by Zoey Dean
"Does my dad know about this?"
Poppy nodded. "Jackson is fine with it. Go ask him, he's
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out in the lap pool. You really are going to have to get used to the idea that this house is as much mine as it is yours."
Sam rolled her eyes. She knew there was already a betting pool run by assistants around Hollywood over how long the Jackson-Poppy marriage would last; the over/under was fifteen months.
"Focus on the work, Poppy," Dee urged. "You don't want to upset the baby."
"Why not? She's already asphyxiating her," Sam growled.
"That is mean and untrue," Pop retorted. "But Dee is right. It's important to be serene."
"Thank you, Poppy." Dee practically blushed.
"Thank you. I'm glad Ruby has you, Dee. You're going to be like a real older sister to her."
"That's so sweet, because ..." Dee's voice trailed off, and she fixed her huge blue eyes on Sam. "You don't mind if Ruby Hummingbird has two big sisters, do you, Sam?"
"Why would I mind?" Sam asked, plotting strategy as she spoke. As little interest as she had in the soon-to-be-born evil spawn, it did tweak her that her stepmother had formed a bond with Dee. Ditzy as Dee might be, Sam was not about to give up one of her chosen friends to the Pop-Tart.
"Dee, can I talk to you for a sec?" Sam asked sweetly.
"Sure."
"Out here, I meant."
Dee smiled at Poppy, put down her paintbrush, and
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stepped over to the edge of the drop cloth closest to the doorway. Sam kept her voice low so Poppy wouldn't overhear. "So, I bought all these new clothes yesterday."
"That's nice."
"Want to come see? They're in my closet."
"Urn, I'm kind of busy."
Sam swallowed her frustration. "Well, how about lunch, then? I'm going to ask Anna to meet me at Marcos Fresh at the Farmers' Market in Hancock Park. We can go over to Melrose after that and shop. I'll help you pick something out. I saw this DeMarco tapestry jacket at Masque that'll be perfect on you."
Dee nibbled on a hangnail. "Gee, I don't know if we'll be done by then. Also, I promised Poppy I would lead her through a guided prenatal meditation this afternoon. Maybe another time. Okay?"
It was impossible but true. She'd just given Dee every possible opening to display her vaunted loyalty, and Dee had turned her down flat. It made no sense. Sam had always had more power in their friendship than Dee did. Sam led, Dee followed. Had her infatuation with Kabbalah reprogrammed her neurons?
But Sam knew better than to show any sign of vulnerability or weakness. "Have a great day painting, then. I'm going to eat breakfast."
She headed down the hallway. She'd have some oolong tea and an apple and read the weekly Variety. She stopped downstairs and asked the cook to bake her a Granny Smith apple with Splenda and to add a dollop
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of fat-free, sugar-free whipped topping. Then she went upstairs to her room and began trying on her new clothes. First on was her new cropped jacket--pale pink and silver suede.
Shit. Yesterday she'd thought the jacket looked great. Now she saw in her three-way mirror that it only emphasized her pear shape. She tugged on the new red leather pants. Ugh. Why not just stand on the Getty Center roof and holler, "Wide load!" What alternate universe had she been living in when she'd bought this stuff? It never did pay to go shopping by herself. If Dee or Cammie had been with her, she would have been too intimidated by their size--or lack of size--to buy something as assholian as size-ten red leather pants. And if she had been on the verge of such a brutal fashion error, Cammie would have made some bitchy but all-too-true comment about the circumference of Sam's ass, and Sam would have dropped the pants as if they'd just been endorsed by Ashlee Simpson.
Her empty stomach rumbled. She had a sudden craving for a Sunday morning feast at the most famous showbiz deli in Beverly Hills, Nate and Al's. Lox, eggs, and onions. A buttered everything bagel fresh out of the oven, laden with poppy and sesame seeds and garlic chunks. Fresh coffee with real cream and real sugar. Then maybe a slice of fresh Nate and Al's cheesecake after--
Stop, she told herself. As her celebrity shrink Dr. Fred always said: "Sam. Ask yourself--what's the real issue?"
