Girls on Tour

by Nicola Doherty

  ‘If I keep this up, I’ll definitely be too fat to go on Valentino’s yacht,’ I remark, wiping up the last of the pasta sauce with a piece of freshly baked bread.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  I laugh, feeling better. ‘It’s something I read once. There’s a memoir by some celebrity’s daughter where she talks about a trip that was being planned on Valentino’s yacht when she was a teenager, and how excited she was – until a famous actress, her mother’s friend, said to her, “You’re too fat to go on Valentino’s yacht.” It’s so camp and ridiculous, not to mention mean. But sometimes I use it as motivation when I’m tempted to pig out.’

  ‘You use that as motivation? Some bitchy comment that scarred a teenage girl for life?’ Jesse says.

  ‘Yeah. I know it’s twisted.’

  A handsome blond waiter with frighteningly perfect teeth comes by to clear away our plates. ‘You guys all SET here? How WAS everything?’ he says. He’s also obviously an actor, throwing himself into the part of Waiter this evening. I resolve to leave him a big tip.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Jesse asks, once he’s gone and we’ve ordered another round of drinks. ‘Why was it so important to you to get this part anyway?’

  ‘Why?’ I look at him blankly: isn’t it obvious? ‘Because I love acting.’ But I find myself continuing, ‘And also … my mother used to act, before she died. But she gave it up to look after me and my brother. She became a teacher because the hours were easier with a family. Before that, she did quite a lot of theatre, and she was in an ad for coffee – you still can find it online.’ I’ve watched it so many times I know that silly ad by heart.

  ‘What happened to her?’ he asks gently.

  ‘She was driving to a rehearsal, as it happens.’ Tears are pricking my eyes and I blink to stop them. ‘Just a little local amateur production, but it was her first part in years, and she was so excited about it. It was a horrible rainy night, and another car shot out of a side road without looking … and that was that. The other driver was killed too.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I just feel so sad for her that she didn’t even get to do that play, and … maybe it sounds silly, but I feel as if I owe it to her to try and make it. And to my dad. I don’t know if that makes any sense.’

  I take a breath and another slug of wine. I can’t believe I told him all that. I’m braced for more sympathy or questions, but instead he says, ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Of course. I want to please my family too. Which is why this whole thing with my girlfriend …’

  ‘What whole thing?’

  He pauses before saying, ‘I broke up with her. But I haven’t told them yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They’re going to be disappointed and blame me and want us to get back together, and I can’t deal with it, not this weekend, with Sam’s wedding and everything. Do you want another drink?’

  ‘I’ll go. What would you like?’

  I decide we’d better change the subject before we both spiral into a depression. So when I get back from the bar, we start talking about films and books and our families, and random nonsense like the reason he was jogging barefoot (he forgot his trainers) and the fact that his Aunt Cynthia, Sam’s mother, has discovered she’s one-sixteenth Navajo and wants the whole family to do a sweat lodge ceremony at Christmas.

  ‘What is a sweat lodge ceremony?’

  ‘I don’t know how authentic it is, but it’s meant to be a Native American custom. It basically means they pack you into a room and turn the heat up, and you see visions. Allegedly. My Uncle John has offered to take her to Paris instead, but she’s not budging.’

  ‘I’d take Paris over a sweat lodge any day.’ I wave my wine glass to indicate our surroundings. ‘We could almost be in Paris here, couldn’t we? They even serve absinthe.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to Europe. I’m such a cliché: an English teacher who’s never been to England.’

  ‘How come? You must get good holidays as a teacher.’

  ‘I do, but Wendy never wanted to leave her dogs. She adopted them from the shelter. They only have three legs each,’ he adds, holding up three fingers to illustrate. ‘Poor little guys.’ He looks sad, and I realise he’s pretty hammered.

  I shake my head. ‘She put her three-legged rescue dogs above a trip to Europe? And her name’s Wendy? I hope you don’t mind me saying, I think you dodged a bullet there.’

  ‘You could be right,’ he says, smiling down at me. I suddenly notice that he’s sitting rather close to me, his arm propped casually on top of the booth behind me. His tie is crooked and his dark hair is ruffled. His eyes are gorgeous: sort of almond-shaped, with the kind of long, dark lashes that are wasted on men. Out of nowhere, I have the urge to undo his tie and run my fingers through his hair. Slowly, I move a fraction closer to him – and he moves a fraction closer to me.

