Beneath the Glitter: A Novel (Sophia and Ava London) (20 page)

“Are you okay?”

“Just a little allergic to cats.” He sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” Ava told him, airlifting the kitten from his lap into Sophia’s room. “You’re allergic to cats but you still work at a pet shelter.”

“Yeah. I wear a mask,” he explained, but not really. Ava started to ask him more but he hit play on the iPod and “L.A. Sky” came on. “Do you like this song?”

Remembering Liam’s reaction to the song, Ava said, “That’s Sophia’s mix. Personally I think the song is overrated.”

Dalton shrugged. “Really? I think it’s kind of catchy.”

He twisted to point at a photo on the console table behind the couch. It was a picture of Ava when she was about five, on a Big Wheel with pillows strapped to different parts of her. “My best guess was that you were trying out for the kids’ version of
American Gladiator
.”

“Why wasn’t there a kids’ version of that show?” Ava asked.

“I know,” Dalton said. “One of life’s great mysteries. So what were you doing?”

“We had this neighbor who always had a big bowl of candy in their front yard.” Ava walked around the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen to feed Popcorn and the kitten but kept talking. “They said I could come by anytime and take some, but not more than five pieces a trip. Our house had a long steep driveway and their house was at the bottom.” She finished feeding Popcorn and the kitten and circled back into the living room. “If I walked down to get the candy, I’d usually finish it by the time I walked back up. It didn’t seem very economical. So I thought—why not take my Big Wheel? It would be easier and quicker, right?”

“Or you could just have—never mind,” Dalton said. “Was it quicker?”

“It was. A lot quicker.” She picked up the photo and looked at it. “I got there
before
the Big Wheel because it spun out of control and sort of catapulted me down the driveway. I landed pretty much in front of our neighbor’s steps. It was like flying.”

“Into the ground,” Dalton said. “So after that lesson you decided it would be better in the future to respect gravity and walk?”

“
Or
I decided if I strapped pillows to myself for protection I’d be fine.”

Dalton winced. “Did it work?”

“Totally. Until my mother saw. Apparently that wasn’t what she’d had in mind for the mustard-yellow velvet cushions from Great-Aunt Gretchen’s sofa.”

Dalton’s head bobbed up and down with dawning comprehension. “You’ve always been this way, then.”

Ava was wary. “What way?”

“We should go,” he said.

“What way?” she asked again as she trailed him to the car.

“A danger to yourself and others.”

“I’m not a danger to others,” she protested.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ava London,” he said, opening the passenger door for her. “That’s a compliment in my world, by the way. Buckle up.”

*   *   *

The sun was just setting when Sophia, Lily, and Hunter arrived at the Buffalo Club for the champagne tasting. Chinese silk lanterns embroidered with flowers hung over the garden, bathing it in a golden glow.

Hunter took it in and smiled. “Perfect picture lighting.”

And within ten minutes he had introduced Sophia and gotten her photographed with two top celebrity stylists and the editor of
Elle
.

“He’s good,” Lily conceded after Hunter had maneuvered Sophia near but not next to a potential new “it” girl. “That way if she gets big, you’re there, and if she doesn’t, it was an accident. Party pictures are the new letters of introduction,” she explained. “Aristocracy is over—this is the age of the photocracy. People see you with people they want to be seen with and then they want to be seen with you.”

“That’s almost Zen,” Sophia said.

Lily adjusted the twist tie that was structuring the razorback look of her dress. “I’m like that all the time now. It’s the juice fast. I’ve never felt so clearheaded before.”

Sophia’s eyes got huge. “I forgot about your juice fast. I’m so sorry, I never would have invited you to something like this.”

“Don’t be silly,” Lily told her. “Champagne is totally a juice, just a fermented one. I’ll be fine. In fact, I think I need some juice right now.”

