Jane Austen Goes to Hollywood

by Abby McDonald

  “Manhattan?” Grace suggested.

  “Legally Blonde?” Hallie couldn’t help but offer.

  “No, silly.” Amber beamed. “Serendipity!”

  Their suite was vast and luxurious: a master suite for Amber, huge queen beds in Grace and Hallie’s shared room, with a view of Central Park, and a whirlpool tub big enough to fit a small army. Not that it mattered to Hallie: she left the others to tour, gasping, and made straight for the gift basket waiting on the polished walnut table, full of chocolates and expensive spa products.

  Hallie snatched up the card. Of course he hadn’t let her arrive without some small — or not so small — token of his affection! “ ‘Enjoy the break. My girls deserve their fun . . .’ ” She trailed off. “It’s from Uncle Auggie,” she said, disappointed.

  “Awww,” Amber cooed. “How sweet. And he sent Godiva, my favorite!” She popped a chocolate truffle into her mouth. “That man is a gem.”

  Gem was the right word. Namely, diamonds. Somehow Hallie didn’t think Amber would be cooing if they were checked into the Holiday Inn, eating vending machine Cheetos.

  Hallie left them to the candies and went to check her e-mail. Girls like Amber made their choices, but some things were more important than money and status — like true love. She and Dakota had talked about it all the time: about how they wouldn’t sell out like everyone else. It didn’t matter if they were starving off in a garret somewhere, they would stay true to their art. And each other.

  No new messages.

  “Ready?” Amber appeared in the doorway, changed from her in-flight Uggs to three-inch-heeled snow boots. “We’ve got time to hit Bloomingdale’s, and then some dinner before the show!”

  “You go ahead,” Hallie decided. “I’ve got a headache coming on, so think I’m just going to relax here today. Recover from the flight.”

  Amber gave her a look. “You’re not waiting for him to call, are you? Because that’s never the way to get a guy, just sitting around. You’ve got to be out there, making him jealous!”

  “No!” Hallie forced a laugh. “I’ll take a bath, order room service. I’ll be fine! Really,” she insisted.

  “Well . . . OK, then.” Amber blew her a kiss. “Order the lobster. Whenever I go anyplace fancy, I always order the lobster.”

  They headed out, leaving Hallie alone in the quiet of the empty suite. She sank into one of the lounge chairs, taking in the silence.

  He would call. She knew it.

  But he didn’t. Hallie idled in their room all afternoon — restlessly playing with the TV, unpacking her entire wardrobe, even taking a long bubble bath — until darkness fell outside, and New York was spread in a grid of glorious lights outside the hotel. Hallie curled in a window seat, gazing out at the winter wonderland. It was beautiful, but all she could think of was those nights she spent up on Mulholland Drive with Dakota, watching L.A. crawl by in the distance as they planned their grand adventures; the hope and dreams they were going to make real.

  And now he was somewhere out there in the city, having his grand adventure. Alone.

  The headache she’d faked to Amber became real: blossoming behind her eyeballs in a hot rush of pain as Hallie traced her fingertips over the glass, trying to imagine it. But she couldn’t. Everything they’d said, all the plans they’d made, they had all been about the two of them — together. He’d promised her!

  Hallie found herself dialing, the number she knew by heart. “Hey, it’s me. Hallie. I, umm, just wanted to let you know, we’re here. In New York. You can reach me at the Waldorf-Astoria, or on my cell, like usual. . . .”

  As she rattled off the details, Hallie tried not to think of how many messages had gone unanswered; how many calls he’d just ignored. Dakota must have a good reason for being so busy these last weeks. Maybe he’d lost his phone, months ago, and had no idea she was in town. Maybe he was on some no-technology detox and hadn’t checked his e-mail. Maybe . . .

  Before she knew it, it was nine p.m., and Amber and Grace bustled in, toting armfuls of crisp paper shopping bags and the dogs in their carry case.

  “Sweetie, how are you feeling?” Amber asked, dropping her bags in a heap. She collapsed onto the couch, unzipped her boots, and gave an ecstatic sigh. “Lord, that’s better.” She looked over at Hallie. “You missed a hell of a show. And dinner . . . The maître d’ looked just like an elf. A little, snooty, French elf!”

