by Zoey Dean
“Anna?”
Anna looked up. Her face was the color of Corrasable bond.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay.” She was holding her elbows, her arms pressed against her stomach like she’d just been punched.
“What the hell happened?”
“I … Ben …”
Sam held up a finger. “Wait.” She turned to Eduardo. “Can you give us a few minutes?’
He agreed, telling her he’d meet her in the Skylight Room in fifteen minutes. They were standing just a hundred feet or so from a small redwood structure with inviting lighting, so Sam led Anna toward it. It was open—some sort of dimly lit meditation room, with a huge gold Buddha at the far end of an enormous straw mat, no furniture to speak of, and a dozen soft red throw pillows on the floor.
Sam pointed to one of the pillows. “Sit. Then speak.”
Anna did sit, cross-legged on one of the pillows, and put one balled fist inside the other. Sam had never seen her like this. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay. … Bl … Blythe is here.”
Who was Blythe? Then she got it.
“The Blythe who Ben was dating at Princeton when you guys broke up?”
Anna nodded vigorously.
“Okay. Weird that she’s here. But BFD. That can’t be what you’re so upset about.”
“I overheard them taking. He said she was gorgeous. And the sex was great.”
Sam winced. “Ouch. That had to hurt a little.”
“A little?” Anna echoed, hot tears welling up in her eyes again. “He told me they were barely involved with each other; that there was nothing to ‘end’ about their relationship, that they didn’t have a relationship.”
“Well, maybe they didn’t,” Sam mused. “Maybe they were just sex buddies.”
Anna recoiled. “I hate that.”
“Well, fine, hate it all you want. But that doesn’t mean everyone else does.”
“How could he tell me they weren’t ‘involved’ if he was sleeping with her?” Anna demanded.
“Because that happens sometimes with people and—”
“You’re defending him?” Anna was incredulous. “You’re actually defending him?” She flung one of the pillows across the room. “He lied to me. He had the right to do anything we wanted with anyone he wanted after we broke up, but he should have told me the truth.”
“Just …” Sam scooched closer to her friend. “Listen to me a minute, will you, please? You might be totally right—”
“I am right.”
“But you also might not be. You guys need to sit down and talk.”
Anna shook her head vehemently. “There’s no point. On some level, I’ve always worried about something like this with him, ever since that very first night when he dumped me on his father’s yacht.”
“That was different.”
“He wasn’t honest with me then, he isn’t being honest with me now, and I’m sick of it.” She stood up. “I’m going to call a cab and go home.”
Sam stood, too. “Just listen to me, will you? Know what you’re doing? You’re pulling a goddamn Eduardo.”
“Oh, thank you, Sam, very supportive—”
“And it’s goddamn stupid. After he caught me kissing Parker, he just walked away. He wouldn’t talk to me for days. It sucked.”
Anna shook her head. “Nope. It’s not the same.”
“What the fuck are you afraid of?” Sam exploded. God. Anna was being so dense. “If you care about Ben, give him a chance to explain. If you don’t like his explanation, then tell him to fuck off.”
Anna put one slender hand over her heart. “It just hurts so much.”
“I know, sweetie,” Sam agreed. “Talk to him.”
“I can’t. Not yet. I refuse to do it when I’m feeling all shaky and betrayed. Because I will not cry in front of him. You think there’s a phone in here? I left my pocketbook up in the cloakroom at the main house.”
“Probably.”
Sam turned up a dimmer switch and saw a white phone on the wall near the front door. Moments later, Anna had called a cab to meet her in front of the mansion.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Anna promised.
“If I don’t call you first.” Sam hugged her friend. “Take my advice. Don’t throw it all away over hurt feelings before you find out what’s really going on. Promise?”
“I can’t promise,” Anna admitted. “But I will think about what you said. That’s the best I can do.”
