Cherie turns and puts her seat belt on, saying, “Your sister has the most gorgeous eyes. Who has blue eyes in your family?”
I stiffen and busy myself with pulling out of the driveway. I hate having to talk about my father. “Our dad.”
She nods. “Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting about him. Where does he live?”
I almost have to clear my throat to answer. “I don’t know.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see her nose scrunch as if she doesn’t understand this. I can tell she is going to ask more questions, so I change gears instead.
“Got a list of food you want to buy?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, no, I didn’t make a list. I really don’t want anything; this is very nice of Eva and all, but I just don’t have the stomach to eat anything right now.”
“You’ll have to eat eventually,” I say, and I hate myself immediately for it when her face falls. I may as well have said, “You’ll have to get over their deaths eventually.” We silently agree to drop each other’s uncomfortable conversations.
“This car is nice,” she says, but she says it in a way that should have the phrase, “for a high school kid,” attached to the end.
Still, the compliment makes me beam on the inside. There’s nothing I’m more proud of than my car, not even my football trophies. I spent a lot of time lifeguarding last summer to earn this car, and it means a lot that she would pay it a compliment.
“Thanks. Do you have a car back in California?”
She nods. “I have a couple, but they’re in my parents’ names. Probably have to give them back now. Whatever; it doesn’t matter anyway. I haven’t gotten a license yet. Haven’t had the time to take the test.”
This is abhorrent to me. How does someone not have the time to take the most important test of their life? “So why do you have cars?”
She shrugs, and the answer is implied, hanging heavily in the air over my head. She’s rich and famous, dummy! She probably owns monkeys that she doesn’t need, too.
“Here it is,” I announce, pulling into the parking lot of our local shopping plaza. I look in my rearview mirror at a car that is thisclose to hitting my bumper. “What the hell? Why is this guy on my –”
Cherie takes one glance back and mutters, “Dirterazzi,” as if she’s bored by the word. “I guess they finally found your house. I thought I saw them following you when we pulled out of your road.”
“Jesus,” I murmur, turning around to see not one, but two beat-up sedans pulling into spaces near me.
“It’ll be fine,” she sighs as I put the car in park. “You take care of Britney while I give them a quick statement.”
I marvel at her boldness as she throws open the car door and steps out elegantly. The photographers are out of their cars faster than spitballs from a straw, and they have no hesitation in approaching. I do what I can to pretend they’re not five feet away, snapping with their cameras, while I reach into the backseat and unbuckle Britney.
In the background, I hear Cherie spinning the same comments Betsy and her other handlers have prepared and rehearsed with her. “…deeply saddened by…respect my privacy at this time…so fortunate for the support of…”
Britney is quiet as she watches this spectacle and twists a blond curl around her finger while she waits beside me. I hold her hand a little tighter, but it may be for my own comfort rather than hers. My stomach is doing little flips and flops just in anticipation of those cameras turning on me.
Cherie walks over to us, her camera-ready smile fading, and Britney reaches out to her with her free hand. Cherie extends her own out and sways from the suddenness of her own movements. Her heel catches in a crack in the ground, and she cries out. Her body begins to fly backward as she tries to right herself.
Immediately, my football reflexes snap to attention. Before she falls over, I catch her in midair against my forearm and grab her wrist, like I’ve dipped her after a dance. Britney bursts into a fit of giggles.
“Oh, God!” Cherie grasps at the sleeves of my jacket for dear life. Her wide, surprised eyes trap mine and hold them hostage.
I stare at her, entranced. “Are you okay?” I whisper.
She’s breathless. “I think so.” I am frozen in the moment, so close to her I can see the flecks of gold shimmer in her lip gloss. I suddenly can’t look anywhere but her mouth. My mind is racing faster than my pulse. I hear the click of a camera, and it jerks me out of my stupor.
“Smooth, Jack! Great shot.”
“Good catch, man! Hey, Cherie, you should keep him around!”
“Yeah, you two look good together.”