Sophia watched her go in pursuit of a serving woman with a tray of champagne flutes, passing a blossom of people clustered around Liam. Photos of him and Ava from the wrap party the night before had begun trickling onto gossip blogs that morning, and when Sophia had seen them a tight little knot formed in her stomach. There were just a few photos, and they were, as all the stylists at the video shoot squealed to Ava, “sooo cute!” But what if there were more? Not all as flattering? What if one was bad or embarrassing or—

As more pictures “surfaced,” though, Sophia realized that Liam was as protective of his public image as she was of Ava. Watching him now, smiling warmly first in one direction then the other, with flashes twinkling around him like fireflies, Sophia recognized his professionalism and found herself thinking that he might just be worthy of Ava.
Might
.

She only became aware of the person standing at her elbow when he said, “A true prince of the photocracy, as your friend so accurately called it. Although I’m less confident of her claims about champagne.”

It was amazing that she hadn’t noticed him, Sophia thought, since he had apparently been there for a while and was dressed in a bright green corduroy suit, a purple gingham shirt, and round glasses with orange frames. He smiled at her through them and held out his hand. “You’re Sophia London. I’m Max Houck. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You—” Sophia touched her fingers to her heart. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. And I want to say congratulations.”

Hunter had joined them then, and Sophia noticed he was wearing the satisfied expression of a schoolboy who’d just pulled off a great prank. “Thank you,” she said, looking from Hunter to Max. “For what?”

Max spread his hands. “We love your work. We’re putting five of your photos in our show. And, with your permission, we also wanted to use one of them as the poster.”

Sophia hadn’t even had a sip of champagne yet so she knew she wasn’t drunk, but what she was hearing made her think she had to be. “Are you—” She turned to Hunter. “Is this true?”

He nodded, grinning.

“But how? How did you even see them?”

“I had the film processed today,” Hunter explained. “I looked them over, submitted the images I thought Max wouldn’t be able to resist, and the rest you know.”

Sophia marveled at him. “Do you do this for all your friends?”

“I do what’s required.” He slipped her an envelope. “Here are eight-by-tens of your photos for you to admire. The ones in the show are considerably larger.”

“Thank you,” she said and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. But he turned at the last minute and she kissed his lips instead—a little longer than might be considered strictly friendly. But it was a special occasion, she decided, and she was very grateful.

She took out her phone to text Ava but the dinner gong sounded and there was a rule about no phones at the table. Sophia saw the wisdom of this almost immediately. Or at least immediately after her tablemate, “Call me Pat from Texas,” forced her to drain her second and third glasses of champagne in one swallow after declaring, “Down the hatch!”

By glass number six not only did Sophia have
a lot
of ideas she wanted to share with many people via her phone, but she was also feeling a little light-headed. She excused herself to find the bathroom and get off a few texts—“Dear Clay, I never really liked your cologne I just said I did to be nice,” for starters and then one to Ava, “Please answer Liam’s texts, he keeps asking where you are and I am not your secretary”—but on her way she spotted Giovanni working behind the massive mahogany bar at the end of the garden.

“Stella mia!”
he greeted her happily, leaning across to kiss her on both cheeks. “You have been enjoying the champagne?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, steadying herself with one hand on top of the bar. “But I might have reached my enjoyment limit.”

“I know exactly what you need.” He pulled out a bottle of San Pellegrino and a shot glass and set them in front of her, like an old-time barman in a Western.

Sophia took a shot of San Pellegrino and shook her head back and forth. “Much better,” she conceded. “How do you always know exactly what I need? Oh right.” She tapped a finger to her forehead clumsily. “You’re psychic.”

“Sí,”
he confirmed, setting up a tray of filled champagne glasses for the next course. He offered her one but she waved it away. “You are having a nice time?”

Sophia nodded enthusiastically. “There are so many important people here.”

He puzzled over that, repeating the words to himself. “But is that the same as a good time?”

Sophia reached out and tapped him on the nose with her finger. “You are being tricksy,
stella
.”

“No, you are the
stella,
” he corrected. “I am just the admirer of stars.” His star-admiring gaze moved behind Sophia and he said, “I think your friend also has enjoyed the champagne.”

“Champagne gives me wiiiiiiiings,” Lily sang as Liam and Hunter, between whom she was draped, deposited her on a bar stool. Only she missed it entirely and ended up on the floor. “Mmm comfy,” she said, leaning her head against the bar.

