Emancipated (5 page)

The woman didn't seem perturbed. “I appreciate your concern, but I'm not exactly without other options. One way or another, Ariana, I've had my eye on this girl for the past eight years. And I'm not about to let her out of my sights now.”

“Maybe so, but things just got a whole lot more complicated. You need someone on the ground. I'm talking on-site, in Los Angeles.”

“LA? Not a problem. I know just who to send—”

Ariana cut her off. “Don't say any more! The less I know about what you got planned the better.”

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VENICE BEACH, SUNDAY, DECEMBER 21

“There'll be other parts. My agent's already lining up more auditions. Yeah. This is why I had to come live here, Tina. I'm here in the middle of the action.”

Candace was quiet then, listening to the flood of sympathy that ensued from Tina's end of the cell
phone. Grace, sitting next to her in the car, glared at her stepsister in irritation. She mouthed,
Tell her you're driving!

Paolo was already in Venice Beach when Candace and Grace drove up in Candace's gleaming blue Prius. With a wave, he ushered them into the parking spot next to his Chevy Malibu.

“Nice car,” he said, offering a hand as Candace stepped out of the car.

“Likewise,” said Grace. The guy was as pretty as his picture. And it was obvious that he knew it.

The other male housemate, John-Michael, was the last to arrive. Grace's eyes widened when she saw his car—a pearly-silver Mercedes-Benz convertible. Beside her, Paolo perked up. By the time John-Michael opened the door Paolo was already running one hand over the hood.

“This your old man's?”

John-Michael nodded. One hand, clad in a fingerless purple glove, pushed dyed-black bangs away from his face. From behind gorgeously applied black-and-purple eyeliner, his eyes were a clear blue-gray. “It was.”

“You kill him for this or what?” Paolo asked.

John-Michael shook his head and said very softly, “No. But he
is
dead.”

Grace watched Paolo's smile vanish. “Dude! I'm sorry, but, damn, this car—”

John-Michael blinked. Grace noticed his mouth open and close for a second like a fish. The mention of his father had rattled the boy. She made a mental note to tread carefully.

“Okay, so we're all here,” Candace said in a businesslike voice that Grace rarely heard her use. “Let's go see the house!”

As they walked down the path that ran behind the houses on the beachfront, Grace said to John-Michael, “So—your dad died?”

“He did,” John-Michael said.

Grace guessed that his short, clipped tone was meant to discourage further questions, so she stopped talking. But Candace wasn't put off, not a bit.

“Was he sick?”

He nodded. “You could say that.”

“What was it? Heart attack? Not cancer?”

Grace nudged her. “Candace!”

“It's okay,” John-Michael said. “I'll tell you. He committed suicide.”

There was a blunt silence. Paolo was the first to break it. “And you two didn't get along?”

“No. The bastard threw me out last year.”

“What for?” Candace asked.

John-Michael seemed to ignore Candace's question. “At least he left me his loot. Silver linings and all.”

Grace commented, “I guess you don't need to be emancipated then.”

John-Michael looked confused. “Who's emancipated?”

“Me,” Grace said, then nodded at Candace and Paolo. “Her, him. My parents live in Texas. Candace's mom isn't interested in supervising a couple of teenage girls. And Paolo's folks moved to Mexico.”

John-Michael asked Paolo, “They couldn't just leave you alone?”

“They want me to be responsible. For my own mistakes.” Paolo smirked. “Guess they assume I'll be a good boy now.”

“And will you?”

Paolo blinked. “Dude. Please.” He turned his attention back to the car with a wistful air. “You sure you didn't kill your old man? Car like that, I dunno. Some people would do some extreme stuff to get a ride like that.”

John-Michael turned a glacial stare on him. “I'm pretty sure.”

“I never knew anyone who killed himself,” Paolo said.

“Me either,” John-Michael said. “Until now.”

“Were you shocked?” Candace asked.

John-Michael shook his head and shrugged, noncommittal. Grace watched him for a second. He was trying to seem flippant, yet not far beneath the surface, there was a kind of trauma in his manner. She wondered how much further they might be able to take this. Maybe what John-Michael needed was to talk?

