Material Girls (16 page)

“Do you . . . have his number?” she asked, not looking up.

I shook my head firmly. “Uh-uh.”

“Oh. Well, you can give him mine. Tell him he can call me if he wants. It's been a while since we've . . . hung out.”

I noticed she didn't say she wanted to get in touch with his sister. I wondered exactly how much they'd hung out. “Yeah, sure,” I said.

After a slight pause, Ivy opened the door and looked back at me. “Thanks for trying to stop the ink explosion. Stay young.” She disappeared into the hallway.

Ivy Wilde. The hallway floor
was cold on her bare feet, but thinking about her new image lightened Ivy's steps. She envisioned green ivy vines clambering up a brick wall. Could they be worked into clothing? She wondered what the designer would come up with.

The CSS agent who had been waiting outside the bathroom door escorted her back to the dressing room, where the other agent was still stationed. Inside, the crowd had thinned. Jarvis and the pinch-faced woman with the long black hair were gone, as was the fossil in the gray suit. She wondered if Jarvis had resolved things, or if he was going through with the lawsuit. It didn't really matter—either way, she'd probably hear nothing about it.

“Do you feel better?” Aiko asked, coming up to Ivy and putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah.” Ivy smiled at her most sensitive nymph. “Thanks.” She looked around at Hilarie, Naia, and Madison, their concerned faces still spattered with ink. “Sorry I went all mental during the show.”

The worry didn't leave Aiko's eyes entirely. “You should tell us if you're upset.”

“My stomach just hurts so badly. I'll keep it together from now on. Promise.” She grinned broadly, trying to put her nymphs at ease. “So what's next? When do we leave?”

“Fatima's off getting clothes for all of us,” said Hilarie. “We have to wait, and then they'll bring the car around. Jarvis wants us to stay until most of the public has gone.”

“Someone left to bring us Sugarwaters, but that was
years
ago,” said Madison. She pursed her lips with annoyance. “I could use some food, too.”

They would be there for a while. Unsupervised. It was an opportunity—one she might not get again. Ivy thought quickly. “Yeah, I'm hungry too,” she said. “Don't worry. I'm on it.”

She stepped into the hallway. Sizing up the two agents, she decided the shorter one, the one who had walked her to the bathroom, looked as if he had a better memory.

“You guys brought in three Torro-LeBlanc workers before,” she said in a low voice. “One was the woman who got fired. Where are the other two?”

The agent looked confused. “The other two?”

“Yes. There was a guy with dark hair and a girl—I think she had pigtails.”

Ivy saw recognition in his freckled face. “Oh. Right.”

“Where are they now?”

“They're gone.”

She bit back an expression of frustration. “Yeah, I can see that. Did you happen to see where they went? Or did they say anything?”

“They told the girl that got arrested they'd wait for her outside the building.”

The other agent spoke, and Ivy realized she'd made the wrong judgment call. “I brought them out.”

She turned to him gratefully. “Would you go outside and see if the guy is still there? If he is, bring him to me. I need to talk to him.” She shook her head. “But don't tell him that. Just tell him he's needed back at the show or something.” She looked down the hallway. “If there's another free room, keep him in there and come get me.”

“We're not really supposed to leave our post,” the shorter one said pointedly.

The taller agent flashed him an annoyed look and turned back to her. “No problem, Miss Wilde. What's his name, so I can identify him?”

“Felix Garcia.”

“I'll be right back,” he said. He paused. “Your voice is incredible,” he blurted before hurrying away.

Fame was a burden, yes. But being Ivy Wilde did have its perks.

“Are they getting us food?” Naia asked when Ivy rejoined her nymphs.

“It'll be here soon,” she replied guiltily.

Ten minutes later, the tall agent poked his head in. “Miss Wilde?”

Ivy strode to the door. “I have to use the bathroom again,” she said, not bothering to look behind her to see if her nymphs were buying the lie.

Once she was outside, the agent pointed down the hall. “Mr. Garcia is in the room two doors down on the left.”

