Girls on Film (11 page)
“My sister, Susan, has had some problems lately. With alcohol.”
“Welcome her to Los Angeles—she’ll fit right in.”
“But Cammie and Dee are such party girls …”
Adam nodded. “I see your point.”
“So it’s okay with you if—?”
“Sure,” Adam said. “Hey, maybe your sister will want to come meet Bowser. But I have to warn you, he’s a one-woman dog. And his heart already belongs to you.”
But when they got to the hotel, Susan wasn’t in her room, and the valet reported that her car wasn’t in the lot. Anna tried to convince herself that she didn’t mind. She’d spend a little time with Adam, take the dog for a walk up in the canyon, and then go home and work on her screenplay. Maybe she’d even e-mail it over to Sam for notes. Susan could take care of herself.
Probably.
A
t that moment Susan was with Cammie Sheppard at the Beverly Center, a multiple-story upscale mall in West Hollywood. They were on an impromptu shopping expedition. True, the Beverly Center had its share of tacky chain-store outlets, but there were also some more-than-decent boutiques, and the mall attracted visitors from all over the world. Cammie and her friends considered it a spectator sport to watch tourists
ooh
and
aah
as they wandered from shop to shop.
Cammie believed in retail therapy. She knew it was a cliché, but what better way to forget about her own problems than to acquire something—or somethings—new to wear? That Anna was unhappy about Cammie befriending Susan made the shopping expedition that much more delicious. That Ben and Anna were no longer Ben and Anna was only a small comfort. The humiliation she’d endured on New Year’s Eve, when she’d done everything but give Ben a lap dance to try and get him back, wasn’t likely to go away so easily. Simply put, Anna had screwed Cammie by screwing Ben. And Cammie couldn’t forgive that.
“Oh, try this on, Susan. It’ll look great on you!” They were in the Betsey Johnson boutique, where Cammie held up a stretchy, low-cut black net top with four inches of fringe that began just under the bust.
“Black is my color, but the fringe is kind of tacky,” Susan mused. So far, she hadn’t seen a thing that appealed to her.
“You’re going for a kind of rich-girl biker-chick thing, right?” Cammie pawed through another rack of tops and held up a hot pink camisole. “You sure you don’t do color?”
Susan shrugged, touching a purple minidress with the middle cut out. “It’s all just too …
colorful
.”
“Then
this
is perfect,” Cammie decreed, thrusting a slinky jet-black top at Susan. Susan took it and thoughtfully held it up against herself, then frowned. “I don’t even have to try it on; it’s too small.” She groaned. “God, I’m a size eight.”
“You sound like my friend Sam,” Cammie said, oozing sincerity. “Don’t you think it’s important for us women to be more accepting of our bodies? You shouldn’t dis yourself like that.”
“Rehab carbs,” Susan said, sighing. “I always look like a pig when I get out.”
Cammie gave God a mental high five. How lucky could she get? Anna’s sister had just finished with rehab? Life was looking better and better all the time. “Oh God, I know just what you mean,” she agreed. “I gained like eight pounds
my
last time in.”
“No shit, you were in rehab?”
Cammie tried to look contrite. “I don’t like it to get around, but yeah.”
“I just did Hazelden. Where were you?”
“Sierra Vista,” Cammie said, automatically naming the Arizona rehabilitation facility where her father had ordered so many of his clients to go and dry out.
“Wow. I hear it’s rugged there. What was your thing?”
“What wasn’t? Sex, drugs, alcohol,” Cammie confided. “I was an equal opportunity abuser.”
“Tell me about it,” Susan agreed. “I haven’t been away from Hazelden for more than few days, but I’d kill for a shot of vodka. Not Stoli. Flagman. Iced. Liquid bliss.”
“Totally,” Cammie agreed. She spotted a pair of black pants and lifted them off the rack. “But it’s not a good idea. Listen, we should change the subject. They told me in rehab that the worst possible thing to do is to start talking with another addict about how much you liked your drug of choice. Hey, why don’t you try these pants? Then we can hit M·A·C. I’m out of Spice lip pencils.”
Susan smiled and took the pants from Cammie. “Okay. Be right back.”
“You got it,” Cammie said.
No
, she thought as Susan disappeared into one of the changing rooms. I’ve got it.
Actually, I’ve got
her.
Hook, line, and sinker. All I have to do is reel her in, anytime I want to
.
