by Zoey Dean
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thousands of tiny pink lights strung through the trees, plus a rotating series of theatrical gobos atop several of the pavilions that projected tableaus from famous Grimm's and Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales on the terrace floor.
Maddy held tight to Ben's arm as they strolled. "I wish this night could last forever and ever."
"You're like Cinderella at the ball, huh?" Ben asked kindly.
"I am?" She stopped, took his hands, and gazed into his eyes. She looked ethereal, beautiful, bewitching.
Uncomfortable, Ben shoved his hands into the pockets of his tux pants. "Sure."
"I always wanted to be beautiful, you know? Like all the time I was so fat and everything, I used to dream that one day some kind of magic would happen and-- poof !--I'd be pretty."
"It wasn't magic, Maddy. It was your accomplishment."
They stopped by the central fountain and people-watched for a while; more couples had come downstairs to enjoy the fragrant night air and the transformed surroundings. Ben thought to himself about how much longer he'd have to hang around. An hour, maximum, he decided. Hopefully less than that.
"Do you think I need to work out more?" she asked suddenly, raising the hem of her top to expose a couple of inches of creamy flesh.
Ben gulped hard.
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"Lookin' good, Mad," he assured her, though her attention was entirely on one strolling couple--Mr. T and the teacher with body of death.
"How good?" Maddy demanded.
The next thing Ben knew, she had snaked her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his in a sizzling kiss. At least, it would have been sizzling if he'd wanted it to happen. It was painfully clear now. Sweet, clueless Maddy had a crush on him. He'd suspected it for a long time, but now he knew for certain.
Poor kid.
He put his hands on her hips and gently eased her away from him. "Maddy--"
"You're mad."
God . He didn't want to ruin her evening, but she had to understand the truth.
"Come with me for a sec. I want to talk to you." He put a hand on her elbow and led her to a carved stone bench at the far edge of the terrace, but where they could still see the central fountain. She sat next to him on the bench after he brushed away any nonexistent dust.
"Maddy," he told her, "I'm so flattered you can't imagine. But I'm in love with Anna."
"That's okay," Maddy replied amiably.
"No, it isn't. You know how much I care about you, but... not like that ."
Maddy nodded. "Yeah, I get it. I don't care about you like that , either."
Okay. Now he was baffled.
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"But you just--"
"Didn't you see Mr. T?" When Ben didn't jump in, she continued. "Wait, you mean ... you really don't get it?"
Ben scratched his chin. "No, Mad, I really don't."
"Oh, wow! I was so sure that it's, like, written all over my face! And Jack is your best friend so I figured you guys talked and...." She puffed air out as if it were all just so complicated to explain. "Okay, well, the thing is, I have this huuuge crush on Mr. T, my teacher? Don't you think he's like, the hottest guy you ever saw in your life?"
"Uh, I never really thought about--you've got a crush on your math teacher?"
Maddy looked at him cockeyed. "Why do you think that Jack and I got to be such good friends? And why he said he'd come to prom with me? I told him about Mr. T. and he said he would help me. Mr. T. would think of me as, like, a girl and not just his student if he saw me on, like, a date with an older guy."
Ben felt completely off-kilter. "Jack did that?"
Maddy nodded. "He said he knew what it felt like to really want something and that it was hard to get what you wanted if you didn't have help. Isn't that so sweet?"
Ben reeled. All his assumptions had been--
"When you said you'd take me to prom instead of Jack, I thought you were in on it! Because you're even cuter than Jack is, so that would make Mr. T. really, really jealous!"
"Why didn't you tell me back then?" Ben wondered aloud. He felt like such a presumptuous dick. "That
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night I got so mad at Jack--hey, what about those pictures on your computer?"
Maddy flushed. "Those were going to be for Mr. T, sometime. I don't know if I would have had the nerve to actually give them to him or anything. Probably not. Even Jack said it wasn't really a great idea, but when I told him I was going to do it anyway, he relented and said he'd help me." She ducked her head. "This is kind of embarrassing to talk about. Do you think I'm, like, pathetic?"
No, Ben thought. I think I'm , like, pathetic.
"It's fine to have a crush, Mad. But Mr. T is a lot older than you are and--"
"Hey you two. Hope I'm not interrupting ..."
