Sun-Kissed

by Melissa de la Cruz

  Eliza went back to the T-shirt pile, her face glowing. Sydney had loved the outfit—he’d even said she was good—no, he’d said she was simply fabulous. It was like a lightning bolt through the clouds. She’d loved helping style the dress. Working on the look was the first time she’d ever felt passionate about her work—really, the first time she’d felt excited about anything other than shopping.

  A shadow suddenly enveloped Eliza. She looked up to find Paige looming over her. Insta—buzz kill.

  “Sydney would like you to take a look at the rest of his line.” Each word seemed painful for Paige to speak. “I’ll take over folding the T-shirts.”

  Eliza leaped to attention and handed over the folding board. Even though her feet were sore and her joints ached, a sweet feeling of satisfaction seeped into her bones and made her oblivious to the pain.

  Suddenly, the job wasn’t so boring after all.

  you can’t always get what you want….

  THE LIMOUSINE INCHED FORWARD FOR SEVERAL BLOCKS, stuck in Midtown gridlock. All around them the streets were jammed with harried commuters trying to get out of the city early on a Friday afternoon, a veritable Escape from New York. Sometimes it took longer to get out of the city than it took to drive to the Hamptons.

  Jacqui stretched her legs in the back of the limousine, dozing as the kids flipped channels on the built-in DVD player and Anna made phone calls. Her Sidekick vibrated, and she checked the screen. The new-message icon was flashing. She clicked on it idly but caught her breath once she saw the sender’s e-mail address: admissions@nyu.edu. It could only mean one thing. The school had finally come to a decision. After a deep breath, she scrolled down to read it.

  To: jacarei_velasco@stgraceacademy.edu

  From: admissions@nyu.edu

  Dear Jacarei Velasco,

  We regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you a position in next year’s freshman class. Unfortunately, subsequent investigation of your high school transcript from São Paulo reveals that you have taken only two years of science and mathematics. New York University requires that all its incoming students complete a minimum of three years of study in these subjects. We suggest taking a fifth year of college preparatory courses to bolster your application if you choose to apply for admission next year.

  Thank you for your interest in New York University, and best of luck in the future.

  Sincerely,

  The New York University Admissions Committee

  How could this be? She’d been waiting for so long—she’d worked so hard—between schooling and the au pair gig, she’d barely even had time to hang out when Eliza was home from boarding school. Plus, she’d taken the SAT no fewer than seven times, and she’d even passed her AP English exam—a real achievement! Then she’d put in all that time at the dialysis center as part of her community service to beef up her application—which had been a difficult squeeze with all her responsibilities at the Perry house. She’d done everything possible—she’d rewritten her essay so many times even she herself was sick of her life story and “the most influential person in her life” (her grandmother). By rights, she was a perfect candidate—well rounded, solid GPA, likable background, killer head shot. (All the schools were asking for them now.) What could have gone wrong?

  “Are you okay?” Anna asked, raising an eyebrow. She’d noticed Jacqui staring at the screen with uncharacteristic intensity.

  “I got an e-mail from NYU,” Jacqui said flatly. She choked out the bad news.

  “I’m sorry,” Anna said, her voice warm. “I went to NYU. I know it’s terribly hard to get in these days. I’m sure you’ll do just as well at another university.”

  Jacqui took Anna’s words of comfort in the spirit they were offered; she knew her employer meant well. But Jacqui didn’t have a plan B. She’d refused to apply to any other college as the counselor had suggested. The University of Michigan? She didn’t even know where Michigan was. Wellesley? An all-girls’ school. Forget it! So instead of college, her only remaining option was to take a fifth year—of high school! The humiliation!

  Jacqui had heard about the dreaded “five-year plan.” A few seniors from last year’s class at St. Grace had returned to the school for the same program. It was usually offered to dumb rich kids who had marginal brains but oodles of money. Jacqui couldn’t believe she would be one of those people. First off, she wasn’t rich. Who was going to pay for another year of her tuition?

