Kiss n Tell

by Suzy McCoppin

  I shook my head. Austin’s Subaru loomed in the distance. I was about to get going before tears sprung to my eyes once again, but Stella pushed me aside exclaiming, “OMG, is that Austin’s car?” I frowned, watching her bound toward it. Vaughn, with a confused look on her faced, turned to watch her, too. At least she didn’t seem happy. I shifted my gaze back to Stella, frolicking across the parking lot in her short, short skirt with her long, long legs and her blonde, blonde hair, careening toward my boyfriend, and I knew I probably shouldn’t leave them alone for long. I made my way over to them shyly, trying not to seem too jealous or desperate, but it was hard to contain, particularly after the hellish day I had. Stella cocked her hip to the side, twirling her hair and smiling like an idiot. I couldn’t really see Austin’s expression through the windshield, but I was hoping he was bored and annoyed.

  I reached the passenger’s side door and climbed in. I was relieved that Austin looked relieved. Stella clammed up when I appeared next to him, her mouth shrinking to a tiny star in the middle of her face.

  Austin put his hand on my thigh. “Hey babe,” he said, leaning in to kiss me hello.

  Stella laughed uncomfortably. “Well, um,” she said, trying to lure his attention back to her. “I’ve gotta go. But, you know, call me!” she squeaked.

  Austin nodded vaguely, his jaw set. Stella shrugged and pranced back over to Ava and Vaughn. While Ava stood clearly poised for Stella’s return, Vaughn seemed distracted; she was staring at me. I frowned, returning her gaze. Austin looked between us for a moment, confused.

  “What’s going on with you two?” he asked, nodding toward Vaughn. “Usually you’re attached at the hip.” Vaughn followed Stella and Ava to Stella’s Range Rover, her eyes downcast. “And since when is she friends with Stella?” Austin added, bewildered. I shook my head, unable to recap. The truth was, I didn’t understand it myself. Two days ago we were best friends. Now we were … nothing.

  “You got her number?” I asked, sounding way more shrill than I intended.

  Austin frowned. “What?”

  “Stella,” I said. “She said ‘Call me.’ How could you call without her number?”

  Austin laughed nervously, obviously thrown off by my apparent non sequitur. But it wasn’t a non sequitur. I had already lost one person to Stella. I couldn’t bear to lose another. Watching Vaughn climb into her $100,000 car, I was suddenly overcome with paranoia and jealousy.

  “I pretended to put it into my phone,” Austin replied. “But I didn’t. See?” he said, tossing me his iPhone. It fell into my lap, engulfed by the folds of my uniform skirt. I stared at it blankly.

  “I don’t know how to use that thing,” I said. He smirked, squeezing my hand as he put the key in the ignition.

  “Then I guess you’ll just have to trust me,” he said. I rolled my eyes playfully as he pulled out of the lot. It felt like it was the first time I had smiled all day. “Anyway,” he said, making his way to Rodeo. “I’ve got big plans for the afternoon.”

  I nestled into my seat, finally allowing myself to relax. I was miserable, but I couldn’t let myself feel it as we glided under tops of palm trees. I was too tired and too grateful for Austin’s reassuring presence.

  “Where are we going?” I asked

  “I got a tip from my buddy who’s parked outside Brad and Angelina’s. No sign of ‘em yet, but they’re definitely inside.”

  I nodded vaguely. “But what if they don’t come out?”

  Austin glanced at me, his eyes crinkling warmly. “We’ll find a way to pass the time.”

  I grinned, snuggling back into my seat, but inside my heart pounded. We needed those photos. We needed them for my mom.

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, we were parked outside of Brangelina’s house, supposedly looking for signs of their offspring, but really just making out.

  “Stop,” I whispered, pushing Austin away from me. “We’re gonna miss them,” I pleaded, grinning while he straightened himself out, trying to act professional. The Jolie-Pitts were in town for the premiere of Maleficent, and we were hoping they’d take their child army on an afternoon outing. Apparently images of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s children were worth more than gold.

  “Sorry,” Austin murmured guiltily. “You’re right, we should … buckle down.”

