No response. Whatever. Kass tucked the phone into her jeans pocket and proceeded through the living room, randomly picking up empty coffee cups (Kamille’s) and Baja Fresh bags (Kamille’s) and a pair of red stilettos (Kamille’s). The decor of the house exactly represented the total split in the two sisters’ personalities, i.e., part flea-market vintage (Kass) and part Z Gallerie (Kamille). Kass hated wasting money; why spend two hundred dollars on a new chair when the same item could be had for five dollars at a garage sale, slightly used? Conversely, Kamille hated “other people’s old stuff,” claiming that they always came with mystery stains and nasty smells.
In this way, the two of them had been arguing and compromising and sharing the cute little Spanish-style bungalow for the last year. Okay, so Kamille wasn’t always easy. And she really did need to stop putting all her energy into men and start focusing on what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. But she was Kass’s sister and best friend. They shared everything: their secrets, their hopes, their dreams, and their frustrations, especially about the other members of their family. Kass absolutely couldn’t imagine not living with her—dirty coffee cups and skanky friends and all.
Kass woke up to the sound of very, very loud sex.
“Oh my God, yes!” a female voice cried out. “Oh, yeah, faster. Faster!”
Kass sat up and peered groggily at the alarm clock: 3:32 A.M. The sound was coming from the living room. Kamille and Finn must be at it on the couch. Really, was this necessary?
But the voice didn’t sound like Kamille’s.
Then Kass heard another sound through the other wall—the wall that separated her bedroom from Kamille’s. It was the steady, rhythmic squeaking of a mattress. More sex. Wait—did that mean two hookups were going on simultaneously?
“Oh . . . my . . . God!”
“Oh, yeah, that’s it!”
“Mmmmmm . . .”
“Harder . . .”
Kass squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears with her hands, trying to block out the stereophonic X-rated noises. She tried, too, not to think about that other time, back when she was sixteen and Kamille and Simone were fifteen. Kamille and Simone had dragged Kass to some house party way across town in Hidden Hills, and it hadn’t ended well, with Kamille and Simone drunk out of their minds and the girl who had given them a ride to the party, Willow, completely passed out. Kamille had somehow convinced Kass to drive them all home in Willow’s parents’ Mercedes minivan, even though Kass only had her learner’s permit and had never driven on a highway. Kass could still recall how terrified she felt, driving down the 405, convinced that she was going to get pulled over any second—or that she was going to crash the superexpensive car—while Kamille made out with some boy in the backseat, and Simone did more than make out with a second boy (Kass could see her grinding away on his lap in her rearview mirror), and Willow slept way in the back in the Burberry dog bed, her snoring mingling with the two couples’ moaning and groaning . . .
“Shit,” Kass whispered to herself.
Why did everyone else always get to have all the fun?
Chapter Three
Kyle
“Could you please pass the beef stew”—Kat paused—“Wyatt, is it?”
“It’s White. White Castle,” replied Kyle’s most excellent date for tonight’s Sunday Nightmare Dinner, which is what she called these weekly torture sessions. Tonight it was the whole family—Kyle and her sisters, Kass and Kamille; their two stepsibs, Benjy and Bree; the parents, Kat and Beau (who was technically not a parent but a stepparent)—plus Kat’s obnoxious friend Pippa Ashton-Gould and Pippa’s extremely lame son, Parker.
And, of course, White. As he lifted the heavy tureen, Kyle noticed her mother’s gaze falling on his bare, vampire-pale arm, covered as it was with an assortment of not-very-PG tattoos and what might or might not be several track marks. The min pins, Coco and Chanel, bounded up to the table and went into high-octane begging mode.
“White Castle! That’s a supercool name! Does that mean you love hamburgers, then?” Bree said, stuffing a buttered roll into her mouth. At ten, she was insanely chirpy and friendly. She wasn’t too unbearable, for a little stepsister.
“Actually, I’m a vegan. See?” White pointed to his T-shirt, which had a picture of a headless, bloody chicken and the words DEAD MEAT on it. “That’s our band. I sing lead. Hey, we’re playing at the Bad Touch Lounge over on Sunset this Wednesday. Midnight show. Y’all should check it out.”