“You're the best.” Ivy pressed her cheek against his and kissed the air behind his ear. The agent's face crumpled into a dopey grin. “Oh, and you've
got
to call someone and get some food in there for my nymphs,” she said as she walked backward down the hall. “They're dying.”

She walked to the room the agent had indicated and opened the door.

It was a small storage room, dimly lit, full of metal clothing racks on wheels. They were about half filled with the fashions Ivy had just seen in the show, hung sloppily on hangers. There were no chairs. Felix was standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. When he saw Ivy, his mouth opened in surprise.

“Felix!” she exclaimed. She tried again with more control. “Hi.”

Felix looked over her shoulder through the open door crack and then met her eyes again. “Hey,” he grunted. “What's going on?”

“Nothing. I just kind of wanted to see you.” She was suddenly and regretfully aware of her ink-stained face, and her hand rose to her cheek. “It's just so crazy running into you like this, isn't it? I can't believe that woman planted those explosives.”

Ivy paused, but Felix's face didn't move. She looked around, wishing for a chair, or at least a table against which she could lean. “So how are you?” she asked.

“I'm okay.” A slight scowl tugged at his mouth.

She tried to think of something to say as the pause stretched on. “How's Torro-LeBlanc?” she asked, swinging her arms uncomfortably. “You're a designer there?”

“A drafter.”

“Do you like it?”

A crease in his forehead appeared. “Do I like being a hamster on a wheel? No. It's pretty crappy. But you wouldn't know anything about that.”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Nothing—sorry.” He shook his head and sighed. “Just . . . was there something you wanted to say? If not, I should probably get back to my friends.”

Ivy stared at him. She thought of how distant he'd been in the Torro-LeBlanc dressing room as well. She'd often imagined reuniting with Felix. In her fantasies, he was always overjoyed to see her. He said things like,
I can't believe I found you again.
Once or twice, though she blushed to think of it, she'd even pressed the back of her hand to her lips and thought about their mouths coming together in more shy kisses. Okay—maybe her expectations were overblown. But this sullen person felt like a stranger.

“I know it was a while ago.” She hesitated, then decided to go for it. “Sometimes I think about how we . . . you know . . .” She could feel her cheeks warming even more.

“We what?”

“You remember.”

“Yeah, well, we all change, don't we.”

The door swung open and two models appeared in the doorway, startling Ivy. They were in bathrobes, holding garments from the space-age line on hangers. Ivy knew one went by Anja, no surname; the other she'd met before at a nightclub but couldn't recall her name. They stopped their chatter midsentence and stared at her and Felix.

“Hey, what are you guys doing in here?” The nameless model's eyes locked with Ivy's. “Oh!” she said. “Sorry. I didn't recognize you with that stuff on your face.” Looking at them curiously, the model walked over to a rack to hang up her outfit.

Anja hung hers up as well. “Are you guys getting samples?” she asked.

“No. We were just talking,” said Ivy, trying to sound casual. “Avoiding press.”

Anja's gaze shifted back and forth between the two of them until it rested on Felix. “Hey, you're Adolfo from the new season of
Real Boys
, right?”

Felix's glare was chilly. “No.”

Anja squinted at him. “You're someone, though, right?”

Ivy saw the skin on Felix's cheek ripple as his jaw clenched. He didn't respond.

The four of them stood there, looking at one another, until the awkward silence was more than Ivy could take. “Do you guys mind?” she said at last.

“Oh.” Nameless didn't look pleased, but she moved toward the door. “Fine. Stay young.”

“Yeah. See you, Ivy,” said Anja, following, still looking at Felix as if trying to place him.

“Stay young.” Once they'd left, Ivy turned to Felix. “Sorry. Ignore them. Where were we?”

“I think I was leaving,” he said.

“No. You weren't. We were talking about the way things used to be,” she said quickly.

“Oh, yeah. And how things change. Now that you're ‘someone.'”

“You're someone—”

“Don't,” Felix interrupted sharply. He paused. “How's the new name working for you,
Ivy?
”

“They change everyone's,” she said. “Call me Eva if you want.”

