Malibu Rising

by Jenkins Reid, Taylor

  Vanessa was wearing a sky blue T-shirt, belted at the waist, with white shorts and white pumps. She had teased her hair at the crown and rimmed her eyes in black eyeliner. She had stolen her entire outfit idea from Heather Locklear, who’d been wearing the same thing on the cover of Los Angeles magazine last month.

  This had seemed like a good idea, until right this very second, when it occurred to Vanessa that Heather Locklear might show up at the party. And then what was she going to do?

  The valet put his hand out for Vanessa’s keys.

  “I mean … I can park it myself,” she said. “If that’s easier?”

  “It’s my job,” he said, gently taking the keys from her.

  Vanessa watched her AMC Eagle drive away from her. It was still strange to her that the Rivas were rich kids now. She remembered hanging out with Kit at the Rivas’ house with all the lights turned off to save power. Now, Vanessa wasn’t even sure if her shoes were nice enough. Not that any of them, especially Kit, would have ever noticed or cared.

  Vanessa stepped to the front door and put her hand up to knock. Anxiety was settling in. Every year at this party, she hung back and made jokes in the corner with Kit. But this year, she wanted to get Hud’s attention. Maybe this was the night he finally noticed her in that way.

  She rapped her knuckles on the door and rang the doorbell.

  The door opened and there he was. Vanessa was absolutely positive he was only getting better looking with every passing day and it crushed her.

  “Oh, hey, Vanessa,” Hud said, opening the door wider, a smile on his face. “Kit!” he called out to the rest of the house. “Vanessa’s here!”

  Kit came around the corner. “Hey!”

  Vanessa’s eyes went wide at the sight of Kit’s outfit. She’d never seen her friend show so much skin outside of the beach. “Wow,” Vanessa said. “You look great.”

  Hud patted Kit on the back and then walked toward the kitchen. Vanessa watched him go, her pulse slowing down with each step he took away from her.

  “I do?” Kit said, looking down at her own torso. “Are you sure?”

  Vanessa returned her gaze to Kit and laughed. “Yeah, you look hot.”

  “OK, good,” Kit said. “You do, too.”

  “Thanks,” Vanessa said, fluffing her hair as she peeked around for another moment, to see if maybe Hud was coming back.

  The night was young.

  The doorbell had started ringing every twenty seconds. Nina could hear Kit greeting people downstairs.

  She could see the sky darkening through the windows, the stars beginning to brighten against the dusk.

  “Please, Nina,” Brandon said. “I got caught up in something. I got lost in my own … need to be … I don’t know. I had shit I was going through and I handled it in the worst way possible. But … God, I’m so horrified by how I’ve acted the past few months. I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror anymore, honestly. I’ve never just colossally fucked up like this before. But I’ll do anything to make it right. Anything. I love you. Please, Nina,” he said as he stood in their bedroom. “Give me another chance. You know I’m not a bad guy. You know that. You know me. You know if I did something this stupid, it’s because I was going crazy, I wasn’t myself.”

  Brandon got down on his knees and started kissing Nina’s knuckles. Her hands were cold and he was warm. “I have missed your face,” he said, looking up at her, his eyes growing glassy, his voice scratchy. “And the smell of your hair. I missed brushing my teeth next to you every morning and night. The way you look the most like yourself in your pajamas next to me at the sink. The way you smile with your whole face sometimes,” he said. “I cannot live without you.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Nina said.

  “Say you’ll give me another chance.”

  Nina found herself looking at the floor and the ceiling, the bedspread and the closet doors. Anywhere but his face. At anything but his eyes.

  “Come with me,” Brandon said, taking her hand. “You deserve to know I’m serious.” He began pulling her out of the bedroom into the hallway.

  “Brandon, what are you doing?” Nina asked, running with him so as not to be dragged.

  He led her down the stairs, where people were starting to gather in the entryway and living room. Nina caught eyes with Tuesday Hendricks just as she walked in the door.

