by Melody Mayer
She ventured back into the ballroom and saw that the crowd had thinned further. She wondered momentarily about her friends. Wherever Esme was, she was busy with Easton and Weston. Lydia and Billy had probably made it halfway through the Kama Sutra by now. Tom . . .
Tom was with Marym.
Dinner was the last thing she was interested in. So she sat alone at a high cocktail table, chin resting in her hands, and watched the orchestra play for a dozen or so couples cha-chaing around the dance floor. Could this night get any worse? Yes, actually, it could. Let’s see . . . Platinum could come reeling across the dance floor naked, screaming that I’m her love slave.
“Dance?”
A skinny guy with long reddish hair stood before her, flashing a jaunty grin.
“No, thanks,” Kiley told him.
He slipped onto the high stool next to hers. “I’m Mark Goldfarb. I just started with Lieberman, Levitt, and Goldfarb—you know, the accountants. We do a lot of the stars. Yes, Jerry Goldfarb was my grandfather. I plead nepotism.” He glanced around and shook his head. “Man, we didn’t have anything like this in Boulder.”
“I’m from Wisconsin,” Kiley admitted.
He pointed at her. “See, I could just tell you weren’t one of these jaded prima donnas. I just graduated from the U of Colorado. Business major, skiing minor. So how about you?”
“I’m a nanny to a famous alcoholic drug addict,” Kiley replied.
“Courtney Love? Only kidding! Oh yeah, these people are wild. I’m amazed by the kind of stuff they do.” He leaned a little closer. “So who do you really work for?”
At that moment, Jim Carrey was making one last round with his tray. He leaned toward Kiley. “Don’t tell him jack, he writes for that gossip rag, The Insider.”
Kiley whirled on Mark. “Is that true?”
Mark held his palms up to her. “Hey, cut me some slack, I’m just a hardworking reporter.”
“You’re just a lying little toad,” Kiley shot back, and hopped off the stool. Maybe she should just leave. It wasn’t like she was having a good time. Or even a decent time. She made a quick decision: she’d go up top, take a look at her ocean under the stars, and drive back to Bel Air.
Maybe she’d stop at Blockbuster and rent Jim Carrey in The Majestic before she went home. Critics had hated that movie, but she’d loved it. Or maybe she’d just go home and finish the damn letter to her mother, someone who actually cared about her.
But she didn’t leave. Instead, she went on deck and stared out into her ocean, lost in thought for a long time. The ocean air, salty and sharp, filled her lungs. She gazed at the huge Long Beach marina, then at the city of Long Beach’s modest skyline, and then out to sea. Just looking at it made her feel better. What was it about the ocean that she loved so much? Her mother used to read her a picture book about selkies—creatures that were half woman, half seal. When these women felt the sea beckoning, they returned to the brine and swam away to an entire other world.
That’s what I want, Kiley thought. To swim away to another world.
“Watching over your ocean, Mistress of the Deep?”
Kiley turned her head to see Tom behind her, alone, wind rustling his blond hair.
“You’re supposed to be eating dinner,” she told him.
“Overrated.” He joined her by the rail, both of them gazing out to sea. “I figured I’d find you up here.”
“Marym will miss you.”
He frowned. “Since when are you so concerned with Marym?” I’m not. She leaned her back against the rail. “Can I ask you something? About you and Marym?”
“Sure.”
It was on the tip of Kiley’s tongue: Are you sleeping with her? Did you ever sleep with her—say, at your hotel suite, for example? Are you even attracted to me?
She opened her mouth. And nothing came out. She couldn’t ask him such personal questions. “Never mind.” She shook her head. “It isn’t important.” She sighed. “I was a bitch to your friend.”
“Kiley.” He put a finger over her lips. “You were standing up for something you believe in. That’s more than most people ever do.”
Her eyes met his. How could one boy look so absolutely, stunningly perfect? Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned forward, raised her chin, and kissed him. Softly. For just a moment, eyes closed. Then she opened her eyes and realized something scary.
He hadn’t kissed her back.
