Hidden Gem (2 page)

And now that the tour was over, she could.
 
Gemma finally had a chance to breathe and remember life outside of her disguise.
 
She rarely got to actually see the cities that she toured in because most of her time was put towards rehearsal.
 
When she did get to make the occasional public appearance, her publicity team pushed for her to appear as Queen Bee.
 
They reasoned that with fashion houses like Jean Paul
Gaultier
and
Issey
Miyake frequently sending her free clothing, she had to wear them
some
where to show her gratitude.
 
Gemma couldn’t say those outings weren’t enjoyable, but with her five-inch heels and protective security team, she could never go very far.

Now in her leggings, silk-blend T-shirt and linen Prada sneakers, she felt prepared to comfortably explore the city.
 
All she had to do was fight the occasional feeling that she was naked or exposed somehow.
 
Without the weight of headpieces and beaded fabrics, she constantly felt as if she were missing something, the way people feel when they leave behind a wallet or cell phone.

Enjoy Barcelona,
she told herself.
 
You’re not in school yet.

At the
Mercat
de la
Boqueria
, freshly squeezed juices of every combination were laid out in a patchwork of multi-colored cups stuck with multi-colored straws
.
 
The open market boasted bright splashes of reds, pinks, oranges, greens, purples – every color was represented in some form, whether in flowers or exotic fruits or candies.
 
Gemma marveled as she sipped on a fresh cup of kiwi, strawberry and coconut juice.

Later that night, they wandered through the city’s narrow roads and alleys before settling on a cozy bar where they stood elbow to elbow with strangers. They paired glasses and flutes of
xampenet
and
cava
with cheeses, olives, tomato-garlic toast, smoked fishes,
jamon
, and
chorizo
.

Music floated in from the streets. The golden hue of the antique space coupled with the buzz she felt from downing too much carbonated alcohol made her wish she weren’t with her parents, but perhaps a boyfriend.
 
As the private Queen Bee, there was never a chance to even entertain the thought of a relationship.
 
But as Gemma, it could happen for her soon.
 
It would be her first, and sixteen was the perfect age for that, wasn’t it?

Suddenly, she couldn’t wait for Beauford.

~

Gemma was thankful that Mira’s friends arranged for a private jet to take her back to New Jersey.
 
For some reason, she felt less alone when completely alone.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor with all her Louis
Vuitton
luggage open, she sifted through the souvenirs that she had bought for Gavin and Mira.
 
For Gavin, she bought a miniature replica of the mosaic lizard in
Parc
Güell
– and about fifteen sticks of chorizo.
 
Despite being so tall already, he constantly claimed that he was “a growing boy” and needed as much food as possible. “Don’t worry, Mom,” he always said.
 
“My metabolism is a beast.” And it was true. He never lost his lean muscles no matter how much junk he inhaled.

For Mira, Gemma bought a print of their favorite painting from the Dali museum,
Museo
Picasso and the
Fundació
Joan
Miró
– even though Mira probably had friends who could buy her the real things.

The final minutes of the flight felt the longest. Her feet tapped in her jelly Burberry flip-flops, anticipating the feeling of the jet touching ground.
 
To pass the time, she scrolled through her digital camera and smiled at her pictures of Penelope and Armand.
 
They were her best friends while touring, the only ones her family trusted to keep a secret.
 
All the other friends Gemma made didn’t truly belong to her.
 
They belonged to Queen Bee.

Before she could wallow in the sorrow of missing Penelope and Armand, she felt the slightly bumpy landing of the jet onto the strip.
 
The moment that she had imagined for so long had finally arrived.
 
Before then, it had always felt like a faraway dream.
 
Or nightmare. But now there was no turning back.
 
It was time to be
abandon
Queen Bee for now and become Gemma Hunter again.

Gemma woke up when she heard the car door slam.
 
Gavin was already walking towards the house with the bags and Mira was waiting beside her town car.

“Gemma, I hope you remember that here,” Mira tapped her braided
Miu
Miu
sandals against the dirt. “You open your own doors.”

“Ha-ha, Aunt Mira.”
 
Gemma grunted as she pushed the door open and swung her bare legs out of the car.
 
The sun was shining hard but before Gemma could even raise a hand to shield her eyes, Mira handed her a pair of oversized Chanel sunglasses.

“You have a week to get over your jet lag, honey.
 
Public school doesn’t exactly start whenever you feel like it,” she said as she adjusted the dip-dyed, silk
Hermès
scarf on her wide-brimmed straw hat.
 
She wore a crisp linen
halter top
tucked into a pair of navy sailor shorts, brand new from this season’s Ralph Lauren Black Label.
 
Standing just a little under six feet, tanned from outdoor tennis and toned from Pilates, she easily looked a decade-and-a-half younger than her forty-five years.
 
Gemma stared at her, suddenly very aware of how pale and without makeup she was.

“I think I could use a tan, Aunt Mira,” Gemma said as she walked with her towards the house. “I don’t know how I didn’t get one at all this summer.”

“Well it’s not easy when you’re under all that makeup and costuming, is it?”
 
Mira laughed. “Don’t worry, honey – you’ll catch up this weekend. I’ll make sure of it.”

Gemma smiled.
 
She was grateful to have this time to settle into her new life before school started.
 
