Friends with Benefits (13 page)

19

A VIP parking pass came with the tickets to Tom's Ralph Lauren show at FAB. The lot was right behind the tent, so Kiley thought she and Platinum would have an easy time getting from Platinum's white Lotus to the credentials checkpoint.

No such luck. The Staples Center blacktop was an insane scene. Barriers held back hundreds of fans, who were dressed in everything from black tie and evening gowns (as if to mimic the stars they were there to gawk at) to cutoff T-shirts and Daisy Dukes. They screamed for their favorite celebrities—Christina Aguilera, Penelope Cruz, Mischa Barton, Eva Mendes, and both Williams sisters, who obligingly stopped and posed for photos.

There were plenty of media in attendance too. The parking lot was rimmed by television remote-broadcasting trucks parked tail to nose, all of them with microwave relay antennae on top to send FAB pictures to their home stations across the country. Radio stations, too, had flocked to the fashion show, with vans broadcasting into the crowd via rooftop loudspeakers. Kiley found it disconcerting, as they edged their way toward the main tents, to step from rock 'n' roll to soul to hip-hop and back to rock 'n' roll. The dozen Hollywood opening–style searchlights that crisscrossed the sky added to the otherworldliness of the event.

Strangest of all for Kiley was to be there with Platinum. Kiley had thought her own outfit was over the top until she saw what Platinum was wearing, or rather, barely wearing: the tiniest white feather bikini specially made for her by Scott Wilson of London. Over that, a diaphanous feather-trimmed gown. The sky-high white Balenciaga heels with attached diamond ankle bracelet made Platinum over six feet tall. Photographers pushed each other out of the way to snap her picture; fans pressed forward screaming Platinum's name. To Kiley's dismay, the rock star looped her arm through hers; there was no escaping. “Hey, Platinum!” someone in the crowd shouted. “That your new girlfriend?”

Platinum smiled enigmatically while Kiley blushed and prayed that none of the live-remote trucks was broadcasting back to La Crosse, Wisconsin.

As they finally cleared the entranceway and approached the credentials table for the Calvin Klein show, Kiley spotted Lydia and Esme waiting for her on the other side. She waved, grateful to see them—Kiley realized Esme must have given Lydia a ride. Meanwhile, Platinum went to chat with Colin Farrell and his latest girlfriend.

“Dang, girl,” Lydia drawled appreciatively, looking over Kiley's dress. “Who'd you do to get
that
?”

“It's a loaner from Platinum and I
definitely
didn't do her,” Kiley explained, glancing down at herself. “Does it look ridiculous?”

“Honey,
I'd
do Platinum to get those threads,” Lydia proclaimed. She gestured toward her own citrus floral crepe de chine sundress. “Tracy Reese. Yes, borrowed. Did you hear from Nina?”

Kiley shook her head. “She hasn't called you?”

“No. I left another message. I gotta tell you, she's running out of time here.”

“Maybe she's not interested,” Esme suggested. “Not everyone wants to be a part of all this.” She gestured to the crowd of beautiful people filing into the main tent.

Kiley noticed how tired and tense Esme looked. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Esme said stiffly, looking away.

“That's the same load of crap she handed me,” Lydia reported. She nudged an elbow into Esme's side. “Give it up, girlfriend. We're on your side, whatever it is.”

Before Esme could reply, Platinum had joined them. “Hi, I'm Platinum; you guys are Kiley's friends?”

Lydia grinned. “I've seen you in so many magazines. You're hotter in person. I'm Lydia Chandler. This is Esme Castaneda. That outfit is amazing—”

“Can we just cut to the freaking chase here?” Platinum interrupted. “Which one of you works for Goldhagen?”

“Me,” Esme replied.

“Cool,” said the rock star, shaking her waterfall of platinum hair off her face. “So listen—what was your name again?”

“Esme.”