  He coughed and regarded me carefully. I had told him about everything that happened with Vaughn. I could tell he was extra worried about me now and secretly enraged with her for abandoning me during such a vulnerable time in my life. It felt good to have someone so completely on my side. I have no idea what I would do without him.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he murmured. I nodded, appreciative. He shook his head, embarrassed. “I know I’ve been asking every five minutes, I just—”

  I took his hand, cutting him off. “I like when you ask,” I said quietly.

  He smiled, relieved. “And I want you to know,” he said, looking me in the eye, “if you need any money by the end of this—any at all—I can lend it to you,” he said, his brow knitted.

  I shook my head. “No,” I murmured. “You need that money for college. You’ve worked hard for it.”

  “Your mom’s health is more important,” he said sternly.

  “That’s nice of you, but I can’t. I can’t accept that,” I said quickly, cracking my knuckles. “I have to do this on my own,” I resolved, eyes fixed on the windshield.

  Austin sighed. “But you’re not alone,” he said. “I hate that Vaughn made you feel that way. It’s unbelievable, really.” He shook his head.

  I shrugged, tears brimming in my eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on with her,” I murmured. “I mean, she’s always been desperate for popularity or acceptance or whatever, but this is just … crazy. She’s like a different person.”

  Austin took my hand in his. His big, brown eyes were fixed on me sympathetically. “I’m here for you,” he said.

  I smiled. It did feel good to hear those words.

  There was a flash of motion between the coarse leaves of Brad and Angie’s twelve-foot hedges. I touched Austin’s arm lightly, pointing to their gate. Sure enough, an abnormally large man emerged—he must have been the bodyguard—followed by four little ducklings: Maddox; Pax; Zahara; and Shiloh, whose little paw clasped tightly to her dad’s, the one and only Brad Pitt. As Austin snapped furiously, I sat there about as starstruck as I’d ever been. Not because Brad was hot, which he indeed was (despite the fact that he was like, fifty years old), but because of his impressive filmography. Before Fight Club, Benjamin Button, and all the other roles he’s famous for today, there were two seminal Brad Pitt movies that basically changed my life. And by “changed my life” what I really mean is they distracted me from my life, which had pretty much sucked. Thelma and Louise was one. Even though he plays a manwhore thief who screws over Thelma, you kind of say to yourself at the end of the film, “I don’t know why she couldn’t just work it out with him.” He’s that good. He also had another small but incredible role in one of my other favorite movies, True Romance, in which he plays a stoner, really showing off his comedic genius. I used to recite his lines over and over to my mom, driving her crazy. And now there he was, just a few yards from me, tickling Zahara as he lifted her into their car, her little legs flailing wildly.

  Austin jerked away from the curb, following their dark SUV. I took his camera from the dashboard and scanned through the photos. There was a great one of Shiloh, looking adorable and tailored and boyish, staring right at us. One of Pax and Maddox play-fighting, the imposing bodyguard/manny-type admonishing them. Then one of Zahara and Brad, laughing hysterically. They truly appeared to be a happy family, all of them clustered together, talking over one another. It made me think of my mom. The prospect of losing her beat in my veins, and I quietly envied the Jolie-Pitts for their strength in numbers.

  “How are they?” Austin asked, nodding to the camera. I tried to smile, though I had started to cry again. “Th
ey’re great,” I whimpered. “Really great.” I wiped my eyes.

  Austin glanced at me sympathetically, taking my hand. “There are probably three or four usable ones in there,” he said. “We could follow them? Get a few more?”

  I shook my head and checked my phone, half-expecting there to be a message from Vaughn. “I think we’d better head home,” I murmured.

  “Then my work here is done,” he said, leaning in to kiss me. I closed my eyes as his lips touched mine lightly. I tried not to imagine how I’d feel right about now if it weren’t for him.

  I’d probably give up.

  23.

  CERTIFIED “GF”

  Vaughn

  “This would look a-fucking-mazing on you!” Stella held a beige Thakoon knit pullover dress up to my lanky frame, craning her neck for Ava to second her, as Ava always did. “Try it on,” she demanded, eyes wild. I checked the price tag. 550 dollars, for this? It was like the unsweetened oatmeal of frocks. I gaped. “Please,” Stella sneered, swatting the tag from my fingers. “It’s, like, the most affordable thing in here.” I closed my mouth, ashamed. She leaned closer to me, whispering, “It’s kind of … tacky to point out prices, just so you know.” I swallowed hard.