  ‘So you think I should take a trip to Europe?’

  I have to clear my throat before I can reply. I’m finding it hard to meet his eyes.

  ‘I think you might like it.’

  And then my phone beeps at top volume with a text message, almost giving us both a heart attack. It’s from Sam, and it says: Where are you? Should we call the police? I drop my phone in panic. Jesse picks it up, takes a look, and without a word we put down way too many dollars before racing out of the bar.

  Once we’re outside, it becomes obvious from the way we crash around that we’re both properly drunk. Clearly we have to leave Jesse’s car there overnight and find a taxi. It’s a while before we’re able to get on the road, but eventually we stumble up the steps to Sam and Alice’s place. Sam answers the door looking like a thundercloud.

  ‘I’m sorry we’re late. Where’s Alice?’ I ask, feeling queasy with fear.

  ‘She’s gone to bed,’ he says curtly, keeping his voice low. ‘She was pretty tired after hosting this evening all by herself, and worrying about where you were … and we got a strange call this evening.’

  He must have heard from Brock Wilson. Oh God, oh God, oh God …

  ‘Her friend Ruth called. Apparently she got some weird email from Alice, firing her from being a bridesmaid. Do you happen to know anything about that?’

  Aaaaarrrgh. ‘Oh no. Oh Sam, I’m so sorry. Look, the thing is, I did write to Ruth, but only because she was being so horrible to Alice—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Sam snaps. ‘Let me make it clear for you. Alice is upset. In tears. That needs not to happen. Ever. Do you understand?’

  I nod, feeling like a total worm.

  ‘If you can’t help her properly, then stay out of her way. That goes for you too, by the way,’ he adds, seeing Jesse behind me, apparently for the first time. ‘My God,’ he adds. ‘What did you do to him?’

  I look at Jesse, who seems normal; a bit bleary-eyed, maybe, and his tie is undone and he’s swaying on his feet, but he’s fine.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jesse explains. ‘We had car trouble.’

  Sam looks at us both in disgust, and says to Jesse, ‘You can keep her tonight. Just bring her back in the morning. Not too early.’

  And he shuts the door in our faces.

  ‘Whoa,’ Jesse says loudly. ‘He wasn’t happy, huh? What was all that about an email?’

  The last thing we need is to wake Alice up by drunkenly discussing the situation outside her window, so I drag him away from the house. I’m tempted to knock on the door again to try and apologise, but Sam’s face was too scary.

  This is like a nightmare, except it’s real and it’s my fault. I had hoped to be able to tell Alice that yes, I went missing, but I got a part in Brock’s film; I thought she would be happy for me. Instead I’ve made her cry. I can’t believe I’ve done that and I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it right again.

  ‘We can walk to my place from here,’ Jesse is saying. ‘It’s on the other side of Abbot Kinney.’

  �
��OK,’ I say dully. I turn to follow him, but we end up bumping into each other.

  ‘Steady,’ he says, holding my shoulders. ‘Hm. Maybe we should sit somewhere for a while … to sober up?’

  ‘OK,’ I repeat. Then an even better idea occurs to me. ‘How about the beach? It’s just down here …’

  I’m half expecting him to say the beach is really dangerous at night or something, but to my surprise, he hesitates for a bit and then says, ‘Sure.’

  The beach, so busy during the day, is deserted; just crashing waves and us. The sky is completely clear and as full of stars as Hollywood Boulevard. We don’t say anything, just listen to the boom of the surf and the hiss as it retreats.

  One of my favourite episodes in Sex and the City is the one where Carrie gets dumped by Post-it note. There’s a bit where she says that this can’t be the day when she was broken up with by a Post-it note; it has to be the day that something else happens. Which is exactly how I feel. This cannot be the night when I made my favourite cousin cry and spoiled her wedding. It has to be the night when something else happens.

  ‘Jesse,’ I say. ‘How about a swim?’

  ‘A swim? No way. It’s super dangerous. And freezing.’

  ‘A dip, then. It won’t be freezing, it’s really warm.’ I stand up, and start unbuttoning my flannel shirt.