“It looks like someone had a little too much juice,” Sophia said, then started giggling to herself. Which made her hiccup. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh,” Lily said too.

Hunter stood looking down at Lily. “Can you get her up and onto one of these stools at least? She’s making a scene.”

Sophia patted Lily’s head while she considered this. “I think it might be better”—she hiccupped—“to take her home.”

“I agree,” Liam said.

“My limo won’t be back for another hour and I doubt anyone here is in any shape to drive,” Hunter told her.

Giovanni had gotten very busy polishing glasses when Hunter came over but now he said, “I have the great misfortune to be exactly sober enough to drive. And I believe I am no longer needed here. If you would permit, I would be happy to take the sleeping one home.”

“I should go with you,” Sophia said, almost managing to get it all out without hiccupping.

“It’s not even ten,” Hunter protested. “Let the bartender take her and you stay with me. Don’t be a
should
.”

Sophia put her hand on Hunter’s chest.
“Mmmnice,”
she said. She hiccupped. “When I hiccup”—she hiccupped again—“it’s a sign that I’ve had enough. It would be better for me not to meet anyone at all, then to meet them”—hiccup—“like this. That is a
want
speaking.” She leaned toward Hunter, angling to whisper in his ear. “You really have a very nice chest.”

“Thanks,” Hunter said, unable to stay mad at her. “You too.”

Sophia found that to be just about the funniest thing she’d ever heard. As she and Giovanni helped Lily out to his car, she kept repeating, “Did you hear what he said? I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Me either,” Giovanni agreed. They got Lily into the backseat of his dark green convertible Fiat Spider, and he held the door for Sophia to climb in the front.

“You don’t like Hunter,” Sophia announced when he’d pulled away.

“Right now, with two beautiful ladies in my charge, I have the more important things to think about.”

From the backseat where Lily lay sprawled with one metallic Miu Miu slipper dangling off to the side, came the sound of her singing, “Champagne gives me wiiiiiiiiiiings.”

“This is a popular song?” Giovanni asked.

“Not on this planet,” Sophia told him.

“You are funnier than the Hunter,” he said.

“You too.” Sophia tipped her head back and looked up at the sky. Two rides in convertibles with two different men in two days—she had to hand it to Lily, boytox really was something. The Fiat Spider was not as smooth as the Porsche but the leather of the seats was supple from years of use and everything looked more handmade, less like it was manufactured in a factory.

The cars resembled the men, she thought. Hunter was sleek, contained, reliable. From his smooth shave to his fitted sweater, he exuded an aura of control and order down to the smallest detail. He’d even refolded his napkin after dinner, Sophia had noticed, reminding her of Ava.

Giovanni was different. Like his car he had an Old World air of refinement, impulsiveness, and charm with an undertone of having been around a bit. She could picture him getting up in the middle of dinner, sweeping everything off the table, and pulling her down on top of him to—

“You are alright,
stella
?” Giovanni asked her. “Perhaps you are not getting enough of the air?”

Sophia felt her face and realized she was blushing. “I’m fine. Great.”

“Champagne,” Lily sang. “Gives me wiiiiiiiiiiiiings!”

That made Sophia think of something from when she was much younger, all the way back to before Ava was born. “When I was little, I thought I could fly,” she told Giovanni.

“From what I have seen of you, I am guessing you put this to the proof.”

“To the test,” Sophia corrected. “It was BA—before Ava—so I was only three. I spent almost a whole day making a set of wings. They were blue with feathers and rhinestones at the tips.”

“Champagne! Gives me wiiiiiiiiiii—” A hiccup came from the backseat.

Giovanni said, “And so?”

“I put them on and got a running start”—she paused—“and tripped on a rock in the path. I never got to fly, but I got this scar.” They were stopped at a light and she lifted her chin to point to the faint mark beneath it.

Then quickly, like she’d only at that moment realized what she was doing, she tipped her chin back down and covered the scar with her hand. “I never show that to anyone,” she said, sounding almost surprised at herself. “That’s—that’s how I learned about makeup in the first place, to hide my scar.”

“But this is not a scar, this is a badge of honor,” Giovanni said. “And also I must confess this—it is not very easy to see. But did you never try to fly again?”