  “She’s right.” Grace joined her in the lounge area, setting a takeout container down. “He kept looking down his nose at us, so Amber ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu. And then she only drank half a glass!”

  “Carbs.” Amber nodded. “Alcohol calories are empty calories!”

  Hallie didn’t respond. Grace’s expression changed. “No word from Dakota?”

  Hallie paused, reluctant, then slowly shook her head.

  There was silence for a moment. “Well, we can’t just sit around!” Amber declared brightly, getting to her feet. “Go get changed, we’re going to hit the town.”

  “It’s OK.” Hallie sighed. More pity was the last thing she needed, but Amber was not to be dissuaded.

  “No way.” Amber crossed to the window and tugged Hallie to her feet. “There’s a whole city just waiting for us. Drinks and dessert, and then some dancing!”

  Grace coughed. “Umm, we’re underage.”

  “Oh.” Amber paused. “Well, how about just the dessert?”

  Hallie considered. If she kept her cell phone on, with the ringer set to LOUD . . .

  “OK,” she agreed, sending Amber skipping with delight. “But only to the hotel restaurant, so they can come get me, if anyone calls.” Hallie caught Grace’s look, and bridled. “He will call,” she said, for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I know he will.”

  It didn’t take Hallie long to realize: if Dakota couldn’t come to her, she would just have to go to Dakota.

  “This is a bad idea.” Grace trudged along the Brooklyn sidewalk beside her, bundled in a coat and earmuffs and a scarf wound so tightly that it took a moment for Hallie to decipher what she was saying. “Please, Hallie, let’s just go back to Manhattan and meet Amber. She wants to go ice-skating, and to that Serendipity café they used in the movie.”

  “No!” Hallie strode on, trying to ignore the bitter winds numbing her legs. She was determined that the first time Dakota saw her again, she would look fabulous: no thermal underwear or ugly parkas, no, she was wearing the dress he’d always said made her look like a 1940s movie star, and the borrowed leather jacket she hadn’t had the heart to send back to him.

  Perfect. If her limbs didn’t drop off from hypothermia before she reached him.

  “But Hallie —”

  Hallie cut her off. “You didn’t have to come! I didn’t ask you to, so stop complaining.” She checked the cross street. The band had updated their blog with news about the recording studios, so it had been easy for Hallie to track the address down. “Ooh, we’re here!”

  She looked up at the ugly industrial building and tried to quell her nerves. It would be OK. Whatever his reasons for not calling her back, they were nothing compared to love. One look in her eyes and he’d realize what he might have lost. He’d never risk that again.

  “I wasn’t complaining,” Grace said quietly. “I just don’t want to see you get any more hurt.”

  Hallie ignored her and hit the studio buzzer. A moment later, the door clicked open. She turned back to Grace. “Are you going to keep whining, or are you going to come inside?”

  Grace rolled her eyes, but followed her in out of the cold, and up to the second floor, where a bored-looking boy with a blue Mohawk was chewing gum behind a vast desk; exposed brick walls covered with mounted CDs.

  “Hey.” Hallie breezed up to the reception desk. “I’m here with Take Fountain. Which studio are they in. . . . ?”

  He raised one pierced eyebrow. “You’re with them?”

  “Yup!” Hallie’s smile didn’t slip. �
�Just got in from L.A. They’re through here, right?” She gestured down the nearest hallway.

  “They were.” Mohawk guy spun idly on his chair. “They wrapped recording last week.”

  Hallie’s heart sank, but she tried to seem unaffected. “Oh, shoot. I have a bunch of papers from their manager. Can I get a forwarding address . . . ?” She trailed off hopefully.

  Mohawk guy just shrugged. “Sorry. They come, they go.”

  “But you must have something.” Hallie clenched her fists with frustration. “The place they’re staying? A number, to check-in?”

  Another shrug.

  There was a sudden burst of noise. One of the far doors opened, and a group of guys emerged from a studio: low-slung jeans and backward caps, their necks heavy with bling.

  “Hallie . . .” Grace tugged her sleeve. Hallie ignored her, focusing all her attention on the desk guy, who was, for some unfathomable reason, standing between her and a reunion with Dakota.

  “You don’t understand, I need to see them!” Her voice rose. “It’s important!” The guy’s expression changed — disdain skittering across his face. “They’re my friends,” she insisted quickly. “Dakota is expecting to see me!”