Suddenly, the cameramen are on top of us, snapping frantically, and Cherie is scurrying to find her footing. I tuck Britney out of the camera’s view and cast them a dirty look. My cheeks burn.
I want to tell them to get lost, but my tongue is numb. All I can do is tilt my head toward the supermarket. Cherie follows obediently, one hand still gripping the sleeve of my jacket while we walk. Britney leaves my side like I’m yesterday’s news and takes her new idol’s free hand.
I send the girls inside and grab a shopping cart, stealing a glance over my shoulder as the photographers compare their stills of us. I can’t help but wonder what Cherie and I look like together.
Supermarket shopping without a list is hard, but following someone as slow and distractible as Cherie is nearly impossible. I have a clear goal: frozen pizza and chips, and I find my stuff in less than three minutes. But Cherie parades up and down each aisle, wondering where things are, texting, examining the firmness of fruit, reading nutrition labels. It’s torture.
To add salt to the wound, we end up with four items by the time we get on line. I set a box of expensive granola bars, apples, Doritos and pizza on the conveyor belt. When Britney begs for a bag of Skittles, I don’t think twice and add two bags of the candy to our sad bounty.
I don’t want this to be my fault, so I ask one last time, “Are you sure this is all you want? Is there any other fruit you want to buy? You looked at a lot of fruit.”
“I’m good,” Cherie says quietly. She seems distracted again, but this time she’s staring past the cashier to the massive windows. The cashier gives her a double-take, and then she looks around to see if any of her co-workers realize they are in the presence of greatness. Cherie doesn’t notice the woman’s sudden interest in her and stares forward, her eyes glazed.
Cherie had faded in and out the entire time we shopped, so I don’t pay attention to her. I don’t follow her gaze, and instead I proceed to pay the cashier. Britney asks to carry the grocery bag, and I fiddle with her coat to make sure it’s zipped. We’re immersed in our own worlds, our normal routines. I wish that for just a second I had noticed the growing media storm outside.
Because when we emerge from the supermarket, we are swarmed by humans with cameras for heads. There are all types – fans holding up cell-phones, professional photographers, and news reporters with video cameras and microphones that they immediately thrust in her face.
“Cherie! Cherie how are you?”
“We love you Cherie!”
“We’re praying for you, Cherie!”
“Stop wearing furs! Do you know how many defenseless animals are killed for your stupid fur coats?”
“Cherie, will you still be hosting the New Year’s Ball with Caz?”
My head is spinning. We take a step left, and they step in our path. We swerve right, and there they are again, blocking our path. I look down at Cherie, who keeps her sunglasses down to hide her eyes. I can tell by her stiff, unsmiling mouth that she is unnerved. Her head hangs low, her shoulders curve inward, and she tucks her arms against her body. She is shrinking inside of herself.
But they don’t seem to notice. Or care.
“Cherie, are you going back to work on Choc it Up?”
“Cherie, is it true you were drinking at a nightclub the evening your parents died?”
“Cherie, is Jack you
r new boyfriend?”
Britney cries out, “Jackie!” before I have a chance to digest that last question. I look down and see she is engulfed by the photographers.
I’ve tried to keep my cool up until now, but these people have crossed a line. Frustrated, I command, “Move!” They part immediately. I lean down and hoist my sister up in one arm. I reach out with my free hand and grab Cherie’s. Gritting my teeth, I lower my head and plow through the crowd like we’re one yard short of a first down, and I have been given the ball. Surprisingly, they get out of my way.
But it doesn’t stop the questions.
“Jack – Jack, are you and Cherie dating?”
“Cherie, how does it feel to be an orphan? Can you give us a statement?”
The barking continues to swirl and swim around my head as we walk hastily forward. I do my best to tune them out and protect the girls. They both look like they’re about to cry, and I’m not sure who needs more shielding. I quickly deposit Cherie into the front seat.