Oh, crap, he really did think of her as a little sister. Now he’d be all embarrassed and feel sorry for her and try to explain that he didn’t like her that way and—
The next thing Kiley knew, Tom was pulling her to him, kissing her the way she’d always dreamed of being kissed, until the world went upside down and her insides melted. At that moment she knew—the fumbling, uncomfortable, did-we-ordidn’t-we moment she’d endured with her ex-boyfriend wasn’t sex and couldn’t have been sex. If one kiss from the right boy could make her feel like this, then sex with the right boy had to be the most momentous, amazing, fantastic experience in the world.
They parted, breathless, his arms still around her waist. “Wow,” he murmured.
Was this really happening? Kiley felt as if she could levitate with happiness. “I was so afraid you thought of me as your little sister or something—”
“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since you gave me that lame story about being called Krazy with a K.”
Her words tumbled over each other. “But you never— I never knew—”
“I didn’t want to come off as some asshole model, all full of himself. And my life is so busy, I’m on location half the time, it’s insane, so—”
“Tom.” His name on her lips was as sweet as the kiss.
“Yeah?”
They were kissing again; she was lost in him, and she never, ever wanted the moment to end. It was like the movies; she was hearing bells.
“Your cell is ringing,” Tom murmured against her ear.
It took Kiley a moment to reconnect with reality. Real bells. Coming from her purse, which she’d dropped at her feet sometime during the festivities.
She retrieved it and snapped the phone open. “Hello?”
“Ki-ley?”
“Sid?” She went on instant alert, as there’d been snuffling between the syllables of her name. Sid never called. And he never cried.
“It’s . . . can you . . .?” He started crying again.
“Sid, what is it?” Kiley demanded. Tom looked at her quizzically, but Kiley was completely focused on the call.
“It’s Serenity,” Sid wailed. “She’s . . . really sick!”
Kiley tried to stay calm, though her mind was racing in a million directions. Why was Sid calling her instead of his mother? Where was the babysitter? “Where’s Lori?”
“Bruce came home and told her she could leave,” Sid sniffled. “So she did. But then after that Bruce left too.”
Kiley gritted her teeth. Lori left the kids alone just because a fourteen-year-old told her it was okay? What an airhead. “Where’s Mrs. Cleveland?” Surely the cook would be there.
“It’s her day off, I think,” Sid said. “No one is here!”
Damn. “Tell me what’s wrong, Sid.”
“ ’Kay, well, Serenity has these big red bumps all over her skin. And her lips are getting all huge and she’s crying and I’m really scared!”
Hives, Kiley thought. An allergic reaction to something.
From the background, Kiley heard Serenity. “I want my mommy!”
“I tried to call Mom,” Sid told Kiley, “but she didn’t answer her cell.”
“Listen to me, Sid; I think Serenity is just having an allergic reaction to something. It’s going to be okay. Put her on the phone and I’ll explain.”
“She’s shaking her head. Can you come home?”
“I’m an hour away from you, sweetie,” Kiley explained, pacing the deck with the phone. “Is Serenity breathing okay?”
She h
eard Sid asking Serenity but couldn’t hear the little girl’s answer. “She said if she wasn’t breathing she couldn’t answer your stupid question,” Sid reported.
Good to know she hadn’t lost that Serenity edge. “Did she eat anything unusual, Sid? Or touch anything unusual? I’m trying to figure out what she’s allergic to.”
Silence from the other end of the phone, then: “Promise you won’t get mad?”
“I won’t get mad.”
“Well, see, Mom left some of her stash in the living room. Serenity was showing off, so she put some of the reefer in the bong and took a hit.”
“She what?” Kiley screeched.
“You said you wouldn’t get mad!” Sid whined.
Kiley forced herself to keep her voice even. “I’m not mad, Sid. Go on.”
“Okay, so she took a really big hit and started coughing and stuff. Yeah. And then she started getting the rash thingie, like, a little while later.”
Kiley sighed. That was just so Platinum, to leave her marijuana out where the kids could get to it. “Put Serenity on the phone, Sid.”
