by Zoey Dean
Like they needed luck. Bunch of richies totally set up for life.
He unfolded Dee’s note
My great big Jack—
Walk down the hallway to the teachers’ lounge. It’s the fourth door on the right. It should be open. I checked. Before I leave this high school for the last time, there’s something that I want do, so I’ll never, ever want to forget the night I didn’t graduate with my friends.
Be patient. I’ll be up as soon as I can ditch my parents.
Your Dee
Well, well, well. He’d thought the H in the Hollywood sign had been the ultimate, but the teachers’ lounge at Beverly Hills High School on graduation night? That was one for the record books.
He counted the doors as he walked; the fourth one on the right was unlocked. Teachers’ lounge, just as Dee had promised.
Yeah, baby. Dee had done her planning.
There was a small bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on the main table. The two floor lamps had been draped in blue and red material to temper their harsh lighting. One of the couches had been covered in a silky white sheet—whether Dee had found it, or whether she’d brought it from home, Jack didn’t know—and some strategically placed pillows.
“Hi.”
She stood in the doorway—he hadn’t even heard the door open.
“Impressive,” he commented, indicating the transformation in the lounge.
“Thanks. I couldn’t stop thinking about you all during the ceremony.”
He moved toward her, swept her up in his arms, and carried her to the couch. How great was his life? He had the whole rest of the summer with this amazing girl.
That was the last coherent though he had for the next half hour, until she whispered, “You’re the best.”
“I think I’d have to say the same thing about you.” He’d certainly had never met anyone like Dee before. She was so unapologetically open.
“Well … can I make a suggestion? Promise you won’t you get mad?”
He held her closer. “Of course I won’t.”
“I was thinking … you’re going to get mad.”
“No way.” He nuzzled the top of her head, burying his face in her tousled blond hair. “But hurry up. I don’t want your mom and dad looking for us.”
Jack felt her move away from him, far enough so she could look into his eyes. “Okay. I’ll just say it. I think we should go back to New Jersey so that we can do it in your bed where you grew up.”
What?
“Come again?”
“I’d really like to meet your family. You know, your parents,” Dee continued earnestly, “and especially your sister.”
“I don’t really think sex in my very kid-sized bed is the best idea—”
“I think your parents should meet me,” Dee went on. “That’s what you do when you’re really in love, right? We’re going to be together forever and ever, Jack. I can just feel it, can’t you? We’re going to be so happy.”
Jack sat up. Talk about your curveballs. Where had “forever and ever” come from? He liked her. Maybe even more than liked her. But he was light years away from thinking about forever with her or anyone else. She had the sweetest, most hopeful look on her face, and it was the night of what would have been her graduation if she hadn’t ended up in a freaking psych ward. Definitely not the time to explain to her that forever was not a part of his vocabulary. At least not until after he made his first million.
“Sure, Dee.” He kept his face neutral. “I totally know what you mean.”
“That’s fantastic!” she cried, and threw her arms around him.
Shit. Tomorrow they’d have a serious talk. He really did care about her, but those words … he could practically feel the noose tightening around his neck.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would set her straight. Hopefully without breaking her heart in the process.
Cammie was with Adam and his parents in the teeming theater lobby when Anna strolled by with her entourage—one father, one mother, her formerly slutty sister-gone-crunchy, and slutty-sister-gone-crunchy’s even crunchier boyfriend. They were beaming, chatting, and congratulating her—Cammie noted that crunchier boyfriend had one of the most annoying voices she’d ever heard. Something between a eunuch hamster and a vinyl record album played at seventy-eight revolutions per minute.
No Ben, she noted. Very interesting.
On the other hand, she had—count ’em!—no one. Not her father, who’d announced at dinner that a feeding frenzy had developed around Apex in the wake of the collapse of the merger with Paradigm, that two guys named Ari from Endeavor wanted to take him out for dinner and drinks, and that the economic best interests of the family—there was that word again—made dinner and drinks absolutely mandatory. He’d promised he’d make it up to her somehow.