“Can I go? Can I go?” Bree squealed.
“No!” Kat and Beau said at the same time. “School night,” Beau added feebly.
“I find vegans so fascinating!” Pippa Ashton-Gould piped up, leaning toward White and giving him a bird’s-eye view of her rock-hard boob job. Pippa had always reminded Kyle of a dead monkey, with her surgically thin, spray-tanned body. She had a way of coming on to younger guys as though she actually had a chance, which she didn’t. It was so pathetic, how old people like Pippa and Kat tried to hang on to the dinosaur remains of their sexuality. They were like fossils.
“Well, frankly, if you don’t believe in eating animals, veganism is the only tenable position,” Pippa’s son, Parker, added. “Conventional vegetarianism is a morally murky middle ground. Animals still have to die in order for milk and eggs to get produced. So I say, either be a vegan or do like I do and be unrepentantly carnivorous! Eat meat!” He speared a piece of beef and chomped down on it gleefully.
What a fucking moron, Kyle thought irritably.
Bree stared in horror at her glass of milk. “There’s dead animals in here?” she cried out.
“No, honey, there’s no dead animals in there! Drink up!” Forcing a smile, Kat turned to Kyle. “Sweetheart, you didn’t tell me your friend was a vegan. I would have made something else,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I’m okay, Mrs., uh, Camero,” White reassured her. “I’m kinda hungover, so I’m not superhungry, anyway.”
Kat shot Kyle a scathing look that was all “Are you serious, bringing that home?” Kyle knew that look well. She aimed to please every Sunday night, inviting over whatever hookup, friend, or total stranger, male or female, was bound to shock her mother the most. (Guests were part of the Sunday Nightmare Dinner tradition.) Last week, it had been the sixteen-year-old daughter of a hotel magnate, who had a reputation for hooking up with older, married men. (Kat had seated her far away from Beau.) The week before, it had been a homeless teenager Kyle found in Griffith Park. Unfortunately, Kat had screwed things up by actually feeling sorry for the girl, giving her clean clothes and money and finding a social worker to help her. Oh, well.
Of course, Kyle got the scathing look on other days of the week as well. She liked to think of it as a game: new and exciting ways to Piss Off Mom. Who deserved it. Sometimes the game got old, but mostly it was entertaining. It was definitely better than trying to get along with her, like Kyle’s ass-kissing sisters.
Speaking of . . .
“Mommy and Beau, did I tell you? My friend Simone said there’s a job opening at her PR firm!” Kamille bubbled. “It’s part-time, and it doesn’t pay very much. But she gets to go to the coolest parties, and she meets all these celebrities, too! I was thinking I might apply.”
“I thought you were going to take singing lessons so you could be the next American Idol,” Kyle reminded her. “Oh, no, that was two Sundays ago. Last Sunday, you were going to move to New York City and intern for some nobody fashion designer you friended on Facebook.”
“Okay, Kyle, you know what? Fuck. You,” Kamille snapped.
Kat glared. “Kamille, please! Language! And, Kyle, could you be a little more supportive of your sister?”
“Yeah. Just because I don’t have my whole life planned out like Miss OCD,” Kamille said, casting a sideways glance at Kass.
Kass frowned. “Uh, thanks?”
Kat turned to Parker. “What Kamille means is, Kass is doing so well at USC! She’s about to start her junior ye
ar there, and she’s double-majoring in business plus film and television!” She turned to Kass. “And, sweetie, did you know that Parker graduated from Harvard in June? With a degree in geology?”
Gag! Their mother was so obvious about fixing up Parker with Kass, it was painful. On the other hand, Kass did need to get laid, so points to Mom for trying, even though on a scale of one to ten, the chemistry between Kass and Parker was about negative two.
“Yeah, I remember you were into rocks in kindergarten, too,” Kass said to Parker without looking at him. “I think you threw one at my new tricycle and dented the handlebar.”
“Oh, right, that was funny!” Kamille giggled.
Kass whirled around and punched Kamille in the arm. “It was not funny, I loved that tricycle!”