  “So call him.” Mohawk guy snapped his gum and smirked. “If he’s such a good friend.”

  “But it’s a surprise!” Hallie’s lip began to quiver, and tears rose, hot behind her eyes. Why was he being like this? “You don’t understand,” she yelled. “We came all the way from L.A. I have to see him!”

  There was laughter behind her. “Someone better call the cops,” one of the rappers cracked. “Superfan’s gone crazy!”

  “What?” Hallie demanded, glaring at them. “You think this is funny? Do you?”

  Grace tugged on her arm again. “Please,” she whispered. “Hallie —”

  Hallie shook her off, whirling back to Mohawk guy. “All I want is an address! One tiny, stupid, little address, and you’re acting like I’m a crazy person. Well, I’m not!” she screamed, banging the desk. “Do you hear me? I’m not crazy!”

  Silence.

  Hallie looked around. Even the rapper guys blinked at her, wide-eyed. She exhaled, all her anger suddenly draining away.

  “Come on.” Grace nudged her gently toward the elevator. “Let’s go.”

  “OK,” she agreed tiredly, following Grace back to the exit as her sister murmured apologies to everyone. She didn’t care. This was it: her last route to Dakota, and it had turned out to be nothing but a dead end.

  “Maybe this is for the best,” Grace said softly as they headed back down to street level. “I mean, what could he say, to make it better?”

  Hallie stared at her in disbelief. “Everything! That he still loves me, that all this was a mistake, that he wants to be with me again!”

  “But wouldn’t he be with you already, if he wanted to?”

  Hallie’s body felt like ice. “It’s not that simple,” she snapped, striding out of the elevator. “You’re too young. You don’t understand. Love is . . . Love is complicated sometimes, OK?”

  She was almost at the door when she noticed the flyers, pasted haphazardly on the bare brick wall. Guitar lessons, amps for sale, session singers wanted . . . and live shows. Take Fountain — their name leaping out from the mess as if it were printed in three-foot-tall lettering.

  Hallie gasped, tearing the blue xeroxed page down. “Look!” She waved it at Grace excitedly. “They’re playing a showcase, at a club in the city next week. Monday!”

  Grace said nothing.

  “We can go, meet Dakota there!” Hallie clasped it to her chest. Of course! This was the reunion they were meant to have: a single spotlight on the stage, Dakota’s eyes meeting hers, in the middle of the darkened crowd . . . “I told you.” She linked her arm through Grace’s and strode happily back out into the cold. “Everything’s going to work out. It’s a sign!”

  Their date with destiny set, Hallie was finally able to relax and enjoy New York, swept up in Amber’s giddy whirl for the rest of the weekend as they reenacted all her favorite on-screen holiday moments: ice-skating in Rockefeller Center; hot cocoa and cake in the Serendipity 3 café; taking photos up in the Empire State Building in what Amber swore was the exact same spot where Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks had rendezvoused in Sleepless in Seattle — Hallie smiled serenely through it all. Even when Amber met up with one of her bobble-headed L.A. friends, Missy, and spent three hours camped out in the lingerie section at Bergdorf’s, her good mood didn’t slip. Dakota was safely scheduled for Monday night, and nothing in the world was going to stand between them this time around.

  “Oh, this is darling, don’t you think?”

  Hallie looked up to find Missy’s nanny, Lucy, stroking a silk negligee, five inches from Hallie’s head. She ducked out of the way. “I guess.”

  “What do you think, Grace?” Lucy turned, holding it up. “Men love blue. At least, some guys do. . . .”

  Grace gave a sharp shrug and sat on another of the lounge chairs with Missy’s gurgling baby.

  “Or maybe I’ll get something in black.” Lucy wandered over to another rack, wispy bra and panties hung like tree decorations on thin silver wire. “It’s sexier. And it’s always better to be sexy. Especially since we won’t have seen each other in a while.”

  Lucy was talking so meaningfully, it was clear she wanted someone to ask more. “Do you have a boyfriend?” Hallie asked obligingly. The girl seemed sweet enough — upbeat even though she worked for a woman who dressed her baby in head-to-toe leopard print.

