Had he just broken up with her? Not that they were together, as he had (sort of) pointed out. But still . . .
Kass slumped back in her chair, trying to sort out her jumbled thoughts. This evening, which had started out so well and so full of promise, had taken a nosedive into hell. She was supposed to be having a romantic dinner with Eduardo. Instead, she was all alone at their table for two with nothing but a crumpled-up, hateful, lie-filled magazine. A magazine that had just ruined her life.
But she couldn’t really blame the magazine, could she? Maybe she had overreacted . . . and then taken the whole thing out on poor Eduardo.
Kass buried her face in her hands and did something she never did.
She burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty
Kyle
Kyle lay on the couch, clicking the remote, wondering how there could be nothing interesting to watch—especially when they had about two thousand channels to choose from. A reality show about people who were addicted to reality shows? Seriously? And who the hell would watch something called I Married My Brother: A True Story? Talk about gross.
Oh, wait. Double D-Lite was beginning soon, which sounded fun. She had gotten into pornos about a year ago, partly because they were so hilariously fake, but mostly because her uptight mother absolutely forbade it. Fortunately, Kyle knew the password to get through the lame parental control feature. She would simply have to wait until Kat and Beau were out the door. Which, judging by the sound of their conversation, was imminent.
BEAU: Sweetheart, have you seen my belt with the fancy buckle? And what time’s our reservation?
KAT: Seven-thirty, honey. Movie’s at nine-twenty. Did you check the top drawer of your dresser? Oh, by the way, did you remember to call your aunt Trudy about Thanksgiving dinner?
Kyle wondered if married couples always had such boring conversations. She reminded herself to stay single, forever. She continued surfing, coming across some random celebrity chef cooking up a fancy pizza. Yum. She wondered if there was anything decent to eat for dinner . . .
“Hi, doll!”
Kyle glanced up. Oh, God, it was her mother, dressed in a red T-shirt, black silk shorts, and ballet flats. Apparently, she was auditioning for the cast of Glee.
“Aren’t you guys gone yet?” Kyle said, hoping she’d get the hint.
“Just waiting for Beau. So! What are you doing?”
“I’m discovering a cure for cancer. What does it look like?”
“Very funny. Why don’t you throw on an outfit and come out with us?”
“No, thanks.”
“We’re going to Capriccio’s for Italian.”
Oooh, pizza. “Nah.”
“You sure? We’re seeing that new Steven Spielberg movie after,” Kat persisted.
“I have plans,” Kyle lied.
“With who?”
“Like that’s any of your business? Ash and Priscilla, if you must know.”
“Okay. Well. You know where we are, if you change your mind.”
Kat wandered off in search of Beau. Kyle turned her attention back to the TV screen. In truth, Ash and Priscilla were at a house party in Westwood tonight. Kyle was supposed to be there, too. But she’d blown it off, just like she’d blown off Graydon Garrison’s party earlier.
The problem was, Ash and Priscilla were getting into increasingly hard-core stuff. Smoking pot was one thing, but coke and E? And what were those things called, whippits? A quiet night in with a porno and a bottle of tequila was more Kyle’s speed. With Bree at a sleepover and Benjy out with his fellow drama nerds, she’d have the whole place to herself.
Kyle continued surfing channels. She wondered what was up with her mother’s dinner invitation—and with all the invitations, lately. Last week, Kat had surprised her by picking her up after school to take her shopping. The day before yesterday, it was mani-pedis. The woman had obviously been reading self-help books or talking to a shrink about this. Note to self: Bond with Kyle!
Yeah, good luck with that, Mom, Kyle thought wryly. Although Kyle’s nails, which were painted a shade called Toxic Taupe, did look sick. And she was never one to say no to free merch.
Half an hour (and a total waste-of-time discussion about which car to take) later, Kat and Beau were finally gone. Café Romero was closed for minor renovations, so they were taking advantage and having a “date night,” which was apparently what old people called going out. Kyle went to the kitchen to scrounge for dinner (a frozen pepperoni pizza—yes!) and retrieve the key to the liquor cabinet, which Beau kept quote-unquote “hidden” in a cracked Dodgers mug full of loose change.
