Kiss n Tell

by Suzy McCoppin

  I sat down next to him. “So what do I do?” I asked.

  Raven sighed. “I know a guy,” he said. “An ex of sorts. Total piece of shit. He trades this stuff. Jewelry, expensive watches. He could get 15,000 for that thing,” he said, nodding to the bathroom. “I bet we could sell it to him for ten.”

  My heart started to pound. “Great!” I exclaimed. “Can we call him? What do we do?” “That’s the thing,” Raven started. “Like I said, the guy’s a piece of shit. He only does in-person exchanges in cash, and you won’t want me around because then he’ll start thinking he can get some kind of deal just because we fucked.” Raven clamped a hand over his mouth and turned to me apologetically. “Sorry,” he said weakly. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

  I shook my head. “It’s fine,” I reassured him. “So, where will I have to meet him?” I asked.

  Raven inhaled, shrugging. “Oh, probably someplace disgusting,” he said lightly. “But I know he won’t hurt you,” he said. “I mean, the man’s gay. We’re peaceful people.”

  I shrugged. “So fine,” I said, invigorated. “Let’s do it.”

  Raven gave me a dubious once-over. “First you’ll need to look the part,” he said. “You can’t roll up in there looking like the poster child for American Eagle Outfitters.”

  I blinked.

  He sighed. “You’ll have to come with me,” he said. “We’ll get you some clothes, do your makeup, the works.”

  I arranged my face in a smile, relieved, and embraced him. “Thank you so much, Raven,” I murmured.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, patting me on the back. “We have no time to lose if you’re gonna be back at the hospital in the morning. Pack up what you need and get in the car.”

  I leapt up and scampered to my room.

  “Don’t forget the Rolex!” Raven called after me.

  * * *

  Four and a half hours later, I stood in the amber glow of the wood-paneled Dark Room at Smashbox Studios in West Hollywood, wearing clothes probably worth more than my mom’s surgery, my hair gathered and tamed into a tight chignon. On the way over, Raven had called in just about every favor in his back pocket. It was amazing, really, listening to him charming one person after another over his bluetooth as we cruised down Ventura Freeway. He called Melania, his old roommate from when he first moved to L.A. in, like, the early nineties, who worked in the booking department at Smashbox, demanding a space and a makeup artist. Then he borderline harassed an ex-boyfriend/current friend, an assistant stylist at MMA named Sean, until he agreed to borrow some clothes on his boss’s account at Kitson.

  “Okay look,” Sean’s voice boomed from Raven’s iPhone speaker. “We still have the clothes from an Ashley Tisdale photo shoot we did this morning. I don’t have to return them ‘til Wednesday. That is seriously the best I can do.”

  “Done!” Raven had proclaimed, before flicking the car’s sound system back over to Spotify. Avici blared from the speakers as Raven pressed the accelerator.

  * * *

  On the two racks Sean wheeled in and uncovered, there were mostly things like denim shorts, vintage tees, and leather vests. Ashley Tisdale’s style was more like Vaughn’s, I noticed. She was also closer to Vaughn’s size, in the 0 to 2 range, while I was in the 6 to 8 range. All of this posed a problem and caused Sean to grow flustered, pacing around sweating, lecturing Raven about what a bad idea this was. It was Cassandra, the Smashbox makeup artist, who came to my rescue and pulled the navy blue “infinity” dress I ultimately wound up in.

  It was one of the most beautiful dresses I had ever seen, and one of the most practical, too, which made me happy. It came in three sizes: 1, 2 and 3. I fit into size 1 thanks to its stretchy fabric, which also made me happy. And it was versatile. It could be tied over twenty different ways—strapless, halter, one-shoulder—creating the illusion of owning twenty different dresses in one. Sean tied the dress in the strapless style “to support and flatter your bosom,” he said, and paired it with turquoise and amber lacquer bangles and hot pink Christian Louboutin heels. Raven made my hair look effortless and perfect, while Cassandra gave me the glammest makeup I could ever imagine, with bronzer, false eyelashes, the works. The whole look was, without a doubt, my personal best. I guess it’s easy to look good when you have a team of people helping out.