Miss Priss
“Yo, people!” Jett cradled his microphone, his face covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “Just five minutes left to vote for the queen of cheap threads.” He glanced down at the index card that Pashima had handed him moments before. “So … get your asses to the Skylight Room. Tonight’s ballots will be tabulated by the accounting firm of Weiner, Paulson, and McWilliams—special thanks to Mercedes Weiner’s dad. This next tune was written by our lead guitarist, Igor. It’s called ‘Alone.’”
The ballad began, bluesy, haunting, and irresistibly danceable. Some couples followed Jett’s advice and headed back toward the main house, but most converged on the dance floor. Cammie and Adam were already there, she in his arms.
“Nice outfit,” he murmured, and squeezed Cammie’s butt through the Winnie-the-Pooh miniskirt. “Where’s the honey?”
That afternoon, one of the new maids—Bridgetta or Biscotti or something like that—had done an amazing job of turning Cammie’s cheap boxer shorts into a hot little micromini that went perfectly with her sleeveless white T-shirt. She’d been surveying her competition ever since she and Adam had arrived; she thought she had it in the bag.
God, winning tonight would be so satisfying.
“The honey? You know very well where it is, and you can’t have it until later. Unless I win. Then I’ll have Stefanie make Pashima’s bed for us.”
Adam kissed her neck. “How about you make Stefanie take the SAT for you?”
“God no. I told you, I’m not going to college, and I haven’t changed my mind in the past forty-eight hours. I have about as much interest in college as you do in a sex change.”
“Good to know you’re not ambivalent.” They swayed to the hypnotic music.
“It’s not like I need to get an education to make money, Adam.”
“How about education for the sake of education?”
She shrugged. “I hate school. Always have. Bores the shit out of me.” She snuggled closer to him as Igor ripped off an amazing guitar solo. “You’ll see. I’ll design something fabulous, like handbags. I’ll get my dad’s clients to carry them. Next thing I know, I’m an overnight sensation on Entertainment Tonight. Why should I study ancient civilizations?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” Cammie said emphatically, acting on the theory that if the outside made a statement, inner feelings would follow. The truth was, every so often, she had a weird thought: Go to college and get a teaching degree—carry on her mom’s career. It would be a kind of homage. Her mother had been the kindest, most altruistic person in the world. She’d been everything good and kind and sweet and loving in this world. If only she were here to see her daughter graduate. …
She shook her head, as if that could make that painful thought disappear. Better to concentrate on the here and now. Yes, it would be great to win the contest and make Stefanie her slave. But even if she didn’t win, she and Sam had something cooked up that would exact long-overdue justice.
“You nervous about tomorrow?” he asked.
“Graduation?”
“No. Meeting Sam’s mother. She’s still coming to Los Angeles, right?”
Trust Adam to bring up the one thing that she did not want to think about.
“No,” Cammie lied. “I mean, she’s coming, but I’m not nervous.”
“I told you before, I can be there if you want.”
She shook her head. “I can handle it. We’ll talk afterward.
But that’s a really, really nice off—”
Suddenly, Ben broke through the crowd on the dance floor—his forehead was creased with tension. “Have you guys seen Anna?”
“No,” Adam replied. “Why?”
“We just … I need to find her. If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her and we have to talk and … Just tell her, okay?”
“Sure.”
Cammie was more than a little curious about why Ben had to find Miss Priss. Could they be having troubles? The thought brought her considerable good cheer.
In fact, the only thing that could make this night better than winning the contest and humiliating Stefanie would be if Anna and Ben broke up.
Yeah, it was schadenfreude. But it was worth it.
In a home of magnificent rooms, the Skylight Room was the most magnificent of all. The roof and two walls were glass, the whole thing bisected by platinum support rods in geometric patterns that dazzled the eye. The view ranged from Malibu in the north down to Long Beach in the south; there were banks of telescopes for guests to use at their leisure. The floor was glass too, permitting the guests to see what was happening in the game room on the second level. All the furniture had been removed for the party, and the empty room easily held two hundred people.
There was a small stage at the east end. Cammie, Sam, Adam, and Eduardo stood near it—Cammie didn’t want to have to work her way through the throng if she won. As they watched, Pashima climbed onto the stage to cheers from the crowd; their hostess held a wireless microphone.