“Besides,” he’d added, “graduating from high school isn’t such a big deal.”
So Daddy was eating Periscope Pasta at the Parkway Grill in Pasadena. As for another distinguished representative from her immediate family, forget it. Her step-mother, Patrice, and stepsister, Mia, had gone to the movies. They probably didn’t even remember what day it was.
At least Adam’s parents were making an effort. They’d suggested that Cammie and Adam join them for a late dinner at Meson G in Hollywood. Cammie had almost suggested Parkway Grill—it would have been so much fun to sit two tables away from her father and distract him while he was trying to make the deal of his lifetime.
She looked up at Adam, whose father actually had an arm around his shoulder and was whispering something—some choice words of life advice?—in his ear. Her heart twisted. She knew she’d neglected him lately, too, so caught up had she been in the mystery of her mother. She’d talked to him after seeing Dina in the morning; talked about how awful it felt to imagine her wonderful, amazing mother the way she’d been described—in so much pain that she’d had to take her own life. Adam had been supportive as always. However she wanted to proceed—to talk to her dad again, to talk to some of her mom’s old friends—he was with her.
She’d wanted to reward him in some way, for standing by her in spite of all the craziness. She’d figured out the perfect way to do it too.
“Mr. Flood? Can you excuse Adam and me? For just a few minutes?” Cammie asked. “There’s something I want to show him.”
The Floods traded a look.
“Sure, I guess,” Alan Flood told her. “Our reservation isn’t for an hour and a half.”
Adam raised a quizzical eyebrow, but when Cammie crooked her arm and beckoned, he took it; they wended their way through the lobby and out into the night.
“Where are we going?”
“Someplace,” she said mysteriously. “What are you wearing under that gown?”
“Jeans,” he answered, still puzzled. She led him around the side of the building toward the school playing fields—the baseball diamond and football stadium. “And a T-shirt. Why?”
“Do you have any idea how great you are?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, I tell myself that all the time.”
“It’s just that I know what a bitch I can be.”
“It’s okay,” he assured her as they neared the outdoor basketball court. “I know this has been a tough time for you.”
She took his arm tightly. “No. Really. You’ve been like my … my guardian angel. I think sometimes—if you ever tell anyone I said this I will deny it and pass a lie detector test, too—that my mother sent you to me.”
He swallowed hard. “That’s about the nicest thing that anyone ever said to me.”
She turned him toward the basketball court again—the court was floodlit in the night. On the foul line closest to them rested a single orange basketball.
“Go for it,” she suggested.
“You dragged me away so that I could shoot hoops?” He wrapped his arms around her. “I can think of better things to do.”
“If the lady says for you to get out there and shoot, I suggest strongly tha
t you get out there and shoot.”
The deep, very familiar voice had come out of the night.
The owner of the voice stepped forward until the outdoor lights shown on him. Adam’s jaw dropped. Cammie smiled.
Perfect. Just perfect.
The guy was easily six-foot six, with a shaved head. His red basketball jersey had number twenty-three in white numerals. “You ready to do some damage?” he asked.
Adam turned to Cammie. “Do you know who that is?” he hissed.
“Multiple All-Star, multiple NBA championships, shoo-in for the Hall of Fame, maybe the most famous face on the planet?” She’d done her homework.
Adam yanked his graduation gown over his head and flung it into the bleachers. “How did you pull this off?”
“My dad owed me a favor.” Cammie ducked her head toward the famous basketball star. “He’s in Los Angeles for a charity thing tomorrow. Voilà.”
“Yo! Adam! You gonna chat with the fine fox or you gonna show me what you got?” Number twenty-three threw Adam the ball. He caught it.
“You are … I can’t even find the words.”
He gave Cammie a quick kiss, dribbled toward the basket, then fired a jump shot at the hoop.
Swish. Adam punched the air.