Mira’s lake house was just two hours away from her actual house in the quiet, upper-middle class town of Beauford, New Jersey.
 
The Beauford house was the childhood home of her father, Mira’s older brother.
 
Since movers were still unpacking and setting up Gemma and Gavin’s rooms, Mira decided it would be more relaxing to wait it out in one of her four vacation homes.
 
Her Ibiza holiday villa was out of the question because they had just exhausted Europe – not to mention that Mira had been renting it out to an unnamed celebrity couple every fall for the past three years anyway.
 
If it were up to Gemma, she would’ve picked the Sonoma cottage, but Mira reasoned that the Wine Country was swarmed with unsavory tourists during this time of year.

“They don’t know they’re not supposed to actually
swallow
all the wine during
tastings
,” Mira rolled her eyes. “Plus, it’s not like you two are even legal to drink,” she added with a wink.

“Well, why couldn’t we have hung out in your loft? I miss Manhattan,” Gemma said as she trudged up the steps of the front porch into the cozy wood cabin.
 
Mira sighed dramatically, tossing her ostrich
Birkin
onto a varnished rocking chair.

“Do you not remember what Manhattan summers
feel
like? There’s a reason why everyone’s in the
Hamptons
,” she shook her wavy blond hair loose from the hat.
 
Gavin emerged from the kitchen, a bottle of Gatorade in hand.

“Why
aren’t
we in the
Hamptons
?” he asked.

“You two! Why can’t you be happy spending some time here? I am proud of this place – I built it with my own two hands!” she exclaimed, holding up two perfectly French-manicured hands.
 
Her glistening bangles slid down her skinny wrists.

“No you didn’t,” Gavin laughed.

“Yes I did, young man,” she retorted as she struggled to wrap her arms around his neck and ruffle his hair.

Only then did Gemma realize how much Gavin had grown since she was last home; he looked nearly six-foot-four.
 
Only a year apart, she had always loved being mistaken for twins when they were growing up.
 
As they got older though, their once identical shade of straight, blonde hair darkened – Gavin to a dirty blonde and Gemma to a light brown.
 
Her hair also grew out into waves worthy of Malibu while Gavin’s hair remained straight as a stick.
 
And at five-foot-six, Gemma’s height was fairly average so there was little left shared between the two.

“Before you two go knocking my pride and joy, why don’t you follow me out back and take a look at the view,” Mira said, waving them over to the French doors leading to the backyard. “When I was house-hunting with that ex-husband of mine, we
did
choose this land for a very specific reason…” She threw the doors open theatrically.

Gemma stepped out, her jaw dropping in awe.
 
A stone pathway led to a vast, glistening lake lined with shining rocks and a small stretch of silver sand.
 
The sun hopped over the soft ripples of the deep blue water. Reflections of the emerald leaves on the tall, skinny trees made the lake look like some kind of shimmering, liquid silk.

“Oh man,” Gavin murmured as he ran out towards the lake, immediately whipping his T-shirt off and jumping in.

“I’ve been trying to get your brother to see this place for ages but he always has something better to do,” Mira smirked. “I told you this place was awesome!” she yelled out to him.
 
She turned to Gemma with a playful smile. “Watch out for him. This lake has a reputation for causing trouble.”

~

In the morning, Mira’s friend dropped by to pick her up for a private luncheon that they had both organized for a friend at The Guggenheim.
 
He was fairly recognizable to even Gemma, who didn’t watch a lot of television or read many gossip magazines. Hudson Gunn was the head chef at the trendy and highly exclusive West Village restaurant, Lilac, and often a guest judge on various cooking competitions on TV.
 
He was handsome with his deep tan and prominent chin.
 
Armand was fond of referring to older men like Hudson as “silver foxes.”

To make up for leaving them behind for the afternoon, Mira had Hudson arrive early to prepare them a lavish breakfast of
truffled
egg toast, buttery home fries, grilled chicken apple sausage and Belgian waffles topped with fresh strawberries and crème-
fraiche
.
 
Gemma and Gavin ambled downstairs just in time to see her helping Hudson top a flute of fresh-squeezed orange juice with champagne.

“I am so sorry, my loves,” Mira said.
 
“I’ll be back as soon as the luncheon is over and I promise it’ll be fast.”

“Don’t get yourself so worked up, Mira,” Hudson squeezed her shoulder. “They’re teenagers. I’m sure they’re happier without their aunt in the way.”
 
Mira slapped him on the back playfully and he retorted by flicking a glob of crème-
fraiche
at her.
 
She yelped, jumping back in panic as she checked her saffron Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress for stains.

“You, Hudson, don’t understand.
 
Just because your kid doesn’t think you’re cool doesn’t mean my niece and nephew don’t think
I
am.
 
Correct?”
 
Mira arched her eyebrow threateningly.
 
Gemma and Gavin nodded in agreement.

“You guys really didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Gavin said as he eyed the feast spread across the kitchen island.
 
“I was just going to have Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”

“Oh, please,”
Mira
said with genuine disgust. “Cereal is not by any means a sufficient breakfast for my perfect darlings, so eat up.
 
And wait two hours if you’re going to go swimming.” Hudson gazed at her, shaking his head and chuckling.
 
Mira crosses her arms, “What now?”