Rules of Seduction

by Jenna Mullins

  I step to the left to get a better look at the blonde girl in front of me. She turns toward me. Her blue eyes widen.

  “Dani?” she whispers in disbelief. Her lower lip trembles ever so slightly.

  It takes me a minute to get over my shock, but eventually I find my voice. “Elise?”

  Elise Fauntleroy abruptly steps forward and wraps me in a hug. She pulls me so close so suddenly that it almost knocks the wind out of me.

  “Thank God you’re here,” she breathes into my ear.

  Chapter Four

  Don’t look at her boobs. Don’t stare at her boobs. Don’t ask about her boobs. Don’t . . .

  “Dani, are you looking at my boobs?” Elise asks me.

  I smile sheepishly. “Sorry. You just look . . .”

  “Great?”

  “Different.” Elise’s face falls as if I just told her that Instagram was going out of business, which means her four-selfies-a-day habit would be squashed. “In a good way!” I add hastily. “Different in a good way. You look great, Elise.”

  That’s always been true. Elise looks as beautiful as ever, all blonde hair and sparkling eyes and a perfect complexion. She looks taller and skinnier than I remember, and I certainly don’t remember her chest being that big.

  Elise dropped out of college to move to Los Angeles a couple years ago. We started running in different cliques in high school after she began dating Keith Pike, and then we ended up at different schools after graduation. I hadn’t seen her in ages, save for one run-in during winter break our freshman year of college. Of course, I follow her on Facebook and Instagram, so I know she moved to California a couple of years ago, but I still can’t believe that we’ve run into each other.

  We take our treats down to the beach to catch up. Elise suggests we climb one of the deserted lifeguard towers dotting the shore. Some things haven’t changed. Elise was always casually suggesting something that could get us into trouble or worse.

  But just like when we were kids, I follow her without protest.

  “I can’t believe you’re here! This is insaaane,” she says.

  “It is certainly ‘insane’ with three a’s,” I agree with a laugh, happy to hear that she hasn’t outgrown her habit of putting extra letters in her words for emphasis. She nudges me with her elbow, not seeming to care that I’m mocking her.

  “Well, you look great, too. It’s so weird because I was just thinking about you a couple weeks ago. I was on Facebook, and I came across Felicia Hauser’s profile. Do you remember her?”

  “The one who would chew her own hair?”

  “Yep, that one! She’s engaged to Toby Amrick, who was in your group at Junior prom, right?”

  “No, you’re thinking of Toby Munder,” I say, through a mouthful of ice cream.

  “Oh,” Elise bites her lip for moment, then shrugs. “Anyways, it turns out that Toby and Felicia . . .”

  Elise prattles on, gossiping about former classmates while the sun begins to set, making the entire world glow in soft shades of pink and orange. Filmmakers call this time “magic hour” because no matter what you are shooting, it will look amazing in the warm, beautiful light. As I scoop the ice cream out of my float, I study Elise’s profile in the perfect light. Her nose used to have a slight curve, but now it’s small and straight. I remember her hair being more of a mousy-brown color than the sun-kissed blonde it is now. Looks like Elise got a Hollywood makeover.

  I’m not surprised that Elise found her way to Los Angeles; she always wanted to act, even when we were younger kids. She would make me write different versions of our favorite fairy tales starring her, which we would perform for our friends and family. She was always the fairy princess and I directed her. Now that she’s here in front of me, I realize that Elise is really the one who helped me uncover a passion for storytelling. . . Not that it’s leading anywhere.

  Remembering that I have no job and absolutely no idea how to get one or where to start, I begin to feel sick to my stomach. Can’t be the float . . . my one source of comfort. Maybe it’s the height of the lifeguard chair.

  “How high is this thing?” I ask shakily, starting to realize that it’s definitely too far above the sand to simply hop off.

  “Aw, Dani, are you still scared of heights? I can’t believe that!” Elise says with a laugh.

  “Only sometimes, but—”

  “Do you remember that field trip we had to the Sears Tower in fifth grade?” she asks.

  “They actually renamed the Sears Tower a couple years ago.”

