by Sara Shepard
Hanna dropped her phone to her lap, surprised. She’d figured she’d be part of a huge Hailey entourage. How special was it that Hailey wanted her all to herself, though?
“You’re totally right,” she said, tapping a quick Good luck! You’ll be great! text to Aria and then slipping her phone back into her Lauren Merkin clutch.
Hailey opened a compact and applied red lipstick to her lips. “I am so excited to blow off some steam,” she said. “I don’t know about you, but the movie we’re working on is a total grind.”
Hanna stared down at her nails. She found the experience amazing, even the boring parts where they had to sit around while the camera people got the lighting right. “Is anything bothering you in particular?” she asked.
“Hank and his minions, obviously,” Hailey groaned. “That dude has had it out for me since day one. He’s, like, always insulting my performance. Haven’t you noticed?”
Hanna pretended to be fascinated with the giant Whole Foods out the window. If only she could covertly hint that, perhaps, Hank had a point. But she had no idea how to say that without sounding mean.
Hailey sighed dramatically after Hanna didn’t reply. “I just wish they’d fire him and find someone new. Between you and me, I wasn’t sure if he and I would mesh from the start. I took the film, though, because I thought it would be a good opportunity. Working with some of the actors, doing a more serious role—it seemed like the right thing to do. That’s my whole philosophy in life, really—never pass up an opportunity. You never know where it’s going to take you.” She leaned back in the leather seat. “It’s how I got my big break, you know. A talent scout spotted me in the mall and asked if I wanted to do a commercial for Barbies. I was like, Uh, I’m ten! Barbies were for babies. But I did it anyway, and look where it got me.”
“Totally,” Hanna agreed, then squeezed Hailey’s hand. Maybe Hailey’s performances would improve as the movie went on. They had to.
Then she thought about the weird situation at the set the other day, after everyone had gone home. Okay, maybe BreAk a leg hadn’t been intended for her, but Daniel had definitely been spooky. She was about to ask Hailey what she knew about Daniel when her friend rose up in her seat and squealed, “We’re here!”
The limo pulled along the curb on an unassuming block on the Lower East Side. Low-slung buildings hunched around them, the Williamsburg Bridge twinkled in the distance, and the street was strangely light on traffic, but bass thundered from somewhere nearby, and the scent of Asian spices wafted through the air. A spotlight shone on a line in front of a velvet rope; hipsters, drag queens, divas, and statuesque model-types waited on the sidewalk. Hanna looked around for a sign that said this was, indeed, the Kill or Be Killed after-party, but then she figured no event as exclusive would have to announce itself like that.
Hailey blew a kiss to the limo driver and swung out of the car, careful to keep her long, thin legs pinned together. She pulled Hanna out with her, and the two tumbled up to the bouncer, an intimidating-looking guy with squinty eyes, pale blond hair, and a black patterned tattoo near his left eye.
“Sven, my boy!” Hailey bleated, throwing her arms around his burly neck.
The bouncer grinned and lifted the rope. “For you and your gorgeous friend.”
Hailey flounced in, and Hanna followed her, feeling everyone in the line glaring. “Who is that with Hailey?” came the whispers. “Where do I know her from?” “She’s got to be famous.”
Hanna grinned.
They walked into a room whose walls were covered in mosaics and whose glossy tables held explosions of fresh flowers in large, bulbous vases. Plushy booths packed with fabulously dressed people lined the walls, and bartenders scurried behind a bar that looked as if it was made entirely of gold. Everyone Hanna passed was more beautiful than the last. They all turned to Hailey with huge, welcoming smiles.
“You’re back, girl!” said a guy who Hanna was almost positive was the model for Armani. He leaned toward Hailey and gave her air kisses.
“Come to our table!” cried a girl with big, beautiful doe eyes and the most gorgeous, long black hair Hanna had ever seen. After a moment, Hanna realized she was a Victoria’s Secret model named BiBi. Mike totally had a crush on her.
BiBi yanked Hailey toward a banquette, but Hailey planted her feet. “Maybe in a bit, Beebs. I want to spend some quality time with my bestie here,” she said, squeezing Hanna’s arm. “This is Hanna, my costar—and the most awesome girl in the world.”
