She laughed. “But first, before you girls begin celebrating, could you do the smallest of favors?”
I stood waiting for the worst.
“Could you scoot over to the Tastee Freeze for malteds?”
“Oh, I would, but the Green Lady’s in the shop. There’s something wrong with her alternator. I had to ride over on my bike.”
“Well then, take Rose Bud.”
“Me?”
“She’s automatic. You shouldn’t have any problem as long as you remember the steering wheel is on the right.”
“But why can’t James go?”
“He’s a little under the weather. I think he has the same thing the Green Lady has.”
“All right.” Reluctantly, I handed Maria the key. “You go upstairs with the black beans and rice. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”
Totally tense, I crawled to the Tastee Freeze at twenty miles an hour, the entire time reminding myself that the Rolls had been owned by a really famous movie star. “Gloria Swanson,” I chanted over and over like a mantra. “Gloria Swanson, Gloria Swanson.”
Exhausted, I pulled into the Tastee Freeze parking lot. A pretty red-haired girl I’d never seen stood behind the counter. She looked older, like nineteen or twenty. The name embroidered on her pink blouse said Ginger.
“I’d like three malts, please. A vanilla, a peanut butter, and a date. And please make the vanilla extra thick.”
In a few minutes she was back. I pushed a twenty-dollar bill across the counter.
“Now, they’re full,” she warned, counting out my change, “so be careful not to spill on the way to your car.”
“I should be okay,” I said. I picked up the cardboard tray. “I’m just parked over there.”
I raised a shoulder in the direction of Miss de France’s Rolls-Royce. Ginger’s eyes followed my shoulder to the butter-colored car in the parking lot.
“Don’t tell me you’re driving Rose Bud now!” Her expression gave a new meaning to the word incredulous.
“Why, do you know Miss de France?”
“Know her? I practically lived with her for a year. I was going to be the next Rhonda Fleming. Don’t tell me she’s trying to turn you into a starlet, too?”
Feeling like I was going to faint, I plopped the tray of malteds down and held on to the edge of the counter.
Ginger reached over and grabbed my arm. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Guess I was out in the sun too long.”
She pushed a ripe banana at me. “Here, eat this. Potassium is the absolute best thing for heat stroke.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Really.” But to be on the safe side, I peeled the banana and took a bite.
“Well, stay out of the sun. Miss de France doesn’t want her little darlings to ruin their skin.” She laughed. “But seriously, girlfriend, watch out. Don’t let her own you like she did me. I’d probably still be prancing around her living room if I hadn’t found out the truth about Steffie.”
“Steffie?” I said, practically choking on the bite of banana. “What do you mean by the truth?”
Hurt flickered in Ginger’s brown eyes. “I hate to be the one tell you this, but there never was a car crash or a pink Thunderbird convertible. There never was even a niece named Steffie who died on her sixteenth birthday. Miss de France made her up.”
“No. I don’t believe you.”
“Hey, that’s your prerogative.”
“But, she has her picture on the grand piano.”
“Honey, anyone can put a picture in a silver frame.” Ginger patted my hand. “Take my advice. Get out while you can.”
I turned and heart thumping erratically, stumbled back to Rose Bud, Ginger’s words chasing me. I flung open the car door and jumped in, shoving the malts on the floor of the passenger side, then started the engine. Get out while you can. Get out while you can. Wildly, I threw the car into reverse, backing up until I stopped with a thud.
Terrified, I turned to see the towering Tastee Freeze sign, Coral Cove’s most indestructible landmark. Saying every bad word I knew and a few I’d never tried, I galloped to the back of the Rolls. Covering my face with my hand, I peeked through my fingers at Miss de France’s once perfect Silver Cloud, its right rear fender now resembling my late Grandpa Bentley’s accordion. Dazed, the notes of “Lady of Spain” ran through what was left of my mind.
“Are you okay?” Looking over at me were an old man and lady about fifty, sitting in their Buick, licking vanilla ice cream cones.
