by Melody Mayer
Kiley shifted, feeling guilty. If Platinum knew that she'd been offered six figures to write a tell-all, Kiley doubted very much that she'd be praising her.
“The kids love you,” she told Platinum, which was the truth. “They just want you to come home.”
“Home,” Platinum murmured reflectively. “God, I miss it. My room, my closets, my trainer, my Jacuzzi.”
“How's detention, really?” Kiley asked.
Platinum shrugged her slim shoulders and nonchalantly tossed her waterfall of ice-pale hair. “The room service sucks, but the in-room massages are taking the edge off. How are the kids with General Asshole, also known as my sister's husband? Does he have you lining up in formation morning, noon, and night?”
“Well, it's not quite that bad. It was over the top for a while, but now he mostly leaves the kids to me. …I guess he's decided I'm trustworthy enough. He's busy golfing a lot of the time.”
For a moment, she was tempted to tell Platinum just what “golfing” entailed. But this was not really the moment. Right now, Platinum needed to focus on one thing: her trial. It was so weird. Even though Kiley knew that Platinum was utterly, totally, and completely guilty, she still hoped the jury would acquit her.
“Be sure and sneak the kids some candy bars when he's not monitoring their every move. And they can watch movies on their portable DVD players in their bedrooms. They are kids, dammit. Not marines.”
“Consider it done,” said Kiley. A loud throat-clearing from the bailiff interrupted their conversation.
“Take your seats, guys. We're starting in three minutes.” He motioned them toward their respective places.
After the loud cry of “All rise!” Judge Terhune entered the packed room in his black judicial robes, and the trial resumed. He asked the prosecutor to call his first witness.
Kiley watched Serenity, clad in khakis and a button-down blue shirt à la the colonel's instructions, head down the aisle with the social worker. Kiley stifled a laugh. Sure enough, Serenity had managed to apply lip gloss and mascara in the ladies' room. It was ridiculous on a seven-year-old, of course. But Kiley couldn't help admiring the little girl's spunk. The colonel and Susan were sitting on the aisle. When Serenity walked by him, Kiley saw his mouth tighten into a thin slash of anger that she'd defied him.
The courtroom was deadly silent as Serenity put her hand on a Bible and was sworn in, and then sat in the witness chair.
“Please begin by telling us exactly what happened on the night your mother was arrested.” The prosecutor was tall, dark, and handsome, right out of a Hollywood court movie.
“It was just a normal night,” Serenity said. “I was home with my brothers, Bruce and Sid, and we were all reading library books. My mom had gone out to just run some quick errands, and all of a sudden I didn't feel very good, so I called my nanny and she called the police, and then when they showed up, they arrested my mom!” She said everything in one breath, which gave her answer an urgent quality.
Kiley knew this to be total and utter bullshit. The kids did not even have library cards. Platinum never ran errands. Kiley herself had been with Platinum that night at a party aboard the Queen Mary.
The prosecutor turned to the judge. “Your Honor, with all due respect, this child is omitting some key details. She felt ill because she had indulged in some of her mother's marijuana, which had been left out in plain sight. Her mother wasn't out running errands; she was seen by a number of witnesses at the Queen Mary in Long Beach, where she was clearly intoxicated, if not under the influence of other controlled substances.”
Judge Terhune looked stern. “You'll have an opportunity to prove all—”
“He can't, it's not true!” Serenity broke in, much to the delight of the gallery. “My mom just wants to stay home and take care of us! She likes to cook us dinner and help with our homework, and she doesn't even drink anymore, ever, or do drugs, ever—ever!”
Kiley felt horrible. Serenity was lying to protect her mother. The truth was, Platinum drank to excess all the time. She did leave marijuana around in plain sight. She loved her kids, yes. But her behavior around them was often reprehensible.
Kiley snuck a glance behind her. The colonel sat ramrod straight, his gaze fixed squarely on the witness stand. His scowl was intense. Kiley felt bad for what would happen to Serenity when she got home. She'd be confined to quarters—her room—until she was ready for the Bel Air Home for Senior Citizens.