Kyle heard the front door open just as she was settling back on the couch with her dinner, a bottle of Patrón, a Grand Canyon souvenir shot glass, and the opening credits of Double D-Lite. Crap! Had they forgotten something? She grabbed the Patrón and frantically tried to find a place to stash it.
“Hello?” A familiar voice came from the hallway.
It was Kass. What was she doing here?
“Kass? In here!” Kyle called out.
A moment later, Kass popped her head through the doorway. “Um, where is everybody?”
“Out.”
“Oh.”
Kyle stared at Kass, confused. Her sister’s eyes were red, and her makeup was all streaky, as though she’d been crying. Which made zero sense. Like Kyle, Kass was not the crying type.
“What’s up? You look like shit.”
“Thanks. Hey, what are you doing with that? Do Mom and Beau know you’re helping yourself to their liquor?”
Now there was the old Kass. “I’ll get you a glass,” Kyle offered.
“No!”
Kass ignored her and went to the kitchen. When she came back (with a Niagara Falls souvenir shot glass—their father had been a collector), Kass was sitting on the couch, plucking a nonexistent dog hair from her not-entirely-ugly purple dress. (Fashion was not Kass’s strong suit.)
“Cute outfit,” Kyle complimented her. She poured two shots and handed one to Kass. “Tough day?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Kass took a sip. “Wah! It burns!”
“It’s supposed to. And you’re not supposed to drink it like it’s a cup of tea, dummy. Watch and learn from the master.” Kyle tipped her head back and downed her shot glass, demonstrating.
“Like this?” Kass followed suit.
“Like that! Exactly!”
“It’s not too bad, if you like the taste of hydrochloric acid,” Kass said sarcastically.
“Whatever.” Kyle poured another round. “So. What’s up? I wasn’t kidding before when I said you look like shit.”
This time, Kass finished off the tequila in one gulp. Then she picked up the bottle and helped herself to more. “My love life is a mess. I really, really screwed things up with Eduardo tonight.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Kyle said, surprised. Dating was the other thing Kass never did, besides crying.
“No! He’s not my boyfriend. Not exactly. He’s in my econ class at school, and we hang out. The thing is, he wants more than friendship. And actually, I do, too, except that I’ve been kind of nervous about taking that next step because, well, he may seem like an amazing guy, but what if he turns out to be an asshole and just wants to use me for sex? Like Adam Kerrigan?”
“Adam who?”
“You don’t remember Adam? My high school boyfriend? The love of my life?”
Oh, yeah, him. Kyle had a vague memory of a chemistry geek with bad skin and BO. Great boyfriend material. “So you and this . . . Edward, Eduardo haven’t hooked up yet?” she said out loud.
“No. But tonight was going to be the night, maybe. I bought champagne and a box of—never mind, you’re way too young.”
“You bought condoms?” Kyle grinned. “So you were finally gonna get your V-card punched, huh?”
“My . . . what?”
“Your V-card? Or did you do it with that Adam guy? Never mind. Okay, so, what happened?”
<
br /> “Wellll . . . we never made it back to my house, because we got into this awful fight.”
“About what?”
“About this hideous picture Dish magazine published. Of me. And the stupid crap they printed.”
“Really?” Kyle was totally confused. What could Dish possibly want with Kass? “Let me grab my laptop, I’ll check it out.”
“Don’t bother, I brought it with me.”
Kass reached into her purse and pulled out a rolled-up magazine. She unfurled it and turned to a dog-eared page, and handed it to Kyle.
Kyle took a look at the picture—and the story, too. God, no wonder Kass was losing her shit. If some pretend journalist had called her “Kamille’s dumpy younger sis,” then implied she looked like a guy, she would have been forced to kill the asshole.
“Yeah, this blows,” she said after a moment. “You know, if Kamille wasn’t such a fame whore, this wouldn’t have happened,” she added bitchily.