“Great to meet you, sweetie,” BiBi said in her French accent, kissing Hanna lightly on the cheek. Hanna wanted to respond—maybe something about how Mike was her biggest fan, or what it was like to wear those Victoria’s Secret angel’s wings—but Hailey yanked her toward a small, cordoned-off area marked VIP, at the back of the club. Inside, people who were somehow even more beautiful mingled around a horseshoe-shaped, platinum-colored bar.
Hanna tried to remain cool, but her stomach was swooping. She’d never been in a VIP section before. There had better be a celebrity blogger in there, or maybe someone from Us Weekly. She needed people to know about this.
Hailey winked at the bouncer, and he lifted the VIP rope for both of them. She sauntered toward an empty banquette, and Hanna followed. On the way, Hailey snatched a bottle of champagne from a waiter’s tray. She pulled at the cork with her fingers, and it eventually gave way with a festive pop. Foam spilled from the lip and onto the floor. Hailey tipped up the bottle into her mouth, then passed it to Hanna. Hanna looked around, feeling a little foolish, but took a swig, too.
Then they fell into the velvet seats. At each place setting was a small, quilted gift bag. Hanna eagerly looked inside. There was a (big!) bottle of Bond No. 9 High Line perfume, a small box of Godiva chocolates, an advance DVD copy of Kill or Be Killed, and a gift card to Bliss Spa. Hanna squealed with delight.
Hailey examined her gift bag, too, then regarded Hanna eagerly. “So? Is this okay?”
Hanna almost coughed up a swallow of champagne. “Are you kidding me?” She gestured around. “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Good.” Hailey looked relieved. “I hope this is the start of a whole bunch of fun girls’ nights.”
Once again, Hanna was touched. It was so sweet that Hailey wanted to do all this for her.
A waiter appeared, and Hailey ordered everything on the menu in tasting portions. More champagne was poured, and every few minutes, someone Hanna recognized—a famous magazine editor from Project Runway, a breakout fashion designer, a guest host from American Idol, that guy who’d won a bunch of gold medals in swimming in the last Olympics, and, of course, a bunch of the Kill or Be Killed actors—stopped by to give Hailey props. Hailey introduced Hanna to each of them, and the more champagne Hanna drank, the more outgoing she felt. Soon enough, she was chatting with this season’s It Model about the beauty of T-straps. When a hot, up-and-coming singer-songwriter asked Hanna to dance, she got up and whirled around for three blissful minutes, her cheeks hot and her head light.
There was more dancing, more friends, and more champagne, and at one point, Hailey climbed onto the bar and did a few seconds of twerking before she dizzily climbed back down. Hanna helped Hailey to her feet, and they tumbled into their seats to find that their food had arrived.
“Perfect,” Hailey whooped. “If I had any more champagne on an empty stomach, they’d have to peel me off the floor.” Then she pushed a bunch of plates toward Hanna. “Try these. They’re all amazing.”
Hanna dug into a plate of what looked like spring rolls. Hailey selected a dumpling and cut it delicately with her fork. Then Hailey’s eyes widened. “Over here!” she squealed, motioning for someone across the room.
Hanna followed her gaze. Jared Diaz, the boy who was playing Mike in Burn It Down, and Callum Yates, who was playing Noel Kahn, appeared from the crowd. Both were dressed in smart button-downs, perfectly fitting jeans, and cool leather sneakers. They wove through the club as if the
y’d been here before.
“I texted them to stop by,” Hailey yelled to Hanna across the table. “I hope that’s okay?”
Hanna felt a teensy dart of annoyance—worried it might look like a double date. But the guys were nice. And this was what she’d wanted, after all—to hobnob with her costars. To be part of the It Crowd.
“I’m so glad you guys made it!” Hailey chirped as the boys reached the table. She patted the seat of the banquette, and Callum slid in next to her. “Jared, you sit next to Hanna!”
Jared did as he was told, giving Hanna an excited smile. Hanna, feeling loose and friendly from the alcohol, gave Jared a huge hug and offered him a bite of spring roll, which he graciously accepted, using her fork.
“Were you in New York for press interviews, too?” she asked Jared as he chewed.
Jared rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth. “It took all day.”
“Oh, cry me a river.” Hanna waved her hand. “I’m totally jealous.”
