“Let’s check out the messages,” Stella said.
At the same time, I noticed Baron Caldwell absently rifling through my clutch. He retrieved my emergency tampon, holding it up to the group like a conductor’s wand, his eyes wide as moons, and threw it at Ellis Leachman’s head.
“Ew, man, that’s fucking disgusting!” Ellis shouted. “That touched Vag’s vag!”
Everyone laughed. I flinched. Was it possible they still called me Vag? Even after everything? The nights out, the shopping trips, and now … sex with Xander? I couldn’t take any more. I stormed out into the living room. They looked up at me, unfazed.
“Give me my bag,” I demanded, holding my hand out to Baron. Both he and Stella played dumb, as though I hadn’t just caught them going through my things. As though it wasn’t a betrayal in the least.
“Well, it’s my bag,” Ava said. “And I say they can do what they want with it.”
I frowned. “Then give me my stuff,” I seethed.
“Vaughn,” Stella said calmly. “Why didn’t you tell Austin what I told you to tell him?” she asked, holding up my phone as proof.
I sighed. “I told him what I thought would get him to come,” I muttered.
Stella frowned, rereading my text message. “I told you to tell him I was DTF, and this, like, says nothing about me. You just ramble on about celebrities and then that’s it.” “Starfucker,” Baron muttered, still flicking through my things. “Give me my stuff,” I said again.
Baron regarded me for a second. “Okay,” he said. I exhaled, relieved. Then he held up my lip gloss. “One shiny, gooey, pink thing. Here ya go,” he said, handing it to me. I rolled my eyes as he pulled out my driver’s license, inspecting the photo dubiously. “One driver’s license featuring a very unfortunate photo,” he announced, handing it to me. I felt my face flush. Was he really going to do this with every item in my purse? “One twenty dollar bill,” he said, handing it to me. Before my fingers touched it, he snapped it back exclaiming, “Oh wait, I’ll take that.” He folded it up and put it in his pocket.
I balled my hands into fists and stared at the rug, waiting for this excruciating experience to end. Then there was a pause. A long pause. Too long. I looked up. Baron had retrieved and was now studying my Paypal card—the KissnTell Paypal card—frowning. I swear to God, my heart stopped for a second. If he knew that I was behind KissnTell.com, he’d know for sure that I was the one who leaked the story about us, he’d sue me for slander, ruin our credibility, blow our cover … I suddenly felt lightheaded. I gripped the back of Ava’s chair for support.
Baron narrowed his eyes at me.
“What’s wrong?” Stella asked him, placing her hand on his shoulder.
He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “I just—don’t feel very well.” Stella expelled a particularly whiny Awww, throwing her arms around him. He patted her on the back. “Hey, uh, sweetheart,” he said to her. She looked to him, wide-eyed like a puppy. “You know what would be so great? Can you go run that big Jacuzzi for me?” She nodded, standing up. “Get your friends to help,” he said, pointing to Ellis and Ava. “We’ll have a skinny dip,” he said.
“’Kay babe,” she said, motioning to Ellis and Ava, who got up grudgingly. Before leaving the room, Stella stopped, her eyes bouncing between Baron and me suspiciously.
“We’ve got some unfinished business,” Baron explained, as though reading her mind. He winked at her. She smiled.
We were alone in the room. Well, except for Miller, who was beyond passed out. Baron stood and approached me slowly, displaying the card, which was clearly labeled KissnTell.com. I felt like my heart would explode.
“I actually gave you the benefit of the doubt,” he said, circling me. “I mean, I figured you gabbed to all your little friends because, come on, who wouldn’t?” He shrugged, looking at me, expectant. I just stood there, frozen. He got very close to my face and scowled. “But you were actually messing with me for a fucking story,” he spat. When I didn’t try to respond, he shook his head and continued pacing. He stopped. “How much money did I make you?” he asked. I looked to the floor. “Seriously, how much?” he pressed.
I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I croaked.
