The A-List: Hollywood Royalty #2: Sunset Boulevard

by Zoey Dean

  an appreciative way. Maybe remembering wasn't lame and girly. He noticed Ash was about to

  head into his dark and empty house. Most nights, Ash's car was the only one in the driveway,

  and the only light on in the house was in Ash's room, on the second floor across from Jake's.

  In theory, it sounded cool that Ash got a mansion to himself at sixteen, but Jake knew it had to

  be depressing. Especially on a birthday. "You know, you're welcome to come over for dinner

  here. My mom always has a lot of food. And don't worry, she never cooks anymore. Takeout.

  So everything's edible."

  Ash laughed. Mrs. Porter-Goldsmith once had served them grilled cheese sandwiches made

  with microwaved matzo bread and cream cheese. "Um, thanks, but I think I'm supposed to do

  something later." First Myla had invited him over, now Jake. He must have looked like an

  orphan.

  "Cool," Jake said. "But the offer stands, you know, whenever."

  Ash lay on his bed, eating leftover chow fun noodles from Dragon's Fire, a Chinese restaurant

  on Santa Monica. He flipped idly through the Damn the Man book, laughing at how poorly the

  advice would go over with Gordon.

  Clear the air, read the start of step one. Set a date to do something manly as father and son.

  Get your aggressions out on the basketball court, at an automobile race, or even by taking a

  long run. Then find a quiet place to have a coffee, or even a stiff drink if that makes you both

  comfortable. Whoever does the inviting should then announce, "It's time for a talk." Agree to a

  no-interruptions opportunity to list your complaints with your father or son, and then be

  patient as he does the same.

  Ash rolled his eyes, flopping onto his stomach and putting his head under a pillow. Yeah, like

  Gordon would listen to a list of complaints.

  From under the pillow, Ash heard his muffled ring--reset to a new Raconteurs song. Lifting the

  corner of the pillow, he reached for the phone, seeing his dad's face on the screen. At least he'd

  remembered his birthday.

  "Hey, Dad," Ash said, hating that he felt incrementally better.

  "Son," Gordon said, sounding jovial instead of stern. "Heard you had quite an adventure with

  Daisy last week." He chuckled. "Bet you've never had a night like that."

  Um, you're welcome, Ash thought grimly, but didn't say anything. His dad was waiting for

  some acknowledgment of the Daisy adventure, and Ash was waiting for his dad's birthday

  wish. We could stay like this all night, he thought.

  "So tonight, I need you to come up here," Gordon said. "We're having a party."

  Ash instantly softened. A party? For him? The last time his dad had planned him a birthday

  party was a paintball outing in the seventh grade. It was right before the divorce.

  "You didn't have to do that, Dad," Ash said.

  "Of course I did. Investors want to meet Daisy, and I need to show she's not a liability. You're

  good with her. To an extent, anyway. Be here at eight?"

  "Um, actually, I have plans." Ash gripped the phone tightly, pissed off that his dad would plan

  a party for Daisy while forgetting his birthday.

  "What kind of plans?" Gordon asked skeptically. "It's Tuesday night."

  And my birthday, Ash thought. Not that you care. He racked his brain for an actual

  engagement, not just hanging with Tucker and Geoff. Ash glanced out his window at Jake's

  navy curtains. "Actually, I'm supposed to go the Porter-Goldsmiths' for dinner," he said,

  hoping his Porter-Goldsmiths invite sounded like an unbreakable obligation.

  "Yeah, of course. Must be a big night for you," Gordon said, sounding more amused than hurt.

  "Have a good time."

  And with that, he hung up. Ash exhaled, laughing to himself as he imagined stodgy investors

  chatting up Daisy in one of her crazy tutus. It might have been fun to go, but if Ash's birthday

  was so easily forgettable, so was his dad's stupid party.

  He rang the Porter-Goldsmiths' bell, feeling like a tool. He'd fetched a bottle of wine from the

  cellar and now he hastily untied the gift tag signed by Francis Ford Coppola from the bottle's

  neck. He tossed it in the bushes just as Jake's mom answered.