“Right, Esme. Somehow my publicist screwed up and forgot to get me on the list for Diane's party on the
Queen Mary
tomorrow night. My
ex
-publicist, actually. I'm sure you can fix that for me. Right?”

“Honestly? I really don't think I—” Esme began.

“—can even go myself,” Lydia interrupted, finishing Esme's sentence. “That's what Esme was about to say.”

Kiley saw Esme shoot Lydia a lethal warning look, but Lydia ignored it and drawled on. “The same goes for me and Kiley. Of course, we're all invited. But we don't have a thing to wear. Now, if you were to give the three of us a small budget of, say, ten thousand dollars for clothes, shoes, and what all, I think Esme might be able to help you. Maybe.”

For a moment Platinum was shocked into silence. Meanwhile, Kiley was ready to wring Lydia's neck—Platinum was supposed to
bribe
Esme to get the ticket she coveted?

Platinum's eyebrows furrowed, her eyes narrowed.

I am so fired.

Then Platinum threw her head back and laughed hysterically. “Oh my God, you rock, I
love
the balls on you!” she shrieked, grabbing Lydia into a hug. Then she opened the small white embroidered raw silk purse she carried and took out a credit card. “American Express Platinum,” she said with a smirk, flipping it to Lydia. “Your budget is six thou. For all of you. Go over it and I'll send a guy named Cheech to break your legs.”

Kiley couldn't believe this was really happening. “We're supposed to go clothes shopping on your credit card?”

“Did I stutter?” Platinum snapped back. “Hell, yeah. For a ticket to the
Queen Mary
FAB party? I'll give you a couple of hours off tomorrow—that's just the kind of bitch I am. What the hell, I'll even throw in the dress you've got on—you already got photographed in it so it would be a bitch to return, and I never wear black anyway.” She turned to Esme. “So, we cool?”

Esme barely nodded.

“Have the ticket messengered to me; I don't trust those freaking doormen with their freaking lists, you know what I'm saying?” Platinum spun on her heel and saw Courtney Love about to go into the tent. Courtney beckoned to Platinum, and the two superstars entered together.

Lydia flashed the American Express card at her friends. “Am I good or am I good?”

“Do I look
happy
?” Esme glared at Lydia.

Lydia's face fell. “Uh-oh, you're pissed.”

“You had no right to do that,” Esme seethed.

“But you said Diane told you to put whoever you wanted on the guest list.” Lydia grimaced. “Wait, you
can
get her in, right?”

“I'll just give her name to Diane's personal assistant, and see that the ticket gets messengered to her,” Esme replied.

Lydia pumped a fist in the air.
“Yes!”

Esme set her jaw. “It should have been my decision, not yours.”

“Esme, I just got us a shopping spree from a woman who probably lights her joints with thousand-dollar bills,” Lydia pointed out. “She'll never miss it.”

“That isn't the point,” Esme began, and then stopped, staring hard at Lydia. “You know what, never mind. I have to go to Diane's trailer and pick up the kids.”

Esme turned, but Lydia put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Esme, wait.” She turned back. “Something bad happened,” Lydia stated. “I see it in your eyes. The shamans call it reading the soul.”

Kiley saw Esme flinch as if Lydia had hit her—or maybe just hit the truth.

“What is it?” Kiley asked.

Esme hesitated, as if she was going to tell them something; then she just shook Lydia off. “I have to go.”

“At least come shopping with us tomorrow,” Lydia called after her as she walked away. “I'll call you!”

Kiley winced. “She's really ticked. You were kind of out of line, huh?”

“Oh, she'll get over it,” Lydia insisted, waving away Kiley's concern. “That's not what's really on her mind, anyway.”

Kiley saw the last of the line snaking into the tent. “Let me know when you figure it out, Madame Witch Doctor. I have to go sit with Platinum and pray that she doesn't throw her nearly naked body at Tom's feet.”

“Cool. I'm off to meet Billy. Tonight I finally get laid, isn't that great?”

Kiley laughed.