  “What? No they didn’t! You can’t call the Sears Tower anything but the Sears Tower! That’s like, a crime. What do they call it now?”

  “Willis Tower.”

  “Ugh, that’s the worst name ever!” she moans.

  “I know. Don’t get me started. I threw such a fit when I first heard about it. I mean, it’s Chicago. It’s the Sears Tower. That’s it. Why mess with it?”

  “Well, maybe they changed it after someone threw up on a fifth-grade field trip,” she says in an evil little voice. “And you even wrote your stupid rules for trying to get through the field trip! What were they called?”

  I scoff. “God, you can’t let that go!”

  “Rules for Conquering Heights! That’s what it was called, I remember now. Rule number one: take a deep breath,” Elise recites in a high-pitched impression of my voice. She sounds so ridiculous I have to laugh.

  “I told Mr. Harrison it was totally his fault for not believing that I was really scared of heights. I even showed him my rules! But did he listen?”

  Elise bursts out laughing. “And then I told Mr. Harrison I was going to sue him!”

  “He was so mad at us! He called my mom and said that you were, quote, a bad influence on me.”

  Elise cracks up. “He was right!” She puts her arms up in a but-you-love-me-anyway kind of shrug while I shake my head at her in disbelief. We lapse into a momentary lull made comfortable by shared memories.

  “How about that time we were freshmen and we got in that huuuge fight?” Elise says, breaking the silence while toying with the straw in her empty cup. My smile disappears while I think back to ninth grade.

  “Yeah, all because of Mike Calahan.”

  Elise had a big, fat crush on Mike, who was already becoming popular at school for his skills on the basketball court and because he kind of looked like a younger, slightly chubbier Patrick Dempsey. Actually, I think Elise only liked him because she was obsessed with Grey’s Anatomy.

  “I told Mike that you were the one who liked him,” I remind Elise quietly.

  “But you were the one he asked to the winter basketball banquet,” Elise replies.

  I cringe. “I felt bad about that for months. I said no, remember?”

  Elise is quiet for a moment before she slowly smiles. “I know you did,” Elise reaches out and pats my arm. “And last I heard he was managing his dad’s car wash.”

  “Managing?!” I snort. “He wishes. My mom told me that his dad demoted his ass down to cashier because he kept showing up to work high! That dude peaked in high school so hard.”

  Elise laughs, her gorgeous hair shimmering. Then she stops, and her face changes. “Dani . . . did I peak in high school?”

  “What? No way! Look at you! You’re as beautiful as ever. I mean, you were always pretty and I could do without the fake boobs—”

  I slap a hand over my mouth and pinch my eyes shut.

  Nice going, Dani. She’s feeling insecure and vulnerable and you insult her new body.

  When I open my eyes I expect Elise to be glaring at me. But she’s not. Not at all.

  “I know! I could, too. My agent suggested I get them. I don’t mind the blonde hair or the new nose, but I actually don’t like the chesticles that much,” Elise admits while putting a palm over her breasts.

  I laugh out loud at the sight of Elise grabbing her own boobs like she wishes she could rip the implants right out. “Sounds like your agent is just full o
f great advice. Now, are you going to help me get down off this lifeguard death trap of a chair before I barf?”

  Elise stands up and adjusts her outfit of black leggings, those brown Ugg boots everyone seems to own, and a long-sleeved pink sweater that seems to mold perfectly to her torso and chest. I stand up to follow Elise, self-consciously pulling my black zip-up tighter around myself. I close my eyes while Elise helps me climb off the lifeguard stand, then we throw our cups out and head back to Floyd’s so I can get Brit a quick “thank you” present.

  “Actually, my agent is really great,” Elise says, launching into the abridged version of her career while we walk. “He’s been lining up some comedy auditions for me, especially TV comedies,” she tells me. I try and nod encouragingly, but hearing about Elise’s plan for her career shines a big, fat spotlight on the fact that I don’t have a career or even a plan. I want to change the subject in a way that doesn’t seem like I’m being petty, but Elise does it for me. “And my new boyfriend works in TV so—”

  “Hold up, you have a new boyfriend?” I ask. “What about Keith?”