  "Ash," Jake's mom, Gigi, said, her familiar halo of auburn hair tied in a loose ponytail. She

  looked a little surprised to see him, but pleased. "What a nice surprise. Come in." Memories

  flooded Ash as he stepped through the door. He and Jake had practically lived at one another's

  houses until they were ten. Mrs. Goldsmith had seen him in his Power Rangers underwear.

  He handed her the bottle of wine, as she protested that he didn't have to do that.

  As he walked into the Porter-Goldsmiths' eat-in kitchen, every face registered surprise at seeing

  him.

  "Hey, Ash," Jake said, looking confused as he brought a plate of spaghetti to the table.

  "Ash, 'sup?" Jake's little brother, Brendan, said, nodding approvingly as he sat down. Brendan

  had always tried to hang out with Ash and Jake when they were younger. He had to be thirteen

  now, and was almost Ash's height. He'd been a little chubby as a kid, but now he was all

  muscle, with shoulders that looked broad and square compared to his face, his cheeks still a

  round reminder of his baby fat.

  Jonathan, Jake's dad, stood, clutching Ash's hand in his solid grip. "Good to see you, Ash. Sit,

  sit. I hear it's your birthday." The Porter-Goldsmiths' kitchen table was still the same dark,

  round six-seater he'd eaten at hundreds of times growing up. The kitchen was updated with

  granite counters and a stainless-steel fridge, but Gigi's collage of old Hollywood stars still hung

  above the stove.

  After the initial surprise wore off, Ash worked to be a good dinner guest, even if he felt a little

  odd. Everything was familiar but different at his old best friend's house, like walking out of a

  movie and coming back a half hour later to realize you'd missed the whole middle.

  "So, Ash, how are things? Still playing piano?" Gigi asked, looking at him over the rim of her

  wineglass.

  The question made Ash feel like he'd been gone even longer. "I stopped a while ago," he said.

  "But I'm playing guitar now."

  "Dude, that's awesome," Brendan said, high-fiving across the basket of garlic bread. "Think

  you'll ever get a band going?"

  Ash shrugged, grinning. "I've been trying," he said, coiling some strands of spaghetti around

  his fork. "My bandmates have a hard time making decisions. You know how it goes."

  "I wish," Brendan said. Turning to Jake, he said sarcastically, "He's got bandmates and you've

  got Abelson. No wonder he doesn't hang out with you anymore."

  Ash cringed at the reminder that he'd been the one who ditched Jake. They'd already started to

  drift, and the one time he'd tried to include Jake with his new friend Tucker, when they were all

  about eleven, the whole experience had been a nightmare. Jake still thought girls were gross,

  and all Tucker wanted to do was try to get 7-Eleven clerks to sell them Playboy s.

  Jake took the remark in stride. "Bren, you couldn't even get into band playing the clarinet," he

  snickered, making eye contact with Ash. "I don't think you'll have bandmates anytime soon

  either."

  "I only tried out for clarinet 'cause all the cute girls play the flute," Brendan shot back, looking

  at Ash defensively. Mr. Goldsmith made a loud shhh noise as he blew on a hot meat
ball.

  "So, besides music," Mr. Goldsmith said, setting down the fork, meatball and all, "how is your

  family? Tessa?"

  "Still at Berkeley," Ash said, remembering how Tessa used to love getting into debates with

  Jake's dad about non-teenage topics like politics and religion. "Studying philosophy."

  "Oh, your father must love that," Gigi said, the words sounding harsher than she'd probably

  intended. Ash knew she thought his dad was a dick for leaving him alone in the house. He'd

  been lying out by the pool one day with his headphones on and heard Mrs. Goldsmith over the

  fence, telling one of her friends on the phone how she'd like to give Gordon Gilmour a piece of

  her mind, leaving a growing teenage boy to fend for himself. Ash remembered thinking he'd

  have loved to hear Gigi rail on his dad. Gordon could string together a creative swear

  combination, but Jake's mom could outgun him any day of the week.

  "Yeah," Ash said, rolling his eyes so that Gigi knew they were on the same page. "He asked

  her what philosopher has ever made any money, and she told him Bob Dylan. That sort of

  ended that."

