Beneath the Glitter: A Novel (Sophia and Ava London) (10 page)

Sophia linked her fingers through Ava’s and stood, making Ava stand with her. She put on a lovely smile and, looking at the reporter who had asked the question, said, “Whitney is right. My sister and I aren’t famous actresses or models. We’re just normal girls. Whitney said our taste was average. Bland is what one of the makeup artists here today called us.” Ava saw Ohlfons stiffen. “They’re both right. Which is why our being here is both a privilege and important—we’re not here as ourselves. We’re here representing regular girls everywhere. The fact that we can be here shows that anyone can be a Tastemaker.”

One of the reporters rolled her eyes. “Sure but do you really think that puts you in the same category as someone like Miss Frost?”

Sophia said, “Absolutely not. I agree with Whitney Frost that we are in a totally different class than she is.”

That surprised the reporter. “You do?”

Sophia nodded majestically, like a princess interacting with a commoner. “Yes. We have some and she doesn’t.”

The art director gave a whoop of laughter and the Tums fell out of his hand, then he checked himself, like he couldn’t believe he’d done it. But by then everyone else had started laughing too.

Only Ava, whose fingers clasped with Sophia’s was the one thing keeping Sophia’s hand from trembling uncontrollably, knew how much the display of poise had cost her sister. But when the photographer and art director and crew and even Ohlfons started clapping, it was clear that whatever the cost, it was worth it. The London sisters had a whole new group of fans.

In the car going home Sophia and Ava couldn’t stop smiling.

In her trailer at the shoot, Whitney Frost was also smiling. She’d been smiling since, standing outside the tent, she’d heard Sophia’s speech and the applause that followed it. It was a lovely, innocent smile.

Anyone who knew her knew it always meant trouble.

LonDOs

MM

Liam Carlson

Double-sided tape

Liam Carlson

Standing up to bullies

Liam Carlson

Assistants who come up and ask for your autograph and say that you are their inspiration

Liam Carlson

Photographers who pull you aside after your shoot to say it was a pleasure working with you and she hopes you go far

Liam Carlson

Watching Pumpkin/Fairylights/Sapphire the kitten who shall not be named playing with Popcorn

Liam Carlson

Party at Liam’s best friend’s house!!!!!!!!!!!!

LonDON’Ts

Fake accents (except on special occasions)

Fake baby voices (no exceptions)

Curlers

Cigarettes

Bullies

“It” girls

Writing really small and thinking other people won’t notice

Having to go naked to a party because your sister put dibs on every item in the closet

(You’re exaggerating. I left you the bridesmaid dress you wore to cousin Meredith’s wedding and all the workout clothes)

(That dress has a hoop skirt)

(What’s your point?)

9

hairstyles of the rich and famous

“You can stop texting now, we’re here,” Sophia told Ava as she rolled the car to a stop.

“I just want to let him know we’re here.”

“Won’t he be able to see that for himself?”

“He will but—oh my god.” That last part popped out of Ava’s mouth when she finally looked up from her phone and saw the house they were in front of. She was still agape when the valet opened her door and offered her his hand to step out.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve stayed at hotels that are smaller than this house,” she said, coming around the car to join Sophia and Lily.

“It’s an exact replica of some chateau in France. Sharky Ralston had it built for his third wife.”

“Sharky?” Sophia asked.

“That’s his nickname. He’s an entertainment lawyer. Real name is Ronald, father of Hunter, who isn’t much of anything except a playboy.”

“And Liam’s best friend,” Ava chimed in loyally.

“How many wives has, um, Sharky had?” Sophia wanted to know.

Lily grimaced. “I can’t remember what number the current Mrs. Ralston is. But I do know she’s renowned for her skill at doing seating arrangements.”

Sophia and Ava exchanged their is-this-really-happening look and followed Lily up the marble stairs.

They found themselves in a huge marble hall with pointed arches like in an old European church. The ornate architecture continued inside the home. In front of them was a massive room with a high wooden ceiling, a stone floor, and a marble fireplace big enough to hold a whole other party in. One wall was made up of tall windows that opened out onto a stone patio beyond which they could see formal gardens.