No, I am not okay, I thought hysterically. I will never be okay again. First nodding yes, then no, I blinked back tears.
“Well, don’t worry about the Tastee Freeze sign, dear,” the lady told me. “I’ve hit it a time or two myself. See,” she said, pointing to the employees behind the counter, “it’s hit so often they don’t even care.”
“Yes, but I think the person who owns this car is going to care.”
“Well, just tell your father it was an accident. I’m sure his insurance will pay for everything.”
Sparks flying, Rose Bud and I limped back to Spring Bayou, accompanied by the unrelenting melody of “Lady of Spain” spinning through my head.
James will kill me. He’s spent the best years of his life polishing this car. He’ll absolutely kill me. But strangely enough I wasn’t afraid. I was too angry with Miss de France.
Totally dazed, I drove Rose Bud to the side of the house and parked in the driveway. James, looking like hell, opened the back door at the first ring. Wordlessly he took the tray of malteds. I stared up into his face. Did she lie to you about Steffie, too, or are you in on the story?
“Do you have the flu, too?” he asked, peering into my face. “You look terrible. Maybe you’re just dehydrated.” He jammed the malt with a big D on the lid into my hands. D for date, or maybe it was for dummy. Obediently I slurped through the straw.
“Now go to the carriage house and rest.” His voice shook. “By the way, a few more of your friends stopped by.”
“Friends?”
“Sophia and Tamara and some young men.”
Young men? I swatted at a swarm of no-see-ums snacking on my ankles. “Okay, but first there’s something I have to tell you.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“I wish it could.”
“Then, if you must.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, while I was leaving the Tastee Freeze, I inadvertently (one of my harder Vocabulary Bee words) backed Rose Bud into this humungous sign and—”
“You did what?” A look of horror replaced his half-dead look.
“I’m really sorry, but I was upset about something and totally misjudged where I was going because the steering wheel is on the right instead of the left where it’s supposed—”
“Oh my God.” Color came back into his face. “Did the police come?” But before I could answer, James was out the door and headed down the driveway, me trailing behind.
“No, the police didn’t come. And I didn’t hurt the Tastee Freeze sign, much. Luckily the Tastee Freeze people didn’t even come out. I guess it happens all the time.”
But I knew James wasn’t listening.
When we got to the Rolls-Royce, he let out a little cry, the same sound I make when I see a squished squirrel in the road. Slowly he reached out to touch Rose Bud’s crumpled fender like he was saying good-bye to a dead relative in a casket.
“I’ll pray for it,” I offered idiotically. “I mean, I’ll pay for it.”
James gave me a look that clearly said I was the biggest moron he’d ever met.
“I warned Madame not to let you take Rose Bud,” he said, staring over my head as though he was talking to someone who wasn’t there. “I told her it was foolish to allow you children to drive, but she wouldn’t listen. She never listens.”
“Is Miss de France awake?” I asked. “I want her to hear about it from me.”
“She took a sleeping pill and retired early. It’s just as well. I
t would only upset her, and with her heart...”
“Well, then I’ll tell her tomorrow. I’m really sorry.” I turned toward the carriage house.
But I was lying. I was too freaked about what Ginger had told me to care about the Rolls. The real reason I wanted to see Miss de France was to confront her about her non-existent niece Steffie. And because I wanted to ask her why she’d lied.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Desperate to be alone, I plodded to the back of the house where an unfamiliar car greeted me in the driveway. Usually I would have been curious, but I was too bummed out over Miss de France to care.
Miss de France had lied about Steffie. And if she’d lied about Steffie, she’d lied about everything. But hadn’t I known? Hadn’t I known from the very beginning she wasn’t really Terry Moore hiding out in Coral Cove under a different name? I was an idiot.
“Brooke, we thought you’d never get here.” I looked up to see Tamara leaning over the carriage house railing.
“What are you doing here?”
“Maria invited me.”