“Young lady, I will remind you that you are under oath,” the prosecutor chided. “Do you understand what that means?”
“Duh,” Serenity replied, and the reporters in the back of the courtroom laughed until Judge Terhune banged his gavel for silence. “It means I have to tell the truth and I am. My mom is the best mom in the world. I don't think it's fair for you to say all this mean stuff about her. She would never do anything to hurt me, or my brothers.”
Again, the prosecutor turned to the judge. Kiley wasn't sure, but it seemed as though Terhune had the hint of a smile on his face as the DA spoke. “Your Honor, there have been reports from neighbors and from former employees—nannies, cooks— that suggest a pattern of reckless behavior and abuse of alcohol on the part of the defendant. I would suggest that this young lady is lying to protect her mother.”
“You don't know anything!” Serenity exclaimed, her cheeks growing red. “All those people that don't work for us anymore are mad at my mom, because she fired them for messing up at their jobs. So of course they'd say bad things about her!”
The judge asked for a sidebar with both attorneys. Kiley strained to hear, but it was impossible. So she looked over at the jury, a racially mixed group of nondescript, mostly ill-dressed men and women who clearly did not come from the neighborhood in which Platinum lived.
As the sidebar continued, Kiley felt a sharp tap on her shoulder. She turned; the colonel and Susan had moved in behind her. “Just what exactly is going on here, McCann?” demanded the colonel. “Serenity is lying and we all know it. Did you talk to her about this? It's a mockery of our country's legal system.”
“I can't control what she says up there, sir,” Kiley pointed out.
“Well, I can tell you one thing—when that little miss gets home, I'm going to teach her a few things about telling the truth and respecting authority. We'll see how she talks after she's spent a few weeks at my boot camp! Excuse me. I need some nonperjured air.”
With another of his patented scowls, he edged away from Kiley and his wife. Kiley was left looking up at Susan, who looked … how, exactly? Sad. No, more than sad. Defeated.
Susan slid in next to Kiley. “Can I tell you something?”
Kiley nodded.
“If you repeat this I'll deny I ever said it,” Susan began. “But …I actually think that, in some ways, the kids were better off with my sister. I know she can be crazy and … erratic. But I also know she really loves her kids. And she lets them be kids.”
How could it be, Kiley wondered, that Susan and Platinum were sisters? Susan was so passive and Platinum was so … not. Kiley couldn't say she was fond of either of their personal styles, but if she had to choose one? Well, she'd choose Platinum. Minus the drugs and alcohol.
Judge Terhune rapped his gavel and asked for a half hour recess. He wanted to see all the lawyers in chambers. Susan skittered off to find her husband, snaking her way through the crowd. As Kiley waited patiently to get out the rear doors, she felt a hand on her elbow and heard a familiar slimy voice behind her.
“Hi, Kiley. How are you today?”
It was Spencer Lacroix, the tabloid editor. He wore a black suit with a white T-shirt underneath, and shades. Kiley hated people affected enough to wear sunglasses inside.
“I'm fine,” Kiley replied, moving forward with the crowd.
Lacroix leaned close, breathing on Kiley in a way that she found repulsive, but clearly he didn't want to be overheard. “Have you got an answer for me?” he asked. “You ready for a sit-down on your boss for
big bucks?”
Kiley was jostled by a woman's oversized purse. She leaned as far away from Lacroix as she could.
“Our cover story's almost complete,” he went on. “We just need a little inside information.” He flashed a copy-paper-white smile. “The truth, baby, and nothing but.”
Right there in the corridor, with people streaming past them on both sides, Kiley made her final decision.
“I don't want anything to do with you or your sleazy magazine.” She made a beeline for the elevator, but Spencer kept up with her, weaving through the crowd.
“Maybe you'll change your mind when you hear about the new feature I have planned anyway, all about a virginal little good-girl nanny for Platinum who got her job via a reality show that tanked. She's come a long way from her childhood with an alcoholic father and a loony mother. How she hooked up with her supermodel boyfriend—we're still working on that angle.”
