by Jillian Dodd
“That’s okay. I’m beat. I had a busy day. So, me and the guys are going down to Hermosa Beach on Saturday morning. We’re gonna surf, camp, party, then come home late Sunday night. You want to come with me?”
“I’d love to,” I say, and give him a really long good-bye kiss.
I go home and try to study, but my brain is having a hard time concentrating. It’s busy imagining scenes with Hermosa Beach as the setting.
B and me, alone in a tent.
By a campfire.
On the beach in the moonlight.
I mentally revise the scripts of losing my virginity to include a cozy tent. In the sand under the moonlight. Or maybe in the ocean.
I picture myself stripping off my bikini and running out into the ocean. B takes off his board shorts and follows me into the water, wraps his arms around me, and can’t control himself. I finally shut my History notebook and let myself dream.
Thursday, May 19th
Pay for what you’ve done.
8:10pm
Tommy and I just got home from grabbing a quick dinner and are sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. I’m trying to finish up an English essay, but Tommy is giving me crap.
“You know, my parents never would’ve let me go to a club at your age, let alone drive a freaking Ferrari.”
“Tommy, your parents didn’t have a Ferrari, and I’ve heard all about your hell raising from your mother. You’re right: they wouldn’t have let you, but it wouldn’t have stopped you. You would’ve just snuck out and done it anyway.”
Tommy laughs. “Yeah, I know. I’m glad you don’t do stuff like that. Really, you’re a pretty good kid.”
“Gee, thanks, that means so much coming from a terror.”
“I wasn’t a terror. My mom exaggerates.”
“Last time your friend, Bobby, was here, he was telling us about the time you stole your mom’s car, climbed the water tower, and spray painted, this town sucks on it.”
“That is alleged. There is no proof I did that.”
Tommy is getting ready to plead his case when Avery rushes in the room screaming, “Look, Daddy! Look at this!!! Prince Eric gave me a note! See, it has an A on it for Avery!”
Tommy tries to read what she’s waving in front of him but appears to lose the battle. He finally shakes his head, gives up, and says, “Well, that’s really exciting, Ave. Did you all get letters from Prince Eric?”
Her eyes get big. “No, Daddy! Just me! I’m special!”
“Well, let me read it to you then,” he says, finally snatching the envelope out of her hand.
Tommy looks at the front of the envelope and turns a shade of green. He puts his forearms on the bar to steady himself and slowly says, “Avery, where did you get this?”
“We went to see the parade yesterday! You know that, silly Daddy! Nanny let us get ice cream.” She sucks in her breath and covers her mouth. “Merde. I wasn’t supposed to tell you about the ice cream.” She whispers to him, “Don’t tell Mommy. You might get Nanny in trouble. But it has to be from Prince Eric!! He waved ’specially at me in the parade. Read it, Daddy! Read it!!”
Tommy doesn’t seem to be able to move, so I walk over and see why. The envelope does not say Avery. It says Abby.
I swipe the letter out of his hand and examine it. It looks exactly like the letter Mom found in her trailer and like all the ones she’s gotten from the same fan over the years. Mom sort of blew off the fact that he got in her trailer, even though Tommy and James were upset about it. But this is different. This was in Avery’s backpack. That means he got very close to her. Which is why Tommy looks so green.
I bend down next to Avery and say, “Daddy has to go make a very important phone call, sweetie. I’ll read it to you. Prince Eric is my favorite too.”
Tommy swallows and pushes himself up from the bar.
I open the envelope and read.
Abby-
For years, I have idolized and loved you, but not anymore.
You are nothing more than a common whore.
You must pay for what you’ve done, and I already know the price.
—No longer your greatest fan.
Oh my God.
I feel faint.
Avery is pulling on my shirt. “What’s it say, Kiki? What’s it say?”
I find my voice and lie. “It says, Avery. So glad I got to see you! I waved at you in the parade. Love, Prince Eric.”