  Jonathan laughed heartily. "Tessa was always a gifted debater. How is school going for you,

  though?"

  Ash took a sip of the bitter iced tea Gigi had made. "I don't think anything I tell you about me

  and school will be half as good as what Jake can say."

  Brendan laughed through a mouthful of meatball. "Yeah, nerd," he chided Jake.

  Ash shot him a look. "No, I mean with the movie."

  Gigi plastered a smile on her face that Ash could tell was fake. "Jacob knows what I think. I

  think he should make school the priority, not Hollywood." She sighed. "But since when does a

  mother know what's best for her child?"

  Across the table Jake's hazel eyes bugged out in Ash's direction. Ash had clearly talked his

  way into a conversational minefield. "Jake's working with that Grant Isaacson dude...." It was

  all he could think of.

  "Little prick turned down my proposal to do his publicity," Gigi muttered into her wine.

  "Ma, he doesn't even need you," Jake said. "Today, these three girls--which of Myla's friends

  again, Ash?"

  "Billie Bollman, Talia Shepard, and Fortune Weathers. All totally crazy for that guy. And

  probably a little crazy," Ash chimed in, grinning at Jonathan, who was listening intently.

  "Yeah, them," Jake said, sounding excited. "They left a plate of cookies from Sweet Lady Jane

  outside his trailer door. And he was completely terrified."

  Ash leaned forward, getting into the story. "Well, of course he was. They'd had all of them iced

  with his face. And they were hiding behind the bushes with binoculars watching him as he

  picked them up."

  "He didn't even eat them," Jake said. "He doesn't do sugar. It screws up your system." He

  looked meaningfully at Gigi, who'd finished eating and was sorting discriminately through a

  box of See's Candies on the counter. Apparently, Jake's mom was still in the diet mode she'd

  been in six years ago: Scarf candy at night in private, guilt herself through a day of bland food,

  repeat.

  Dinner wound down with the whole family helping to clear the table. Ash loaded the

  silverware into the dishwasher and Jake's mom--maybe because of the two glasses of pinot

  noir she'd had with the meal--threw an affectionate arm around him. "You've always been such

  a sweetie." As everyone headed back to the table for dessert, Gigi held Jake back and

  whispered something to him.

  Because even Gigi's whisper carried, Ash could hear her. "I can't believe he's alone on his

  birthday," she said. "I was thinking we could..." Ash couldn't hear the rest because Brendan

  started playing drums on the table with his silverware, looking out the corner of his eye to see

  if Ash was impressed with his percussion.

  Jake came back to the table, Gigi just behind him, carrying a sheet cake from Whole Foods. A

  faint blue imprint of the words Congrats to Our Star, Jake! was still visible, but she'd spelled

  out Ash! 17! in M&M's. As she placed it on the table, she looked almost guilty, ran to the

  kitchen, and came back with candles.

  "We were celebrating Jake's big role," she said, sticking the candles into the chocolate icing.

  "And reminding him that his family thinks he's a star, even if we disagree with his choices and

  even if the movie is a bomb."

  Brendan chuckled. "Ha, loser," he said, looking at Ash. "I'm calling him DVD. As in 'direct to

  DVD.'"

  Jonathan's jaw clenched, every hair of his beard looking tense. "C'mon, Bren. If Jake's movie is

  a hit, you'll be taking credit. Success has one hundred parents, but failure is an orphan."

  Brendan pursed his lips petulantly, the softness of his chin becoming apparent. Jake's dad's

  "rabbi with a touch of Buddha" made for guilt trips worse than any normal parent could

  deliver. Ash chuckled along with Jake, and they shared a glance across the table.

  "But Jake said he agreed your birthday was more important," Gigi continued, putting the

  candles in at odd angles.

  Jake shook his head earnestly, his face turning red.

  "Thanks, man," Ash said, as Jake shrugged.

  Gigi lit the candles and everyone stood up, save for Ash, who Gigi instructed to stay seated.