Kiley swallowed hard. FAMOUS MODEL HAS AU PAIR GIRLFRIEND WITH THUNDER THIGHS. The Universe had probably already gotten close-up photos of her with a telescopic lens, pictures in which her upper legs would look like cottage cheese even without Photoshop. But that was nothing compared to having this slimeball write about her parents. That was private. She was a private person. How dare he threaten to write about her family?
Kiley knew instinctively not to let Lacroix see that he was getting to her. Willing herself to project cool, collected energy, she shrugged. “A story about me won't sell any papers.”
He grinned, that too-familiar glint in his dark eyes. Not exactly the response she'd been hoping for. “Think it over, kiddo. You talk to me about Platinum, and I'll kill my exposé on your little dysfunctional house on the prairie. Meantime, be sure not to miss our next issue. I think you'll find it very interesting.” He spun on the heel of his Prada loafer, pulled his phone from his pocket, and headed in the opposite direction.
Kiley felt like throwing up. What if he really did write about her family? Her father would probably lose his job. And her mother … she would be so hurt. After giving Kiley permission to stay in Los Angeles as an emancipated minor. After giving Kiley her wings. This was how she would be repaid?
She needed advice from someone who would know how to handle this. She took out her cell phone and pressed in a familiar number.
“And then after he threatened me in person, this … this cretin, Spencer Lacroix, calls my cell and says not only is he going to write about me and my parents in the Universe, he's going to send copies to every corner of my extended family free of charge. They'll freak and I'll be on the next Greyhound to Wisconsin.”
“Lordy,” Lydia commented. She leaned back in the Horchow mahogany rocking chair and gazed up at the starry night sky. She and Kiley were in the backyard of the moms' estate— actually, Kat's estate now that Anya had departed. The exterior lights had been turned off; all that illuminated their faces was the cool blue light emanating from the bottom of the swimming pool. Inside, Martina and Jimmy were playing with their Wii (something they were allowed to do now that Anya was gone), every so often letting out squeals of excitement, while Kat was doing more prep work for the U.S. Open. When Lydia last saw her, she'd been watching videotapes of all of Serena Williams's matches for the last year, intensely charting her particular tendencies on the court.
Now that Anya was gone, things were different. The house no longer felt like a gulag. The kids actually relaxed. But sometimes Lydia would catch the sadness in their eyes. Kids always got the raw end of things when it came to divorce. Kat seemed melancholy, too. She and Anya had been together for eleven years. They had two children. It had to be horrible. Lydia hoped that time would heal her aunt's wounds. If not, she had some amazing powder she'd brought back from Amazonia that would make her feel like doing the hula on a tabletop. But that didn't seem exactly appropriate to offer for the time being.
And now here was Kiley, bringing a whole set of problems of her own. “Don't worry about the Universe,” she assured her friend. “This Lacroix dude is a jackass.”
“All the more reason I should worry,” Kiley shot back.
Good point. “Any chance your family will think it's a big ol' laugh riot to have a feature spot in the supermarket checkout aisle?”
Kiley gave her a baleful look. “Have you met my mom?”
Well, no, Lydia thought. They had never actually met. But Lydia clearly remembered seeing Mrs. McCann at the filming of Platinum Nanny at the Brentwood Hills Country Club pool. It was the same day Lydia first met Kiley. Her mother had been a nervous woman. Very nervous. Not the kind of person who would take well to a tabloid exposé.
“Remember when those producers forced your mom to wear that hat? And it was so god-awful orange that she looked like a polka-dotted highway crew leader?”
Kiley grimaced. “I was trying to forget that.”
“My point is, your mom was embarrassed, but she sucked it up and so did you. If your mom was willing to wear that hat for you, then a dumb tabloid story should be a breeze. Your problem is that you let that tabloid guy get in your head. Now what you need to do is use it to your advantage.”
“And how, pray tell, does one use her own dirt as an advantage?” Kiley knit her dark eyebrows, which, Lydia noted, were seriously in need of grooming.
“You know MySpace?”
Kiley laughed. “Only you would ask somebody that question. You were in the jungle too long. Everyone knows MySpace.”
