Spiral

by Jacqueline Levine

  CHAPTER 29

  “That’s right, that’s right!” Mica shouts, greeting me in a parking garage off of Hollywood Boulevard with a quick embrace and a laugh. He appears annoyingly impressed with my clothes. “You look like a pimp, Hansen!”

  “Thanks, I think,” I reply, looking down at my shirt and pants. Mica’s accompanied by an entourage of big dudes and tall girls, and I feel underdressed despite his approval. I count eight others, maybe two or three years older than us. There are about five girls, all wearing glittery dresses and high heels. They are trying much too hard to look older than they are, and a few of them are successful.

  One girl is a modelesque brunette, with long, tan limbs and eyes rimmed with thick, black lashes. Her hair is long and dark, cascading down her bare back in waves. Her full, rosy lips smile at me shyly when she catches me staring.

  I look away immediately and step closer to Mica.

  “Who are all these girls?”

  “Some friends of D’Shawn’s cousin. They in college,” he says with a wink. “Can’t be bringin’ too many playas to the party, if y’know what I’m sayin.’”

  Mica introduces me to D’shawn and his friends, and I feel my cheeks growing red when he begins to tell them about how we met.

  “My man here’s got crazy girl problems, yo,” Mica laughs. “Lives with a bunch of nasty stepsisters at home. You should see ‘im in the ring, swingin’ all wild like a rabid animal!” His friends laugh, and I grit my teeth, stealing a glance at the beautiful mystery girl with the hopes that she isn’t listening.

  But she is, and she purses her lips in playful sympathy. I immediately find myself comparing her to Cherie, like how her smile has that same brightness but her eyes are smaller. She’s seems taller, but Cherie is always wearing those ridiculously high heels, so it’s hard to tell.

  Mica follows my gaze and summons her closer with a flick of his wrist. “Carly, meet Jack Hansen,” he says with a broad smile. I cringe hearing my name out loud, thinking this just might be the moment Mica finds out who I am. But when the girl seems not to recognize my name, I relax a little.

  He murmurs loud enough for her to hear, “Jack, this is Carly. She got an ass that’ll make you forget all about Miss Trouble, and she likes younger men.” My jaw drops and my cheeks burn at the embarrassing things he says.

  I try to smile politely and shake her hand. “Hi.”

  She says, “Hello,” in a sultry voice and rolls a dirty look in Mica’s direction. She does not want to be presented like an escort he’s providing for me.

  “I apologize for him,” I say quickly, shoving my hands deep into my pockets.

  She giggles and says, “It’s okay. I’ve hung out with Mica a few times. He’s got no filter.”

  “That’s for sure.” Mica urges all of us to start walking toward the club, and I fall into step beside Carly, feeling out of place both in this group and among the other people on the boulevard.

  “You look familiar,” she says, squinting at me.

  Here it comes, I think nervously.

  “Have you come out with Mica before?”

  I nearly sigh with relief. “No, we just met last week,” I say, directing my gaze to the concrete at my feet and staying mum about Cherie. If she can’t place me, I won’t help her. “I just moved here from New York.”

  “New York?” she asks. I nod. “Why did you move out here?”

  I smile tightly. “It’s a long story. What about you? Are you originally from California?”

  “No, Las Vegas, actually,” she says, laughing when my eyes widen.

  “Vegas? That’s so cool.” She nods and flashes me a shy smile. “Why’d you come here?”

  “I was discovered by an agent, and he convinced my parents to move us out here,” she replies with the touch of modesty that Cherie definitely lacks.

  “So you’re a model?”

  My guess is flattering but wrong, so she laughs. “No, but thank you. I’m a singer,” she tells me. “I’m working with a producer right now.”

  Before I have a chance to feel embarrassed or ask what the hell she’s doing hanging out with us, our group stops at the front of a crowded club. There is a line of people waiting behind a long stretch of red velvet rope. D’shawn walks right up to the doorman, and they exchange a quick hug and some friendly words. Soon, the rope is pulled aside, and our group is ushered inside.

  Mica is at my side, practically bouncing with excitement. He hears a song he likes playing through the club and is already dancing, moving his feet deftly and grinning from ear to ear.