  Of course, she could work for the Perrys again. She was sure Anna wasn’t looking forward to breaking in a new au pair. But Jacqui had talked about NYU so much—she and Eliza were already planning on meeting up in October for Halloween, and she’d had Mara promise that wherever she ended up, they would spend Thanksgiving together. She even had a roommate lined up—a friend from St. Grace who had been granted early admission to Tisch.

  Traffic finally let up, and the car deposited them in front of the barbed-wire gates in front of the Thirty-fourth Street tarmac. Anna and the rest of the family clambered out of the limousine, leaving Jacqui alone inside.

  With no one to notice, Jacqui brushed away a few tears. Madison Perry, twelve years old and even skinnier than last summer, stuck her head inside the car. “Jacqui? We need to go.” She saw the look on Jacqui’s face. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

  Jacqui smiled bravely. She wiped her face. “I just realized I’m wearing the wrong outfit for the helicopter. My skirt is going to be in my face from all that wind.”

  Madison chuckled hesitantly.

  “You know, like Marilyn Monroe—poof!” Jacqui joked. She slid out of the car. This time Madison laughed in earnest.

  Jacqui forced a laugh too, holding down her skirt as they ran past the scissoring helicopter blades. But her smile faded as soon as Madison turned away.

  The girl from sunny Sao Paulo felt as cloudy as the New York sky.

  when duty calls … blackberries vibrate

  RYAN TOSSED OVER THE CARDBOARD FEDEX BOX, AND MARA tore it open.

  “What the—?” she asked as out tumbled a vibrating BlackBerry.

  She tried to answer it. “Hello? Hello? Hello?” she yelled, twiddling the little knobs on the side.

  “I don’t think it’s ringing,” Ryan said helpfully. “I think it means you have a message.”

  “Right,” Mara said, scrolling down the page and finding a blinking envelope icon on the screen. She tapped it open.

  “Oh no!”

  “What’s wrong?” Ryan asked, climbing back into bed and kicking the FedEx box to the side. He knelt above Mara and nuzzled her neck. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that important.”

  “Shit! I’m so dead!” she gasped as she scrolled down the screen. She looked at her watch and cursed again. “It’s eleven-thirty!”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Ryan—can you please—” Mara said, brushing away his hand and turning her head from his kisses. “It’s my boss!” she wailed. “She’s the only one who knows the boat address. Anyway, there’s a big benefit party at Cain tonight for some day-care center, and their society columnist is stuck at some royal wedding in Saint-Tropez.” Mara swallowed hard. “She wants me to be there … and write a whole column about it!”

  Ryan sighed loudly against Mara’s shoulder. “So?” he asked. “What’s the big deal? You’re supposed to write for them, aren’t you?”

  Mara blew out her bangs. “Not really. She said there was a chance I could do some writing—but mostly captions. Not a real article. You don’t understand—I’ve never written anything like this before! The biggest event I’ve ever written about was the musical production of Mary Poppins at our high school! And she wants a column—with quotes from celebrities. How do I even do that?” Mara was terrified at the thought of actually sticking a tape recorder under a famous person’s chin. Did she even own a tape recorder?

  “Easy. You just go up and ask a question,” Ryan replied. “It’s not a big deal. I see reporters do it all the time. B
esides, you’ve been to, like, a million parties in the Hamptons. It’s all the same thing every year.”

  Mara freed herself from his arms. She wrapped her body in a bedsheet and ran out to the deck to fetch her luggage.

  “You’re leaving?” he asked incredulously. “But we just got here!”

  “I have to,” she pleaded, returning to the cabin with a suitcase and a garment bag. “The party started at ten! I’m already so late! Lucky was supposed to meet me there an hour ago!” She unzipped the bag and began rooting in it for something to wear.

  “Relax. Nothing ever happens before midnight,” he said.

  He remained silent as she fastened her push-up bra back on and wiggled into a tight-fitting Hollywould dress with a sexy cutout front studded with turquoise beads.

  “Zip me up?”

  Ryan sighed and propped himself up on his knees. Mara turned her back to him and he carefully zipped up the dress.

  She turned around to smooth out the front panels. “Do I look okay?”