  “I don’t even recognize myself,” I murmured, taking a seat next to Raven on the black, tufted leather sofa. “Thank you all so much.”

  Cassandra smiled. “We just want your mom to get better,” she said, tapping me on the head. “Let us know how everything turns out, okay sweetheart?” I nodded.

  She kissed me on the cheek and left the room. Sean followed suit, tossing me a sympathetic nod on the way out, leaving Raven and me alone to discuss the plan.

  Raven gravely turned to me. “I know this has been all tea parties and dress up so, but I want you to know, this is serious,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

  “I know,” I said.

  “It’s risky,” he continued. “This is under the table black market shit. Things could go wrong.”

  I shrugged. “I have no choice,” I murmured.

  “I know that,” he said. “Which is why I’m letting you do this.” he said, placing the Rolex box in the oversized satin clutch Sean had provided. “Now, over the phone, Amir agreed to 10,000 for the watch, provided it’s in good condition.”

  I nodded, hanging on his every word.

  “He’s gonna want to check it out. Do not let him do that without seeing the cash first.

  Not just seeing, touching. You want to make sure it’s not fake.”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding furiously. My heart pounded out of my skin. “After he agrees to the deal, count the money in front of him,” Raven urged.

  I frowned. “In the middle of the club?”

  “It’s fine,” he said, patting my knee. “You’re meeting him at 10:30 at the Rooftop Bar at the Standard. Tell the door guy you’re there for Amir. He’ll take you to one of these red tent- like couch thingies. You’ll have privacy.”

  I shrugged, nodding.

  “Now, knowing Amir, he’ll keep you up late, so take it easy,” Raven warned. “You’ll have to return those clothes to Kitson in the morning.” He then pulled out a business card out of his slim, leather wallet. “This is a car service I use for late nights,” he said, slipping it into my purse. “I can drop you off, but I can’t wait up. I have to be at work at 9 a.m. tomorrow.” Raven rolled his eyes. “I want you to call Louis when you’re ready to go home. He’s my usual driver. He’ll take good care of you.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Raven,” I murmured, glancing at him shyly. “You really think I can pull this off?”

  He sighed, smiling. “I know you can,” he assured me.

  31.

  TIT FOR TAT

  Vaughn

  I met Austin after school. We had no time to waste. Anais’s absence for her mom’s surgery presented the perfect opportunity for us to drive off together without raising any eyebrows, except maybe Stella’s, though I couldn’t give a shit about her anymore. And anyway, I don’t think she spotted us. I ducked out of last period Phys Ed early, without changing out of my workout clothes, and bolted to Austin’s trusty Subaru waiting at the front of the lot. I climbed into the car and wiped some residual sweat from the ninety-minute yoga session off my brow. I looked to Austin guiltily. He sighed, put the car in drive, and pulled out of the lot.

  “Where are we going?” I asked meekly.

  “Someplace safe,” he said flatly. “To go over what I have.”

  I nodded, somber, and glanced at Austin. His brow was furrowed. He looked determined and angry.

  “You hate me, don’t you?” I said.

  He sighed, shaking his head. “Hate’s a strong word, Vaughn,” he grumbled. I looked out the window, watched some palm trees pass by.

  “I know you didn’t have a choice,” he said lightly. I looked at him, hopeful. He always seemed so sincere.
“But you didn’t have to abandon Anais like that,” he finished, shooting me a stern look. I looked to my feet. “If you hadn’t gone off with that crowd, none of this would have happened.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” I exclaimed, starting to cry.

  He sighed. “Honestly, I didn’t,” he said.

  I swallowed, blinking some tears away. “Seriously?” I said. “How evil do you think I am?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, Vaughn,” Austin started, his voice sharp. “You ignored your best friend after she told you her mom had cancer in favor of a bunch of superficial bitches who could care less about you. Then you tried to break us up by pushing me and Stella together—”

  “Okay!” I shrieked, cutting him off. Austin shuddered. “Okay, I get it,” I snapped. “I’m a terrible person. I deserve to die.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, casting an embittered glance my way. He took a left on Santa Monica Boulevard. “The important thing is that you’re gonna help get the money back,” he said quietly.