  Her face freezes. “I don’t want to talk about that asshole.”

  “Whoa . . . what happened?” I ask as we reenter the noisy cheerfulness of Floyd’s

  Elise sighs as we weave our way to the counter. “As you know, I moved out here with him when he got a job with a small record label.” I vaguely remember that Keith was really into music in high school, but so were a lot of people.

  “So we get here, and he starts managing this small indie band, The Freewaves. I went to all the shows, passed out flyers, worked the merchandise table—the works. And do you know what he does to thank me?”

  I shake my head.

  “He cheats on me. The asshole threw it all away. He started hanging out with Melanie!”

  “His ex-girlfriend?”

  “Yep, and he totally lied about it! God knows what they were doing together, and when I asked, he was totally sketchy about it. Whatever. He became this total piece of shit.”

  “Wow, Elise,” I give her a hug. “That sucks. But tell me about your new boyfriend! You’re moving on!”

  “Yep, I got over it. And now I’m with someone I really care about.” Elise smiles sneakily and then looks over her shoulder and mine. She ducks into a booth, gesturing for me to follow her, conspiratorially.

  “I’m dating Tate Lawrence.” Elise leans back, looking at me smugly.

  I blink at her dumbly while racking my brain for the name. I give up. “Who?”

  “Tate Lawrence?”

  I shake my head. Saying his name twice is not going to help me here. “Sorry, Elise. I don’t know who he is.”

  “You’ve never seen Vamp Camp?!”

  “What the hell is a vamp camp?”

  “It’s not a vamp camp! It’s just Vamp Camp! And it’s one of the hottest shows on TV right now.” Elise arches her eyebrows at me, then she rolls her eyes as if I’m the lamest person she’s ever met. “It’s about a camp where vampires learn about their powers, but there’s also this war between the vampires of the South and the vampires of the North. So it’s like the Civil War for the modern age! With vampires.”

  I am absolutely dumbfounded at the premise, but I keep the smile frozen on my face. “Oh, cool. I see. I’ve spent the past four years in editing labs in the basements of Columbia, so I didn’t . . . I don’t really watch commercial TV.”

  “You don’t watch TV?”

  “I watch a lot of HGTV. Any chance he’s also been on House Hunters?” I ask jokingly. When Elise doesn’t say anything, I clear my throat awkwardly. “Sorry, stupid joke. Tell me about Nate.”

  “Tate,” she says, glaring at me again.

  “Right, Tate. Or should I just Google him?”

  “No, I’m sure most of the articles you’ll find are about how he’s the ‘bad boy of Hollywood,’ unquote,” Elise says with a pretty sneer. “He’s the star of Vamp Camp. He’s a bad boy on the show, he’s not like that in real life. He’s a sweetheart. The press just love to make shit up about him. Aaand,” she says with a Look, “he’s the hottest vampire ever.”

  I force my eyes to stay put instead of letting them roll instinctively at the word “vampire.”

  “So how long have you guys been dating?” I ask.

  “Three months. And I like him a lot, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  Elise shifts in her seat and starts twisting a strand of hair on her finger, a nervous habit of hers I remember from our childhood. The image brings on a wave of nostalgia so quickly that I lose my breath for a moment.

  “Well, I like him. A lot. But it’s still early and sometimes, I dunno . . . I don’t really trust him, I guess.”

  “Why don’t you trust him? Is he some sort of player?”

  Elise waves away my questions. “No, no. Of course not. He’s done nothing untrustworthy.”

  “So, what’s the problem?” I ask gently.

  Elise gives me a grunt, which tells me that she’s hiding something from me.

  “Does it have to do with Keith?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no. Like you said, I’m moving on.”

  “Elise.”

  “Well, it’s hard to move on after wasting six years of my life on him! I was ready to marry him, and he smashed my heart to pieces. So, it’s hard to trust someone after something like that. That’s all.” Elise closes her eyes as if she’s reliving the nightmare, and tears start to drip down her cheek. She looks beautiful even when she’s crying.

  I put my hand over hers and gently rub my thumb over her knuckles, just like my mom does for me when I’m really upset.