There stood Maddy's crush, Mr. T. Alone. Big Boobs was nowhere in sight. Now that Ben really looked at him, good ol' Mr. T wasn't all that old; early twenties.
"No, no, you're not interrupting anything !" Maddy insisted. "Ben is just a friend ."
"Yeah?" Mr. T asked.
"Oh yeah," Ben confirmed.
Mr. T's gaze went back to Maddy. "You look ... great tonight, Maddy."
"I do?" Maddy seemed to float off the stone bench.
"I thought you might like to dance. If that's okay with your friend, that is."
"My friend doesn't make my decisions," Maddy declared, even before Ben could give permission. "Anyway, he has to go meet his girlfriend . Right, Ben?"
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"Right," Ben agreed, nodding his head slowly. "But could I speak to you, Maddy? Before I go? Alone?"
"I'll wait for you at the top of the escalator," Mr. T assured her.
"Two seconds," Maddy promised. When Mr. T was safely out of view, she threw her arms around Ben. "It worked! Oh my gosh, he asked me to dance. He likes me!"
Ben cleared his throat. "At the risk of sounding parental, he's a teacher and you're a student."
"So?"
"So ... I want you to promise me that you won't..." He wasn't quite sure how to put it. "You know how people think you have to have sex on prom night...."
Maddy nodded eagerly.
" No. Very bad idea."
Maddy gave him a sly look. "What about you and Anna?"
"That's different. We're a couple, we're nearly the same age, and--" He stopped himself. "I want you to promise me that all you'll do with Mr. T is dance ."
She nodded. He kissed her cheek and watched as she ran to the escalator. When she was on her way up, Ben headed back to the monorail. He didn't know what to laugh about more--how he'd totally assumed the wrong thing, or about how his own ego was as least as big and fat as Maddy, presurgery. Or both.
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Win-WinWhere the hell was Adam?
Adam, the guy who was never late, was now holding everyone up. Cammie tapped the foot of her taupe stiletto-heeled sandal impatiently (taupe because even though her gown was white, it was mall-level tacky to also wear white heels) and checked her new Jacob & Co. pearl-faced, diamond-studded watch that had been a lame can't-we-all-just-get-along gift from her father after their spat at the late, great Bel Air Grand Hotel. If the truth be known, she felt badly that she'd had a big role in that hotel being late and great. On the other hand, who doesn't put a good sprinkler system in a public bathroom?
She stood by the fountain in the center of the circular driveway in front of the Sharpe estate along with the rest of her friends who were limoing over to the Ben Hur set in Palmdale. There were Sam and Parker and Anna, Dee and Jack and Marshall--Jack looked very cute in an Oleg
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Cassini tux; Marshall was more Napoleon Dynamite than ever in his severe black formalwear.
A good chunk of the rest of the informal Beverly Hills High School high court was there, as well. Damian Williams, he of the unfortunate name--same as a villain from the Rodney King riots of 1992--but the fortunate bank account, whose father owned a st
ring of exotic car dealerships from San Diego all the way up to San Francisco. Dark of hair, indolent of face, and fond of drink, with a thumbnail-size diamond stud in his left ear, he wore an Ecko six-button notch tuxedo with a silver cummerbund and a matching silver bow tie. He stood chatting with his ex-girlfriend, Skye Morrison, a crazy boho trustfunder with a pedigree almost as long as Anna's.
Unlike Anna, Skye was a free spirit with dreadlocks who had given up alcohol a month or so ago after an inebriated Damian had deposited his semidigested Buffalo Club roast venison in blackberry balsamic reduction on her lap. Her latest penchant was for one-of-a-kind bejeweled designer cowboy boots that easily ran ten thousands dollars a pair. She could afford them; her great-grandparents had invested heavily in the nascent West Coast oil business. Every barrel that came out of the wells by LAX helped to line her family's pockets. This was a good thing, since Skye had the academic interest of an amoeba. What she cared about was snow-boarding, skiing, and staying in shape--that shape was displayed to great advantage in her custom-made, fitted Antoniette Catenacci silver gown that shimmered in the
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twilight, slit up both legs to reveal hand-tooled silver cowboy boots adorned with hand-painted diamond-and-ruby cowgirls.