In the halo of lights that shone golden against the Beverly Hills night, a skinny high school kid and a huge superstar shot around together for the next half hour. It was one of the most beautiful things Cammie had ever seen in her life.
Family is who you choose; that’s what Sam had said.
At this moment, Cammie knew that she was right.
The stage was empty, the graduation ceremony ended. Still, one lone graduate sat in the chair she’d occupied through the night.
Sam couldn’t face what awaited her outside the auditorium doors—her father and Poppy—she’d seen them depart. Even worse, her mother, who had shown up. Eduardo was out there too. Thank God for that.
If only the two of them could slip invisibly past the family psychodrama. How great would that be? She’d had a chance to talk to him briefly about all the family insanity, but he’d been too busy at the consulate to hear all the details. What was he witnessing at that very moment in the foyer? The reunion of Jackson with Dina, as Poppy stood by with fire in her eyes?
That would be too good to miss, Sam decided. Plus, she hoped Parker was still in the lobby so she could tell him about his graduation present—she was going to make sure that her father found a decent role for him in the last couple months of the shooting of Ben-Hur.
Just as she rose to join the Jerry Springer theatrics that were certainly under way outside the theater, Eduardo stepped through the double doors. He wore a black V-necked cashmere sweater and black pants. He looked, as usual, perfect. “The coast is— What’s that quaint expression? The coast is clear. I suggested to your father and Poppy that they go home; you’ll see them there. They were happy to oblige. Your mother would like to have breakfast with you before she goes back to North Carolina. That will be on Wednesday.”
Sam was flabbergasted. “But … but how? I mean, I didn’t even introduce you!”
“Not difficult. I introduced myself. Congratulations, graduate.”
She flung herself into his arms. “You are the best. Beyond the best. Light years beyond the best.”
“Yes,” Eduardo agreed. “It all seemed quite over-whelming. So I’d like to suggest an alternative. Dinner with my parents.”
Sam frowned. “They’re here in Los Angeles? Why didn’t you say something?”
His answer was to extract an envelope from his pants pocket. “For your graduation.”
Sam tore it open—it held a pair of old-fashioned plane tickets. “Lima … Peru?”
“We leave in four hours,” Eduardo said calmly. “I apologize, my father’s jet is in use. We have to fly commercial, but we’ll be in first class.”
“This kind of stuff only happens in movies with Jennifer Aniston.”
Eduardo laughed. “Stop home and pack—you can see your dad. We’ll be back on Tuesday, in time to see your mother. If you want, that is.”
“Is this really happening?”
“If you want it to.”
“But … but what about a visa?”
Eduardo laughed heartily. “You forget where I work. Your visa is all arranged. There’s only one thing for you to do. Say yes.”
Sam smiled a smile so big she thought her face would break. “Yes, Eduardo. A hundred times, yes!”
The front of Beverly Hills High School featured a circular driveway, just like so many other buildings in a city addicted to the heroin of the internal combustion engine (with the exception of Prius owners, who’d replaced it with hybrid methodone). Most mornings the driveway was vacant, since the vast majority of students owned their own vehicles and queued up at the parking lot.
Not so on graduation night, when the circular drive did its best impression of Hollywood Boulevard and Cahuenga an hour before the Academy Awards. As Anna and most of her family stepped into fresh air, the roadway was already packed with Beemers, BMWs, and Hummers—the urban-assault vehicles of the rich and famous.
They stood in a little knot, waiting for Jonathan to arrive. Anna had already called Caine to come and pick her up.
“I’m so proud of you,” Susan beamed. “Really.”
“Thanks, Suze. I mean it.”
Susan linked her arm through Gordon’s. “And this is amazing: Gordon got a fantastic idea at the exact moment that you were getting your diploma.”
Anna raised her eyebrows. She noted that her mother was making the exact same dubious gesture.
“Tell her, Gordon,” Susan implored excitedly.
