Beneath the Glitter: A Novel (Sophia and Ava London) (11 page)

After the way everyone had acted at the photo shoot—at the beginning anyway—it was really nice to have someone say that. “Thank you,” Sophia said. Then realizing where they were, she added, “Wait a second, this is your house.”

Hunter shrugged modestly. “Well, my dad’s. Although this collection”— he gestured around to the photos—“was really more my mother’s thing.”

“It’s amazing.”

“Do you like photography?”

“I—I don’t know much about it,” Sophia said.

Hunter regarded her with a faintly amused expression. “Ah. I’m no expert but I’d be happy to walk you through what we have if it wouldn’t bore you.”

“Not at all,” Sophia breathed. “I’d love it.”

They walked down the corridor with him throwing out names as though they were close personal friends, not some of the top artists in the world. The pictures weren’t pretty or artsy, they weren’t anything that you would see on a poster. They showed people in deliberately awkward positions or landscapes that were not picturesque but somehow still beautiful. Hunter had started off talking a little about each one but he gradually got quieter and as they neared the end they were looking at them in a companionable silence.

He broke it saying, “Mom really liked to support female photographers. She’d even let them stay here and use the darkroom.”

“You have a darkroom?”

“We do.” He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t answer before when I asked if you liked photography.”

Sophia took a deep breath.
What are you afraid of?
a voice in her head asked. And as though to answer she faced Hunter and said, “I love photography. I’ve always wanted to try it but it seems so hard.” It was the first time she’d admitted that to anyone. “I mean there are apps and everything,” she said, rushing ahead, “and it’s not hard to take a
good
photograph, but to take an exceptional one, one that says something—” She stopped, shaking her head and staring at the photo in front of her.

It showed a woman in profile being cradled in the crook of a man’s arm. The arm was muscular and somehow you knew he was younger and she was older, and that whatever had passed between them stood for love but was going to end in tragedy, that they had read fortune cookies to each other and stolen kisses in doorways but she was going to go back to a two-story house with a three-car garage and a six-figure-income husband and he was going to go back to bartending.

Or something,
Sophia’s mind added.

“The image is so simple but what it makes you see and think is so complicated,” she said, struggling to explain. “It’s like—”

“—each picture is a poem,” Hunter said.

Sophia faced him. “Exactly. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

He smiled. “My mother said that. I can’t take the credit.”

“She sounds like a very interesting woman.”

“She was. She died when I was fourteen.” Hunter pulled a buzzing phone from his pocket. “That’s the caterers. They need me to open the wine cellar. I’m afraid I have to go. Let me walk you back down to the party.”

“Thank you. I was afraid to admit it, but I was a bit worried about getting lost.”

“The house isn’t that big,” he told her. “We’ve never lost anyone for more than three days.”

They were laughing when he left her back in the main room. “It’s been really great talking to you, Sophia.”

“You too. I hope—”

He held up his phone which was buzzing again. “I’ve got to run.”

“Right,” she said but she was talking to herself. So this was the second guy she’d had a nice time talking to in a week who had not asked for her number. Was this some kind of boytox side effect? Did she need to change her hair?

She felt herself being seized from behind and pulled down into an awkward lollipop-and-cigarette-scented hug. “You. Are. Adorable,” a little-girl voice said in her ear and then the arms released her and she was facing Whitney Frost. Whitney was wearing red five-inch heels, gray fur skinny jeans with a matching top, and holding an enormous spiral lollipop.

“I’m— What?” Sophia really hoped she’d remembered to put antibacterial gel in her evening purse.

“Seriously,” Whitney said, sticking out her tongue and taking a long, sensual lick of her lollipop. “That was so great at the photo shoot. Amazing
PR
. You and your sister both. Cute as a button.”

Sophia was still struggling to understand. “I thought you were mad that we were chosen. I thought—”

Tipping her head back Whitney laughed a little-girl laugh. “You thought that was real? Adorable again! Why would I be mad? Especially now that we’re practically related.”

Whitney pointed with her lollipop to the side of the room where Liam was standing with his arm around Ava.