He scoffed. “She doesn’t know,” he said, incredulous. He tapped the card on the palm of his hand. “Well, I had to hire a publicist, did you know that?” I shook my head. “Yeah,” he said. “I had to hire a fucking publicist to deal with the fallout you created with your stupid story. And lemme tell you something,” he said, lowering himself into a chair, “publicists are not cheap.” He ordered me to sit down, nodding to the chair across from him. I sat down shakily. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I could sue you, you know that? I could sue you for millions of dollars,” he seethed. My chin dropped to my chest. It was too much. I couldn’t take it. I started to cry. Baron leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
“Please,” I managed. “Please don’t.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “Listen, I don’t want to ruin your life,” he said softly. “I just want to move on.”
I looked up at him, hopeful, sniffling back tears. He pocketed the card.
I frowned. “What are you doing?” I asked, desperation leaking into my voice.
He glanced at me. “My publicist costs five G’s a month,” he said, looking me in the eye. “The least you could do is pay for this little party I threw for your friends,” he said, gesturing to the sprawling bungalow, the coffee table covered in room service, the dining table covered in half-finished bottles of top-shelf alcohol.
I looked at him, stunned. Was he serious? He couldn’t be serious.
“From what I understand, I just have to swipe one of these things,” he said, pulling the card out of his pocket and flipping it in his hands. “No identification necessary.”
I gaped at him. “H-how much is this going to cost?” I asked, looking around.
He smirked, crossing his legs. “From what I hear, you’ve been mooching off the Beldon’s dough for weeks now. Are you honestly trying to be frugal?”
I swallowed hard. “How much is this going to cost?” I asked again, my jaw clenched. He took a breath, surveying the room. “Well, let’s see,” he said. “The room’s five G’s a night, two night minimum. Plus tax,” he added pointedly. “The drinks and food back at the Chateau will probably run you about two thou or so. I’m guessing about five thou for the drinks over there,” he said, pointing to the dining area. “There’s two bottles of Dom in there. And this,” he said, motioning to the trays of Kobe beef burgers, tuna tartare pizzas, and black truffle mac and cheese, “this’ll probably go for about five hundred,” he said. “So, I dunno, I’m no good with math, that’s—”
“That’s almost $20,000,” I blurted, my forehead breaking into a cold sweat.
Baron threw his arms up in the air. “There you go!” he exclaimed.
“I—I don’t have that kind of money,” I managed.
Baron shrugged. “Then I guess we’ll have to overdraw your account,” he said, pouting at me. He was mocking me.
I swallowed hard, staring at the wainscot carpet until my vision blurred. If Anais had saved the money for Pam’s surgery, I’d be losing nearly all of it. Even if she hadn’t, I’d be setting her back significantly. I couldn’t be responsible for that. I couldn’t. I had to do something.
I looked at Baron, at the card flipping in his hand. I reached for it, lunging over the coffee table as swiftly as possible. I knocked it out of his hand, watched it cartwheel across the floor. Baron laughed maniacally as I scrambled after it on all fours. My middle finger was inches away from it when Baron’s foot landed squarely on my back, knocking me down, knocking the wind out of me. I squirmed and failed, but the sole of his shoe pummeled into my lower back, holding me down.
“You’re pathetic,” he sneered, leaning forward and snatching my card off the floor. “Hello, this is Baron Caldwell.
I need security, please.” He was on his cell, making the call that would have me thrown out of the Chateau. My card would be gone for good. “Yes, I’ve apprehended a young girl, probably some fan, trespassing at my bungalow. Can you send someone? She’s pretty out of control,” he said, his voice clipped. “Thank you.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening. Large men in dark suits arrived at the door, lifted me up, and dragged me away. I kicked, screamed, and cried. I tried to explain. No one would listen to me. To them, I was just a crazy kid. I was easy to ignore. I was nobody. In the blur of my fury, all I could hear was Baron at the top of the hill, laughing at me.
28.