  I was running on fumes after my day o’ rage. Every time I thought of Anais, of her telling me her mom had cancer, of the way I treated her, I cringed. I wanted to bury that part of myself and never think about it again. But then I snapped back to reality, to Fred Segal, where I had joined Stella and Ava on their weekly shopping expedition.

  They knew the store like the back of their hands, flying through the aisles like actual big shots. It was hard to keep up. I had never seen so many beautiful clothes in one place. Some of the salespeople greeted them by name.

  Hello, Ms. Beldon.

  Good afternoon, Ms. Goldmann.

  Can I help you with anything today?

  Even though I was aware of how rude Stella was, and how so completely evil they both obviously were— badmouthing Odette, their supposed best friend, talking down to me, walking around like they owned L.A.—I couldn’t deny that I found the whole thing fun. I was finally being ushered into the world I had always dreamed of inhabiting. I wanted to impress them, but I knew shopping was not the way to do it. They had more money than God and I was virtually penniless.

  “It’s just … so dull, don’t you think?” I said, holding up the Thakoon dress skeptically. “I know the lines are supposed to be avant garde but the color …” I shook my head, trying to project a strong sense of style. “I just can’t get past the color,” I said.

  Stella smirked, regarding the dress. She took it from me, hooking it back on the rack. “You’re probably right,” she said. I sighed quietly. She turned to me, her brow furrowed, a sly grin crawling onto her face. “But Jesus, Vaughn,” she said. “How’d you make fashion sound so smart?” She said the word “smart” with the same disdain someone might apply to say, “filth” or “vomit” or something equally nasty.

  I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s important to me, that’s all,” I said flippantly.

  Stella and Ava giggled. I noticed for the first time how well they responded to my phony coolness.

  Stella touched my arm. “Look, Vaughn, we need to talk about Anais,” she said gravely.

  I froze. “I know you like her, and it’s totally fine if you stay friends with her but—” Stella paused dramatically. But what? Was she going to blackmail me out of my friendship with Anais? Anais and I were on terrible terms, but I had hoped to be able to make up with her, to stay friends somehow. I don’t know, I guess I hadn’t really worked it out. I frowned, trying to read Stella’s sphinx-like expression. “This is our time,” she said finally, motioning vaguely to the Stella McCartney section. “And I know you said you couldn’t shop without her, but we’d rather keep this Monday tradition just us, ‘kay?”

  For a second I just stood there like an idiot, trying to process why she would even care.

  Why was I Shrew Crew-approved, but Anais wasn’t? Did it have something to do with that angry part of me that reared its ugly head today? Did the Shrew Crew like me because they sensed I was somehow like them? That I was a little bit evil? Or was it because I had a certain je ne sais quois? Because I was patently cooler than Anais, at least by the Shrew Crew’s standards? Should I be flattered?

  Stella stood in front of me, her eyebrows raised, poised for my response. This was obviously a test. When I opened my mouth, I surprised myself yet again.

  “Listen, she’s, like, acting all crazy ‘cause her mom has cancer or whatever,” I shrugged indifferently. “We’re not really getting along.”

  Stella pursed her lips, which I think meant she was pleased. “That’s really sad about her mom,” she said softly. Ava nodded sagely behind her. I felt relieved, but also incredibly guilty. What was happening to me? How could I betray Anais like that? How could I disrespect Pam’s privacy?

  Stella tossed an asymmetrical Phillip Lim dress into my arms. “Now that would look totally insane on you,” she said. I glanced surreptitiously at the price tag. 750 dollars! My heart pounded. “Oh, and speaking of people we’re not getting along with,” Stella said, flicking through racks with abandon, “Odette is, like, losing her mind that I’m not speaking to her.” She cast a knowing glance in Ava’s direction. “I guess I don’t know how to tell her that her ex-boyfriend has already moved on!” she exclaimed. Ava shrieked with joy and clapped her hands.

  I frowned, my face heating up. “What? What did he say?”

  Stella beamed. “He’s into you!”

  My cheeks were on fire. “Are you serious?” I asked, stunned.