“Buckle Britney in when I put her in the car seat,” I command, and she nods. I swing around to my side and drop Britney, who has started to cry from all of the commotion, into the back. It’s the first time I have ever set her down in the car without checking that she was safely buckled, but I trust Cherie to take care of it. I jump inside, start the engine, and throw the stick shift into reverse.
The cameras are everywhere. I honk my horn and gesture for them to move. I can get in trouble if I hit someone, and I would definitely lose my license. Frustrated, I shout, “Get out of the way!” I’m almost ready to hit someone anyway. They seem to sense I’ve reached my limit of patience and start to back away from my bumpers.
“Thank you! Geez! How the hell did all those people know we were there?” I mutter, more to myself than to Cherie. “Only two guys were outside when we first got there!”
“Those two guys tell two guys, and pretty soon you have a gaggle of them at your door,” she replies.
I’m baffled. “Tell me that this is not every day of your life.”
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t this bad before.” That is a little sobering. I can barely believe that this attention is all due to her family tragedy.
Vans and cameras follow us back to the house. I’m lucky to be able to pull into the garage since Jim and Mom are still out. As the door folds down to hide us from their prying eyes, I turn off the engine and stare forward.
Cherie notices my trembling fingers, my wide, what-the-hell-just-happened? eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. I see her eyes shine with looming tears.
I look over to her and shake my head. “It’s not your fault. I’ve just never seen something like that before.” I try to let the adrenaline melt away.
Her eyes gloss over, like tears are making their way out of hiding. I don’t want her to be upset. I’ll do anything to keep her from crying.
“Let’s go inside. Britney wants you to put makeup on her.”
“Yay!” Britney squeals from the back, and Cherie shakes her head.
But she’s smiling.
DIRTERAZZI.COM
CHERIE BELLE RETIRING FROM ACTING?
Rumors are circulating around pop TV star, Cherie Belle, again! This time, sources close to Cherie say she is considering stepping away from acting and Hollywood for good. It seems the starlet needs more than just a little healing time after the deaths of both her parents in December. “She just wants to be a kid, you know?” says our source, who asked to remain anonymous, about Cherie’s top secret plans. “She’s been acting for over five years, and now she wants a break so she can focus on herself and her healing.”
Carl Schwartz, Cherie’s manager, insists this is hogwash and claims his client is merely taking a few weeks off after promoting her movie, “This Side of Sunny,” to clear her head. We’re pretty sure Carl, who was spotted recently enjoying a lavish dinner with Cherie and other members of her entourage at the swanky Manhattan restaurant, Curve, would have the 411 on Cherie’s true plans.
CHAPTER 9
“I just don’t get it; why does she sleep with him every night?”
I wake up, but I don’t open my eyes. I fell asleep on the couch after eating my pizza, and now I can’t be sure what’s going on around me. I feel Britney curled up on top of my chest, and she doesn’t stir. The conversation is behind me, spoken in hushed whispers.
I can definitely make out Claudia’s voice. “Oh, I know, it’s so weird,” she moans.
Someone replies, “I think it’s cute actually. But why does she do that? Is she just super-attached to him?”
It’s Cherie. My heartbeat stills.
Claudia’s quiet for a moment. She lowers her voice even more, but I can make out most of what she’s saying. “They’re… all messed up. Dad said… their dad left…she went on sleeping pills…couldn’t hear Britney crying at night. Jack had to take care of her.”
Rage ignites in my chest. I could kill Claudia right now. How dare she tell Cherie that? Even worse, how could Jim tell his daughters all of that? I want to jump up and scream at her, but I stay put, waiting to hear what else the little weasel has to say about my family’s secrets.
“So she just neglected them?”
Claudia’s quick to say, “No, it’s not like that. She was just really, really depressed, and she needed the meds to sleep at night.”
“Does she still take them?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So Jack had to take care of Britney? What about Brenton?”
Claudia snickers. “He made an imaginary friend, remember? They’re the total textbook example of dysfunctional products of divorce.”