“I guess that’s why they call them French windows,” Sophia said, nodding at the view.

Lily sighed contentedly. “This is going to be fun. Let’s play my favorite game.”

“Whose Boobs Are Those?”
Ava asked.

“No that’s my second favorite. My first favorite is
FTB
. Find the Bar.”

They stepped down into the main room, following the flow of the crowd toward a bar that had been set up along one side. Tuxedoed bartenders stood behind ice-beaded silver buckets holding champagne and white wine. Yellow orchids with red centers twisted out of crystal vases, looking both exotic and regal against the dark wood paneling of the hall. When Ava asked for a ginger ale the bartender poured it into a cut-crystal glass that refracted the light in rainbows. When she clinked glasses with Sophia’s and Lily’s crystal champagne flutes, the sound it made was musical.

“Remember last week when we were looking at
Vogue
and saw that orange plastic minidress and wondered who could afford to spend forty-eight hundred dollars on something like that?” Sophia asked. She tilted her head to the left. “Now we know.”

Lily scoffed. “That’s nothing compared to what she spent for her shoulder implants. Those are Dr. Zeiss’s. He’s turned an entire mountain town in the Swiss Alps into a private clinic. Since everyone there has had plastic surgery, it’s like they all share a secret so they can go out, dine in restaurants, and have spa treatments while they recover rather than hiding until their bruises fade. It’s where I want to spend my honeymoon.”

“The red Valentino dress you were swooning over in
InStyle
last week is behind you,” Ava told Sophia. She glanced around from the people and the dresses up to the sumptuous coffered ceiling. Her eyes were wide with wonder. “This is—it’s—” Ava groped for the right word. “Magical.”

“I agree,” a voice said next to her and she turned and saw Liam. He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled down at her. “Beautiful is exactly the right word.”

“I was talking about the house,” Ava said with a laugh.

“I wasn’t.” He shifted his megawatt smile to Sophia and Lily, greeting them both, then moved it back to Ava. “There are a million people I want to introduce you to,” he said, and putting his arm around her shoulder led her away.

Sophia listened to Lily as she explained the difference between Dr. Young’s and Dr. Singh’s chin implants, and watched Liam introduce Ava to a group of girls. He’d been nothing but charming and appropriate with Ava, and yet Sophia still felt apprehension about him. Or about her with him.

“I know that you really really like Liam,” she’d told her.

“Add about sixteen reallys to that and you might be getting close.”

“Okay, but don’t you think you should move a little slower? Just to make sure he’s not trouble? There are a lot of rumors—”

“Yeah,
rumors
. I’m going to be fine. Trust me.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You can stop worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

She will be,
Sophia told herself. Ava was always fine. The memory of a family trip to Italy when she was twelve and Ava was eight came flooding back to her. It was warm back at home in Georgia, but it was winter in Rome. A sunny but crisp day, and they had decided to go sightseeing. Her father had the guidebook and was in charge of picking where they went. Her mother, who had an uncanny sense of direction, was in charge of getting them there. And Sophia was in charge of Ava.

They’d just come out of a café where they’d had lunch and Sophia was admiring a fountain. Women were carved from marble, with water spilling out of urns they were holding. She turned to point it out to Ava—

—and couldn’t find her. Anywhere. She’d vanished.

They searched the piazza and asked the people in the shops that lined the piazza if they’d seen anyone. They checked down side streets. The only clue they’d managed to find was one of her pink knit gloves, lying in the street near the curb on the far side of the square.

Sophia could still remember the feeling of the wool as she crushed the glove in her hands. What if Ava had been hit by a car? What if she’d been kidnapped? It was her fault, she was the one who was supposed to be watching Ava, being the responsible big sister. She was the one who was supposed to stay with her. If she’d done her job she would be holding her hand, not just one soiled glove.