“S
o, how many movie stars do you know?” Alexis asked Ben as they strolled down the Santa Monica promenade. It was a gorgeous evening, in the low seventies, and the outdoor parts of the restaurants were all full. They passed a mime playing a harmonica and two kids tap-dancing on a makeshift cardboard stage.
Ben had to laugh. His cousin Alexis, who lived in Salt Lake City, Utah, of all places, had just turned fifteen. With her glossy auburn hair falling over one eye and cargo pants that bared inches of taut midriff, she could easily have passed for twenty—that is, until she opened her mouth. Then she sounded more like she was twelve.
“Oh, dozens,” Ben teased.
“Stop!” She playfully bumped her hip into him. “I’m serious!”
Alexis and her parents hadn’t been to Los Angeles to visit Ben’s family for three years, and she was so excited, she could barely keep from skipping down the promenade.
“Okay, I know a couple,” Ben admitted. “But I’m not name-dropping.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Alexis wheedled as they strolled past a Banana Republic and a street vendor selling silver earrings. “Please?”
“Jackson Sharpe. In fact, I was just at his wedding.”
“Wow!” Alexis breathed. “That is so cool. I mean he’s really old and everything, but still. So what was the wedding like? Who was there?”
Anna was there
, Ben thought. Why did every road seem to lead to her?
“Was Jennifer Aniston there?” Alexis prompted. “Or Beyonce? Oh my God, I would kill to meet her. Or how about Tobey Maguire? He is so hot.”
“Nope,” Ben said. “But … let’s see. Mike Myers was there. And Jim Carrey. And Nicole Kidman.”
“Get
out!
” Alexis exclaimed. “Oh my God, did you dance with Nicole?”
I danced with Anna
, Ben thought. He could see her in his mind’s eye: flaxen hair flowing to her shoulders, swinging against her high cheekbones. The elegance of her slender neck. The spot just between her collarbones where he’d kissed her—
“So did you?” Alexis interrupted.
“I had a date,” Ben explained.
Suddenly, as if thinking about Anna had conjured her up, he saw her heading toward him. She was almost all the way down the block with some guy, laughing. No, it couldn’t be her. It was just some other tall, lithe blonde—
She came closer. It really was her. And she was with Adam Flood. Their arms were linked. They looked so happy.
It was like a fist to Ben’s gut. So that was the real reason she’d blown him off. She was with Adam. Damn. Why couldn’t it be some asshole? Adam was a good guy, even though, at the moment, Ben wished he would curl up and die.
“That girl is looking at you,” Alexis said, jutting her chin toward Anna. “Do you know her?”
“Do me a favor, Al, pretend you’re my girlfriend, okay?” Ben asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said with a shrug. “But why?”
“Tell you later. And I’ll owe you one. Anna!” he called. Ben and Alexis headed for Anna and Adam. Ben quickly introduced everyone. He put his arm around Alexis’s shoulders. She did her part by nuzzling against him.
“So, what are you guys up to?” Ben asked, as if running into Anna meant about as much to him as running into, say, Sam.
“We went up to Runyon Canyon with my dog,” Adam explained. “Then I introduced Anna to Pink’s World Famous.”
“Standing in line to get hot dogs was a new experience,” Anna added. She seemed nervous. Her eyes flicked over to Alexis, then back to Ben. “How about you two?”
“Oh, we just spent the afternoon making out,” Alexis said blithely. “We were at Johnny Rockets, and this couple in the next booth yelled, ‘Get a room!’ So—”
“She’s joking,” Ben put in quickly.
“You two seem perfect for each other,” Anna said, her voice going frosty.
“You guys, too,” Ben forced himself to say.
Adam shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “So, when are you going back to Princeton, Ben?”
“He can’t,” Alexis replied before Ben could. “He just keeps dragging me off to bed.”
“Well, in that case you’re definitely his type,” Anna said. She threaded her arm through Adam’s again. “We’d better go get the Streetheart tickets before they’re sold out,” she told Adam.
“They’re doing a sunset show on the pier,” Adam explained to Ben. “Killer blues band. You know ’em?”
“I’ve heard of them,” Ben said vaguely. “So, have fun. Nice running into you guys,” he added, hoping it sounded genuine.
“Same here,” Adam said, putting an arm around Anna’s shoulders.
Ben grabbed Alexis’s waist. “Yeah. See you.” Ben and Alexis continued down the promenade. Only when they reached the corner did he remove his hand from his cousin’s waist.