Lydia had brought out a pitcher of fresh juice, a blend of ten tropical fruits the cook had concocted. She poured some into one of the cocktail glasses that rested on a small glass-topped table nearby, then drank with satisfaction. “People put embarrassing crap about themselves on there all the time. It's like an Ama pissing contest. They actually have those, by the way. They're pretty cool. You would not believe how far some little five-foot-nothing guy can piss—”
“Lydia?”
“Hmmm?”
“Your mind is a scary place. Could you stick to the topic?”
“Point is, thanks to that dickhead Spencer, you can be famous. Famous is good. You wanted to be famous on Platinum Nanny.”
“No, I didn't. I only did the show because it would mean I could stay in California and declare residency. And I only did that so I could get in-state tuition at Scripps after I graduate.”
Lydia waved a hand dismissively. “Details. The point is, you were not afraid then and I see no need for you to be afraid now.” She sipped the juice and watched a shooting star flit across the sky.
“I guess.” Kiley didn't sound convinced.
“It's survival of the toughest, sugar plum,” Lydia said. “And frankly, you and your family are just not that fascinating to all of America. So don't let him work his mind games on you.”
Before Kiley could answer, her cell chimed with the three preprogrammed notes that indicated a text message. She grumbled as she read it. “Gotta go. The colonel beckons. Don't get up, I know the way out.”
Lydia stood anyway and walked her friend to the cement stairs leading up to the main house. Then she went back to the pool. She was too lazy to go get a bathing suit and it just so happened that she wasn't wearing any underwear. So she simply slipped out of her cutoffs and T-shirt and dove in. The water was magnificent, the same temperature as the air, and she swam a half mile easily.
When she climbed out and toweled off, her stomach grumbled. That hadn't changed from Amazonia. Swimming always gave her an appetite. She pulled on the same clothes she'd been wearing, then padded up to the main house to find something delicious. She went in through the back door.
Nothing could have prepared her for who she saw in the living room, sitting on the buttery Italian leather sofa next to her aunt.
It was her mother arrived, unannounced, from the Amazon.
Lydia raced for her mom's arms. Karen Chandler hugged her daughter, looking as if she could have stepped directly from the jungle. She wore bush shorts and a T-shirt advertising Coke—her mother never
paid any attention to what she wore. Her thick blond hair was frizzing out of a messy ponytail. Lydia didn't think she'd ever seen anyone so beautiful in her life.
“Mom!”
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Oh Mom,” Lydia murmured. “This is the best surprise.”
Karen smiled. “I got a FedEx from Kat.”
“FedEx? When did FedEx start delivering up the river?” Lydia was shocked. This would change life in the Amazon completely.
“About a week after you left, actually. They run a boat three times a week from Manaus. Costs a fortune. But I think they're using it in an advertisement.”
“I know it was selfish of me,” Kat said. She looked pale. There were dark circles under her eyes.
“Hey, I'm glad my little sister still needs me sometimes,” Karen said.
Looking at them sitting together, it was so obvious they were related. They shared the same eyes, same hair. Even their body frames were near identical.
“How long will you be here?” Lydia was still in a state of shock.
Her mother shrugged. “As long as I need to be.”
Kat smiled gratefully. “Take your mom upstairs to the green bedroom, okay? It's got the best shower. Eight showerheads.”
“Heavenly.” Karen sighed. “I'll just take a shower and then come back down, okay?”
Kat nodded. She already seemed lost in thought.
Lydia led her mother down the hallway. “Won't Dad need an assistant?” She grabbed her mom's bag—a single dusty, battered canvas backpack.
“You remember Dr. Butkowski, don't you?”
How could Lydia forget? Right before she left, he was the well-meaning doctor whose introduction to the world of tribal medicine via a time-honored Amarakaire scrotum-cupping exchange probably left him permanently sissified.
“He came back,” Karen explained. “He's working with your father now.”
“Him?” Lydia was shocked. “Boy, I would've bet big bucks that he'd go running back to civilization faster than an Ama covered with honey when the black flies hatch.”