“It's not the only thing that's different,” he muttered. “It's everything. Like the way you behave like a . . .” He grimaced.

“Like a what?”

Felix spat the phrase. “Like a big slut all the time.”

Ivy stared at him in disbelief. Her instincts told her to turn and go, that nobody talked to Ivy Wilde this way. But it was impossible to leave without defending herself. “It's an act,” she said, trying to stay composed, though her voice shook. “I thought you knew that. It's just an act.”

“Really,” said Felix. The sarcasm rolled off his tongue. “So someone holds a gun to your head while you suck face with your sellout boyfriend?”

“You mean Clayton?” She couldn't give away Clayton's secret, not even to Felix, not even to prove to him she wasn't what he thought. “Trust me. It's a manufactured romance. For publicity. He's
really
not into me.”

“I don't believe it.”

“Fine. Believe whatever you want.” She didn't need to take this. She moved to the door and held it open. “You should probably get going.”

“Yeah.” He brushed past her into the hallway. Despite the anger that pulsed inside her, a little voice cried out for him to stay. So she was surprised when he stopped a few paces down the hall and turned around.

He walked right up to her and took hold of her shoulders. “I couldn't
wait
for you to get to La Reina, Eva,” he said in an intense whisper. She felt the warmth of his hands on her bare skin. “It seems so stupid now—we were so young—but I can't get over it. We were going to be in the city alone, without parents, without anybody. I wanted to show you Torro-LeBlanc, and all the prime spots in the city. But then I barely saw you. And
then
”—his dark eyes grew pained—“you didn't want anything to do with me.”

“I couldn't—”

“You were
Ivy Wilde.
You could have called me.” His expression softened, and he suddenly looked once again like the boy in the silly hat with the earflaps. “And I had to watch Clayton Pryce and those other guys groping you. Every day. Think about it.”

He let go of her but she grabbed for his hand and held it. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but I didn't have a choice. I told you. To go solo after
Henny Funpeck,
I needed to follow their instructions. Cut ties. I couldn't even talk to Marisa. I hated it, but—”

“But it worked,” said Felix.

“Yeah.” He was just inches away now, and Ivy could see that his face was more manlike than it had been at fifteen, the eyebrows thicker, his cheeks shadowed in stubble. He was so good-looking it quickened her breath. No wonder Anja had thought he was a celebrity. With scorn she thought about the ridiculous outfit she had to wear at today's runway show, the outrageous things she had to do to convince the world she was a Wilde child. When all she wanted, really, to was curl up on her couch at home and watch episodes of
Clone Valley
with this person in front of her.

“I miss you,” she said. She moved closer, willing him to lean in and kiss her.

Felix didn't move. “You should have called.”

“I told you—I didn't have a choice.” She took a breath and thought about her recent encounter in the bathroom. That would prove to him she wasn't a . . . what he thought she was. “I don't do everything they say, though. I have this idea for a new image. It's the complete opposite of party girl,” she whispered. “It's going to be prime. My agent and publicist have nothing to do with it. The designer who almost got arrested is going to help me out.”

“Marla?” To her disappointment, Felix let go of her hand and dug his fists in his pockets. His face remained soft, however.

They paused. Ivy could feel the moment passing, could feel him pulling away. “So maybe we could get together and hang out sometime this week,” she proposed in a rush. She plucked at the hairs on her skirt nervously. “I could send a car. You could come to the house.”

“Yeah, I don't know.” He looked over his shoulder at the bare hallway. “Probably not this week. But maybe.”

He was still wary of getting hurt. That was understandable. She needed to prove to him she was the same person she'd been in Millbrook, not a product created by her record label, and not a boy-crazy flirt. The atoms of a new plan began to quiver in Ivy's mind. The first part was revealing her new look, and then . . . did she dare? “Felix, make sure you watch me on television when I get my new clothes,” she said, her voice rising with inspiration. “And follow my coverage afterward. Then we can talk more.”