I clumped up the stairs, the sound of guy laughter interrupting the memory of Gloria Swanson’s crumpled Rolls-Royce panting in the driveway.
“Who else, in God’s name, is up there?” I asked.
Tamara smiled triumphantly. “Some guys from Bayview Maria met at the beach.”
I reached the top of the stairs and peeked through the door of The Patent Leather Room. There, perched on the edge of my Hollywood bed, were five of the hottest guys I’d ever seen. And flitting around them like two Hooters Girls were Maria and Sudsy.
“Que pasa! You must be Brooke!” The words came from a surfer-looking dude with spiky blonde hair. “My name’s Jack. I’ve heard a lot about you.” His eyes looked sleepy.
“And I’ve heard a lot about your apartment.” The second voice came from the guy sitting next to him. I blinked. It was Jack again. Same face, same gelled hair, same boozy eyes. Maybe I got a concussion when I creamed Rose Bud, I thought wildly.
Maybe from now on everything will be double.
“I’m Jake. We’re identical twins.”
In his tanned beach-boy hand, Jake held a plastic cup with what looked like beer.
Maria, dressed in majorly tight red shorts and a black T-shirt, sashayed my way. She was drinking beer, too. Sudsy trailed behind.
“The twins are going to be seniors at Bayview,” Maria announced. “They’re on the tennis team. Those guys are Brice, Mike and Quinn.”
The trio waved in unison. I turned up the corners of my mouth in a fake smile. Maria moved closer so she could whisper in my ear. “I don’t know which one I like best. They’re all really cute.”
I grabbed her by the elbow. “Maria, I need to talk to you a second. You, too,” I added, motioning to Sudsy and Tamara.
“All of us?” Tamara asked.
I nodded, then marched the Sisters to my miniscule bathroom. Once the four of us squeezed in, I closed the door. “Okay, whose idea was this?” I said, grabbing Maria’s beer and pouring it down the sink.
All eyes turned to our beauty queen Sister. “Hey, don’t blame me. The only guy I invited was Jack, and Jake showed up with him. I guess they never go anywhere without each other.”
“Kind of like a security blanket,” Sudsy added.
Tamara tugged nervously on a Geri Curl. “They must be a lot of fun on a date.”
She was trying to humor me, but I wasn’t in the mood. “Okay, that explains the twins, but what about the others?”
The sound of Fall Out Boy blasted through the walls. Maria bit her pouty lower lip, and Sudsy looked down at the tiny black and white triangle shaped tile. Tamara just looked defensive. “They just appeared out of nowhere,” Tamara said.
“You guys are unreal!” My voice was a scary copycat of my mother’s when she was teed off. “You know Miss de France’s rules, but you still go ahead and drag a bunch of half-drunk guys over here anyway.”
“We didn’t know they were bringing beer. Honest!” Maria was on the brink of shedding a few famous Telemundo tears.
“Well they did, so what do we do now?” My voice morphed from mad to one step away from homicidal. The sound of breaking glass interrupted my thoughts. I opened the bathroom door to the sweet smell of pot, and Jack—or was it Jake—piecing together what was left of a white table lamp.
He looked up. “Sorry, it just kind of fell over. Hope you’re not pissed.”
“Well, I am. I am more than—”
Quinn covered my lips with his finger tips. “Now, baby, don’t be such a bitch. You’re far too hot.” He took a swig from a can of Bud Light. “Besides, the party’s just getting started.”
“Yeah,” Brice said. “Besides, that cool old lady downstairs said we’re going to watch a movie at her pad. Something about a reef.”
So now Miss de France was competing with Muvico. I imagined her watching us with her gold binoculars.
“Wrong,” I answered. “We’re not watching movies now or ever.”
Quinn swung his arm around my shoulder. “Now, sweetie, what did I tell you about being nice?”
Scrunching my shoulders, I slipped out of his grasp in time to see Sudsy in my face.
“You’re not going to believe this, Brooke, but a car full of kids just pulled up.”
“What? How did anyone know there was a party?” My voice was semi-hysterical.