Near Skye and Damian, standing in a little knot, were Krishna Gottesman, Jordan Jacobson, and Ashleigh Amber Anders (nicknamed "Triple A" as middle schooler for her lack of upfront assets. She'd been the first of the A-listers to pay a professional visit to Ben's father. Now, Triple A was Double D.) All three were from showbiz families. Krishna looked eerily like Tiffany-Amber Thiessen circa Beverly Hills 90210 and was the daughter of self-help guru Howard Gottesman, whose late-night infomercials raked in a million dollars a week and were giving Tony Robbins a run for his considerable money. She was currently dating Jordan, son of a famous movie producer whose decades-long feud with Sam's father was Los Angeles legend. Jordan's father had been an early producer of Jackson's movies but then had had the temerity to beat him 6-0, 6-0 in the quarterfinals of the Beverly Hills Country Club fall club tennis championships. Jackson hadn't spoken to Mr. Jacobson since, and that had been in 1988. Jordan was a guitar player-- tall, handsome, and in superb shape--and wore a Carlo Palazzi tux that looked great with Krishna's Hanae Mori Japanese-inspired jet black formal gown.
Ashleigh, like Sam, was the daughter of an actor. Her father, Charles Anders, was the same age as Jackson Sharpe. Many thought that Charles was the superior performer, particularly after he proved himself by
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playing Macbeth in a recent Broadway revival opposite Susan Sarandon. His current quote, however, was several million dollars below Jackson's, which Ashleigh found maddening. Ashleigh's Swedish mom, Britta, was a fashion designer. Ashleigh planned to follow in Britta's footsteps after college. She and her mother had codesigned a gown that would set off her flaming red hair--black Chinese silk brocade with a massive hot pink rose on the bodice; its leafy tendrils were green silk ribbons that curled down the front of the dress.
No one seemed to mind that Adam was late, not even Sam, who should have been more nervous because of her movie. Cammie figured it was because Sam had sent Parker's younger brother, Monty, over to Palmdale to film the B-list as they went through their prom prep. Even though time was ticking away, Sam insouciantly toted around a video camera, getting her friends' impressions of prom night. Meanwhile, one of the maids had brought out a magnum of vintage Clos du Mesnil champagne from Jackson's twenty-thousand-bottle wine cellar and had already come back once already for refills. At the far end of the driveway, so the fumes from the idling engine wouldn't bother anyone, Jackson's platinum superstretch-limo was idling in preparation for the forty-five minute trip to Palmdale.
Cammie continued to tap an impatient foot. This was getting ridiculous. Where the fuck was Adam?
"Umm, your boyfriend is AWOL," Sam intoned as she approached and focused her handheld Sony HDR-FX1 digital camcorder on Cammie.
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"No problem," Cammie cooed smoothly, giving the camera her patented, sloe-eyed Pm-always-in-control look.
"Adam is always on time," Sam mused. "Didn't you guys go to dinner?"
Cammie gave the camera an above-it-all look. "Who would go to a restaurant on prom night? They're all jammed with kids from the valley. The chefs are so rushed you can't even order off the menu."
Anna stepped over to Cammie. "You should call Adam; this isn't like him."
Cammie raised her eyebrows and smiled, feigning a cool she didn't actually feel at the moment.
"I'll call his parents, then." Anna got out her cell and punched in the numbers. It irritated Cammie, but she didn't let that show on her face. It was just so Anna to jump into the fray, reminding Cammie that she'd been with Adam first. Anna probably had a decent relationship with Adam's parents, too. They probably loved her.
Stop, Cammie told herself. She exhaled and tried to calm down, knowing full well that she was mentally taking her pique out on Anna because she felt a bit anxious about tonight. She loved Adam as much as ever, but she knew they'd been out of sync for the last few weeks. Some of it was probably her own fault--it was like the happiness gene wasn't working for her, and she needed to replace it with the rush of chaos or the thrill of the chase.
"He's on his way," she reported. "I'm on with his father and--"
At that moment, a silver Prius rolled in through the
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Sharpe estate front gate. It was Adam, and his entrance merited spontaneous applause as he stopped the car by the fountain. Damian even added a two-finger whistle as Adam hopped out of the driver's seat and hurried to Cammie.
"Man, I'm so sorry."