“Right? Finally, someone who agrees with me! Thank you!” Kass tipped back another drink.
“Yeah, her stupid so-called career is like a magnet for these media douche bags.”
“Exactly! That’s what I tried to tell—whoa! What are those people doing?”
Kass’s eyes were suddenly glued to the TV screen. Kyle followed her gaze. A guy and two girls—or was that two guys and a girl?—were getting it on in a hot tub.
“It’s the Nature Channel,” Kyle joked. “I think this bottle’s empty. You want me to grab another one?”
“Hmm? Yeah, sure. Ohmigod, what is he doing to her with his tongue?”
“I want to hear all about this Eduardo dude when I get back. Okay?”
“Hmm.”
“And . . . Kass? When it comes to guys? You need to think less, hook up more.”
Kass turned to Kyle and started giggling hysterically. “Think less, hook up more! Ha-ha, that’s hilarious!”
Kyle raised her eyebrows. Kass giggling was about as rare as Kass crying. And dating. And, for that matter, getting drunk.
Kyle’s night had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kass
Kass inserted the key in her front door—or she tried to, anyway. The key wasn’t cooperating, and neither was her brain. Above her, the moon and the stars were swirling around, turning the night sky into a giant, blurry, cosmic video game.
She felt like throwing up.
The door opened abruptly. A fat middle-aged guy stood there, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers with tiny aliens all over them. Or were they martini glasses? He looked her up and down critically.
“I told them I wanted a blonde,” he snapped. “With, uh, something on top. What are you, a Thirty-two-A?”
“What? Oh! I must have the wrong house!”
“This is two twenty-nine.”
“I think I’m down the street somewhere. Sorry to bother you!”
Kass spun around and ran, or tried to run, down the sidewalk. She felt so dizzy, even dizzier than before, and what did that man mean, was she a 32-A? Was he talking about her address? A car drove by, honking, and then everything was quiet again. Except for the soundtrack to Footloose. Was she in a movie? Or was this a dream?
She finally reached her door. She checked first to make sure this was definitely her and Kamille’s house. Yes, here was the terra-cotta frog. And the flowering cactus plants. And the blinking neon turkey hanging on the palm tree, in honor of Thanksgiving.
This time, Kass didn’t bother with the key, which was way too complicated, almost as bad as calculus, and made her head spin. Instead, she rang the doorbell. “Kam? Are you home?” she shouted.
After a moment the door opened, and she found herself face-to-face with Kamille. Except that she was bigger and taller and blonder. And not Kamille. And not a girl.
It was Ballboy, wearing nothing but baby-blue pajama bottoms.
“Uh, hi?” Kass gave him a little wave.
“Hey. Did you lose your key or something?”
“Yes. Well, not really. Which way is my room?”
Chase laughed. Why was he laughing? “It’s this way, party girl. You want a glass of water? And some Advil?”
“No, thanks, I’m really not hungry. Where’s Kamille?”
“She’s out. I was waiting for her.”
Chase took Kass’s arm and guided her into the front hall. She teetered a little on her heels, wondering why the ceiling and walls were shrinking and then expanding like the inside of a carnival fun house. She remembered, or thought she remembered, that Chase sometimes spent the night at the house. On occasion, she’d had to cover her ears to block out the noise of his and Kamille’s arguments. Or lovemaking. Especially the lovemaking.
“Why are there diamonds all over the living room floor?” she said, suddenly noticing the bright, glittering jewels scattered across the carpet.
“What? Oh, that’s broken glass. I gotta clean that up.”
“Did Valentino break something?”
“Who?”
“Valentino. He’s our dog.”
“Come on, crazy, we need to get you into bed.”
“Okeydoke.”
And then the next thing she knew, she was lying down, and someone was pulling off her shoes. Chase. She closed her eyes, feeling his hands as they moved up to the waistband of her panty hose. How had she gotten from the front hall to this bed? Her bed? Maybe she and Chase had beamed over, like the people on Star Trek.