“The guys probably texted them.”
“Mellow out,” Quinn said. “They’re just friends from school. They’re cool.”
I looked up. Charging through the door without so much as a hi-di-ho were four guys and two girls, one with a ring in her nose, the other with Little Orphan Annie red hair that stood up in spikes. I looked at the Sisters. Panic was written all over their collective faces. We were totally outnumbered.
The crash of splintering wood forced me to turn to Brice, sprawled across Miss de France’s Oriental rug, broken bits of my dressing table bench scattered around him. Splashes of red covered one wall. The sound of his howling competed with the music of the Stones in the background.
Quinn rushed to him. “Are you okay, man?”
“No, I think I broke my friggin’ ankle.”
“Jeez, it looks like you’re bleeding, bud.”
“Naw, it’s only cherry wine.”
“Wine?” I screamed. “You spilled cherry wine on my rug?”
Quinn and what’s-his-name hauled Brice to the edge of my bed. “It’s all your fault!” Quinn yelled, pointing a sticky red finger in my face.
“My fault?”
“Yeah, if you had some decent furniture in this dump, this wouldn’t have happened. Now we’re screwed! He’s our star quarter-back, and he’ll probably be out for the season.”
“Be cool, guys. Just give me another drink and I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m having too much fun to leave.” Brice smiled a drunken smile, then passed out.
I stared at his sappy face. He looked like a toddler on steroids. “I want him out of here!” I yelled. “You guys pick him up and drag his ass out!”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Quinn said. “He weighs like two-hundred friggin’ pounds.”
“I don’t care if he weighs two tons.”
“Maybe we better call the police,” Maria whispered, edging me into the Pullman kitchen.
“We’re not calling the cops,” Tamara hissed. “I’m trying to get a scholarship, remember?”
“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you let everyone in,” I hissed back.
Sudsy made a peace sign. “All right, let’s not fight. We have to remain calm.”
“Okay,” I said. “But we’ve got to get them to leave.”
It was a no-brainer. We needed help. But who did I dare call who wouldn’t narc me out to my parents?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I stood on the porch of the carriage house, frantically punching numbers into my cell to the only person I could think of. An empty Coor
s can sailed past my head. My eyes followed the can to the backyard where I caught a glimpse of one of Bayview’s finest taking a leak in Miss de France’s red hibiscus. A few feet away lay Brice passed out on his back, and a very drunk buddy who was trying to wake him up.
Please answer the phone, I thought. Please, please, please.
“Hello?” Nick’s deep voice came through the phone like a desperately needed blood transfusion.
“It’s me, Brooke,” I wailed.
“What’s wrong?” His voice had morphed to red alert. “Have you been in a car accident or something?”
“Well, actually, I was, sort of, but...”
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I have another problem.”
“You mean a car crash isn’t enough?” I pictured his face as one big question mark.
“Well, the Sisters came over with some guys from Bayview, and then more people showed up. They’re all drinking, doing pot and destroying the place. And I can’t get them out!”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
I sat on the steps, counting the seconds until Nick came. Counting and crying and worrying. What if James called the police to haul us off to jail before Nick got here? I imagined the scene. Cops everywhere; the Sisters and me handcuffed in the back seat of a couple of squad cars; my parents bailing my sorry ass out of jail.
I looked at the Victorian for a rustling of lace curtains, but nothing. Maybe Miss de France had changed her mind about showing movies. Maybe she and James were just as scared as I was.
The time on my cell glowed ten-fifteen when the sound of tires in the gravel driveway sent me flying down the stairs. When Nick got out of his van, I threw myself into his arms.
“Thank God you’re here!” I whimpered. “I didn’t know who to call.”
Nick peeled me off his chest. “It’s okay. Anthony and I will take care of these guys.”
Anthony? I turned my head in time to see my Thursday afternoon dance master pull up in his Trans Am. Wordlessly he got out of the car and pulled one of the puking twins out of the hibiscus.
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