  As they sang, Ash tried to focus entirely on the moment. They asked him questions, and cared

  about his interests, and made him feel like he was worth listening to. The Porter-Goldsmiths

  were being nicer to him than his own father.

  Ash blew out the candles and Gigi cut the cake, serving pieces all around. Taking a quick bite

  of cake, Jake stood up from the table. "Sorry, Ma," he said. "I have to go meet Miles about this

  physics project. And I just told you, sugar screws you up."

  "More for me then," Gigi said, kissing him goodbye. Jonathan patted his back. Ash had just

  witnessed Jake getting more parental affection in ten seconds than he'd had all year.

  "More for you, too, Ash," Gigi said, setting a continent-size piece of cake in front of him as

  Jake slipped out the door. Once everyone had a piece, they resumed eating, but the chatter of

  conversation was gone, and the only noise came from the screech of forks across dessert

  plates. Ash looked up to see Gigi, Jonathan, and Brendan smiling at him generously across the

  table. He felt like some straggly dog the Porter-Goldsmiths had found and brought home and

  were now watching to make sure he ate something. The person who'd invited him had left; this

  was definitely what they called overstaying your welcome. He took three fast bites of cake,

  wanting to get out of there as soon as he could without being rude. He was feeling too much

  like a charity case without any family of his own.

  Jonathan gave him his opening. "Ash, my boy, you must have some big things going on for

  your birthday tonight. I still remember when Jacob came home wanting to be a jockey after

  your dad took you all to Santa Anita."

  Ash suppressed a smile. He'd been ten and his dad had taken him and his friends to learn how

  to bet on horses. As nuts as it was, Ash had thought Gordon was the coolest dad in the world.

  Once.

  "Ha, yeah, I remember that. Jake even bought that pink jockey hat," Ash said. "He kept

  insisting it wasn't pink, it was magenta, and a royal color."

  "Oh God, how did I not know this?" Brendan said, r
unning from the kitchen, probably in

  search of Jake's hat.

  "But I do have to go," Ash said, backing toward the door. He wanted to go to the one place that

  always felt like home. "Thank you guys for everything."

  He'd decided to take Myla up on her invitation to stop by.

  Right now.

  LAST IMPRESSIONS

  "Okay, so what about Olivia Abdabo? Miss I Think I'm Donatella Without the Bad Tan?" Jojo

  pointed one Lotus Rouge-painted fingernail--chip-free, thank you very much--at the pretty face

  with deep-set eyes staring up at them from the pages of the BHH yearbook.

  Myla laughed. "That's not bad. A little on the long side. Total head case. Like, camping-out-infront-of-the-Jonas-Brothers'-house head case. She made a whole purity outfit to show her

  devotion to teen abstinence and sat there overnight, until the cops came. For weeks after, she

  ate and drank nothing but white foods, just to show her dedication. A few weeks later, she lost

  her virginity to a senior in the Young Republicans Club."

  Myla and Jojo were in Jojo's room, going through old yearbooks. They weren't reminiscing,

  though. They were in the middle of a lesson, titled "Knowledge Is Power." Myla never forgot a

  juicy slice of gossip. While the rest of BHH moved on to the next thing, Myla kept every

  foible, flaw, and weakness stored in the Eames file cabinet that was her brain.

  Now she was teaching Jojo everything that could be taught about their classmates' lowest

  points over the last few years. Much as she liked gossiping with Myla in the privacy of their

  house, Jojo couldn't imagine herself using any of the information publicly. Myla could do

  whatever she wanted; she'd reigned at BHH for years. And she'd probably ruled her junior

  high, grammar school, and preschool before that. But when Jojo told Myla she didn't think

  she'd ever use all this dish, Myla had said, "People say they won't use algebra either. It's the

  concepts that are important. And the concept here is, Everyone has a weak spot." So Jojo

  contented herself in bonding with her sister. And she had to admit, gossip here was way more

  interesting than gossip back home.

  Jojo flipped forward a few pages, and her eyes immediately landed on Jake Porter-Goldsmith.

  She giggled unintentionally. "That's Jake? Oh. My. God." He must have been about twentyfive pounds thinner last year. His face was narrow, his neck so long and thin it looked like he