  “Yes!” Lucy beamed. “It’s soooo romantic. We’re dating in secret, because his family wouldn’t approve.”

  “Scandalous,” Hallie teased.

  “He’s in town, too, visiting his family for the holidays. I couldn’t bear to be away from him, so I suggested Missy come hit the shops.” Lucy winked.

  “Smart,” Hallie agreed.

  “Isn’t it? Now we can slip away and get together for some alone time.” Lucy waggled the negligee suggestively. “What do you think, Grace?” she asked again. “Should I get the blue or the black?”

  “Whatever you want.” Grace suddenly leaped up, grabbing her coat. “I’m going back to the hotel. I want to take a nap before dinner.”

  “Me too.” Hallie yawned. “I didn’t think it was possible to do too much shopping, but this is it. Just let me pay for this stuff.” She turned to Lucy. “Good luck with your secret meeting,” she said, pulling on her jacket. “And I say go with the black. It’s a classic.”

  Lucy looked between them. “We’ll come too!” she quickly declared. “It’s time for Angelina’s nap, and the apartment is in your direction. We can split a cab.”

  “OK,” Hallie agreed. “Grace?”

  “Sure.” She sighed, impatient. “I’ll see you guys out front.” Grace hurried ahead, leaving Hallie to find a register and pay for her motley assortment of gifts. It had been hard to find anything on her budget — let alone in Amber’s kind of store, where even a pair of gloves seemed to cost three figures — but Hallie had prevailed. So what if Uncle Auggie might not want another pair of golfing socks: it was the thought that counted!

  “So what’s the story with your sister?” Lucy asked, waiting alongside her in line for a register. There was only one salesclerk on the floor, and he was busy flirting with the Ivy League guy in front of them: studying engraved business-card cases like they were the Holy Grail.

  Lucy bounced baby Angelina in her arms and fixed Hallie with an eager gaze. “Is she, you know, seeing anyone?”

  “You think she tells me anything?” Hallie snorted.

  “Come on, there must be someone. A crush, someone from back in San Francisco, maybe?” Lucy’s expression was sharp for a moment, then it smoothed into a sunny smile again. “I was just thinking, you know, maybe I could fix her up!”

  Hallie laughed. “Don’t bother. She’s got our neighbor Brandon over all the time, and this guy from school, Harry, and then there’s
—” She stopped, suddenly glimpsing a tangle of dark curls on the other side of the menswear section. Her heart leaped. Could it be . . . ?

  “Who?” Lucy asked. “You were about to say something.”

  “Huh?” Hallie squinted eagerly across the room. The guy was too far away to see clearly, half hidden by a display of tuxedo jackets.

  “You said there’s another guy,” Lucy asked, “for Grace?”

  Hallie didn’t take her eyes from the stranger. She’d thought she’d seen Dakota everywhere in L.A. too, but this was different — it really could be him! But as Hallie watched, a blond girl approached: shaking her head at his selection, and passing a new jacket for him to try. He did so obediently, stepping out of sight behind the rail of clothing.

  Hallie sighed. Of course it wasn’t him — why would Dakota be browsing tuxedo jackets in Bergdorf’s? He was a strictly vintage guy, at home in threadbare band shirts and worn jeans. She turned back to the line as the Ivy League guy finally tucked his platinum credit card — and the salesman’s phone number — away.

  “Hallie?” Lucy prompted again.

  “Oh, yeah, it doesn’t matter.” Hallie strode up to the register and dumped her gifts on the counter. “So, where in England are you from?” she asked Lucy, changing the subject. “I’ve always wanted to go to London!”

  Lucy filled the cab ride back with chatter about life in England, and then insisted on stopping off at the hotel with them to take a look at the lobby. “It’s so Christmassy,” she trilled happily, gazing around at the baubles and tree.

  “Miss Weston?” The concierge called over from the front desk. “You had a visitor. A young man . . .”

  Hallie gasped. “When? Where? Did he leave a note?”

  “No message,” the concierge said, “but I saw him head into the lounge. He might still be there. . . .”

  Hallie was already hurrying across the lobby, heart pounding. He’d come! Her boots skittered on the marble floors as she ducked past tourists, sliding to a stop as she reached the lounge area. She scanned the couches, desperate for a glimpse of Dakota. Not him, not them, no . . .