  “Brandon,” Nina whispered. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Everyone!” Brandon called out, his voice booming over the music that had just started playing. “I have an announcement to make.”

  Heads started to turn in their direction, including Hud’s. He had been pointing out the nearest bathroom to an Olympic volleyball player. Nina didn’t see Jay or Kit but she could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

  “If any one of you have read the papers, you might know that I’ve fucked up recently. That I forgot how lucky I was. That I haven’t been such a nice guy.”

  “You’ve been a moron, man!” someone called out from the crowd. Everyone laughed and Nina wanted to evaporate into the air.

  Brandon turned to her. “But I’m here to tell you, Nina, in front of everyone here tonight. That I love you. And I need you. That you are the most beautiful, kindest, most amazing woman on the planet. I am here to declare publicly, I am nothing without you.”

  Nina grinned reluctantly, unsure where to look or what to say.

  He got down on one knee. “Nina Riva, will you take me back?”

  Somebody whistled. Nina couldn’t tell who it was but she thought it might have been her neighbor Carlos Estevez. The rest of the crowd starting clapping. Someone started chanting, “Take Him Back!”

  Nina could feel the room shrinking, as if it could collapse on her.

  “Take! Him! Back! Take! Him! Back!”

  Suddenly, her voice was so small, she almost wasn’t sure it was hers. “OK,” Nina said, nodding, hoping everyone would stop looking. “OK.”

  Brandon swooped her up into his arms and kissed her. Everyone cheered.

  Kit made her way to the commotion from the kitchen and saw Brandon there, a smile on his face, holding Nina in his arms. He looked so victorious.

  Kit looked to Jay, who had come in by the stereo, and then to Hud, who was still by the door. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. Kit’s expression turned sour.

  Nina glanced toward Kit at that very moment, saw how it all looked through Kit’s eyes. She averted her gaze.

  8:00 P.M.

  Tuesday Hendricks was wearing baggy black linen pants with black suspenders, a white T-shirt, and a gray bowler hat over her long brown hair. She was fresh faced and slightly pale. The only makeup she had on was a hint of mascara.

  She walked into the backyard with her hands in her oversized pockets. Within those pockets, Tuesday had four joints, two blunts, and a spliff.

  She pulled out the spliff once she got to the open air and then lit it. She breathed in, she held the smoke in her lungs, and then she let it go.

  She smiled at the people staring at her and then nodded, acknowledging them in the hope they would go back to their conversation.

  “Tues, hey.” Tuesday turned around to see Rafael Lopez, her most recent costar, joining her and handing her a beer. She had not come with Rafael, had not been seeking him out. But she did not mind him. So far, during their current movie shoot, he’d kept his tongue in his mouth when they had makeout scenes and he never made her wait around for him when they were called to set. Plus, if he was standing next to her, perhaps people would be less inclined to interrupt.

  She was not here to socialize. She was only here to show her face. To let everyone know she wasn’t running away after her public scandal, hiding from what she’d done. She wasn’t embarrassed. Bridger should be embarrassed. But the man had no shame.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” Rafael said.

  “I didn’t want to be the woman who couldn’t hack showing up.”

>   Rafael put his hand out, asking for the spliff. Tuesday handed it over. Tuesday was known for having the best weed. But she was known for this only within Hollywood. To the public at large she was supposed to be innocent and adorable and, ugh, peppy.

  Well, that’s what people had thought of her until she met Bridger. Now she was the girl who left him at the altar.

  “It was exactly a year ago that you two met, right?” Rafael asked.

  Tuesday nodded. “This very party. On this very night. One year ago.”

  Rafael took a hit. Tuesday watched a pop star and an MTV Veejay hang out by the barbecue and pretend they weren’t going to screw later. But everyone already knew they were screwing. Tuesday laughed as it occurred to her. This whole town was just people who weren’t screwing pretending they were and people who were screwing pretending they weren’t.

  “This is basically the anniversary of my very own hell,” she added.

  Rafael frowned at her. “The whole world thinks that guy is a saint.”