They’d spent the rest of the day in a frenzy, talking with huge arm gestures to the police, asking the shopkeepers again if they’d seen a little girl, making copies of Ava’s passport photo to hand out, going to the embassy. Finally, exhausted, they’d headed back to the hotel.

And there was Ava, sitting in one of the chairs in the lobby drinking tea with the concierge. She’d found her way there all by herself and was surprised it had taken the rest of them so long. “Where were you guys? I’ve had like a million glasses of tea.” She’d leaned over to confide in Sophia, “That lady wouldn’t let me leave.”

Sophia remembered being so relieved the only thing she’d been able to say was, “Here’s your glove.”

Ava had taken it, laughing happily. “Thanks! I was wondering where I lost it.”

And that was Ava—somehow, she was always okay, always got where she was going, always arrived happy and on top. Nothing seemed to bother her or make her anxious, as though she just believed everything would work out. And somehow it did. Right down to her glove. It was one of the marvels of her sister.

“Hey, come here often?”

Sophia looked over at the guy who had spoken. Over and up, actually, because he was at least a foot taller than she was, even in heels. He raised his eyebrows flirtatiously at her as he took a sip of his drink. He was wearing a gray-on-black striped shirt, black jeans, and a massive Rolex. Her mind flashed to
MM
saying, “The bigger the watch, the bigger the
watch out!
factor.”

“It was a joke?” the guy with the Rolex went on, smiling with slightly less confidence as she just stared at him. “Because this is a party so obviously…” His voice trailed off.

“Pardon?” Sophia said, giving the word a slightly foreign inflection. “I am sorry, my einklish he is not so grand. Good-bye, yes?” She started to move away but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“That’s okay. I like foreigners. Where are you from?”

“Me, I am from—” Where was a place he never would have been from and wouldn’t want to talk about? “Iceland.”

“No way. I was in Reykjavík last year for a deal but I toured around a lot. Where do you live?”

“I’m sorry I still am not in understanding.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “But I have idea. You hold here.” She took his hand from her arm and patted it. “I go and get my friend to make the translation for talking. Yes?” She backed away, still smiling, and then, when it was clear he wasn’t following, turned and walked down the first corridor she saw.

A steady stream of caterers passed her in both directions and she followed them upstairs, more out of curiosity than anything. But she must have taken a wrong turn because soon she was out of caterers and in a hallway with a different feeling from the rest of the house.

It was wide like the hallway below and paneled with dark wood but instead of the panels being ornately carved, they were smooth and modern. And instead of the tapestries from the ground floor, the walls here were hung with photographs. Not family photos but professional photographs by artists. She recognized at least three from different museums she’d visited, but it was an unfamiliar one that caught her attention.

In it a man in a business suit, with the same confidence as the guy who had been talking to her downstairs, stood on a busy street corner holding a hand-lettered cardboard sign that said
I’M DESPERATE
.

She hadn’t heard anyone come down the hall but a guy’s voice next to her said, “It’s not subtle, but it is effective.”

Nodding, she turned to see who had spoken and her breath caught in her throat. “I know you,” she said, feeling herself blushing. “You’re the—”

“Valet. From the other day. Only, I’m afraid I tricked you. I’m not really a valet. I just wanted to talk to you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Hunter.”

“And I’m—”

“Sophia London,” he said. He put up his hands. “I admit it, I’m guilty of Googling. When Liam started talking about Ava, I looked you two up. Talking nonstop, I might add.”

Sophia blushed with pleasure, although she wasn’t sure whether it was because he’d Googled her or that Liam was apparently as crazy about Ava as she was about him. “My sister seems to have the same affliction. It’s impossible to have a conversation with her—”

“—because they’re always texting,” Hunter finished.

Sophia didn’t know what to say. The only person who had ever been able to do that with her was Ava. “Exactly.”

“Of course,” he said with a sigh, “now that I’ve met the London sisters I can’t blame him.”

Sophia blushed a little more.

“Congratulations on the Viewer’s Choice Award,” he went on. “Impressive. You two have achieved a lot.”