Well, that was a no-brainer. The real issue was fifty
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feet down the hall, very pregnant, and wearing a wedding ring from the father that Sam hardly ever saw. From the moment that Poppy had entered Jackson's life, she'd been a completely disruptive force. Everything in the Sharpe mansion changed, even the food in the refrigerator. Now Poppy was going even further, remaking one of Sam's best friends into her new surrogate daughter. As for Jackson Sharpe, he'd always been long on material gifts and short on time and attention. He was either at the studio, on location, doing publicity, in a meeting, getting Botoxed, working out, or now fawning over his young wife. She couldn't count on him for anything
So who could she talk to? Not pompous Dr. Fred. She'd been seeing him for two years, but the only progress Sam had made on what she saw as her main issue--food-- she'd had to do on her own by starving herself. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that there were really only two people she knew who might understand the absurdity of the clichés that passed for her life: Cammie or Anna. Both co-sufferers of the poor-little-rich-girl syndrome. Though in completely different ways.
And even though she'd known Cammie for most of her life and Anna for only six weeks, Sam opted for Anna. Cammie would never understand why the Poppy-Dee thing was so upsetting to Sam, because Cammie apparently hadn't allowed herself a moment of vulnerability since her mother had died in a boating accident nine years ago. But Anna was a genuinely feeling and caring individual.
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National Oversharing Day
A nna came back from a quick morning run to find her parents on the couch again. This time, her father's hand was on her mother's knee. There was a heather gray Christian Dior flannel trouser leg between said hand and said knee, but still. Her parents were sipping tea from her great-grandmother's bone-china tea service while light classical music wafted through the sound system.
"Good morning, Anna," her mother announced, uncrossing her legs so that her ex-husband's hand slid from her knee. She smiled broadly at her daughter. "I was just about to get some more scones. Would you like one?"
Anna nodded as her mother moved off. When Jane was safely in the kitchen, she stared at her father, a question in her eyes.
"Don't look at me like that," her father demanded. A man who never put his feet on the coffee table, he kicked them up and leaned back, resting his head against his own palms.
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Anna shook her head. "Something is wrong with this picture."
"What makes you say that?"
"You. Like that. And Mom. I've never seen her like this. She's almost ..." Anna searched for the right word. "Relaxed." Anna stopped. The why of this dawned on her. But no, it couldn't be. She cleared her throat, feeling extremely uncomfortable.
"Um ... where did Mom sleep last night?"
Suddenly Jonathan seemed decidedly uncomfortable. He pulled his legs off the coffee table and sat up straight. "Uh ... here," he replied, leafing through the newspaper that was scattered across the coffee table.
"But didn't she book a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel?"
"Yes." Jonathan fixed his eyes downward. "But by the time we got back to the house, she didn't feel like driving all the way to her hotel, so it just made sense for her to stay here."
"Okay," Anna said slowly, even though it made absolutely no sense at all. The Beverly Hills Hotel was about a five-minute drive from Jonathan's home. A five-minute drive that Django would have been happy to make.
Without letting herself fill in too many of the details, Anna felt reasonably sure that her mother had not only spent the night in Jonathan's house, but in Jonathan's room.
It made no sense. Her parents loathed each
other.
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"You two aren't getting back together. Are you?" Anna asked cautiously.
"One never knows."
One never knows? Her parents could barely have a civil conversation, but evidently they'd found other ways to communicate. God, the irony. Back in middle school Anna had spent hours trying to figure out the perfect scheme that would bring her parents back together and make them live in peace.
If only she had realized then that all it required was a daughter getting out of rehab, a crystal pitcher of dry Tanqueray martinis, and a flimsy excuse of some sort or another.
"Dee and Poppy have bonded in cosmic heaven," Sam told Anna, stopping long enough to sip her fresh-squeezed pineapple-papaya juice. "Poppy wants Dee to be Ruby's role model. It borders on the unbearable. The poor kid is going to have nightmares. It's a girl, by the way. Did I tell you that they're naming her Ruby Hummingbird? I plan to call her the Hummer."