  “He’s crazy!” Carly shouts over the music, her eyes reflecting the colored lights of the club as she watches him. I can only nod in agreement, my words lost because I’m watching her, captivated by her smile.

  As we follow D’shawn through the club, the scent of incense mixes with sweat and smoke and devastates my sense of smell. It smells like Cherie, and I suddenly feel bad about my attraction to Carly.

  It doesn’t last long.

  “Stay close, hun,” Carly calls over the music. She grabs my hand and weaves in and out of the crowd. A buzz shoots through my veins from my fingertips to my gut. She glances over her shoulder, just to ensure I’m still at her heels. I force a blank stare, like having her hold my hand didn’t set off a thousand alarms inside.

  Bodies dance around us, bumping and sometimes slamming into me as we walk through, linked tightly. It is easy to get unhooked from someone in a crowd like this, so I make sure to keep up and not get distracted.

  Until I see her.

  Unexpectedly, Cherie is before me, dancing – no, writhing – like a stripper on a table in the club’s VIP section. There are people cheering her on, and a few have the wherewithal to catch the moment on their phones’ cameras. She is dancing with another girl, who stops her and turns her around. The girl tugs on her hair so that her head snaps back, and she quickly pours a shot into Cherie’s open mouth. The crowd goes berserk.

  As much as I feel like pretending I have no idea who she is, I can’t help the horror and jealousy and urge to protect her that simultaneously explode in my chest. I’m drawn closer and closer like a magnet until I am on the perimeter of the crowd she’s attracted. I stop and stare up at her, debating whether I should drag her down from the pedestal by her hair or punch the guy who’s trying to get his camera under her tiny dress first.

  Suddenly she sees me, double takes, and then waves emphatically. “Jack!”

  She uses the people beneath her like stepping stones and finds her way to the floor amid a chorus of boos and protests. She loses her footing and almost crashes, and I quickly thrust my arms out to catch her. I get a wave of déjà vu because I’ve been in this situation a few times now.

  “Jack!” she shrieks excitedly, wrapping her arms around my neck in what is probably the most extreme show of affection she’s ever displayed in public since I’ve known her. She stumbles again, but this time I already have her in my grasp. She giggles maniacally as I help her stand upright.

  “Jack, what’re you doing here?”

  In my swirl of astonishment and anger, I forget why I am even at the club. “What are YOU doing?” I demand. “You’re wasted!”

  “I’m fine, Jack,” she replies with a wave of her hand. “Come! I want you to meet my friends–”

  “Wait, Cherie. You’re drunk. People are taking your picture,” I tell her, holding up my hand to block someone who is recording us with their phone.

  “Who cares?”

  “You should! This is going to be all over the news – you’ll get in trouble!”

  She laughs at me and pets my cheek adoringly. “Oh, Jack, you’re so sheltered. I won’t get in trouble for any of this – the club might, though!”

  “I mean with Jim and Mom,” I say, squinting from the flash of a different person’s camera. I finally recognize that I’ve been holding her close to me this whole time, and now I’m in every picture that’s been taken for the last thirty seconds. T
he headline “Cherie’s New Beau Sneaks into Nightclub with Her” flashes through my mind, and I shudder. Great, now I’ll be in trouble, too, and it’s not even the truth.

  I release her and take a step back, glaring at the photographers. Two girls come bounding up by her side.

  “Hi, I’m Amber,” one says, and I recognize her as Amber Stiles, another beautiful star from Cherie’s network. The other girl looks familiar, too, and is also pretty hot, so my mind starts running through all of the Kidz Channel starlets to come up with her name. It takes me a minute to recognize this scantily dressed vixen is Danika, who looks more like the real Danika’s evil, whorish twin.

  Danika watches my jaw drop and smirks. I immediately remember the dare I made Cherie pull on her earlier, and I can tell by the look on her face that she is now in on the joke and doesn’t find it funny.

  “Oh, hey there,” I say, forcing a smile.

  “Hi,” she says too cheerily. “Have a nice afternoon?”