  “You looked better before.” He smirked and switched on the sixty-inch flat-screen television.

  “Why don’t you come with me?” Mara asked, her face lighting up with the idea. She felt so bad to be leaving him in the middle of the night. She sat on the side of the bed to put on a pair of patent leather Pierre Hardy slingbacks, sneaking a glance in his direction. “It’ll be fun,” she wheedled.

  “Nah,” Ryan said, falling against the pillows. “I’m beat—I had to drive down from New Hampshire and then drive out here. You go. Seriously. I don’t mind.”

  “C’mon, we’ll dance a little, drink a few margaritas …” she said seductively, hooking the straps around her heels.

  “Hypnotic margaritas?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Your favorite.”

  “Mmm …” He looked like he was about to leave the bed and put on some clothes but at the last second fell back against the pillows again. “I’m so beat, I don’t think I can move. I really need to crash tonight.”

  “I just want us to be together for our first night,” Mara pouted.

  “I know, babe,” Ryan said, leaning forward and putting an arm around her neck so that he pulled her back on the bed. He slipped a hand up her skirt and pulled teasingly down on her underwear. “We can be.”

  For a moment, she relaxed against his grip, closing her eyes. She could feel him gently kissing the back of her neck, and it would be so easy to just surrender—to give in—to let them be together. But she put a hand on his hand and eased it out from under her skirt. Reluctantly.

  “I should really go. I don’t want to, but I have to.”

  “All right.” Ryan sighed again. “I understand.”

  She turned around to look at him in the eye. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He nodded, but his eyes were bereft of their usual spark.

  She still looked uncertain, and part of her just wanted to stay in the bed and be with him forever—but another part was also extremely worried about her first magazine story. A bona fide assignment! She’d just have to overcome her natural shyness and get a few quotes from the celebrities in attendance. Ask them what they were wearing and who they were dating … and … what? She had to fill a column—eight hundred words! She hoped she could pull it off.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “Don’t be,” he said. “We’ve got the whole summer ahead of us.”

  Mara smiled. He was such a great guy. And what was one missed night? He was right—they had three glorious months ahead to do everything together.

  She held up his Ferrari keys. “Okay if I drive it to Cain?”

  black hawk down

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, OUR CHOPPER ISN’T HERE?” ANNA demanded, jabbing a finger at the chest of the beleaguered air traffic controller. “We’re always slotted first for departure.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, but you’ll have to wait till they leave,” the nervous technician explained, thumbing behind him. “Then your pilot can land and you can board.”

  Anna looked over to where he had pointed and gasped. “What the hell is that? And what is it doing in our space!”

  In the Perrys’ usual spot was a magnificent army-issue Black Hawk helicopter revamped with custom detailing and luxury finishes, boasting a veritable Pimp My Ride makeover, from the cushy leather bucket seats to the retractable step platform. It could withstand Iraqi gunfire but was currently used to ferry its owners from Manhattan to the Hamptons in under an hour.

  A boxy, behemoth, bright yellow Hummer barged into the terminal and pulled up next to the Black Hawk with a loud screech. The side door opened and three very cute young indie-rock-looking guys jumped out. One was tall and light-haired with a pleasant face and a quick, friendly grin. He was wearing a purple Atari T-shirt and baggy jeans. The second had neat dark hair and black plastic square-rimmed glasses. A hipster nerd, good-looking in that bookish way. The third was lanky and laidback, with messy brown hair and a fine set of sideburns. He wore a yellow polyester shirt with a seventies-style spread collar that spanned the length of his shoulders and a pair of loud checkered trousers. They looked like college freshmen lost on their way to orientation.

  Jacqui stood by the chain-link fence next to the Perry kids, holding Zoë’s backpack and Cody’s hand. She barely noticed the three guys. Cody was screaming that he had to go potty, and Jacqui had to tell him to wait until they got to the Hamptons because there was no bathroom at the helipad. He’d finally been toilet-trained at the grand old age of five, but the poor kid still had the occasional accident. Jacqui prayed he wouldn’t have one now—or perhaps she could just let him go by the side of the road. He was just a little boy, after all, and it seemed cruel to let him suffer like that.