  I nodded, though I worried it wouldn’t be enough to earn back Anais’s friendship.

  * * *

  We drove in silence for a long time, until Austin parked somewhere near Venice beach. I watched a couple hipsters stroll by while Austin pulled a slim laptop out of his backpack in the backseat and inserted a flash drive. He clicked around on his computer.

  “What are we doing in Venice?” I asked.

  He looked up from the screen, clearly annoyed. “We don’t know anyone in Venice,” he said.

  I shrugged. “We don’t know anyone in Kuwait, either …”

  “Here,” Austin said finally, turning the screen toward me.

  I squinted at the grainy image before me. It was of a thin, blonde girl bending over a bathroom sink. “Who is that?” I asked.

  Austin smirked. “You don’t recognize her?” he replied coyly.

  I shook my head.

  “What about here?”

  He switched to another photo of her standing up, facing the camera, her hand under her nose. It was obviously Stella Beldon. I peered at the image. There was something disturbing and familiar about it. But before I could put my finger on it, Austin spelled it out.

  “That’s your friend Stella,” he said, pointing to the thin blonde, “and that—” he shifted his finger over to two little white streaks on the marble counter of the bathroom sink, “—is cocaine.”

  My jaw dropped.

  Austin watched me dubiously. “Come on,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You didn’t know?”

  I shook my head quickly. “Of course not!” I exclaimed.

  Austin shrugged. “Girls like her are always into blow,” he said. “Check this out.”

  He scanned through the images rapidly from start to finish, so they created a moving image of Stella cutting the lines, bending over the counter, and ingesting the coke, like a druggie flipbook. I couldn’t believe it. I was speechless.

  “Now you see why I had to be careful with these?” Austin said. “This is huge. Probably the biggest story I’ve ever broken. Oscar-winner Jack Beldon’s daughter is a cokehead.”

  “This will ruin her,” I marveled, a little too happily.

  Austin shrugged. “For a while, yeah. Then she’ll probably go on Celebrity Rehab,” he chuckled.

  I frowned. “What made you follow her into the bathroom?” I asked, a bit of judgment lacing my tone. I know I was in no position to look down on him after what I did to Anais, but it was a little suspicious.

  Austin’s eyes widened defensively. “This!” he exclaimed, motioning to the screen. “She asked if I wanted some blow, and I played along, knowing that if I got this shot, these photos could make Anais and Pam a lot of money.”

  I shook my head. It made sense. I wished there were a way to relay that to Anais, so she at least wouldn’t be miserable about Austin on top of everything else.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “I’ve already made some preliminary calls,” he said, closing his laptop and tucking the flash drive safely away. “The National Enquirer is very interested. They offered 7,000 off the bat, without even seeing the pictures. If we go to their office and show them what we have now, they’ll probably go up a few thousand.” Austin turned the key, starting the car.

  “That’s not enough,” I murmured. Austin paused, letting his hands drop from the steering wheel, and turned to face me.

  “Look, Vaughn,” he started, the picture of bad news. “We’re just doing damage control, we’re not here to save the day, alright?”

  I frowned. “No wonder Anais likes you. You are so negative!” I shouted. “We need to make all the money back. 19,000. Now, how do we make this happen?” I urged.

  Austin rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat. “I may be negative but you’re unrealistic,” he sneered. “I’ve been in this business longer than you. The most we’ll get for these is eleven, twelve thousand, tops,” he said, wagging his hand at me like I was a child. “There are really only four or five usable pictures in here. And Stella isn’t even famous. We should just focus on contributing as much as possible to Pam’s surgical bill and not get discouraged if it falls short.”

  I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest, disappointed.

  “I’m sorry, Vaughn,” he said softly, putting the car in drive. “But this is better than nothing.”