Sophia was at a loss, which seemed to amuse Whitney even more. She wrapped her hand around Sophia’s arm and said, “Sweetheart, nothing in Hollywood is real. The whole thing was just for show, for the magazines. The whole thing at the photo shoot and the whole thing with me and Liam. Just for show. You’ll see.”

Then she leaned in conspiratorially. “And there’s nothing the press loves more than a good old-fashioned love triangle. Think of it—hard-partying heartthrob jilts his glamorous cover-girl girlfriend for the ultimate girl next door. Who wouldn’t run with that story? It’s brilliant!”

“Ava and I aren’t looking to be tabloid stars. We’re trying to build a serious business—”

She was interrupted by Whitney’s high-pitched laugh. “You are just too cute—no wonder Liam likes your sister. You’re both adorable!”

Before she could say anything more Whitney had disappeared, the only sign of her the lollipop she held above her head as she navigated through the crowd, like some kind of candy-coated shark fin.

When Sophia turned around she was stopped by the arrival of the tall guy with the Rolex.

“Komdu sæll!”
he said to Sophia, beaming with pride. “Did I pronounce it right?”

Sophia stared at him for a moment then said, “No,” and ducked into the crowd. She could still hear him calling, “But I looked it up on Google,” as she moved through the party in pursuit of Ava.

LonDOs

Ginger ale in real crystal glasses

Mini hot dogs wrapped in puff pastry

Korres lip butter glaze

Being invited to be Liam Carlson’s date to the preview party for his new movie!!!

Stopping for burgers and apple pie at the Apple Pan on the way home from the party

New heels from JustFab.com Summer Glow cell phone case from Cellairis

Getting a private tour of the Ralston photography collection from Hunter Ralston

LonDON’Ts

Whitney Frost touching you

Whitney Frost saying “You’ll see”

Leaving home without antibacterial gel

Pretending to be from Iceland

Having someone pursue you even after inventing the most ridiculous accent

Sisters who wait until they are getting ready for bed to mention that they had “a nice time” and “may have flirted a little” with Hunter Ralston who is “not ugly”

Someone (who continues to remain nameless) having shredded all the toilet paper in both bathrooms

10

picture perfect

Sophia was in the middle of a dream when something heavy landed on her rib cage and jabbed her with a dozen razor blades.

Sophia opened her eyes to find Popcorn crouched on her chest with the kitten sitting on his head. From beneath the bed she heard a moaning noise and looking down she saw Ava curled in a ball crying with laughter.

“Oh my god, Sophia, you should have seen it. I was dangling Popcorn over you and out of nowhere Superkitty comes and leaps on his head. I dropped Popcorn and he fell but the kitty stayed on like a pro surfer and—”

“I know the rest,” Sophia said, pulling down the covers to check for visible bruising.

“It was hilarious.” Ava wiped tears from her eyes.

“I’m so glad I could amuse you this morning. Did you wake me up because you’re now in the habit of making me get up at ridiculously early hours or—”

Ava was still chuckling. “Yes, I just woke you up because I missed you. Oh by the way,
góðan dag
. That’s good morning in Icelandic.”

Sophia set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “You’d better be kidding.”

“Your company is great but not that great,” Ava assured her. “I woke you up because a messenger delivered this and I wanted to see what it was before I went to the shelter to volunteer.”

Ava set a large brown box, about a foot square, on Sophia’s lap.

“Whoa,” Sophia said, sitting up. Ava handed her a pair of scissors from her desk and Sophia slit the tape on the package and opened the flaps. Inside there was a book and another smaller box. She lifted the book out first and felt her face flush with pleasure.

“Greatest Female Photographers,”
Ava read from the cover.

Sophia reached for the box and flipped the lid up. She exhaled sharply, falling back against her pillows. Inside was an old Nikon camera, six rolls of film, and a note. The paper was creamy with a brown border—subtle, sophisticated, and masculine.

“This was my mom’s. She took some of her favorite pictures on it and she’d be happy to think it was being used. Let me know when you need the film developed. Yours, Hunter.”