“Hey, everyone! Stefanie and I want to thank you guys sooo much for coming tonight!”
The crowd cheered; then Pashima went on and on about how the balloting had been so close, they’d had to count and recount the votes.
“Who’s going to win?”
Cammie turned—Stefanie had stepped up behind them.
“Oh, you, definitely,” Cammie declared, catching Sam’s eye at the same time. They knew what was coming later, after the winner was crowned. Stefanie didn’t.
“Sam?” Stefanie asked. “You know who the slave’s going to be no matter who wins from my school? Go look in a mirror—if you can find one big enough.”
“Could you suck any harder?” Sam swallowed slowly, trying to restrain herself.
“Yeah, I could have invited that girl Blythe tonight just to mess things up between your buddy Anna Percy and her boyfriend. Oops!” Stefanie smacked herself in the forehead. “How could I forget? I did!”
Cammie stifled a grin. Well, that explained the Ben/Anna drama. Not that she still wouldn’t make Stefanie her slave.
On the stage, a bald accountant type handed Pashima a large white envelope, then stepped to the back of the stage. “Okay, time to announce our winner!” Pashima gleefully tore at the envelope. “The winner is …” She pried the envelope open. Stared. Squinted. Stared at it more closely. Frowned mightily.
It’s me, Cammie thought gleefully. Across the room, one of the boys from PHHS she’d flirted with gave her a big thumbs-up.
“Fee Berman?” Pashima shrugged. “Who the hell is Fee Ber—?”
“It’s me, I won!” Fee squealed. She pushed through the crowd, leaped onto the stage, and threw her arms around Pashima. “I really, really won!”
“B-but … you’re wearing a poncho!” Pashima sputtered.
“Not anymore!” Fee flung the poncho over her head; it fluttered like a parachute out into the crowd. Underneath was a matching camouflage bikini … that had been painted onto her naked skin.
In other words, she was naked.
“I totally underestimated that girl,” Cammie marveled, as the guys in the audience whooped and cheered; Fee held her hands overhead like a boxer.
“She’s got nerve, I’ll give her that,” Sam agreed.
“Not to mention a killer body,” Adam added. “Who knew?”
Fee stepped down from the stage; Cammie watched with not a little pleasure as Stefanie confronted her. “I really do not think this is fair. You didn’t buy cheap threads. You bought body paint.”
“I bought both. Hurts to lose, doesn’t it?” Fee crooned sympathetically. “But this is going to hurt even more.” She turned to the crowd and cupped her hands. “As my personal slave for the day, I pick … you! Stefanie Weinstock!”
“No fucking way,” Stefanie spat, over the cheers from the Beverly Hills kids. “I only invited you as a joke!”
Fee retrieved her poncho, dropped it over her head again, and peered down at her feet. They were shod in cheap bamboo thongs. “Wow. Right now, I need a foot massage before dessert. What are you doing standing up? Sit on the edge of the goddamn stage and rub my goddamn feet!”
“Fine.”
Cammie grinned. She hadn’t won, but Stefanie was going to be the slave to a prom weenie. Better than that—
“Stefanie Weinstock, where the hell are you?”
The room fell silent, as a behemoth of a man—easily six-foot five inches, two hundred and seventy-five pounds—pushed into the Skylight Room. His curly hair was disheveled and his beard was five days overdue for a shave. He wore a ragged T-shirt that advertised PEACE THROUGH SUPERIOR FIREPOWER and cutoff jeans. His flip-flops left a trail of mud on the glass floor—the same mud that was caked on his feet. In each hand, he carried a huge, open blue-and-white Foster’s beer can.
“Stefanie? Where are you?!” The behemoth didn’t speak. He bellowed.
Instantly, Stefanie was on her feet to confront the intruder. “Who the fuck are you? How’d you get in?”