She tries to jump up and grab the letter from me. “Give it to me. I wanna go show my sissies!”
“Um, I need to show it to Daddy real quick, and then I’ll bring it to your room, okay! Why don’t you go get some gum for your sisters?”
She tears off, climbs onto the kitchen counter, gets gum out of a canister, and runs it to her room.
I take the letter into Tommy’s office.
“What’s it say?” he asks. “James is on his way. So is Garrett Smith, the president of the security firm we get our bodyguards from when we travel.”
I read the note to him.
“Oh my God. Do you think that’s what he means by the price? Do you think he’s talking about the girls? Is she the only one that got a note?”
“I don’t know. I’ll go check, but I need to make a fake one to give to her first. She thinks it’s from Prince Eric.”
I quickly write up a note to take to her. “I’ll go into the girls’ room and see if there’s anything else. I’ll be right back.”
Tommy nods and keeps staring at the note.
I go into the girls’ room, give Avery her fake note, and ask the girls to see if they have any notes in their pockets or backpacks. While the girls are busy, I take Nanny aside.
“The note was from that creeper dude. Avery thinks she got it at the theme park yesterday. Did she have her backpack with her there?”
The nanny thinks about it. “It had to have happened today. When I was packing Gracie’s pack with clothes for after dance, I found a bunch of melted chocolate, so I completely cleaned out all their packs. There were definitely no notes.”
“Where were you today?”
“We had gymnastics and dance this morning, got pizza for lunch, went to the park, and then got yogurt. I did leave their backpacks on the bench at the park while I helped them on the monkey bars. That’s kinda scary, really.”
“Yeah, it is. Okay, I’m gonna go tell Tommy. He’s freaking out.”
I go back into Tommy’s office.
“It’s got to be the same guy, right?”
Tommy nods. “Yeah. It’s the same type of print. Same envelope. Where did she find it?”
“It was in her backpack.”
He shakes his head in disbelief and pours himself a Scotch.
We both sit and stare at his drink. I’m sure his mind is going to the same ugly places as mine.
Mom and James, who must have already been on their way home, come rushing into the room.
“What did it say?” Mom says in a panic. “Where was it? When did it happen?”
Tommy, who is already on his second Scotch, says, “It was in Avery’s backpack. It happened today, but we don’t know when, and Nanny didn’t notice anyone suspicious.”
James’ phone buzzes. “Garrett is here. I’m going to let him in.”
“I’m scared, Tommy,” Mom cries, as he wraps his arms around her. “If he could have snuck something in her backpack without anyone noticing, doesn’t that mean he could have grabbed her just as easily?”
James escorts Garrett into the office. Garrett lays out a plan for more security for the girls. Previously, they’ve only had security when they’re traveling with Mom and Tommy, and really, that has been mostly to keep the paparazzi at bay. When they’re here, they go all over the place with just the nanny. Malibu is pretty laid back. “Where have they been?” Garrett asks.
I tell him what the nanny told me.
Garrett reads over the note and turns to Mom. “So this guy has been in love with you and sending you notes for years. Why does he think
you’re a whore all of a sudden? What did you do?”
I pour Mom a glass of water and hand it to her.
“It has to be the sex scenes for the movie I’m working on. They’re pretty intense. The character uses men, so the scenes look bad in that respect. One scene in particular is pretty erotic.”
“Could he have seen them already?” I ask.
“If he works in the movie industry or knows someone that does, I suppose it’s possible.” She takes a big drink of water. “He’s sent me a lot of stuff in the past, but it’s always been sweet. I think he’s a little weird, personally, but he’s never threatened me before. And it’s one thing to target me, but the kids—that’s another thing entirely. I’m afraid.”
Mom admitting she’s afraid of anything makes me scared for the girls too.
Garrett says, “We’ll take care of you and the girls; don’t worry.”
“What about Keatyn?” Tommy says. “Do you think she needs security?”