“Tomorrow we'll celebrate the loss of my virginity and spend six thousand dollars—a perfect day.”

Lydia saw Billy waiting for her by a side entrance to the main tent. She smiled. He was one delicious hunk of boy. If Tom Welling was a ten, Billy Martin was an eleven. He had on dusty jeans, there were paint speckles on his black T-shirt, and his chin was spotted with two days' growth of sexy stubble.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't Billy Martin,” Lydia said.

“Lydia Chandler. Didn't I meet you in a hut in Amazonia? You were wearing a loincloth? Very hot,” he teased.

She went along with the joke. “But so last year.” She gave him a soft kiss. “How can you be so straight and still be so funny?”

“Someone told you I'm straight?” He gave her a look of mock surprise.

Lydia furrowed her brows and wagged a finger at him. “This is a test. I repeat. This is only a test.” Then she kissed him, and felt it all the way down to the toenails she'd painted with Scarlet Lady Red nail polish.

He held her close. “I could do that for a few more hours.”

“What a great idea.”

Billy chuckled. “You are one of a kind.”

“You're the lucky boy who gets me. Please tell me your roommate the football player isn't home.”

“He's not.”

“Excellent.” She took his hand. “Let's go.”

He held back. “We're gonna have to table that.”

“Tables, chairs, beds, let's do it all,” Lydia agreed.

Billy groaned. “My boss is screwing with my love life. I gotta work.”

“No!” Lydia cried.

“Yes. Eduardo went over to the
Queen Mary
to check out the set for the main ballroom and had a hissy fit. He wants it redone. Tonight.”

Lydia stopped, disappointment welling up in her throat. “This is the second time—”

“I know.” Billy sighed. “Welcome to the life of an underpaid intern.”

“But he said you could have tonight off. That's so unfair!”

“Tell me about it,” Billy agreed. “Eduardo Parsons thinks an internship means slave labor. I know it's gonna look great on my résumé, but I'm not sure it was worth it. Thank God it's all over tomorrow.”

“Oh, baby,” Lydia cooed sympathetically, and kissed him again. “Want me to zap him with one of my witchy-woo potions?”

“Listen, I'm going to make this up to you tomorrow night, I promise. I'll be putting the finishing touches on the damn set all day, so I'll already be there. We'll meet at the boat, okay?”

Lydia sighed. “You'd better, Billy Martin. According to this article I read in
Cosmopolitan,
a woman doesn't peak sexually until she's forty-five, but a man peaks at around age twenty. I don't think we want to let the best days of your life slip away.”

20

The portly limo driver opened the door to Diane's trailer at FAB. “I'm looking for Mrs. Estella Castaneda.”

Esme saw her mother give a little wave. “I'm Estella,” she murmured.

“I'm to drive you home,” the driver said. He wiped a bit of perspiration from his forehead with a white bandanna. “Diane Goldhagen's orders.”

“Could you wait outside a moment?” Esme asked him. “Five minutes, no more.”

“Certainly,” the driver said.

As he closed the trailer door, Mrs. Castaneda shook her head. “I could have gotten a bus. It's just as easy.”

“No, you cannot get a bus,” Esme insisted. “You did me a favor and your boss has gotten you a ride home. Accept it.”

Certainly her mother had earned her keep. When Esme had come back to the trailer, Easton had been in its bathroom. She'd gotten stuck inside. When Esme had finally opened the door, she'd found that the little girl hadn't gotten to the toilet in time.

Esme couldn't bear to scold her. She was doing the best she could, and it had been a very long day. Esme just helped get Easton cleaned up, put her wet clothes in a plastic garbage bag, then wrapped her in a cashmere sweater of Diane's that she found in a closet. It gave Esme perverse pleasure to think of Diane's dry cleaning bill.

Mrs. Castaneda took her daughter's hands. “Esme, there's something you should know. While you were at the hospital, Jonathan came looking for you.”