“I get it. You wanted to make that girl jealous, right?” Alexis asked.
“Something like that.”
“She’s gorgeous.”
Ben sighed. “I know.”
“So was she your girlfriend or something?” Alexis prompted.
“I went out with her once.”
“But now she’s with that guy, Adam, huh? That sucks. I mean, it’s totally obvious from the look on your face that you’re madly in love with her.”
“Yeah, well, seeing is believing,” Ben stated. “She’s with Adam now. The end.”
“If you want her back, you should fight for her,” Alexis decided. “That’s what would happen in the movies.”
“Except that this is real life.”
“Nuh-uh,” Alexis said. “This is Los Angeles. Nothing here is real. You’re the one who told me that. So buy me a triple-dip ice cream cone and I’ll tell you how to get your girlfriend back.”
Ben swerved back toward the ice cream parlor they’d just passed. “Yes on the ice cream, no on the advice.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” Ben insisted, holding the door open for his cousin. They wove through the crowd and got in line. “You can’t beat a dead horse, and this pony has gone to pony heaven.”
“Speak English,” Alexis demanded.
“I mean it’s over.” Ben had to force himself to say it. “When it comes to Anna Percy, I blew it. And I have no one to blame but myself.”
A
nna trod the now-familiar path to Susan’s bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel. The only sound was the
thwack-thwack-thwack
of rackets on balls as people played tennis on the lighted hotel courts. Why, why, why did she have to run into Ben and his new girl-friend? The images were seared into Anna’s brain. Shimmering auburn hair, deep tan, convex stomach—she was Anna’s physical opposite. She shouldn’t care. She knew she shouldn’t. So why did she feel so awful? What streak of masochism made her want a boy who was bad for her? She should be thinking about Adam. They’d had such a great day together.
Anna wanted to scream. To think that Ben had tried to get her back when he already had a new girlfriend! What a jerk! She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, as if to will away the Ben thoughts. She’d think about Susan. It was so much easier to worry about her sister’s problems than to obsess about her own.
Susan was such an enigma these days. She was smart, probably even smarter than Anna was. Susan graduated fourth in her class. She’d been accepted by every college to which she’d applied, including Harvard. But she’d chosen Bowdoin College, in Maine, so that she could study with a certain famous historian who taught there.
At first she did great. Then things changed. She’d suddenly stopped going to class and started hanging out with the kids who majored in drugs and alcohol. She transferred to NYU, fell in love with a rock-and-roll guitarist from Ireland, and dropped out of school to follow the guy’s band on a low-rent East Coast tour. And then the relationship ended. After that, Susan went back to Avenue D, in the East Village.
To this day, Anna had no idea what had happened at Bowdoin that had made Susan change. It made Anna sad. In a family where everyone was notoriously distant from everyone else, there had been a time when Anna and Susan had shared secrets and been each other’s refuge. But that felt like a long, long time ago.
As Anna approached Susan’s bungalow, she could hear the Wallflowers—one of the few rock bands she could identify—blaring through the windows, a sure sign that Susan had returned from wherever she’d been. She knocked discreetly on the door.
“Coming!” she heard Susan’s muffled shout through the door. A moment later the door swung open—Susan was wearing the plush, monogrammed white terry robe the hotel provided every guest; her wet hair was wrapped in a towel. “Anna! I thought you were room service.”
“No. Just me.”
“Come in, I ordered enough for two. Have you eaten?”
“Hot dogs with a friend.”
“My little sister, slumming it,” Susan teased. “I’m impressed. Come on in.”
Anna winced as she stepped into the bungalow. It looked so much like Noah Monahan’s, she couldn’t shake the image of him trying to seduce her feet. The bungalow featured a fully equipped kitchen, spacious living and dining rooms, and a bedroom with a four-poster bed. Through the open door to the bedroom Anna could see shopping bags of many sizes on the floor. “You went shopping?” she asked.
“With Cammie Sheppard,” Susan said. “It was fun, in a mindless kind of way. I don’t know why you don’t like her, Anna. She’s a hoot.”
“Just be careful around her.”
Susan shrugged, took the towel off her head, and went to the bathroom to blow-dry her hair. “You think too much and you worry too much,” Susan decreed.
Was that true? Anna wondered. Probably. It was like she couldn’t cut off the running monologue in her head. Sometimes she envied people who could just
be
.