They were at Marcos Fresh, one of the many open-air restaurants found in the labyrinth that was the Farmers' Market in Hancock Park. Recently renovated after decades of decay, the market featured dozens of outdoor shops that sold succulent fresh produce, designer foods from around the world, exotic flowers, and upscale tourist trinkets. Interspersed with the shops were the restaurants. To the east of the market
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was an office complex and one of Los Angeles' best multiplex theaters, the ArcLight. It frequently featured world premieres of big-budget films that drew crowds of star-gazing gawkers.
Anna chuckled, then lifted her glass of Italian mineral water to propose a toast. "Here's to dysfunctional families. You're not alone. I think my divorced parents hooked up last night."
"As in, rekindled a love flame? Or as in, fuck-buddy?"
Anna winced. "Please, you're talking about my parents. My father wouldn't say. I asked him if they were getting back together and he gave me this cryptic response. But trust me, world peace will come before Percy family reintegration."
"It can't be as bad as dear old dad and the Pop-Tart because--oh, great." Sam stopped mid-sentence and gazed over Anna's shoulder. Then she groaned. "Guess who's heading this way?"
Anna craned around; Dee and Cammie were snaking through the crowded tables, Cammie's arms laden with shopping bags.
"How did they even know we were here?"
"I mentioned it to Dee," Sam admitted. "But I told you, she and Poppy were in drop cloth heaven. I never figured she'd show."
Sam stood to greet her friends. After the mandatory air kisses, Dee and Cammie slid into the two empty chairs. Dee held a massive bunch of scarlet roses, wrapped in red-and-white tissue paper. "They're for Poppy," she explained.
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"Right," Sam agreed, her voice deadpan. "Because red resonates for her and for the Hummer."
"The Hummer." Dee looked thoughtful. "That's kind of a cute nickname. Unless Ruby turns out to have a weight problem. Then it would be kind of mean. Oh, wait. I didn't mean that she'd have a weight problem because it runs in your family or something. I mean if anything, she only has half of your genes. I mean--"
"Let's stick with Ruby," Cammie interrupted, shaking her curls off her face. "I'm really glad we could join you for lunch. I've been missing you, Sam."
"Yeah, me too," Sam admitted.
Anna kept her face neutral. She didn't trust Cammie's sudden burst of apparent sincerity. She'd learned from experience that Cammie Sheppard was out for Cammie Sheppard. Cammie had tried to ruin Anna more than once--she'd even tried to get her fired from her internship on Hermosa Beach before Anna decided to quit. She was certain that if Sam bought into Cammie's Glenda the Good Witch routine, it would only be a matter of time before the Wicked Witch of the West would emerge again. And while Sam had perhaps a dozen pairs of ruby red slippers--from Prada open-toed to Moschino snakeskin--none of them could keep her safe from Cammie's malice.
Cammie smiled. "So. Anna. How are you?"
"Fine," Anna responded cautiously but politely.
"Adam sends his regards," Cammie told her. "We had breakfast together today. Then we went to build
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houses for Habitat for Humanity, but thank God he had the day wrong. Then we went to Venice Beach before he had to go play basketball."
"That's nice," Anna said noncommittally.
"It was great." Cammie lifted her hair and fanned the nape of her neck, then dropped the heavy curls back in place. "Actually, I'm more than great. Much more."
Asking why Cammie was more than great would be an exercise in futility. Cammie was obviously setting something up, because Cammie always had an agenda. So Anna patiently waited for the other Ferragamo to drop.
"I've been spending a lot of time with him," Cammie went on. "Last night we went to this party in Malibu-- some movie-wrap thing. Then we ditched the bad food and boring company and went down to the beach." She leaned in close, eyes half closed. "The boy is amazing."
Amazing, as in ... well, it was obvious what she meant. So, Cammie and Adam were having sex. Making love. No, it couldn't be love. Sweet, smart, good-guy Adam and Cammie the viper? Anna knew she had nothing to say about it. She'd dropped Adam. At the time things had been so mixed up with Ben: They were together, then they weren't, then they were. She had to tell Adam the truth. He was the last guy on the planet who deserved to have a girl cause him pain. But why had she lusted after the bad boy instead of the good guy? Why was nature so perverse? Now she wasn't with either Ben or Adam. So if Adam wanted Cammie, well,
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Cammie probably couldn't hurt him any more than Anna herself had hurt him. She really hated that.