  Elise takes a deep breath. “Okay. Sorry. I’m fine. Just some residual feelings brought on by the mention of that asshole’s name. Let’s talk about something else. Like you. Let’s talk about you.”

  I resist the urge to slide beneath the booth and give her a weak smile. “I’m fine. Just moved out here.”

  “Oh, really? When? A couple months ago?”

  “Well, actually, more like a couple of hours ago.”

  “What?! Omigod, Dani! I haven’t even asked what the hell you’re doing out here and it turns out you literally just got off the plane! God, I’m such a bitch. Here I am talking about myself and my acting and Tate and—”

  I put my hand up to stop her mid-sentence. “It’s fine, Elise. It’s totally fine. There really isn’t anything to report, anyway,” I say, trying not to sound too bitter, but not really succeeding.

  “Tell me.”

  I give her a quick rundown of my day in Los Angeles. The more I tell my tale of woe, the more my eyes and face just drop down to the table. “And then I came here for a root beer float to make myself feel better, and I ran into you,” I finish. When I look back up at Elise, she is beaming. I raise an eyebrow at her.

  “What? Why do you look so excited?”

  “Dani, I can totally get you a job!”

  “You can?” I ask suspiciously while images of myself working as her assistant/slave float through my head.

  “Yeah, I think so. Remember my Uncle Freddie? He’s a talent agent here, so he has all kinds of connections. I bet we could find you something. It might be an internship, but it’ll be in the business. Is that okay?”

  “It’s in the business?” Suddenly, I know someone. “I’ll take anything! “I’ll do anything. Get coffee, brew coffee, brew coffee and then bring coffee to the guy who gets the coffee . . . should we set up a meeting? Or I can just email you my resume—”

  “No need!” Elise cuts in. “He mentioned that Vamp Camp needs interns for the second half of the season.”

  I almost blurt out “Vamp Camp?!” but I realize that would sound super condescending, so a little squeak ends up coming out of my mouth. Elise gives me a strange look, and I try and wipe my face of any judgment, because as the saying goes: A job’s a job. I need this internship and I need it badly.

  “Vamp Camp, huh?” I say, trying to regain my c
omposure. “That sounds great.”

  “Yeah, I think it’ll be fun for you!”

  “Fun? Elise, you’d be saving my life, you know that? My parents would probably make me come home if I didn’t find a job. This internship would save me, Elise,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion.

  “Dani, we’re friends. Of course I’ll do this for you.”

  I launch myself over the table and clumsily throw my arms around her neck. I’m not one to show emotion very often, but in a twelve-hour period I’ve cried once, been near tears three times, and hugged two different people. Los Angeles is making me a sap.

  “Alright, you’re choking me a little bit, Dani,” Elise grunts out from underneath my arm. “But,” she says as she lightly pushes me away and fixes her hair, “if I get you this internship, I need you to do something in return.”

  “Anything, Elise. Anything. Name it, I’ll do it.”

  “Well, it’d be nice if I knew how Tate acted when I wasn’t around,” she wonders out loud.

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, he’s nothing but a gentleman when we’re out in public. He doesn’t look at other girls. When fans flirt with him, he doesn’t really flirt back. Of course he’s perfect when he’s with me, but what about when he’s not with me?”

  Uh-oh. I think I know what she wants me to do, but I’m hoping I’m very, very wrong.

  “Elise, do you want me to spy on your boyfriend?” I ask tentatively.

  “No, not spy exactly.”

  “Oh, okay. Good. That’s good. Because I don’t own any binoculars and I really blow at climbing trees.”

  “Maybe more . . . testing him,” she says. “Like I said, I know he’s probably being faithful, but I can’t be entirely sure unless I know how he acts when I’m not around. Especially if someone hits on him, like, hardcore. Will he resist? I just . . . I really have to know. You know?”

  I so do not know.

  “So you want to send someone to try and seduce him, and I’m going to have to watch what happens and report back?” I ask, lowering my voice to a whisper.

  “Don’t be silly! That’s not what I had in mind,” she responds airily with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. She locks eyes with me as a devilish little smile stretches across her face. “But what if you were the one to seduce him?”