“Hey, that hurts!”
“Not as much as this!” Kass leaned over and yanked on Kamille’s hair. Kamille did the same to Kass. What were they, three years old? They started laughing, although there was an edge to their laughter.
“Who wants some dessert?” Kat said brightly. “It’s lemon cake! We always have it, because it was David’s—the girls’ father’s—favorite,” she explained to White.
“Cool. Is it vegan?” he asked.
“Actually, it has a couple of eggs in it,” Kat replied.
“Eggs, yeah . . . my friend calls them ‘chicken periods,’ ” White remarked.
Kat gasped. Beau put his hand on her arm, probably to keep her from totally losing her shit. Awesome. Kyle reminded herself to bring White to these dinners more often.
“We’ve got some sorbet in the freezer. I’ll bring that out for our guest White here,” Beau said hastily. “Benjy, honey, you want to help me clear?”
“Sure, Dad.” Benjy, who had not said a word during the entire dinner, pushed back his chair and stood up. Kyle scrutinized him. He had been her stepbrother for almost four years now, and he still remained a mystery to her. Sure, she hadn’t exactly bothered to be friendly to him. But why should she? They had nothing in common, other than the fact that they were both juniors at Wesley Eastman Academy. He was a straight-A student and in general a big, fat nerd who was always reading books or rehearsing lines for his dumb drama club. He and Bree lived with them except when they were in Brentwood with their mom. Unless the mom happened to be away at an ashram or in rehab, which was kind of often.
“I never touch dessert because I have to watch my girlish figure,” Pippa said, winking at White.
Okay, enough of the Cougar Show. “Come on, I didn’t give you a tour of the house yet,” Kyle said, grabbing White’s hand.
“A what?”
“Come on!”
“Be back here in five minutes for cake,” Kat ordered Kyle.
“Can I go with you, Ky?” Bree begged.
“No, Brie Cheese. You stay here, I’ll be right back.”
Or not. Once in the hallway, Kyle tried to think of where she could take White that would have the most impact when Kat came looking for them. They could skinny-dip in the pool. Or they could go upstairs and make out on the parents’ bed. Despite his freakish tattoos and raccoon-colored hair, White wouldn’t be too repulsive to touch. Would he?
“Hey, what’s this?” White was staring at an ancient photo of Beau on the wall.
“What? Oh, that’s just Beau,” Kyle said dismissively. She glanced down the hall. Her mother had recently bought an Oriental rug for her home office. Maybe that would be a better place to get down and dirty with White?
Kyle turned to him, smiling provocatively and touching his chest. But he seemed to have lost interest in her all of a sudden. “Dude, your dad’s Beau LeBlanc?” he burst out. “This picture’s from the World Series, right? From like twenty years ago?”
“Beau is not my dad,” Kyle said irritably. She tugged on White’s arm. “Hey, you wanna—”
“Do you think he’d sign my shirt?” White said, hurrying back to the dining room. “Fuck, man! What’s it like having a famous baseball player for a dad?”
“He is not my dad!” Kyle repeated. But White was already gone.
Crap!
Chapter Four
Kamille
“I’m telling you, he’s a jerk. You need to break up!” Simone declared.
“What?” Kamille glanced up from her phone and regarded her friend. Simone seemed to be really, really worked up about something. Of course, this wasn’t unusual. Simone was a raging drama queen, which was one of the reasons Kamille liked having her around, because it made her feel calm and sane in comparison.
“Carlos and I were at Voyeur last night, and—”
“Carlos? What happened to Lars?”
“Lars? Ohmigod, we broke up like a week ago. He’s ancient history. Anyway, I saw Finn at Voyeur, but he totally didn’t see me. He was making out with another girl. They were practically dry-humping in their booth!”
“I don’t think so. Finn told me he was working last night.”
“Well, he lied. Besides, didn’t you see the picture I texted you?”
“What picture?”
Simone shook her head and grabbed Kamille’s phone from her. As she scrolled, Kamille peered around the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, which was uncharacteristically empty for a Friday morning. It was just Kamille and Simone, half a dozen tourists, a lone nun, and a couple who was way overdoing it with the PDA. Really, in front of a nun?