Jared glanced at another spring roll, then raised an eyebrow for Hanna’s permission to take it off her plate. She nodded. “Actually, everyone was asking about you,” he said.
“Me?” Hanna touched her chest.
Jared popped another spring roll in his mouth, his eyes searching her face. He was as cute as Mike, though in a trendier, Justin Bieber sort of way—not really her type. “A lot of the reporters wondered why you weren’t part of the press junket, too. People kept asking me who would make a better Hanna Marin—Hailey or the real Hanna.” He grinned slyly. “I told them the best person to ask was Hanna Marin herself.”
Hanna stared down at the table. It was a good thing it was dark in the club, because her cheeks were blazing red. She could feel Jared watching her carefully, but it didn’t seem like he was baiting her. Had he noticed Hailey’s pitiful Hanna performance, too?
Suddenly, she felt a rush of uninhibited courage. She scooted closer to Jared and leaned into his ear. “Between you and me? I’d make the better Hanna.”
Jared cocked his head flirtatiously. “Oh really?”
Hanna’s gaze slid toward Hailey and Callum, who were deep in conversation about which New York City gym was swankier—La Palestra or Peak Performance. She glanced back at Jared and put a finger to her lips. Don’t tell. To which Jared pretended to lock his lips and throw the key over his shoulder.
Hanna giggled, and he held her gaze for a moment. Then, all of a sudden, he leaned forward and kissed Hanna full on the mouth. He tasted like bourbon, and his lips felt totally different than Mike’s. A full three seconds passed before Hanna realized what was happening and pulled away, but she’d already sensed a camera flash.
“Yeah!” Hailey called from across the table, her phone raised. “Super sexy! Do it again!”
But Hanna had already drawn back. She wiped her mouth. “What was that for?” she asked Jared, fully aware of her squeaky voice.
Jared crossed his arms over his chest, looking pleased with himself. “Well, now I’ve kissed both Hannas.” He eyed Hailey across the table. “And I have to say, you’re both pretty awesome.”
Hailey threw her head back and laughed. “Jared, you are a trip!”
But Hanna’s cheeks burned. She had a boyfriend. What if this got out? Should she tell Mike this instant?
But when she looked around, no one was paying attention to her. And less than five minutes after it had happened, Jared was talking to Callum about some club in LA like he’d forgotten the whole thing. She felt her heart slow down. Maybe what had just happened didn’t matter in the least. It wasn’t like Jared had dragged her to a back room and torn off all her clothes. In fact, perhaps Hanna should feel flattered that a huge star wanted to give her a harmless little peck.
She sat back in the chair and popped a spring roll in her mouth. There was absolutely no point in telling Mike what had just happened. He’d freak out, after all, and her night would be ruined. All Hanna wanted, she realized, was to have an unforgettable evening in an unforgettable VIP room with unforgettable people. No complications. No scandals. No A. Just . . . fun.
She smiled at the others around the table. The volume on the sound system turned up another notch, and everyone was spilling onto the dance floor. “What are we waiting for, party people?” Hanna said, dropping her fork, taking a final swig from her drink, and pulling Hailey to stand. “Let’s dance!”
And off they went.
14
OPENING NIGHT
On the west side of New York City, in the trendy Chelsea neighborhood, Aria exited a bathroom stall and examined herself in the long, narrow mirror. Her dark hair was pulled off her face, revealing her clean, flawless skin. Her eyes shone, and her naturally-pouty lips looked especially shiny with gloss. She’d bought a sleek, sophisticated black dress for the occasion, pairing it with strappy gladiator heels and a bunch of studded bracelets. She was going for the “cool girl on the town, out for a night of gallery-hopping” look.
Until she pushed through the bathroom door, looked around the gallery space, and remembered. Every painting on the wall was hers. Lots of them had soft gray stickers on them to mark they’d already been sold.
Portraits of random people around Rosewood she’d quickly painted in the last few days were along the far wall. Colorful abstracts lined the space near the bar. The “dark series,” as Aria called the paintings she’d done after Nick’s attack, took up another wall. Each painting was numbered, and a discreet price list was available by request. Aria had been almost too afraid to look at the prices they’d set, but Ella had forced her. Her largest painting, one of her mother laughing, was for sale for two hundred thousand dollars.