"Where were you?" Cammie asked, allowing him a careful kiss on her perfect lip gloss.
"I was driving my mom's Saturn and it died in the middle of Pico Boulevard," Adam explained, fumbling with his bow tie. "I wanted to call Triple A but my cell phone wasn't charged and ..." He waved a hand. "Long, boring story. Anyway, I managed to get the car off the road, take a cab home, and get the Prius. I'm good to go."
"Good." Cammie kissed him again, for three reasons. First, she wanted to. Second, Anna was watching. Third, Sam had the camera on her again.
"Okay, we're outta here. Let's go, guys," Jordan instructed. He snapped his fingers and motioned for the limo. Two minutes later they'd all piled inside. The stocky driver shut the doors and they started to pull away, but instead of heading toward the security gate, the driver circled the fountain and turned left onto a gravel service road that led to the rear of the estate.
"'Scuse me, wrong direction!" Dee chirped.
"No it's not," Sam countered. "You didn't really think we were going to drive , did you? Do you know what the traffic could be like between here and Palmdale? The exhaust fumes alone could undo every oxygen facial you ever had."
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The limo rounded the house, motored past the pool, tennis courts, and golf area, and stopped at the edge of Jackson's private helipad. On that helipad, a converted VH-3D twin-engine military helicopter, painted white, started its blades whirring the moment the pilot saw the limousine.
"Shut up !" Krishna cried happily. "We're taking a chopper!"
"How do you think my dad gets back and forth to the set?" Sam asked, smoothing her dress as the air blast from the chopper blades hit them all. "We can get there this way, but we have to limo back."
"Whatever," Ashleigh commented. "This is definitely the way to travel."
The helicopter pilot was there to greet them. With silver hair swept back from a high forehead that offset his craggy features, he looked like someone right out of central casting. "Careful of your heads, ladies and gentlemen," he called over the sound of the engines, and offered a hand to help them into the copter, a commercial version of Marine One, the official helicopter of the president of the United States.
There was plenty of room inside. The chopper had been outfitted to carry sixteen passengers plus crew. The regular seats
had been taken out in favor of leather couches to which seat belts and safety harnesses had been attached. There were a big-screen TV and a small video console, along with wireless headsets for all the passengers. The interior had been dampened against noise, but there was no way to completely silence the
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roar of the engines or the whup-whup of the main blade overhead--hence the wireless headsets.
Cammie took a seat between Adam and Jack and strapped herself in; Dee was across from her, between Jack and Marshall (who did not look thrilled about their mode of transportation). To her left were Parker, Anna, and Sam. Her other friends were in a separate forward cabin. As the helicopter engines roared and Cammie felt the craft go airborne, Parker lifted the handheld camera to film them all.
"Next stop, Ben Hur ," Sam announced happily, as they headed straight up over her father's estate. The chopper rose until Beverly Hills spread out below them like a high-priced Monopoly board, then roared forward so quickly that Cammie felt herself pushed back into the sumptuous leather seat.
Punk Boy--what was his name again? Jack!--caught Cammie's eye and jerked a thumb toward Dee. "Cute," he mouthed, since it was too loud for conversation.
"I know," Cammie mouthed back with a smile. "Hurt her and I kill you." She pointed to her own eyes with two fingers, and then to Jack. The message was clear: I'm watching you.
The flight north over the Santa Monica Mountains and through the pass to the outskirts of Palmdale took only ten minutes--far faster than a limo ride would have been, though Cammie could see that the 405 and the other freeways were clear and traffic was moving rapidly. Once they were through the mountains and into the
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high desert, they buzzed the Magic Mountain theme park--a kaleidoscope of color against the starkness of the landscape--and circled west, with a great nighttime view of the space shuttle's secondary landing strip at Edwards Air Force base to the north.
Five minutes later, they hovered directly over a movie set replica of the Colosseum of Rome, as if that storied edifice were still a fully functional sports arena. The parking lot was full of cars, vans, and limos; Cammie watched dozens of gawking classmates as they dropped down toward an illuminated concrete helipad a few hundred yards from the Colosseum. To the left of the helipad were the four black limousines that would squire each of the couples--in Dee's case, a peculiar trio--to Hermosa Beach for the after party and then home.