“Kiley!” It was Serenity. She sounded like she was gasping for air. Panic attack, Kiley figured. Well, she had a lot of experience with those; she’d talked her mom through dozens of them. “I can’t breathe!”
“It’s because you’re scared,” Kiley reassured her. “Your heart is pounding and it feels like the whole world is closing in on—”
“No!” Serenity sucked air into the phone. “Like in my throat!”
Kiley had seen a really bad allergic reaction once in her life, when a yellow jacket stung Nina on a Girl Scouts camping trip. Nina’s throat had closed up and they had to rush her to the hospital. A person could die that way.
Kiley forced her voice to sound steady. “Serenity, sweetie, I want you to lie down on the couch and take slow, deep breaths, okay?”
“ ’Kay.” Serenity’s voice was tiny.
“Put Sid back on the phone.”
“You have to come home right now!” Sid demanded.
“Listen to me. I think your sister is in something called anaphylactic shock. I need to call nine-one-one.” Kiley’s hand was white-knuckled on her phone.
“Okay.”
“I’ll tell them to send an ambulance,” Kiley instructed. “I’m calling now. Then I’m coming home.”
29
There was no traffic on the freeways for a change, so Kiley and Tom—he’d insisted on driving, saying that Kiley was too upset—pulled through the gates of Platinum’s estate exactly forty minutes after they’d sprinted off the Queen Mary. The first thing Kiley saw was the emergency vehicles—a City of Los Angeles ambulance with its lights flashing, plus a Bel Air Police cruiser. There was also a white panel van with the city seal on the front door. No sign of Platinum or Lori, or any of the staff.
Kiley parked and ran into the house, calling for the kids as her heart thudded in her chest. A short, muscular cop blocked her way as Tom joined her. He looked them over. “You two are—?”
“I’m the nanny, Kiley McCann. He’s a friend. Where’s Serenity? Is she okay?”
“Kid’s fine,” the cop reassured her. He had a strong New York City accent. “An injection of epinephrine and she’s a hundred percent. No harm, no foul.”
“Thank God.” Kiley heaved a sigh of relief. She felt Tom’s strong hand land comfortingly on the back of her neck.
“Your friend needs to wait outside,” the cop declared. “Until we get this situation under control.”
“But you said Serenity is fine.”
“When we arrived, miss, we found no adult or caregiver in the home. We need to limit the domicile strictly to relevant parties.”
“It’s no problem,” Tom assured Kiley. “I’ll be in the truck. Holler if you need me.”
She gave him a grateful smile as he slipped out the door. Then she faced the cop again. “Serenity is in her room?”
“Her brother’s room. They’re playing that fantasy card game. What’s it called—my kid plays it all the time—Yoogi something.”
“Yu-Gi-Oh!” Kiley filled in. She knew it was Sid’s passion in life. “Thanks.” Just as she reached the staircase, a huge commotion broke out behind her. She whirled around. There was her boss, trying to get past the policeman who was blocking the way with his body.
“Move the hell out of my way!”
Platinum had arrived. She wore a white leather Versace minidress with the sides cut out, and white thigh-high stiletto boots. She pushed against the burly cop’s chest—he wouldn’t let her into her own house. “You need to wait here, ma’am,” he insisted.
Platinum spit on him.
Oh, crap.
The cop raised a shoulder to wipe the spit from his jaw, then spoke into his walkie-talkie, informing whoever was at the other end that the mother had just entered the domicile.
“It’s not a domicile. It’s my freaking house, asshole!” Platinum screamed.
“Please come with me, ma’am.” The cop locked her upper arm in a viselike grip and maneuvered her outside as Platinum bellowed about police brutality and lawsuits. At the same time, Kiley had to make way as another burly cop, a paramedic, and a young African American woman with close-cropped hair came downstairs. Right behind them were Sid and Serenity.
Serenity flew into Kiley’s arms the moment she saw her. “You came.”