“Me?” I chuckle. “Why would I need security? I’m not going to talk to anyone I don’t know. I’m not five. And I’m always with my friends and stuff. You really don’t need to worry about me.”
“That, and you’ve been out of the public eye for a few years. When was the last time your photo was in a magazine?” Garrett asks me.
“Um, like three years ago. It was a horrible picture. I still had braces.”
“Are there times you go places by yourself?”
“Um, I guess I drive to school by myself and dance class, but that’s about it.”
“You’re supposed to go to the club later tonight,” Tommy reminds me.
“Yeah, but I’m going with Cush.”
Mom and Tommy both look at Garrett.
He says, “I think it’s fine if you’re not alone. Are you picking him up or is he coming here?”
“I was going to pick him up.”
“Let’s have a tail on her just to be safe.”
I drop my shoulders. “Uh, I don’t want some old guy in the club with us.”
“It won’t be some old guy, and he won’t follow you into the club. He’ll sit outside, watch Tommy’s car, and follow you home after you drop off your friend.”
“It’s either that or you don’t go,” Tommy says, sounding way more like a dad than he usually does.
“Fine,” I agree. I don’t want to upset him any more.
James walks back in the room with a stack of papers in his hand. “Abby, I want you to go back over these photos. I’ve compared them with the studio logs from the last incident. I’d feel a whole lot better if we knew who he was.” He spreads the photos in front of Mom. “Have you ever noticed any of these men hanging around? Do any of them look familiar to you?”
Mom looks down at the photos, frowns, and shakes her head. “No, never.” But then she taps a fingernail on one of the photos. “Although this guy looks a little familiar, but I’m not sure why.”
I peek over her shoulder to see what a creeper might look like.
James and Garrett also look over her shoulder.
“He looks familiar to me too,” James says. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him around.”
“What about you, Keatyn? Have you ever seen this man anywhere?”
I look at the photo. The guy does look like a creeper. Like the kind of guy that would have nothing better to do than watch Mom’s movies and chat on the internet. He probably lives in his mom’s basement. He’s maybe thirty, wears his light brown hair in a cheap, short haircut and has sort of watery grey eyes. His skin is pale, like he’s never been in the sun, and he has a pencil-thin neck that makes his head look too big for his body.
“Honestly, if I saw him, I don’t think I would give him a second glance, but at the same time, he does sort of look familiar.”
“I want you all to memorize his face. If you ever see him or anyone around that looks like him, you call us immediately. He might look wimpy in the picture, but that doesn’t mean he’s not capable of harm,” Garrett stresses. “The sex scenes have apparently sent him over the edge. That makes him very dangerous.”
I look at the photo again and memorize his face. “Okay,” I say. Then I get the heck out of there.
Friday, May 20th
Possibly a little bit hotter.
7:45pm
Cush and I don’t get to just hang out tonight because Vanessa invited all her candidates to a party.
She told us if we didn’t go, she would give away our lunch seats.
Cush thought we should let her give them away, but I’m not quite ready for that yet. I feel like I need to have a plan first.
RiAnne’s mom was apparently excited to host the party. She quickly decided on a Monte Carlo theme and managed to get the whole thing catered on short notice.
I don’t really understand the reasoning behind this party. I get that Vanessa wants to have the right people at her table, but we party with a lot of people on a regular basis. I could rattle off the names of twenty people that are cool, but she has a different approach.
She says she wants to be choosier. Wants people that know how to behave in all social settings. Just because you can dance on a bar doesn’t mean you are worthy.
Which was obviously a slam towards me.
Fine. I like to dance. And it’s not like I’m the only one. There are plenty of girls that get up on the bar and dance with me.
Except for Vanessa.
She can’t dance worth a crap. She doesn’t play any sports. Like, not even your typical country club golf and tennis. Her dad told her half the world’s business gets done on a golf course, and she should learn to play. He made her take lessons the past two summers. She went to the country club and signed up with the cutest, youngest instructors. Boys back from college for the summer.