  ‘Lily, you’re crazy …’ he says, looking away.

  ‘Exactly. This way, this will be the worst thing I’ve done all day.’ I drop the shirt on the ground – it’s fine, I’m wearing a bra – and unzip my denim shorts.

  ‘It will be if you drown. The currents here are really strong. Come on, put that back on,’ he says.

  Picking up my shirt, he puts his hand out to grab my arm – and then I don’t know if he’s pulled me closer or if I’ve come to him, but suddenly we’re standing very close together. And then we’re kissing. He kisses me, hungrily, holding my head in his hands. I can actually feel my knees wobbling. All thoughts of a swim have gone out of my mind. He presses me closer, and it seems as if things are about to get very unplanned indeed when suddenly we’re blinded by a glaring white light. I let out a shriek.

  ‘Sir? Ma’am? Can you stand up for me, please?’ It’s a very young-looking policeman, wielding a flashlight. ‘The beach isn’t safe at night. You need to get yourselves home.’

  ‘No problem, officer,’ Jesse says, covering me with my flannel shirt. ‘Come on,’ he says to me. ‘Let’s get you home before anything else exciting happens.’

  I wake up the next morning to find Justin Bieber staring down at me from a poster on the wall. The duvet is pink, with fairies on it. I’m still in all my clothes and every part of me hurts, from my head to my throat. I’m completely disoriented for a minute before I remember I’m at Jesse’s family’s rented house.

  Poking my head out of the room, I see a bathroom and slip inside. With my panda eyes and bed hair, I’m not what most families would want to see at their breakfast table, but I don’t have anything to repair myself with, so I settle for scrubbing at the mascara with some baby shampoo, and make my way down the corridor.

  There are voices coming from the kitchen, as well as the smell of coffee and something else delicious. Jesse, looking very grey and unshaven, is sitting at the table while an older woman with blond hair in a neat ponytail, dressed head to toe in hiking gear, is making waffles. Seeing me, she turns around and says in a super-friendly voice with undertones of menace, ‘So this must be the mysterious missing cousin!’

  ‘Lily, this is my mom, Diane; Mom, meet Lily,’ Jesse says.

  ‘Um – hi,’ I say in a small voice, sitting down.

  ‘So what happened to you two last night?’ she says, looking me up and down. ‘We were so worried about you. First we thought you were stuck in traffic, then we thought you might have been in a car wreck, or held up and robbed or even killed. I mean, this is Los Angeles.’

  ‘I told you, Mom. The repair guy took hours to show up, and then we had to get a cab, and then we ran into traffic. And my phone died.’

  Jesse’s story seems plausible to me, but his mum clearly doesn’t buy it. ‘And then you got locked out of the house? That seems so strange to me. Alice doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who would let her cousin wander the streets.’

  Jesse pours out some coffee for me. I sip it gratefully, unable to meet his eye. I’m trying not to think about how much I must have embarrassed Alice last night, as well as worrying her. Not to mention our escapade on the beach: what was I thinking? Thank God we weren’t arrested. I can only imagine Sam’s reaction if he’d been woken up again to bail us out.

  ‘Hey, you’re finally awake! We thought you were going to sleep for ever.’

  I blink at the chirpy vision that’s just bounced into the room and is looking at me curiously: around twelve or thirteen, tall, tanned, with a long brown ponytail. I’m not sure if it’s a hallucination or what, but I feel like I’m seeing two of her.

  ‘Claudia, don’t be rude. Lily, these are my sisters, Carla and Claudia.’

  ‘Are we ready to go hiking already?’ asks Carla or Claudia, bouncing on one foot. ‘I’m bored.’

  ‘We’re waiting for your brother, girls. Here are your waffles, Jesse.’ Diane plonks them down in front of him. ‘Lily, I’m afraid we don’t have any for you. We weren’t expecting extra guests.’

  Jesse rolls his eyes and gives me half of the waffles on his plate. I start eating quickly before Diane takes them away from me.

  ‘Did you sleep in your clothes?’ Carla or Claudia asks me. ‘You look sort of wrinkled.’

  ‘How come you couldn’t make the crafting evening?’ the other one chimes in. ‘And why didn’t you stay at Sam’s place last night?’