  “The whole world thinks I’m the daughter of a doomed astronaut who builds a time machine in order to visit him before he leaves for the moon.”

  Rafael laughed. “That’s your fault. Next time don’t be so convincing you win an Oscar at sixteen.”

  “Seventeen,” Tuesday said.

  Rafael raised his eyebrow at her. Tuesday watched the party begin to fill up. She smiled at people. She smoked her spliff. She checked her watch. She had told herself she’d stay for an hour. Just so everyone knew she wasn’t afraid to see Bridger’s face.

  Twenty more minutes. And then she could go.

  But then she heard a commotion behind her. And she heard Bridger’s booming action-movie voice. That voice was fake. His real voice was higher pitched and nasal. Tuesday knew this because when he spoke in his sleep, the real voice came out. But even with her, even when it had just been the two of them eating takeout on the couch, he’d always used the fake voice.

  “Hey, man, how’s it hanging?” Bridger said to someone in the doorway.

  Tuesday could feel him mere feet away now. She turned to Rafael, not wanting to look behind her. “He’s coming up behind me, isn’t he?” Her pulse started racing. Here was the problem: What she didn’t want everyone to think about her was actually true. She was afraid to see his face.

  She didn’t think she could stand looking at him pretend to be hurt by her. She couldn’t bear one more minute of his brilliant poor-me routine. He had crafted such a perfect performance as a victim that it unnerved the shit out of her.

  Yes, she’d left him on the day of their wedding. And yes, she could have handled it better. And yes, she had owed him a heartfelt apology.

  Which she had given him, in the bridal suite, in her wedding dress, ten minutes before they were both due to go out there.

  She had said, “I think we are doing this for the wrong reasons.”

  And he’d said, “We don’t have to be madly in love or anything. But we complement each other. Everyone loves us. And I do love you. I think you’re the greatest actress of our generation.”

  “Bridge,” Tuesday had said. “I want to marry the love of my life. I want to wait for someone that feels like my soulmate.”

  And Bridger had said, “C’mon. You of all people know the difference between real life and movies.”

  Tuesday had let go of his hands and begun to take off her wedding dress. “I just can’t do this. I’m sorry. I can’t marry you. I thought I could. I thought I wanted the magazine cover but … I can’t do it.”

  “Tuesday, put your dress back on, the show starts in ten minutes.”

  Tuesday had shaken her head. “I’m not doing it. And I’m sorry.”

  She got her assistant to signal her parents, who were waiting for her in the first row. The three of them ran to her car and drove away.

  Bridger went out to the chapel and pretended he expected Tuesday any minute. He started crying at the altar. And then sold the story to Now This.

  That was four months ago. Tuesday had not seen him since.

  And, just as she heard him coming closer, she decided she did not want to see him tonight either.

  “Raf, God help me, I can’t do it,” she said and she started running again, this time toward the tennis courts. But when she got to the gate, she noticed she wasn’t alone. Rafael had run with her.

  “Quick!” he said, pulling the gate open. “Before the fucker sees us!”

  Tuesday slipped in and Rafael followed her and then he locked the gate behind them. The two of them laughing.

  Suddenly, they were alone, on Brandon Randall’s tennis court, beachside in Malibu, a thousand stars in the sky.

  Tuesday emptied her pockets, showing Rafael the weed she’d brought. He nodded and emptied his own. Quaaludes and LSD.

  “I think we’re supposed to ‘Just Say No,’” Tuesday said with a smirk.

  “Say whatever you want,” Rafael said. “But then let’s get fucked up.”

  Suddenly, Tuesday’s night didn’t seem quite so bad after all.

  The party was alive.

  No one was counting but there were twenty-seven people in the formal living room, including Hud. There were twenty people milling around the kitchen, including Kit, and thirty-two people in the backyard, including Jay. There were couples and small groups migrating toward the family room, the dining room, the study.

  There were seven people in the five bathrooms of the house. Two were peeing, three were snorting lines, two were making out.