“Oh sure,” the guy sneered, stomping toward her. “Act like you don’t know me, after you were all over me and spent every night with me last month in Antigua! And promised you’d come back after school was over and spend the entire summer with me?”
A murmur ran through the crowd. Everyone at PPHS knew that Stefanie had been on vacation in the Caribbean. She’d met this guy there?
“I never met you in my life!” Stefanie’s face was bright red.
“Oh, really? How about this? ‘Give me more, Damon! Give me more! Do it to Stefi, do it to Stefi! I love you Damon!’” The huge guy made his voice as high-pitched as he could, imitating Stefanie in the throes of passion, which made the crowd—even many of Stefanie’s classmates—burst into laughter. “‘Ooh! Ooh!’“
“Omigod, who is this dude?” Sam asked Cammie with a profound wink.
“Beats me,” she gasped back with a giant smile on her face.
Stefanie looked around for support, but there wasn’t any. Even Pashima seemed to have slunk away to parts unknown.
“I mean it,” she told everyone, her voice coming out in a tinny whine. “I’ve never seen this guy before in my life!”
“He sure seems like he knows you,” Fee commented. “And who said you could stop working on my feet? I sure didn’t.”
The huge guy shook his head in disbelief, then lifted one of the Foster’s to his lips and took a drink that seemed to go on forever, then flung the can against one of the walls. “This is bullshit. Total and complete bullshit. And could someone back me up on that goddamn beer?”
“That’s it,” Stefanie fumed. She dug in her pocket-book for her cell. “I’m calling security.”
“What for?” the behemoth roared. “To take you to the fucking zoo?”
Once again, the crowded room broke up in laughter.
The guy drained the second Foster’s can, dropped it at Stefanie’s feet, and belched loud enough to be heard in Swaziland. “Know what? You don’t have to call security. ’Cause I’m outta here.” He took a step back toward the door, then stopped and whirled back toward Stefanie. “Aw, shit.”
With those words, he projectile vomited the contents of the two Foster’s cans—and probably several others—in Stefanie’s direction. As Stefanie screamed in disgust and outrage, Cammie smiled knowingly at Sam.
Yep. Revenge really was better served cold.
Please-Forgive-Me Flowers
Anna stared out her bedroom
window. As she watched a leaf sail down from a eucalyptus tree, she ruminated on how peculiar it was to live in a place where the seasons never seemed to change, yet a leaf could die and fall from a tree in early June. It made no more sense than Ben and Blythe’s Princetonian sex life. Anna had a hard time with things that didn’t make sense.
When she’d returned home the night before, there were already a half-dozen messages from Ben. “Please call me.” “Please let me explain.” And the proverbial “It’s not what you think.”
She hadn’t called him, but rather had just thrown her horrible cheap clothes in the trash and stood in a scalding shower for what felt like hours. There’d been no tears just then. She felt that if she allowed herself to cry, she’d just melt into a blubbering puddle.
But when she’d gotten into her bed and curled up in a ball trying to sleep, the tears had come, trickling onto her silk pillowcase until she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. A knock from her sister had woken her up. Susan was wearing her pristine, white cotton yoga clothes and was carrying a bouquet of fragrant tulips and freesia. Anna’s first thought: Please-forgive-me flowers from Ben.
Her second thought: Fuck him.
“I don’t want them,” Anna told her sister. She punched her pillow into a new position. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“Who’s Caine?”
“Who—Why?”
“They’re from him. Card was already open. You are in a terrible mood. Ever tried chamomile tea in the morning? I can brew some.”
Anna realized there was no reason to take her misery out on her sister, who had traveled all this way to see her and had clearly gone through enough misery of her own. “I’m sorry. I’m just … I had a fight with Ben last night.”
“Well, someone named Caine wants to make you feel better.”
Anna lifted the small white card nestled between the branches of baby’s breath.
“All of us are in the gutter, but some of us are looking to the stars.” Oscar Wilde wrote that. It was the quote under my senior photo and I’m still trying to live it down. Hope graduation tonight is endurable.
Time to move on to real life.
—Caine