  They both look so cute and healthy and clean; they make me feel like a public service announcement about the consequences of bad behaviour.

  ‘We had car trouble. Stop asking so many questions,’ Jesse says.

  ‘You know who we needed last night? Wendy,’ says Diane. ‘Remember those little paper signs she made for my birthday that said “Yay”? So creative. I can’t wait to see what she does for your wedding. Lily, did you know Jesse is getting married next June?’

  My waffle seems to have got stuck halfway down. ‘Ah – no, I didn’t,’ I say, looking at Jesse, who’s busy pouring himself more coffee.

  ‘We’re going to be bridesmaids!’ says Carla or Claudia. ‘Wendy’s going to get us both dresses from J. Crew. She says every girl deserves to be a princess for a day.’

  I can’t look at him. I feel so stupid. Not only did he not break up with his girlfriend; they’re getting married.

  ‘Well, Jesse, you’d better get ready,’ Diane says. ‘We’re supposed to be meeting Cynthia and John and the cousins. For our hiking trip. Don’t tell me you forgot?’

  ‘I’m coming,’ he says shortly. ‘I just need to drop Lily home first.’

  ‘She can walk, it’s not far. You need to hurry or we’ll be late. And since we’re down a car, we all have to go together.’

  Jesse hesitates before saying, ‘Lily, do you mind?’

  ‘Not at all.’ I get to my feet. I’ve got to get out of here, and away from him. ‘Um, thank you for the coffee,’ I add to his mum.

  She barely nods. ‘One last thing: Jesse, will you sweep up the hallway before we leave? Someone seems to have tracked in a lot of sand.’ She gives me another look and then she’s gone.

  I hurry out, Jesse following me. I wait until we’re on the street before I turn on him. ‘You’re getting married?’

  He looks uncomfortable. ‘No, I’m not. We’ve broken up.’

  ‘If you say so.’ I don’t believe him for a second. Calvin did the exact same thing: told me something was over when it was blatantly still going on while he was away shooting his stupid pilot. He might have been a better actor than Jesse, but I still know a lie when I hear one. I keep walking.

  ‘Lily – it’s the other way. Wait! Stop.’


  I turn around, ready to hear a proper explanation if he’s got it.

  ‘It’s left here,’ he says, ‘and then right on Abbot Kinney, and left again once you pass Intelligentsia Coffee. I’m sorry I can’t drop you home. I’m sorry about all of this.’

  That’s it? Pathetic. Not only is he cheating on his fiancée, he’s a wimp who can’t stand up to his family.

  ‘Don’t be,’ I say with as much dignity as I can muster. ‘Yesterday was one giant mistake and I think it’s best we forget about it.’ And I march off.

  I’m a nervous wreck by the time I knock on Alice’s door. She looks awful: pale, hair scraped back, puffy red-rimmed eyes. I think of how she looked when she met me at the airport – glowing, smiling, hair bouncing. It’s like a makeover in reverse, and it’s all my fault.

  ‘Come in,’ she says quietly. I follow her, head down. I’m so ashamed. All the shenanigans of yesterday – getting Brock Wilson’s address, the audition, getting drunk with Jesse, kissing him, not to mention emailing Ruth – seem like the actions of a stupid, selfish cow.

  ‘Alice, I’m so sorry about last night …’

  ‘It’s OK, really. That’s the least of my worries. I’m upset because we had a phone call from the Casa de la Luna this morning. They’ve had a fire and they’re going to be closed for at least three weeks.’

  ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘No, I wish.’ She pads back to the sofa, where she’s obviously been watching TV, though the sound’s now on mute. The curtains are drawn and there’s tons of mess from last night on every surface, including rows and rows of mini bottles of olive oil and piles of origami decorations and paper. ‘We’ve taken the morning off work to try and scope out other places, but it’s too short notice. I think we’re going to have to postpone the wedding. I don’t know. I can’t deal with it any more.’ She grabs a handful of nuts from a bowl beside her. ‘Want some candied pecans? Cynthia made them. In her spare time, in a holiday house. Can you imagine? Sam’s family is unbelievable. They’re all doing a ten-mile hike in Topanga today, which is good because it gives us a few hours before we have to break the news to them.’