"So Anna," Cammie continued. "You know all about Adam, in every way. Right?"
The question hung as the waitress brought Anna her prawn-and-avocado salad and Sam a fruit platter. Cammie and Dee ordered without even looking at the menu--a spinach salad for Cammie, a bowl of the restaurant's signature squash soup for Dee.
"Not really," Anna replied when the waitress had moved off. The truth was, she and Adam hadn't shared more than a kiss or two.
Cammie smiled. "Take my word for it. Insatiable. Want to know why sandpaper is made out of sand? Check out my butt."
Anna wondered if it was National Oversharing Day and someone had forgotten to send her the memo.
"I'm happy for you," Anna said evenly, forking a bite of shrimp into her mouth.
Cammie laughed. "Honestly, Anna. You sound like a woman who has cobwebs growing--"
"Cammie. Enough," Sam warned. "Don't be so bitchy."
"It wasn't bitchy," Cammie insisted, then stretched languidly. "It was an honest assessment of a condition that I hope changes as soon as possible. For Anna's peace of mind and happiness. Anyway, a girl can't be as happy as I am and be bitchy. Who has the energy?" She fixed her gaze back on Anna. "Honestly, you quit
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on him too soon. You can't imagine what you were missing."
You can't imagine what you were missing.
As Anna parked her Lexus in front of her father's house, she wondered why Cammie's words bothered her so much. She didn't want Adam back. And if he was happy with Cammie and they were having sand-blasting sex together, fine. So be it.
Anna glanced toward Django's guesthouse and wondered if he was home. She could use some of his southern charm right about now. But what about the girl, what was her name? Lisa. Was Lisa still there? Were they together, doing what everyone in the world--Cammie and Adam, Danny and the redhead, even her mother and father--except Anna seemed to be doing?
She decided to let discretion rule and opened the enormous black door to the main house. The first thing she saw was a note tucked under the Ming vase in the foyer.
Anna--
Your mother and I took a drive up the coast to San Simeon. Please think about doing the Las Casitas trip for me, if only to keep an eye on my associate. You'll miss only a few days of school because of the conference on Friday. You could use a break.
--Love, Dad
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So what was this, then? What were her parents doing? Did her father want her to go to Mexico just so he and her mother could be alone?
She lay down on her oak canopy bed and stroked the pink silk quilt that had been handmade by a seamstress in Kentucky. It was beautiful. The whole room was beautiful: hardwood floors dotted with museum-quality, hand-knotted tapestry rugs, antique oak furniture, carefully preserved. In fact, the whole house was as lovely as this room. But none of it seemed to make her father happy. Not happy in the way he'd looked that morning on the couch.
Maybe there were some people you could never get out of your heart, not completely. It wasn't love; it was ... what? Something she just didn't understand. Like how she felt about Ben.
Anna did have his number at Princeton. Before she could think herself out of it, she impulsively picked up the phone and dialed the number. One ring. Two. Three. She was glad that he wasn't picking up. This way she could leave a message. Something casual that still left open the possibilities for--
"Hello?"
Holy shit. He'd answered.
"Hello?" he said again.
Anna couldn't speak.
"Hel-lo?" Louder now, and irritated.
Anna quietly hung up the phone and lay back on her bed. Of all the infantile things to do. She was acting like
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she was in fifth grade or some crazy stalker out of Lifetime TV If she didn't want to talk to him, she shouldn't have called him. What the hell was wrong with her?
Maybe in her heart of hearts, it wasn't talk she was after. Maybe she was after something more ... carnal. In which case, she didn't really need Ben.
Lust could just be with someone you didn't know and would never see again.
Anna sat bolt upright, almost smiling as a truly daring notion raced through her chronically overactive mind. That someone sounded like someone she might meet at a highly upscale, all-inclusive Mexican resort.
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Right Gender, Wrong Person
S am spent the first part of Sunday night lying on her bed, reading William Goldman's Adventures in the Screen Trade. She was preparing for the big time. After already making a few student films, now she was ready for the real thing. Few fantasies were sweeter than the one where every thin, blond, perfect girl at Beverly Hills High was groveling to be in a Sam Sharpe movie.