Leave my brother alone. Leave all of us alone.
Cherie says, “I don’t know; Jack seems pretty normal to me.” Her words come just in time to keep the steam that is building inside of me from whistling out of my ears.
Claudia continues on her mean marathon. “He’s not. He’s a super narcissist; always hogging the mirror and fixing his hair and stuff. Loves his hair.”
“He doesn’t strike me as that at all. I’ve met lots of conceited guys before, ones with way less to be conceited about than him.”
“Well, trust me, he is the most screwed up of all three. Chloe says he has to keep the outside looking perfect because the inside is so effed up. He would never sit and just talk like we are now. He’s always locked up in his room like a hermit, and God help you if you invade his space.”
Cherie seems to laugh at this. “That’s just ‘cause he’s closed off.”
“Closed off?” I’m glad Claudia’s asking because I don’t know what that means, either. I strain my ear muscles and try not to breathe to hear what she says.
“He probably has a hard time with trust, and that’s why he doesn’t open up to anyone,” she says. “I’ll bet if you try to talk to him about his dad – ”
“Oh, no, don’t do that,” Claudia says quickly. Good girl, I think, feeling the steam rising into my ears again.
“What? Why not?”
Claudia’s voice goes real low again, and this time it’s harder to make out what she’s saying. “He does not…his... That’s one…things our Dad…promise not to do…got a serious temper…in school… therapist …he runs…” There’s a long pause.
“Really?” Cherie whispers, sounding shocked.
“Yes,” Claudia hisses. “He doesn’t talk about it. Like I said, textbook example.”
Cherie seems unconvinced. “I don’t know; I bet I could get him to open up.”
Nope. No way.
Claudia scoffs. “Your funeral.” They’re quiet for a moment as she realizes her poor choice of words. What a dummy. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Cherie lowers her voice. “It’s okay.” But she drops the conversation and clams up completely. I lay as still as I can, listening as they sit in deafening silence. There is some pounding on the steps and someone swishes by. Based on the heavy cupcake-smelling perfume that follows,
I am positive it’s Chloe.
“Hey,” she says as she enters the kitchen.
“Hi,” Claudia replies. Cherie says nothing.
“What time are people going to start coming over for Shiva?” Chloe asks. I hear the refrigerator door open behind me.
Claudia sighs and continues to be insensitive. “Six. It’s always six.”
“Right.” She pulls out a chair and sits down. “What’re you guys up to?”
“Nothing. I was just telling her about…” I don’t hear her say my name, but I can only imagine she’s pointing in my direction when Chloe groans, “Oh.”
Finally, Cherie excuses herself from the table, murmuring, “I’m gonna go lay down,” and she retreats downstairs.
Chloe whispers, “What’s her problem?”
“Who knows?” Then Claudia snickers, “I think she likes him.”
“Ugh, serious?”
Wait – what?!
“Yeah,” her twin laughs. “She was saying how he’s such a nice guy and all. Idiot.”
Chloe dismisses her. “Grief makes you say lots of crazy things, trust me. Plus there’s not much else to look at in this town.”
I don’t have a chance to be offended; their words echo in my mind and almost make me start to believe them. Cherie likes me? Is that really possible?
Claudia “Mmm-hmm”s her. “You see the article on Dirterazzi.com?”
Chloe is the one to “Mmm-hmm” this time.
“Do you think it’s true?”
Chloe guffaws. “No, but it would be hilarious if it was. That’s a train wreck waiting to happen.”
What is? I’m irritated they’re speaking in code. Even more, they’re openly defying my mom’s orders of not going on gossip sites.
Claudia snickers then sighs again. “We’d better wake them up and clean the living room before Eva gets home. You know how she gets when people are coming over.”
“Yep, nothing can be out of place,” Chloe chortles.
“I’ll get Britney,” Claudia mutters. Suddenly, she pushes her chair backward on the floor noisily and approaches the couch. I can feel her bear down on the top cushions as she leans over the side.
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