  “Totally!” Stella squealed. “He’s going to be your boyfriend now. And in return, maybe you can set me up with someone you know …” she cooed, leading me over to a table of two hundred dollar jeans.

  I frowned. “Do you mean Baron Caldwell? Because I don’t think he’s speaking to me,” I said warily.

  Stella chuckled. “Been there, done that,” Stella muttered. I frowned. “And anyway,” she forged ahead, “I can’t date someone so white trash, you know? He’s just for fucking.” I did not know. He was a TV star. How was that white trash? And since when are high school sophomores fucking? Losing their virginity, sure. It happens. But to be so advanced as to casually throw the f-word around as a verb? My eyes widened. “I’m talking about Austin,” she said finally.

  My heart stopped for a second. “Austin, as in … Anais’s boyfriend?” I croaked.

  Stella nodded, grinning. “Why not?” she said lightly. “He’s hot, he’s older, he’s such a good guy… Plus, we almost hooked up before, so—”

  “That’s … not possible,” I blurted.

  Stella turned to me, scowling. “Anything’s possible,” she countered.

  I surveyed the situation. Stella had chosen a few dresses and a few tops, all incongruous.

  She had minimalist goth Alexander Wang mixed with neon Proenza Schouler and nude silk Stella McCartney. She had no style. Hence, she had no idea who she was. Meaning, she would probably change her mind about Austin quickly.

  “They’re in the honeymoon phase,” I stated plainly. “It’s going to be impossible for me to break them up for at least a few months. In the meantime, I’ll put a good word in, start doing the groundwork.” Stella narrowed her eyes. “And this,” I said, pulling a cool, one-shouldered gray and navy color block dress from Jonathan Saunders off the rack, which would perfectly compliment Stella’s pale eyes, hair, and frosty personality, “would look perfect on you.”

  She smiled, taking the hanger, marveling. “Fuck, Vaughn,” she said, laughing. “You could be a stylist!” Ava peeked over the massive pile of clothes she toted from rack to rack. “Come on, ladies,” Stella grinned. “Let’s hit the dressing rooms.”

  Ava tried on and subsequently bought pretty much the entire contents of Fred Segal.

  Apparently, she did this whenever they got new merchandise; she’d
buy everything, whether it was flattering or not, in case. In case she decided she liked it. In case she saw it on her nemesis, she could say, “I bought that, like, forever ago.”

  Stella, on the other hand, was slightly more discerning, but like I said, she was confused, almost like she had about a dozen different ideas of herself in her head and her wardrobe had to accommodate all of them. She grabbed a black leather and shearling biker jacket, a Rick Owens tank, and classic boot cut jeans, like she was Jennifer Aniston en route to Sundance. She modeled a cobalt blue Pucci feather and beaded cocktail dress for the Eva Mendes in her. She had this crazy Balenciaga sweater (that would make Ashley Olsen look tame and Bill Cosby proud), which she paired daringly with ikat trousers. Then she broke out this Isabel Marant tweed blazer and some skinny cargo pants, looking like a rich grandma on safari.

  She wanted my opinion on everything. I honestly didn’t know what to say or do but thrust the same Jonathan Saunders dress under her nose until she agreed to purchase it. I also advised her to take the blazer and Rick Owens tank—both fit well with the modern ice queen look I was creating for her. In the meantime, I tried on their few castoffs, which weren’t half bad, but obviously way out of my price range, especially now that my KissnTell PayPal card was off-limits.

  “You know what?” Stella said, cradling her future purchases in her arms. “You get me.” I smiled warily, struggling to zip up the Philip Lim dress she insisted I try on. She laughed. “Who knew?”

  “Not me,” Ava said, shaking her head. “But seriously, Vaughn, you’re a surprisingly awesome shopping partner.”

  “I know, right?” Stella exclaimed. “Here, let me help you,” she said, rising to zip me up.

  The three of us stood before the mirror like columns, the fluorescent overhead fixture spotlighting our blotchy skin. The dress Stella had picked out wasn’t half bad. It was grey, which went with the rocker girlfriend thing I was trying to cultivate, and had specks of metallic in it, which made it special. Other than that, it kind of looked like a lampshade went though a house of mirrors, but cool. Cooler than anything I’d ever hoped to own.