  It almost hurts to look her in the eye. “Yes, it was fun. I – I’m sorry about the, um – ”

  She waves her hand in the air flippantly. “Oh, don’t give it a second thought. Sounds like it was all in good fun. This – ahem – BITCH can take a good joke now and again.” Suddenly, her eyes are steely and burning through me.

  Before I can feel an ounce of regret or fear, Amber grabs my chin and studies me like a show dog.

  “Wait – are you Jack?” Amber asks, a secret-knowing gleam flashing through her eyes. She’s not fettered when I pull my face from her grip. She purses her lips and adds, “I’ve heard about you.” By the way she winks at me, I can tell she doesn’t mean from the gossip news.

  Cherie talks about me? To her celebrity friends?

  Cherie shoots her friend a warning glare and shoos both her and Danika away. She turns and looks me over, switching back to her more playful persona.

  “You sure do clean up nice, Hansen,” she comments, twisting the collar of my shirt between her fingers. “Here, this will make it better.” She undoes the top button of my shirt so that it reveals part of my chest.

  “That makes me look like a tool,” I complain, but I don’t dare change it. If she thinks that looks better, then I’m okay with it.

  Unexpectedly, her hand is in my hair, and she’s messing it. “Too much gel,” she says with a scrunch of her nose. Usually, this is a cardinal sin to me, but I’m too distracted by the feel of her fingernails against my scalp to pull away. I stand still and let her do whatever she wants to it.

  “So, how did you get in here? Who are you with?” she asks again.

  My mind snaps back to attention. I look around, realizing I’ve lost my group completely. Finally, I see Carly and Mica coming back for me.

  “I’m here with some friends,” I say, gesturing to the duo as they approach.

  Cherie looks over at Carly and noticeably stiffens. “Who is she?” she asks in her signature snotty tone.

  I stare down at Cherie, who suddenly looks like she’s taken one shot too many of a mean potion. Carly approaches her with a friendly, unsuspecting smile while I’m inwardly cowering, sensing the worst.

  “Hi, I’m Carly, Jack’s friend,” the poor, innocent girl announces, extending a hand. “I’m a big fan!”

  “That’s nice,” Cherie snips, ignoring her. She turns two darkened, emerald eyes on me and forces a smile. “I’ll let you get back to your friends.”

  Carly raises an eyebrow and looks disgusted as Cherie pushes away from me and parades through the crowd with her two “friends” at her heels. I turn and am sputtering an apology when Carly’s mouth twists with humor.

  “I thought you looked familiar,” she says. I can feel myself turning all shades of red.

  “Yeah, but – ”

  “Hansen!” Mica interrupts, firmly shaking my shoulder. “Is that the girl from TV? What’s her name –”

  I nod. “Yeah. That’s my step-father’s niece,” I tell him, watching Cherie rush out of view with her friends.

  When I look back at him, his eyes are bugging out of his head like a cartoon character. “That’s the cousin?” he cries.

  “That is Trouble,” I say, and his mouth forms an ‘o’ as he howls laughter.

  “Oh, my man – you serious?” he nearly screams. “Are. You. Serious!”

  “It’s not what you think,” I grunt. I glance over at Carly, hoping she hears me, too. “She’s just a brat I have to live with, and she drives me nuts.” Now that Carly knows who I am, or at least whoever the media has made me out to be, I expect her to dismiss me completely. There won’t be any convincing her that we are nothing more than family, especially after how Cherie just acted toward her.

  But it’s not only Carly that I have to worry about putting false pieces together; Mica has already finished the puzzle and is standing in humored sympathy. My face grows hotter. I know this is going to be a big conversation we will have tomorrow, when Carly is out of the picture and it’s just us in the gym.

  “My brotha,” he sighs, resigning to wait until tomorrow for the full story. “Let’s get this man a drink!” He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me toward the bar.

  “Oh, my favorite bartender’s on tonight!” Carly cries out, her eyes like two bright lights on her face. Her body dances toward the bar, as though she is possessed by the music, where she is attended to immediately. Some things are so easy for girls that they are just wrong.

  “Here you go,” the bartender says with a flash of his kindest smile, presenting three giant cocktails. His leering look in her direction annoys me.

  I pull out money to pay for the drinks, but the bartender waves me off, yelling, “It’s on the house!” I’m puzzled and put the money on the bar anyway.