HOLDING MY BREATH
Anais
It’s true what they say about waiting rooms. C-SPAN played on the TV too quietly to understand. I was planted in an itchy chair, surrounded by miserable people trying not to focus on the fact that at any moment, someone in a white coat could approach them and give them news that would change their lives completely, for better or worse. My mom was in surgery to remove her tumor, and yet it was easy not to obsess over potential outcomes. I had several other crises to distract me, like the fact that my boyfriend, who I had decided I was in love with, was probably cheating on me with the devil incarnate and my supposed best friend had orchestrated the entire affair.
Austin had been texting and emailing and calling me for days, since I left him in the bathroom with Stella at the Chateau Marmont. Even though he did seem innocent and, at the very least, sorry, I couldn’t bring myself to confront him. Confronting him made it a real issue, whereas now, in this emotional limbo, I could just be still and wait. I didn’t exactly know what I was waiting for, but I think it had something to do with my mom. If her prognosis was good, I knew I was strong enough to move forward and deal with it alone. If it was bad, and I didn’t have Austin, I was worried I’d break down for real.
I hadn’t heard from Vaughn at all. It was Monday. My mom’s surgery had been scheduled for 8 a.m., right when Vaughn was sitting down for Biology class with Xander Carrington, Odette Abberley, and Ava Goldmann. But I couldn’t even picture her there. Everything was so different now. Xander was her boyfriend. Ava, her friend. And Odette…I didn’t even know what Odette was anymore. She was nothing, like a ghost in the halls. No one would speak to her, and she barely spoke herself. She’d grown pale, her hair looked dry, her spine, normally erect with Pilates precision, collapsed like a sad turtle. People placed bets on how quickly she’d transfer schools. Vaughn used to message me from that class, drooling over Xander’s muscles contracting through his t-shirt, complaining when Odette insulted her in front of everyone, and I would shoot her quick, encouraging replies while taking dictation in French. Now Vaughn was there, and I was here, and she didn’t even know. She didn’t even know my mom was on a surgical table, her life in jeopardy, and I was completely alone.
I looked at my watch. It had been four hours since my mom went under. The doctor said they could finish the surgery in four hours if everything went really well. I crossed my legs, jiggling my ankle frantically. I really wished she hadn’t told me that. Now every minute that went by, I worried something had gone wrong.
After about twenty excruciating minutes, my mom’s doctor appeared in the doorway and looked right at me. She tucked a piece of hair that had come loose from her disheveled ponytail behind her ear and crossed her arms. I must have looked pretty terrified because she smiled warmly. I stood up as she strode over to me.
“Your mother’s surgery went very well,” she said, smiling calmly. I nodded, still, for whatever reason, braced for bad news. “We removed the tumor and the surrounding tissue. She’s very lucky she found it early, before it spread to her lymph nodes.” I nodded again. “She’ll need to do a round of radiation therapy to be safe, which, I should warn you, will make her very tired and very sick,” she continued, taking on a teacherly tone. “But your mother should make a full recovery,” she said finally.
I sighed. Tears streamed down my face. The doctor gave me a pat on my upper arm as I wiped my eyes.
“Which one’s her room?” I asked, nodding to the long, linoleum corridor.
“Reception can help you with that,” the doctor replied. “But you can’t see her now. The anesthesia hasn’t worn off and she needs time to recover.” I nodded, lowering myself back into the itchy chair. “You’re free to wait here,” the doctor continued. “But you might be more comfortable going home for the night. They won’t let you see her ‘til morning.”
I stood again, unsteady. The thought of taking a taxi alone, back to my empty house, was too depressing for words. But staying in this stagnant room was way worse. Comforting myself with the thought of Truffles waiting faithfully for me at home, I thanked the doctor and made my way to the elevator bank.
I promised Raven I’d text him as soon as I had any news, so that’s exactly what I did. I told him the surgery went well, but she’d still need a round of radiation. True to form, his response was blasphemous but funny, something about owing Jesus a mercy fuck, and made me chuckle for the first time that day.
There was something comforting about the control and solitude I felt driving home. I could get through this. I just needed to focus and try my best to remain positive. Radiation therapy cost $6,000 per session. I needed to go online and check the KissnTell account to see if the advertisers’ money for this month had come in yet.