There was also a guy in the corner who had been checking out Kamille for the last half hour. Of course, she got checked out by all sorts of guys all the time. Still, this one was older than usual—forties?—and way better dressed, in a dreamy gray Armani suit she had seen on that hot Spanish model in Vogue.
The guy had arrived in a silver Rolls, chauffeured. It was still parked out front, presumably waiting for him to finish his latte. Was he a rich businessman? Kamille had to admit she was a little curious, even though he absolutely wasn’t her type.
Besides, she already had a boyfriend. Didn’t she?
“Here!” Simone thrust Kamille’s phone back at her. “This is your proof right here.”
Kamille stared at the screen. The picture was kind of grainy and out of focus. But upon closer inspection, it did look like Finn kissing some skanky redhead who was wearing a—wait, was she wearing anything? Were those her boobs?
“The beeyotch flashed him, and that’s when he decided that he couldn’t resist her charms anymore,” Simone explained, as though reading Kamille’s mind. “Okay, so, can we please dump his pathetic ass and move on already? I could tell he was a cheater the first time I met him. I have a sixth sense about these things.”
Kamille felt heat rush to her cheeks. “There’s got to be some explanation.”
“Yeah, sweetie, there’s an explanation. The explanation is, your soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend is a sorry piece of shit who can’t keep it in his pants.”
“No, I mean . . . look, maybe he was drunk. Or maybe she threw herself at him and he was trying to push her away.”
Simone rolled her eyes. “Girlfriend. Honestly? We need to organize a man intervention for you. You’re cutting him way too much slack.”
“You don’t know Finn as well as I do. He’s not like that. Besides, I’m seeing him tonight. I’ll ask him what happened, and I’m sure he’ll tell me everything.”
“You are way too trusting,” Simone said irritably. She peered at her watch. “Listen, I gotta bail. Seriously, though . . . is the sex that good? Because I don’t know why you bother with an a-hole like him when you could have any guy on the planet.” She rose to her feet.
Kamille blushed and turned away. The truth was, the sex wasn’t that good. Although maybe it was her fault, not Finn’s? He was the twelfth guy she’d gone to bed with, and she hadn’t been able to enjoy herself with any of them. Was there something wrong with her? Did she need to see a shrink? Or was she a lesbian deep down and just didn’t know it? There was that time she and her friend Marlena drank too many margaritas at that house party in Bel Air and made ou
t, which was kind of fun. But . . . for the most part, she liked guys. She just didn’t like having sex with any of the ones she’d been with.
Of course, her first experience—with Jeremy Weinstein, freshman year—hadn’t been an auspicious start. They’d done it at his house while his parents were in Aspen, and when she went to the bathroom afterward, to pee, she realized in horror that his condom was stuck inside of her. Deep inside. She extracted it with a pair of tweezers from her makeup bag, flushed it down the toilet, and washed her hands with an entire bottle of antibacterial soap plus the hottest water she could bear. Back in the living room, Jeremy was freaking out because he couldn’t find the condom anywhere, and she was too mortified to tell him what had happened to it. Yeah, romantic.
Simone checked her watch again. “Okay, I’m now officially fifteen minutes late for work,” she said. “Oh, hey, are you still interested in that part-time receptionist thing? Because you need to send me your résumé, like, yesterday. I think my boss’s niece might be applying.”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. I think I might pass.” The more Kamille thought about it, the less exciting the job sounded, answering phones and greeting clients. Even if some of the clients were celebrities. For one thing, it meant that she would actually have to wake up early and go into an office. It was bad enough, having to show up at Café Romero for her shifts and answering to her mother the tyrant. But having a real boss who could legit-order her around? And fire her if she didn’t comply?
Besides, professionally speaking, Kamille wanted more glamour and less manual labor. And she wanted to make a ton of money, too, so she could stop being poor and go back to the lifestyle she used to have, when her father was alive. Surely, there had to be something out there that met those simple requirements?
“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind,” Simone said. “Hey, you wanna do something this weekend? How about Hyde?”
Dollhouse Page 2