“Of course I came.” She held the girl tight, under the watchful and concerned eyes of the authorities. “This is my nanny,” Serenity told them. “The one I told you about.”
Platinum burst back inside, somehow having gotten free of the cop. “I’m going to sue you assholes for every penny you’ve got!” she bellowed. “I have civil rights, you know!” Her eyes landed on Kiley. “You’re a witness, Kiley!”
The burly cop reentered, shaking his head. “Platinum, you’re going to have to come with me. Don’t make this difficult.”
“Come ’ere, kids,” Platinum told the children, reaching out for them. “I love my kids.” But the other policeman stepped between the children and Kiley as the African American woman approached her. “I’m Tonika Johnson, City Department of Social Services. You’re—?”
“I told you, my nanny,” Serenity said, burrowing closer into Kiley’s leg.
“Fine. Serenity, just stay with your nanny for right now,” the social worker said.
Kiley wrapped them both in her arms. “It’s going to be okay,” she told them in a soothing voice, though she had gathered that nothing was going to be okay; that “okay” was a big fat lie and the truth was right in front of them.
“My babies,” Platinum moaned loudly, holding her arms out toward the kids and wriggling her fingers. “I need my babies.”
The first policeman grimly unfastened his handcuffs from his belt. “Platinum, you’re under arrest for possession of a controlled substance and the reckless endangerment of two minors,” he declared. “Please extend your arms.”
Platinum shook her head violently. “Come on, man, you can’t do this shit.”
Kiley was stunned—they were arresting Platinum? In front of her children?
“Kids, why don’t you go back upstairs with Ms. Johnson,” Kiley prompted. “I’ll come up in a little while.”
“That’s a good idea,” the social worker agreed, coaxing the children back upstairs. “You can show me your toys.”
Kiley was afraid they’d refuse to go, that they’d fly into their mother’s outstretched arms. To her shock, they meekly obeyed the social worker without even a backward look. Meanwhile, the cop slapped the cuffs on Platinum, then read her her Miranda rights.
“. . . if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you. Do you understand?”
“How could you take me away from my kids?” Platinum wailed, bereft.
“You did it to yourself, ma’am. Did you understand everything I said? Do you need a court-appointed attorney?”
“Are you shitting me, asshole? I have six of m
y own on retainer.”
“Good,” said the lead cop. “You’re going to need them.”
Platinum looked past the cop to Kiley as both policemen started to lead her away.
“Kiley, take care of my babies! Call Shapiro, my lawyer, the number’s on the refrigerator. Tell him to meet me at the Bel Air police station and to bring his checkbook. They’ll take me to night court and set bail, I’ll be out by two, three at the latest, so tell the kids not to worry.”
Kiley nodded. How insane was all this? The only way Platinum could know exactly what to do and how long it would take was if she had had exactly this experience before.
With Platinum taken away to the station house for processing and the two children safely upstairs, Kiley sat on the white living room couch with the social worker while Tom continued to wait outside in the truck, at the social worker’s insistence. The two police had been replaced by a battery of detectives, who were searching the house from top to bottom. They’d declared the whole place, including Kiley’s guesthouse, a crime scene.
“The city and state have responsibilities, strict rules regarding the welfare of children,” Ms. Johnson was explaining matter-of-factly.
Kiley nodded, dazed. She felt as if she was in a scene from a movie or a TV show and was in way over her head. “I’ll take care of them until Platinum gets back later tonight, I promise. I really care about them.”
The social worker rubbed her forehead. “I don’t think you quite understand. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” Kiley said. “But I’m a very responsible person.”
“Oh, brother,” Ms. Johnson muttered under her breath. She stood, gathering a few files from the coffee table in front of her—the same one that had recently supported Platinum’s marijuana stash and bong. “It’s like this, Kiley. We don’t treat a case differently because of the celebrity or notoriety of the deficient parent. Our sole responsibility is to the children. As a social worker, that’s what I do, day in and day out. So by the powers vested in me by the State of California and the City and County of Los Angeles, it is my responsibility to remove the minor children from this home and bring them into a safe and secure environment.”