  * * *

  We reached the National Enquirer offices without exchanging two words. In the parking garage, Austin scanned the lot for a space and somewhere on the third level, and I pointed to an empty slot. I sulked behind Austin as he deftly navigated the building. He drummed his fingers against his knee in the reception area, clutching the strap of his backpack with his spare hand, keeping the goods close. They made us wait for a long time. My knees shook. I could barely keep still.

  After about fifteen minutes, a surly, overweight woman in black separates covered in cat hair greeted us, gruffly introducing herself as Debbie. We followed Debbie into her miniscule, filthy office and took seats in two cheap director’s chairs set up on the other side of her desk.

  She shut the door and lowered herself, grunting, into her office chair. “So,” she said, smacking her gum. “Where are they?”

  Austin hustled his laptop out of his pack, loaded the images from the flash drive and turned the screen toward her. She squinted at the screen, then grabbed a pair of smudged, plastic reading glasses from a small pile of used staples and tissues, and slid them over her nose, taking a second look. Austin scanned through the images dutifully.

  “Uh-huh,” Debbie remarked, nodding. She leaned back in her chair and pulled off her glasses, tossing them back into the pile of rubbish. “You gotta deal for seven thou,” she said finally.

  I opened my mouth to speak but Austin beat me to the punch. “We can’t do it for less than ten,” Austin said, his face flushed.

  She scoffed, cackling at him. “Seven’s a good price for those,” she said, pointing to the laptop.

  “For Jack Beldon’s sixteen-year-old daughter doing coke?” he managed. “I don’t buy it. You paid more for the Montana Fishburne story when her porno surfaced, and Laurence wasn’t even a big star.”

  Debbie rocked her chair back and forth, snapping her gum. “I can get you nine,” she said, shrugging.

  I shook my head.

  “Can’t do it for less than ten,” Austin repeated.

  Debbie sighed, pushing off from her chair angrily. “Lemme talk to my supervisor,” she grumbled, slamming the door behind her.

  I looked around at her dump of an office, crammed with cheap-ass furniture that didn’t even have decent design value. Little post-its scribbled with half-thoughts, abbreviated names and phone numbers were stuck everywhere, their borders curling or stained with coffee rings. It smelled vaguely of urine. I shuddered, grabbing Austin’s forearm.

  “We can’t do this,” I whispered, desperate.

  Austin frowned, pry
ing his arm away from my grip. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about this,” I said, motioning to the room. “Anais wouldn’t want this,” I urged, shaking my head.

  Austin lifted his chair slightly to face me. “What makes you say that?” he said, frowning. “She wouldn’t want us to sell these pictures,” I said, breathless. “She’d want us to break the story. On KissnTell!”

  Austin scratched his head. I could tell he knew I had a point. He shrugged. “But that’s a huge gamble,” he said. “The second we leave this office, Debbie will post the story—without pictures, of course, but still. And who knows how much will come from KissnTell and when. At least this way—”

  “When we first met you, we wanted to sell the pics of me and Baron, but you were the one who told us to create our own site,” I countered.

  “That’s different,” he murmured.

  “Why?” I urged.

  He threw his head back, searching for an explanation. “Because you didn’t need the money,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You had only just met us. How would you know that?” I pressed.

  He sighed, rolling his eyes. “I wanted to see her again,” he muttered.

  I frowned. “What?”

  “Anais,” he said, glancing at me shyly. “I wanted to see her again. That’s why I told you to start the site. So you’d need my pictures, and Anais would have to call me.”

  I smiled, shaking my head. “Austin,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This could bring KissnTell to the next level. You know Anais wouldn’t want to give up that chance. I searched Austin’s eyes. He was conflicted. He bit his lip.

  “Nine’s as high as we can go!” Debbie shouted, barging back through the flimsy door. She slumped back in her chair and crossed her fingers over her chest, smug as can be. Austin inhaled sharply. We exchanged glances. He looked back to Debbie for a moment and packed up his laptop and the flash drive, pulling the zippers on his backpack closed. He stood, as did I. Debbie looked flabbergasted.