But Candace changed the subject. “So anyway, my mom said we can look at the house tonight. We can't move in until she has everyone's first check.”

Paolo placed an envelope on the table. “Got mine. John-Michael, you got yours, too?”

“I got cash,” he said. “I don't have a bank account yet.”

Grace turned to him. “How do you get money?”

“My dad's attorney. He's the executor of his will. When I need money, he gives it to me.”

“Are you loaded?” Candace asked.

“Not really. My father made sure I can't get too much at any one time. There's a basic annuity, and I mean basic. I'll get to keep some of the rent from my dad's house, if his attorney ever manages to find some tenants. Above that, every dime I spend needs to be accounted for. Until I turn twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five!” said Paolo. “That's a long wait.”

Grace asked quietly, “Are you sad?”

John-Michael seemed to consider this. “He was the only parent I had left. I don't have anyone else. No brothers or sisters.”

She placed a hand on his. “I'm sorry.”

Candace chimed in, “Yeah, John-Michael, me too. Not everyone gets along with their parents, but it's got to be hard to lose one.”

“Then I must be pretty careless,” he replied with a bitter chuckle. “Because I've lost
two
.”

They'd perfectly timed their arrival on the waterfront. The sun was setting, the whole sky over the ocean was lit up: layers of fiery gold, pink, and blue interrupted by the stark silhouettes of tall palms. A neat strip of pavement in front of the row of houses opened directly onto trimmed patches of scrub grass and then smooth white sand, all the way to the water's edge, which foamed, about six hundred feet away.

For a moment they all stood, practically paused mid-stride. Grace turned with a half smile. She watched the boys react, recognizing in their response herself from just two days ago.

In a low voice Paolo said, “Dude!”

“You gotta be kiddin' me,” John-Michael mumbled.

Candace dangled a set of keys. “And you haven't even seen the house.”

They followed her along the boardwalk, gazing at each house they passed. Every house was different, an exercise in cool architectural self-expression. One house had made a life-sized stone statue of the Buddha into a frontispiece, with a fountain and glowing lights. Some houses had vast windows through which the new housemates could see pristine living rooms with minimal furnishings, all watched over by
huge plasma-screen TVs. Artwork—almost certainly original—occupied the walls, which were either plain white or brick.

The people inside looked rich, as though they'd never known a day's uncertainty or discomfort in their lives.

Candace stopped in front of a house.

It was a blocky modernist building with three floors, narrow, like the other “beach shacks” in the nearby strip of beach. The first two floors were covered with white stucco, all horizontal lines of gray and steel. The outside walls of the third floor alone were brightly colored—a deep, sunset yellow.

There was a single eccentric feature—a yellow spiral staircase that stood beside the main front door. It ran from the first floor to the third and opened onto a large balcony that looked out onto the beach. The balcony was bordered by a low, white stuccoed wall.

A pale gray, ultrasmooth concrete wall ran around the perimeter of the house. A white metal gate stood at one side.

“Paolo said it's three bedrooms?” John-Michael asked.

Grace answered, “Yup, three. Two en suite bathrooms. The third room uses the guest bathroom downstairs. Candace and I took a quick look the other day. After her last audition.”

Paolo said, “You're auditioning?”

Candace nodded. “I've done a few now.”

“Exciting!”

“Maybe one day,” she answered flatly. “But not this time. I didn't get the part. Again.”

“Tough business,” Paolo said with sympathy.

John-Michael turned to Paolo. “So, guess I'm sharing with you.”

“Nope,” Paolo replied. “I've already talked it over with the girls. Two of the rooms are huge. One is teeny. Well, it's me-sized. I'm coughing up a bigger share of the rent so I get to have privacy.”

John-Michael said, “You mean you're the only one who gets to bring someone home?”

Candace interrupted. “I think we should have a rule—no sex in the house. It's too small.”

“Why would we be having sex?” Grace said with a straight face. “None of us are married.”