“I’d love to.” Her sister’s boyfriend looked at Anna as if he was about to offer the Nobel Prize in literature. “You sister and I were wondering if you’d like to come back east for the summer. To work at Kripalu, before you start at Yale in the fall. There’s a summer opening in housekeeping that I’m sure I could arrange for you to get. I have a lot of clout around the place.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?” Susan prompted. “We could spend the summer together!”
Anna smiled sweetly, though it was hard to imagine anything more insufferable.
“That is a very kind offer, Gordon. And it would be great to see Susan every day. But no. I’ll be here in Los Angeles until I come back east.”
Gordon looked disappointed. “Thought I’d ask, is all. If it was me, I’d definitely leave all this superficial pap behind.”
“Me, too,” Susan echoed.
“What will you be doing for the summer, Anna dear?” her mother queried.
What, indeed? Anna wasn’t sure. She’d hoped to just have fun with Ben, to be young and carefree—well, as carefree as she ever got—for one last summer before she became a serious college student. But now what? She knew that if she were a different kind of girl, she could easily forgive him. A different kind of girl wouldn’t even have gotten mad at him. But she wasn’t that different kind of girl, and doubted that she ever would be.
And that, she decided, was okay.
“Sam mentioned the possibility of our working as production assistants on Ben-Hur. Her father is shooting through August.”
“That sounds very educational,” Jane declared, clearly a lot more comfortable with that course of action than with Anna in yoga threads scrubbing other people’s toilets with all-natural toilet brushes. “I’m leaving for Florence on Monday. You must keep me posted on how it’s going.”
“Our chariot awaits.” Gordon pointed to the driveway, where Jonathan inched up in the Mercedes and flashed his lights a few times. Then he frowned. “Anna, do you think your father has any idea of the evil history of Daimler-Benz, or how much it hurts the Earth to drive one?”
Jane gave Anna a thin little smile. Anna knew exactly what it meant: I can put up with this young man for the duration of this visit. I would rather have your sister be with this young man than be drugge
d out in some squat on the Lower East Side. However, if they decide to get married, I might have to reassess.
“I’ll see you in the morning, dear.” Jane kissed Anna’s cheek. “Enjoy your evening. I’m sorry it won’t be with Ben, but your father says that Mr. Manning really is quite an interesting young man.”
How typical of her mother to be so diplomatic in public. Anna waved as Jane, Susan, and Gordon got into the Mercedes and rolled away into the night.
The line of vehicles coming for their passengers was endless; Anna realized it could be quite a while before Caine arrived. There were stone benches close to the auditorium doors; she decided to wait on one of them.
“Congratulations on your graduation.”
Anna looked over at the next bench. Ben was sitting there, in faded jeans and a white T-shirt under a light red cotton jacket. She felt herself turn to something less than solid, the ground sliding beneath her feet. What good was it to say she was in control with him when just seeing him made her want to fling herself into his arms?
“I came. Feel any different?”
So. He’d been there. Funny how she hadn’t sensed his presence.
“Relieved, I guess,” Anna responded carefully. “To have it behind me.”
“You weren’t a big fan of high school, huh?”
“It was an art I never really mastered,” she admitted. “Pep rallies and gossip and who broke up with who …”
“Snob,” he teased.
She nodded seriously and flexed her calf muscles. “I suppose I am in some ways. Not about class—at least, I hope not. But about … I don’t know … seriousness of purpose? Intellect.”
“You have to admit I brought fun into your life.”
She smiled. “Yes. You did.”
“Woohoo! I’m outta here!” a graduating senior with an ill-advised mohawk screamed out the passenger window as his Jeep circled the driveway.
“If I could go back and do things differently, I would,” Ben said softly.
“Which part?” Anna asked. “Sleeping with Blythe or not telling me about it?”
He puffed out some air. “Both, I suppose. I swear, I was honest with her. When I told you that she and I agreed to just have friendly sex—nothing more—I wasn’t lying to you. She said that was all she wanted too.”