Since I stopped speaking to Austin and thus no longer had access to his photos, the site lagged a bit. Over the weekend, my mom had surprised me with a subscription to Splash.com, this site that provided the right to use tons of paparazzi shots for a monthly fee. “A belated Christmas gift,” she had said. She was so cute and proud presenting me with the printed out receipt in a greeting card covered in snowy glitter glue. I figured I could coast along on those shots until I had the nerve to work something out with Austin.
The cab pulled into the driveway. I paid the driver the $75 it had cost to get from Cedars Sinai hospital to the my house in the Valley and numbly walked inside. I stopped at the front door, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’d always been a bit of a loner, but I’d never actually been alone, not until now.
I held the key to the lock and stood there, frozen, tears of loneliness streaming down my face. I wiped my eyes, gasping for breath. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t cry spontaneously in the middle of the day. I had to go through the motions. I had to get everything done.
I put the key in the lock and opened the front door. Truffles instantly leapt to my knees, panting. I bent down and wrapped my arms around him, burying my teary face in his scruffy neck. I scratched him behind the ears and stared into his bright, adoring eyes. At least I wasn’t totally alone.
I made my way to the sliding door in my mom’s room, which opened onto our rugged patch of yard. Truffles followed at my feet and bolted out the door as soon as I cracked it open. I decided to leave him out there for a while. Clearly, he needed some air. I went into my room and opened my laptop. I logged on to check my balance with Paypal.
Balance: $7,998.00
My heart started to pound. There must have been some mistake. I refreshed the page, my hand trembling.
Balance: $7,998.00
There it was again. I could hardly breathe. All the blood rushed to my face. I frantically dialed the customer service number, my fingers drumming on the desk as it rang. How could this be? There was nearly $27,000 in it on Thursday. What could have happened in the past three days? Was it possible the investor took back his money? Could he even do that once it hit my account?
“Paypal, my name is Cheryl, how can I help you today,” a bored voice droned on the other end of the line.
I inhaled sharply. “Uh, hi, Cheryl, there seems to be a problem with my account,” I breathed.
“Name and account number, please,” she replied lackadaisically. She sounded like some kind of white trash robot.
“Anais Martel, account number 2564392.”
I squeezed my thighs together, suddenly overcome with an urge to pee. “This is a business account?” Cheryl asked.
“Yes, for KissnTell.com,” I replied quickly.
“Mm-hm, what seems to be the problem?” Cheryl asked. I stood and began to pace, my bladder tingling.
“Well, as of Thursday, there was over $20,000 in the account, and now there isn’t,” I explained, half expecting Cheryl to gasp in shock, call the authorities, do something. I listened to her breathe on the other end of the line for a few moments before continuing. “And anyway, I’m wondering how that’s possible,” my voice cracked. I started to panic. “Like, where did it go?” I urged. “Where did the money go?” I stopped pacing and ran my free hand through my hair as Cheryl sighed.
“You didn’t take out any money?” she asked.
“No!” I shouted. “Why else would I be calling?”
“Lemme check the account activity,” she said. I grit my teeth together and listened to Cheryl’s incessant clicking.
The clicking stopped. “Mm-hm,” Cheryl said.
“What? What is it?” I asked, still panicked.
“One of the authorized users on your account used the card at the Chateau Marmont yesterday. A Vaughn Francis?”
I froze. Blood pounded in my head.
“How,” I croaked. “How much was charged?
Cheryl sighed. “Well, let’s see here,” she said. I closed my eyes. This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening. “$19,149,” Cheryl chirped.
I dropped the phone, my wrists, back and neck quaking, convulsing. Cheryl’s muffled voice bled from the speaker, abandoned on the carpet.
“M’am? Hello?”
* * *
I sat down on the bed. How could she do this? How could she do this to me? Even if she hated me, how could she do this to my mom? After everything my mom had done for her over the years! The cozy nights on the sofa, the free advice, the shopping trips, lying to Mrs. Vaughn about what we were up to. I racked my brain for an explanation, but there were only two, and both of them made me sick.
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