Let’s just say they didn’t teach her anything golf-related and leave it at that.
The invitations that were hand delivered yesterday afternoon stated that formal attire is required. We just had prom; I doubt anyone really wants to get all dressed up again, but since I wasn’t involved in the planning, I couldn’t say anything.
Vanessa wanted us to shop together for new dresses last night, but Thursday is my night to go dancing.
I lied like I usually do and told Vanessa I had a family thing.
They texted me photos of their dresses, so I wouldn’t wear anything similar, and I assured them I would dress appropriately.
Cush will be here in a few minutes. He’s going to wear one of Tommy’s tuxedos. They’re almost the same size, but Cush is leaner in the way young soccer players are.
I had my hair blown out then curled into soft waves. Depending on what dress I pick, we may pull some of it up.
Kym is flipping through pictures on her iPad, looking at mom’s dress inventory while a makeup artist does my base makeup.
“Oh, I need to show you the photos of Vanessa and RiAnne’s dresses. They don’t want me in the same color.”
I hand her my phone.
She scrunches her nose up like she just smelled something rotten. “They look like they’re going to prom, not Monte Carlo.”
She drops the phone in my lap and goes back to her iPad.
“Here. Here it is.” She thrusts the iPad in front of me and shows me a gorgeous white, Grecian style Marchesa gown. “This is from their Resort Collection. I bought it for your mom to wear in Cannes, but you’d look gorgeous in it. Do her makeup with lots of gold. Oh, and I have the perfect hairstyle.” She flips to another file and shows the hairstylist.
“That’s really pretty,” I tell her. The hairstylist pulls a few of the front layers of my hair into a single braid that weaves its way across the back of my head but still leaves my waves intact.
When my hair and makeup are finished, I hear the doorbell ring.
“That should be Cush,” I say.
“I’ll go get him fitted. Is he hot? Of course, he’s hot. Is he eighteen yet? Do I need to worry about dressing him?”
; I laugh at Kym. “He’s still seventeen, so you better watch your hands. And yeah, he’s really cute.”
I put on the dress. It has a plunging neckline, a triangular top that twists into skinny gold braided straps over my shoulders, and an empire waist highlighted by matching gold braiding. I feel regal and sexy at the same time. I add the gold platform sandals, simple gold earrings, and large gold dinner ring that Kym set out to finish the look.
Kym comes back in to check on my progress. “That dress is perfect with your tan. Mr. Soccer Cutie is going to be drooling all over you tonight, girl.”
“No, he won’t. We’re just friends, and honestly, I think I’d rather make Vanessa and RiAnne drool.”
“I think it was Betsey Johnson that said women dress for other women. If we dressed for men, we’d all run around naked.”
“That’s funny.”
“Besides, you showed me their dresses. They will look young and overdone, and you’ll look stunningly elegant.”
I walk out into the family room where Cush is waiting.
“Whoa,” he says. “Now that’s a dress. I wasn’t sure about the white dinner jacket, but Kym was pretty adamant. Now I see why. We’ll look good together.”
“Of course you’ll look good together. I’m good at my job,” Kym says from behind us. “All right, get together. I want to take some pictures.”
Cush wraps his arm around my waist.
“No, like this,” Kym says, repositioning his arm. “You don’t want your jacket sleeve to bunch. And you must only touch her dress with your fingertips, so you don’t change the flow of the fabric.”
“Uh, okay,” Cush laughs.
“You’re a good sport,” I tell him as we walk out my front door to his Mercedes coupe.
“I’ll be just about anything you want me to be when you wear a dress like that.”
He gently pushes me against the side of the car and kisses me, which takes me completely by surprise.
It’s a long, deep kiss.
A kiss very much the opposite of Brooklyn’s.
And possibly a little bit hotter.