Esme flushed and looked away. She'd assured her mother that nothing was going on between her and Jonathan. At the time, except for an intense flirtation, it had been true. Her mother had instructed her not to let nothing turn into something.

“Esme, mi querida. Por favor, sus ojos en mis ojos.
Look at me.” Mrs. Castaneda gently turned Esme's face toward hers.

She'd never been a very good liar with her mother. She was sure that her mom could see the truth in her eyes. Or at least the part of the truth where nothing had, in fact, turned into everything.

“Esme. You take time off work to go and see Junior, and then your boss's son comes after you. What are you thinking?”

“I can't talk about it now,” Esme insisted.

“Yes, you can.” Her mother's face hardened. “I will not allow you to throw away this chance over a boy.”

“It's not up to you!” Esme defended herself. Her head was throbbing. “Just leave me alone about it. Please, Mama. Please.”

Her mother didn't say another word to her—which, in some ways, was even worse. She got her things, kissed the girls goodbye (they were transfixed by
Shrek 2
on Diane's portable DVD player), and left the trailer.

Forty-five minutes later, she had the twins back at the Goldhagen estate. They fell asleep like a pair of kittens, arms and legs thrown around each other. Esme carefully untangled them and carried one, then the other, into the house and upstairs to their respective rooms. Rather than making them change into night-gowns, she just covered them with their quilts and put them to bed. Each was so tired that she didn't even open her eyes.

As Esme was working, her mind was on Junior, as it had been all evening. She was dialing the hospital on her cell before she was even out of Weston's room.

“Yeah?” He answered the phone.

“It's me,” she told him, sitting down at the top of the stairs to talk. “How are you?”

“Looking good, Mama.”

“No complications?” Esme had been warned that this was the doctors' concern.

“De nada,”
he assured her. “If I don't run a fever, I get sprung in a day or so.”

“I'll come home to take care of you,” Esme declared.

“You will not,
chica,
” Junior retorted. “You will stay right where you are.”

“But, Junior,” Esme remonstrated. “Who's going to—”

Esme heard the front door close downstairs.

“I've got to go,” she told Junior quickly. “I'll call you later.” She hung up.

From downstairs: “Esme, you here?”

Steven. Not Jonathan. Thank God.

“Hey, Esme,” he greeted her easily when she came downstairs. He must have come straight from work, since he was carrying a stack of scripts under his arm. “Got the princesses to sleep?”

She nodded and leaned her elbow against the banister. “They were so tired.”

He shook his head. “Between you and me, making those girls jump through hoops today was insane.”

Esme was silent. She agreed but wasn't about to side with Mr. Goldhagen against his wife.

“Anyway, you were great today, Esme. I'll stay with the girls—you can go.”

“I don't mind—”

“Boss's orders,” he said with mock severity. “Can't have you working around the clock. Listen, I know you've got to watch the girls at the party tomorrow night, so take some time off during the day.”

“If you're sure . . .”

He was. She thanked him and said good night.

Five minutes later, Esme inhaled deeply as she walked the gravel path toward her guesthouse. Orange blossoms. Roses. The scent of money, of all the freedom money could buy.

The scent of Jonathan.

She whirled around to confront him.

Only he wasn't there. Just the memory, in this very spot, of the night they'd first kissed. Her mind was playing tricks on her.

When she reached the guesthouse, she saw that the basketball— the one Jonathan always used—had rolled under a rhododendron. She retrieved it and impulsively turned on the floodlights that lit the driveway and its basketball hoop. She dribbled, shot, and made the basket. Dribbled again, away from the basket, and hit a three-pointer. And another.

Esme Castaneda had a great many skills. She could take a car engine apart and put it back together. Bake bread from scratch without a recipe. Design tattoos. She even knew how to take a bullet out of a wound, and stanch the flow of blood. She could speak two languages fluently and get straight As and be a nanny for the children of the most powerful man in Hollywood.

What she couldn't do was fool her heart into thinking that she wasn't out there shooting hoops, hoping that Jonathan would come back.