  When Carly cocks an eyebrow at me, I say, “Gotta tip, right?” I want to impress her, and tipping is impressive, I think.

  Or maybe not. She shrugs and sips her drink delicately.

  I realize she may still be peeved about our run in with Cherie, so I extend a weak apology. “I’m sorry about Cherie; she’s always like that. It’s not you.”

  “Actually, it’s you,” she replies with a playful wink. When I don’t catch on to her innuendo, she adds, “She’s clearly jealous; I would be, too, if my ex-boyfriend was hanging out with another girl.”

  I feel my eyebrows rise in disbelief. “I’m not her ex-boyfriend. I was never her anything.”

  “Could have fooled me,” she says.

  I shake my head. “I’m not, I promise.”

  “Okay. I believe you.” Carly giggles and takes my hand, blessedly forgiving. She nudges Mica for his attention. “Where do you want to go first? Balcony? Dance floor?”

  “We’ll look around after this,” Mica says.

  I’m not listening to either of them, instead staring at the drinks that Mica begins removing from the bar. He offers me a glass, but I hold up my hand and refuse it.

  “No, thanks,” I say.

  They gawk at me. “What? You don’t drink?” Mica teases.

  I smile and pat my stomach. “Gotta watch my figure.”

  “Yeah, right, take this,” Mica replies, shoving the drink back at me.

  “No,” I protest. “I can’t, really. I have to drive, remember?” I won’t say the real reasons though. I glance back out at the dance floor, watching for Cherie and for people taking her picture. She’s drunk enough for both us. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to be alert in case something happens. I also don’t need anyone snapping a picture of me drinking, too.

  “Whatever, more for us,” Mica chuckles. He takes one of the drinks and practically throws it down his throat in seconds.

  Carly gawks at him, laughing, “Oh my!”

  “What? I’m thirsty. A hot club can do that to you,” he comments.

  As they drink languidly, I keep an eye out for Cherie, who I finally find back in her VIP section, center stage, making a complete spectacle of herself. She sways and swoops her hips to the mus
ic. I like watching her dance, but so do many other guys in the club. She relishes the attention.

  Danika comes up behind her to dance against her body. She grabs Cherie’s hips and lets her hands travel down to her knees as she sinks lower to the floor. She twists slowly back up, and Cherie mimics the move. They giggle to each other, completely aware of the pairs of male eyes stalking them as they move together.

  I hear Carly say, “Hey, we’re gonna go check out the second floor. You coming?”

  But my eyes are locked, and I’m not listening. I watch a stocky young guy, dressed in jeans and a striped collared shirt, dance his way toward the girls. He looks familiar, but it’s hard to tell with the flashing lights and the distance between us. Cherie shakes her head and wags a finger at him playfully. She seems to know him. With a flick of her wrist, Danika sends Striped-Shirt back to his friends with his tail between his legs. He is aggravated but tries to play it cool by laughing and shrugging dramatically. I’m relieved.

  When I look toward Carly and Mica to finally give an answer, they’re gone. I know I should go look for them, but I decide to stay put instead and keep an eye on Cherie and Striped-Shirt.

  “Jack!” My head swivels, and a camera flashes, blinding me.

  “What the hell, man?” I demand, shielding my eyes.

  “Sorry, Jack,” the cameraman says. “Derek from Dirterazzi.com. It’s good to see you! What are you doing in here? You’re Cherie’s age, aren’t you?”

  I think fast. “No, I’m older.”

  “Huh. Not by much though, right? Are you here with Cherie and the girls tonight?”

  I shake my head and turn around to face the bar, ordering a bottle of water. He continues to fire questions and takes another picture while I pay.

  “So what’s going on with you two?” he presses. I ignore him. “How do you feel about her being seen out with Caz Farrell this week?”

  I grunt, “Get lost, man,” and take a big swig of water. I feel fire building in my throat, as if I could spit flames at him.

  He leans against the bar beside me. “Hey, man, I’m just trying to do my job, you know? They pay me to get pictures of you guys. You give me what I need, and I can help you out, you know? Use me, man, I can write your story for you, get the truth out there.”