It was unreal. As were the invites to underground art parties in Brooklyn, phone calls from indie bands who wanted Aria to paint their next album covers, and the fact that her name, all alone, had become a hashtag on Twitter. As in: Scored an invite to #AriaMontgomery opening tonite. Huge deal!
The gallery director, Sasha, dressed in black skinny pants and an asymmetrical, fashion-forward crop top that showed off her immaculate abs, glided toward Aria and took her hands. “Everything looking good, my dear?”
“Of course,” Aria gushed, gaping at the crowd that had begun to gather. It had felt like a dream to actually sign all the paperwork that permitted this gallery to give her a show. Aria had feared Sasha would sour when she saw Aria’s other works, but she whooped with pleasure as she unwrapped canvas after canvas. “Gorgeous,” she’d trilled, again and again.
Then Aria smiled at her father and Meredith, who’d also come. The two of them stood proudly near the bar, glasses of red wine in hand. “Thanks for getting my family on the guest list, too,” she said bashfully.
“Yeah, well, I would have rather let in a few more reporters, but I understand you need your people by you on tonight of all nights,” Sasha said, giving her a playful swat. “Speaking of which, there are, like, a zillion people who want to talk to you. Art agents, buyers . . .”
“Is John Carruthers here?” Aria asked. She’d heard he came to a lot of openings, and she was eager to meet him. And maybe even ask why he’d bought the portrait of Ali.
Sasha scanned the crowd. “Er . . . no. I think he’s still traveling.” She patted Aria’s arm. “But don’t worry. There are plenty of other people who want your work. You’re the next big thing, my dear!” Then Sasha’s eyes lit up. “Oh! I forgot to mention. A blogger has been asking about you nonstop. Let me just . . .”
“Harrison?” Aria asked, her heart lifting. He’d said he’d try his hardest to make the trip from Philly.
“No, a woman from ArtSmash.”
Aria’s eyes widened. ArtSmash was probably the biggest art blog around. It was so popular and influential, in fact, that the site hosted art events around New York, Los Angeles, and Philadelphia, and was often a sponsor of exhibits at edgy galleries in Brooklyn and Philly’s Fishtown neighborhood.
Sasha signaled to someone in a black suit at the bar. The woman raised an eye
brow and sauntered over. She stuck out her hand. “Esmerelda Rhea,” she said in a loud, bossy voice. “I’m with ArtSmash. I’d like to do a profile on you. An exclusive.”
Aria’s stomach dropped. “Um, it can’t be an exclusive. I’ve already given an interview with Harrison Miller.”
Esmerelda’s expression went blank. “Who’s Harrison Miller?”
“From Fire and Funnel?” Aria said tentatively. “It’s kind of indie. But really cool.”
Esmerelda looked unimpressed. “Well, we can just tell this Harrison person not to post it, okay? An exclusive with us will actually mean something.”
Aria blinked. “But it’s a good interview.” She’d read a draft last night: Harrison had called her art “fascinating,” “mature,” “soulful,” and “provocative.” He’d also said Aria was “enchanting in person, as artful, graceful, and deep as her paintings.” How could she turn that sort of press down?
Esmerelda chuckled. “You’re so green. It’s so sweet!” She gave Aria a condescending smile. “I’ll handle Harry, if you’d like.”
“Harrison,” Aria corrected.
As if on cue, Aria spied Harrison’s tall, familiar figure ducking through the front door. He had the same battered leather bag on his shoulder, and he had an earnest, eager look on his face. He gazed across the room and noticed her. His face lit up, and Aria grinned back.
“There he is now,” Aria said in a strong voice, motioning him over.
A few paces away, Harrison noticed Esmerelda and paled. “H-hello, Esmerelda,” he stammered when he was close. He looked kind of wary. “It’s nice to see you again. When was it last? That MoMA party?”
“Mm-hmm,” Esmerelda said tightly, her beady eyes narrowing. Interesting, Aria thought. Moments before, Esmerelda had pretended she had no idea who Harrison was. Then she let out a huffy little breath. “So. Aria’s been telling me that you spoke to her already. We want the exclusive, though. That can be arranged, can’t it?” She stared at him steadily, her eyes unblinking.