“Chase?” she murmured sleepily. “I should probably call you that, right? Since it’s your name? I didn’t mean to call you Ballboy behind your back. It’s nothing personal. Well, maybe it is, because I wasn’t sure I liked you, before. But you’re actually kind of a nice person. Aren’t you?”
“Yup.”
Kass felt him turn her over slightly as he unzipped her dress. “I’m so sorry about our fight earlier,” she rambled on. “It’s that stupid magazine’s fault. I used to believe in the First Amendment, you know, freedom of the press and free speech and free love and . . . wait, where’s Eduardo?”
“Who?”
“But now I think censorship’s the way to go. Those magazines should be banned. Professor what’s-her-name—the one with the big boobs, almost as big as those girls on Kyle’s Nature Channel show—says that in Europe they don’t put up with the kind of . . . hey, Eduardo? Did you get highlights? ’Cause your hair used to be black.”
Silence. Kass felt strong, warm fingers massaging the back of her neck. “Mmm, that feels good,” she murmured.
“Yeah?” Eduardo kissed her there, ever so gently.
“Mmm, do that again.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
His lips trailed deliciously down her back. Kass’s entire body tingled with fire, and she arched herself against him. This was way, way better than . . . what had she been doing earlier in the evening? She couldn’t recall. Yelling at someone and then watching a really excellent movie with Kyle? His arm encircled her waist, and he tugged tantalizingly at her panties.
Think less, hook up more.
“Take them off,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Take them off.”
Eduardo—it was Eduardo, wasn’t it?—slid her panties down her legs. Her bra came off next. And then she was on her back, and he was on top of her, doing something to her breasts that made her gasp and moan and dig her fingers into his massive biceps. (Wow, had Eduardo been working out?)
“They’re in the drawer, over there,” Kass heard herself say.
“You sure?”
“Yes! I got them at Rite Aid today!”
“No, what I meant was . . . never mind.”
He went away and returned a second—or was it a minute, or an hour?—later. Kass heard the lock on her bedroom door click shut. His breath reeked of whiskey, or maybe that was her. He mounted her, completely naked and unspeakably gorgeous, with those hard, rippling muscles and that tousled blond hair and those big
blue eyes and . . .
She screamed. With pleasure. He was inside her, moving ever so slowly, then faster, then faster still.
She didn’t remember Adam Kerrigan feeling this good. Not even close.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kyle
“Die, assholes!” Kyle yelled.
She tapped the screen of Beau’s iPad repeatedly, dispersing more grapefruit and strawberry bombs. They arced toward the killer zombies that were slowly stumbling their way toward her majestic princess castle. She had to kill the ones with the yellow eyes first, because they were the most powerful. The rest of them, the red-eyed ones, were useless—except when there was a pack of twenty or more, at which point their strength and speed increased exponentially.
Level three ended: 2,438 points. Awesome.
As Kyle waited for level four to start, she thought about Kass, wondering if she had made it home safely. Kass had taken off about an hour ago to make the ten-minute walk to the house she shared with Kamille. Kyle had tried to get her to crash in her old bedroom, but Kass had insisted on sleeping at her own place . . . “in case Eduardo comes over, plus I need to fold the laundry and do my taxes.” WTF?
Kass had also insisted on driving, but Kyle had very cleverly taken her car keys away from her and hidden them in the refrigerator, in a tub of Greek yogurt. It was the smart thing to do, considering that Kass had personally polished off about a gallon of Patrón.
Level four booted up. Kyle sat up straight and adjusted the beach towel she was wearing. (It was a warm night for November, and she’d taken a spontaneous dip in the pool just after Double D-Lite.) One of the red-eyed zombies lurched menacingly across the drawbridge. Kyle repositioned her earphones, which were blasting the game’s screeching metal sound track, and prepared to attack.
It was then that she felt a light tap on her shoulder.
She screamed and jumped to her feet. Benjy was standing behind her, smiling sheepishly.
Dollhouse Page 10