  Jay had been pretending to have a good time by the pool, talking to a few of his surf buddies from up in Ventura County. And then he pretended to have a good time in the living room, talking to a couple soap actresses, and then he pretended to have a good time absolutely everywhere else at the party, talking to anyone he could find. But, in fact, he was doing two specific things: watching the door and checking his watch.

  When would Lara arrive?

  Jay watched yet another group of people that did not contain Lara enter the house. He got frustrated and decided to go upstairs and take a piss.

  So he did not see Ashley come in the front door. He did not see her look around—clearly with the intent of finding Hud. He did not see her spot Hud in the very back of the house talking to Wyatt Stone and the rest of the band members of the Breeze.

  And so, Ashley slipped into the party without being noticed by anyone except the man she came for.

  Hud looked up from the guys he was talking to and instantly smiled, delighted by the very sight of her despite the complications. “You came,” he said, as she made her way to him.

  She was wearing a fuchsia tube dress and an oversized blazer with the sleeves rolled up. She had her blond hair in a deep side part, one side held back with a comb barrette. Her long earrings sparkled as the light hit them.

  “I came,” she said and then she hugged him, very lightly.

  “What made you change your mind?” he asked.

  “It felt silly,” she said, a smile peeking out. “To hide a good thing.”

  Hud felt his chest tighten. He had to tell her how he’d screwed it all up. He would tell her in a moment.

  Just not right then.

  • • •

  Nina was standing in the living room next to Brandon as they spoke to Bridger Miller.

  “So even though it looks like I was scaling a thirty-foot building with my bare hands,” Bridger said, “I was actually just climbing about seven feet.” He pointed at them both. “But it was cool, right?”

  “It was completely awesome,” Brandon said.

  Despite the fact that she wasn’t particularly charmed by Bridger, Nina had to admit she’d seen Race Against Time and the scene was, actually, pretty awesome.

  As Bridger asked Brandon something about next year’s Olympics, Nina turned her attention toward the front door. There were people funneling into the house, the door now propped open with a rock someone must have found near the doorstep.

 
; She watched as people greeted one another with big smiles and outstretched arms. A Greek chorus of “You’re here!” “You came!” and “How the hell are ya?”

  Nina noticed a young girl in a purple jersey dress come in. She looked a little lost. Nina wondered who she knew, how she had heard of the party. The girl made her way awkwardly into the living room as a man came up to Brandon and Nina and said, “I thought you two were divorced.”

  Nina wondered what it was with some people, that they thought it was appropriate to say every single thought out loud.

  Brandon said to the man, “Don’t always believe what you hear,” and then winked at him.

  Chris Travertine, Nina’s agent, walked in the door and spotted her next to Brandon. He was wearing a double-breasted blue suit with a T-shirt underneath, his jacket sleeves pushed up ever so slightly to reveal his gold Rolex. He smiled at Nina and came right to her. Kissed her on the cheek.

  “Are you two back together?” he whispered in her ear. “Not a bad move.”

  Nina grinned as best she could. “Glad you could make it.”

  Chris put his hand on her waist. He leaned to her ear once more and said, “I will always show up for you, babe. Always. Did you get my message?”

  Nina blew out a breath. “About Playboy?”

  Chris raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s a good play.”

  Nina smiled politely.

  “Keep thinking on it,” he said. “I have a feeling when you see the money, you’re gonna come around.” He gave her a sincere wink and a finger gun and then left to get a beer.

  A cocktail waitress came by with a tray of glasses of white wine. Brandon took one and raised it. “Everybody, I’d like to raise a glass to my incredible wife, Nina. She knows how to throw one hell of a party, am I right?”

  The early crowd raised their glasses and cheered.

  “And with that, I say, have fun, get wasted, and don’t wreck my stuff!”

  9:00 P.M.

  Ricky Esposito—the guy that ran the photography studio at Pepperdine—was in the kitchen eating cheese and crackers. He had seen Kit walk by four times and, each time, couldn’t stop staring at her abs.