Ava stared at her. “What did you do to this guy?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Sophia breathed. “I thought he wasn’t interested.”

“Yeah, that’s the vibe I get too. Totally not thinking about you at all. Why did he send you a camera?”

“I told him I was interested in photography.”

Ava stared at her. “You’ll barely admit that to me.”

“I don’t know, it just came out.”

Ava’s eyebrows climbed high up into her hair.

“You look nice,” Sophia said, trying to change the subject.

“You know what this means,” Ava said, not falling for it. “It’s so perfect. You and Hunter and Liam and I can double-date. Hunter has a boat he keeps at the marina and we can sail over to Catalina and—”

“I’m not going out with Hunter. I’m boytoxing.”

“Are you going to keep the camera?”

Sophia thought about it. “Yes. I am.”

“Good.” Ava smiled. Paused. “Do I really look okay? I was going for something earnest and volunteer-y but still cute in case Liam was there too.”

Sophia surveyed Ava’s denim short shorts, knee socks, Tretorn sneakers, and pink T-shirt with the rainbow on it. “You nailed it.”

“Are you sure? Because now that you’re up if you want I could show you two or three other possibilities and—”

Sophia pantomimed taking a nail from between her lips and hitting it on the head with a hammer.

Ava got a pained expression. “You know how you’re not that good at accents? You might be worse at mime.”

“And you are an expert mime?” Sophia queried.

“I am actually. Come on, Popcorn,” Ava said, then mimed pulling him and herself out the door by a rope.

“If the makeup thing doesn’t work out it’s nice to know you have a fallback,” Sophia called after her.

“Ha ha, very—”

“Mimes are silent.” Sophia smiled to herself as she listened to Ava growling under her breath. A few minutes later the front door closed and the smile moved to the book and the camera.

Hunter had written his number on the bottom of the note and impulsively Sophia dialed it now. He answered on the second ring. “I see you got my package.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’re going to spend the rest of the day taking pictures. A camera is no good unless it’s used.”

“What if the pictures are bad?”

“That’s why film is so perfect because you don’t know. It means no second-guessing yourself or making yourself nuts about some small thing. You take the picture and move on. And if none of them are good, we’ll destroy the film and start over.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy,” he said. “Do you know what you want to take pictures of?”

“I have an idea I’m just not sure how to—” But even as she said that, the answer came to her. It had been in front of her the entire time.

“Maybe we should meet for lunch and talk it over. I could drive—”

Not even realizing she was interrupting him she said, “I figured it out. Thank you so much, Hunter. Bye!”

She hung up and dialed Lily. Lily would be the perfect person to help her with this.

*   *   *

The first clue should have been the coveralls. Even before she met with Estelle Ramirez, the shelter director, Ava was given a set of shapeless one-size-fits-none blue coveralls and told to put them on. So much for the cute outfit, she thought. But what they meant didn’t really sink in for a little while.

Ava hadn’t really known what to expect. She’d sort of pictured sitting at the front desk and helping people find puppies or rabbits or kittens, bringing families together, that kind of thing.

“No allergies? No phobias? No stints in a mental ward?” Estelle asked straight off. Estelle was Ava’s height but gave the impression of being somehow more massive. She had dark hair streaked with gray and cut short and a square face and build. Dressed in all khaki, she seemed more like a general than an animal shelter director.

“I used to be a prison warden,” she explained as they walked to her office. “That’s what gave me my deep love for animals.” She laughed at her own joke, and Ava joined in.

Her office consisted of a side table and a folding chair set up at one end of the custodial closet. “I’d ask you to sit down, but then I’d have to stand,” she said, laughing again. “We’re a bit short of space. Short of space, short of help, short of money. Short of everything except animals. That’s why it’s a godsend you’ve come to volunteer like this.”

“I’m glad to help,” Ava told her. “Anything I can do.”

Estelle peered up at her with a funny little smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Now Ava was nodding in answer to her questions. “That’s right. No allergies, phobias or, um, visits to mental wards.”