I’m nineteen. I graduated from Brentwood last June. I’m taking the year off to save up for college. Hence the …” He lifted his camera from the dashboard and waved it at us. “I’d never do this scummy job if the money weren’t so good,” he finished. I glanced out the window. We were inching along North Highland. Out of the corner of his eye, Austin caught Anais smiling at him. “What, you thought I was too old for you or something?” he asked.
She laughed and shook her head. “I don’t know what I thought,” she murmured.
* * *
It was a madhouse outside the club. There was no line to speak of, just drunk girls in tiny, colorful dresses shrieking, greeting one another. Dudes yelling directions into their cell phones, running distressed hands through their hair. All the while, the doorman stood silently, unmoving. Like a cyborg waiting for command. I turned to Austin, concerned. I didn’t want to wait outside with the rest of the normal people. I wanted to be whisked in, like the sort-of date of a television hunk that I was. Austin tossed his keys to the valet guy and placed his palm on the small of Anais’s back. Her face burned hot pink. I followed as he led her straight to the bouncer. He slipped what looked like—could it be?—two 100 dollar bills into the bouncer’s pocket and, without making eye contact with any of us, the bouncer unclipped the velvet rope, motioning for us to go inside. We scuttled in nervously, as though he might change his mind at any second.
I nudged Austin in the ribs. “What was that?” I asked.
He shrugged, smirking. “Cost-benefit analysis,” he said. “Two hundred bucks is nothing compared to what I could make taking a photo in here.”
I smiled, wondering how much KissnTell could earn as we wandered inside. One pair of Louboutins? Two pairs of Louboutins? Three? Four?
The place was packed, wall-to-wall, black leather banquet to black leather banquet, with people. In the amber light, against the burnt red glow of the faux-antique wallpaper, the crowd looked pretty attractive, but I could tell by the cloying stench of cheap-ass fragrance and Axe body spray—and by the disgusted, twisted look on Anais’s face—that it was, in fact, not glamorous, and maybe a little cheesy. I cast her a quickapologetic glance then scanned the room desperately for Baron Caldwell. I knew I was on the verge of seriously pissing her off, what with all of my crazy plans of late, but she was with a hot guy who, from the way he kept his eyes on her despite the abundance of silicone boobage in this joint, was seriously into her.
I pushed my way through the sea of people, craning my neck over every banquet, peeping in on Brody Jenner from The Hills, Rihanna, dancing on the couch, her spiked Lucite heels sinking dangerously into the leather, and a group of what had to be Playboy bunnies, bouncing glumly to the music. I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Austin, with Anais tucked securely under his shoulder.
“You should check the outdoor patio,” he shouted. “It’s even bigger than the actual club.”
I nodded. “You two coming?” I asked. Anais looked to Austin. Clearly, she was going wherever he
was going. Was this how it was going to be from now on?
Austin shook his head. “I’m going to stick around to see if I can get some shots of Rihanna,” he said.
I frowned. “Where’s your camera?” I asked, vaguely searching him.
He shrugged on a jacket, tapping the front pocket. “Sewn into this,” he said slyly. “There’s a remote in my pocket that triggers the shot.”
“Whoa,” I marveled, exchanging an impressed look with Anais.
“Let’s hope she falls off the couch or something,” he muttered.
I turned to Anais. “I assume you’re going with him?” I said, a little passive aggressive. She frowned, confused. I guess I had no right to be angry. She was going off with Austin, same as I went off with Baron last night. But I needed her. She was my wingman. I couldn’t stumble up to Baron Fucking Caldwell’s table alone like some tall, awkward, lonely loner. I needed an entourage. Or at least a BFF. She looked to Austin hopefully then shot me an obligatory, guilty glance. I had my answer. “Whatever,” I said, scowling and pushing through the crowd away from them.
The outdoor patio was sprawling and warm and bright, with a bit of a European flair, or at least L.A.’s interpretation of European flair. Nevertheless, it was pleasant; the air above me made me feel like I could breathe, finally. I surveyed the premises. On one of the couches to the left of a backlit fountain, celebrity “it” couple Nate Thornewood and Ashley Bell, who famously met at the 2013 Teen Choice Awards—he, for his most recent pop album, Mischievous Sex; her, for her starring role in the lighthearted family drama, 7 Minutes from Heaven—were screaming at each other. Or rather, she was screaming at him, who, on the contrary, seemed so humiliated he was pretending not to know her, bopping his head to the music. As discreetly as I could, I took out my phone and inched toward them, creeping behind a big guy in a vintage Rolling Stones shirt. Ashley was really going at him, gesticulating wildly and getting up in his face, talking about some hobag. In her defense, Nate did have a reputation for having a wandering eye. Even when his girlfriend had a body like G.I. Jane meets Victoria’s Secret.
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