  While she debated on how to handle the toilet situation, her mind searched for an easy answer to her problems. She needed to think, and it was hard to concentrate with the sound of the helicopter engines and the Hummer stereo blasting and Anna’s incessant complaining.

  The trio from the Hummer sauntered toward the Black Hawk.

  “Sorry we’re late,” the tall blond one said to the air traffic controller with a wicked grin. “Ben here had a little appointment with Madame Cinq Doigt,” he said, holding up five fingers and smirking.

  “Duffy, man, you know she’s my best customer,” said Ben, the one with the glasses. He shrugged easily and laughed.

  “Check it out!” the handsome one with the sideburns exclaimed. “Fucking A.” He whistled, stalking over to the side of the chopper with smooth, catlike grace.

  Painted on the side of the helicopter was a cartoon hand holding up its index and third fingers in a crooked V. Underneath was emblazoned the words The Shocker!

  “Oh, man, Grant.” Duffy suddenly raised his arms to the back of his head and looked pained. “Totally forgot I have to pick up my parents from the Vineyard in that thing tomorrow!”

  “Maybe they won’t notice,” Ben soothed, taking off his glasses and wiping them on the edge of his shirt. “You can always tell them it’s a peace sign.”

  “Yeah, right,” Duffy said glumly as Grant punched him on the shoulder, trying not to laugh too hard.

  The three of them climbed up the steps into the helicopter, completely ignoring the Perry clan.

  Until they spotted Jacqui crouching on her knees, trying to calm Cody.

  “You can just go here, Cody. No one will see,” she said as she helped the kid with his pants buttons.

  “Ten o’clock,” Duffy said, alerting his friends to the direction where Jacqui was kneeling. “Hottie central.”

  Ben put his glasses back on his nose for a closer look. “Girls sure don’t look like that at Harvard,” he lamented.

  Grant nodded. “No wonder Latin American women always win Miss Universe.”

  His friends looked askance at him. “How do you know that shit?” they ribbed.

  “It’s called having sisters,” Grant huffed. He straightened his winged collar and s
licked back his dark hair.

  Jacqui didn’t even notice the three boys staring at her with an intensity bordering on reverence. In the afternoon sun, violet highlights shone in her black hair, and her deep bronze tan glowed. The sweetheart neckline on her dress displayed her ample cleavage, and her slim, toned legs were taut from squatting to Cody’s height. “There you go; that’s a good boy,” she said, relieved that the kid had been able to urinate. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, lifting and stretching her bountiful chest, which elicited a chorus of strangled cries from two of the Black Hawk’s occupants.

  “Yo!” Duffy said, opting for a direct approach.

  “Excuse me!” Ben yelled, trying for a polite angle.

  Grant merely slumped back in his seat and regarded Jacqui thoughtfully. Girls usually came up to him, and he didn’t see the need to make a fool of himself. Especially as the sounds of his friends’ desperate mating calls were obscured by the din of the engine roaring into first gear.

  “Who do you think she is?” Ben wondered aloud as the helicopter lifted them high up in the air and out of earshot.

  “A goddess,” Duffy opined.

  “Relax, guys, we’re going to the Hamptons. And believe me, they all look like that there,” Grant assured them. But his two friends looked at him doubtfully. As far as they could see, there was only one Jacqui.

  the first rule of party reporting: fabricate fun!

  IN THE HAMPTONS, EVEN A DAY-CARE-CENTER FUND-RAISER merited boldface names and a swishy crowd. The first person Mara saw on entering Cain was none other than Mitzi Goober—the toxic publicist from last summer who had styled herself Mara’s best friend and plied her with gifts, only to turn on her after a misunderstanding over a pair of misplaced quarter-million-dollar earrings that were supposed to be worn by J.Lo at the MTV Awards. But what was a lost PR opportunity among friends? To Mara’s surprise, Mitzi greeted her with a shrill hello and immediately drew her in for a fierce embrace. It was like hugging a skeleton, Mara thought.