It took the boys a few seconds to realize that she was joking, or at least hope that she was.

“If that's an issue,” Paolo said gallantly, “I could always propose.”

They all laughed. Paolo smiled, enjoying the attention. “I only offered to take the small room because I thought it would save the rest of you from having to deal with me in your own space. Predatory male beast that I am.”

His second quip got a bigger reaction than the first. When they'd calmed down Grace said, “I think it's best if we get two other girls. Or else the room sharing gets weird.”

“You don't mind sharing with me?” John-Michael asked.

“You'd be welcome in either room,” Grace said. “The other bedroom has the same layout, only two beds. One's a double but Candace already called dibs on that.”

“And you're not sharing with your sister?” Paolo asked.

Grace found herself blushing. “It's kind of embarrassing. My folks only agreed to this if I pay the lowest rent possible. They've got a bunch of other kids to support, yada yada.”

“And my super-mean mom won't let her stay for free,” Candace added carelessly.

“Maybe my friend Lucy Long could share with both of us,” John-Michael said.

Grace turned to him slowly. She could hardly believe what she was hearing.
It couldn't be
.

In the calmest voice she could manage she said, “Tell us about this Lucy Long.”

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VENICE BEACH, SATURDAY, JANUARY 3

“You cannot be serious.”

Lucy checked the GPS on her cell phone. “Totally serious.”

Her brother, Lloyd, frowned. “Right on Venice Beach?!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sis, you are one lucky girl, you know that?”

Lucy gave him a piercing look. “If it gets me off your student-ass floor, that's good enough for me. I'm tired of waking up smelling like beer.”

“Girl, do not make fun of my hobbies.”

“Hobbies, nothing,” Lucy shot back. “Apart from drinking beer and watching TV, I haven't seen you do anything where your head wasn't in a book since the day I arrived.”

“When it's Dr. Lloyd Long, MD, PhD, you'll be eating your words,” her brother said. “Need any help with your bags?”

“I'll take the acoustic guitar; can you grab my Telecaster? Lucy said. “Thanks, Lloyd.”

He reached into the trunk of the car. “Got it.”

They strolled along the beachfront, stepping aside at times to avoid two small clusters of cyclists and kids on scooters. After a few minutes they arrived at the house. The white front gate was open. Lucy stepped into the front yard and took in the house. The front door was all but obscured by an exterior yellow spiral staircase that led to the two upper levels. As she approached, Lucy could see that the door was a solid, cherry wood carved in the Spanish style and varnished to a high polish.

Through the two front windows she could see the kitchen. There were no blinds. A French press had been left on the counter but otherwise the place looked spotlessly clean. Gleaming, modern kitchen appliances were visible inside. A dining table dominated the kitchen, and a large bowl of green apples had been thoughtfully placed as the centerpiece.

It looked like a show home. Not the “beach shack” she'd been led to expect at all. She wasn't sure how she felt about living here. It looked like the kind of place a bunch of hipsters would rent. Just the of atmosphere she was trying to escape.

From above, a voice called out. Lucy looked up to find herself staring at a good-looking white boy with short dark hair. Leaning over the balcony, he grinned—clean-cut, wholesome smile. “Hey! You must be Lucy! I'm Paolo. We all moved in yesterday—we've been waiting for you!”

Paolo bounded down the spiral staircase and bumped fists first with Lloyd and then Lucy. He picked up the rectangular case that held Lucy's second guitar, a Fender Telecaster. “Let me help you get this stuff upstairs. You're on the middle floor, with Grace and John-Michael. They're both totally cool.”

“Finally, I get to meet the famous John-Michael Weller,” Lloyd commented.

“I guess you and he are pretty good friends?” Paolo asked Lucy.

Lucy smiled. “We played in a band together a couple of years ago at camp.”

“John-Michael plays guitar? He didn't mention that.”

They arrived at the threshold of the middle floor. John-Michael was standing in the doorway. He held his arms out to Lucy, who carefully put down her suitcase and walked right into them. In silence, they hugged tightly.