Reunion Girls (17 page)

Nobody had been around. They were just bored college lovers avoiding schoolwork. It started off innocently enough with Babe snapping pictures like she always did. But then he took off his shirt. And she kept clicking away. Pretty soon she was daring him to show her the full monty. He didn't need to think about it. Shyness about his body had never been one of his traits. He worked out regularly. He did five hundred crunches every night. He was well hung. So off went the khakis and the boxers.

Babe had shot him from odd angles. And he used his hands and legs strategically. Every inch of his ass was in frame, but the lens only captured part of his private region. Still, for all practical purposes, he had been a nude model. And how the hell was he going to explain that to his parents?

Dean Paul shrugged in defeat, flipping through the pages of
212,
checking out a hot layout of those Japanese twins, Mio and Mako Kometani. The girls had no talent. But when you looked like that, it didn't matter.

He smiled ruefully as he wondered if Babe had picked out the color of her Porsche yet. She'd better hold off on leasing that perfect parking space. His family's lawyers would be in full attack mode, and any interested publishers would likely be scared away. So what if he'd signed a model release? Big deal. He planned to tell his parents that Babe forged it. Yeah. That would keep the attorneys busy.

Finished with
212,
Dean Paul tossed it down and picked up the
New York Post.
Poor Gabrielle. The Brown Sugar scandal seemed to be gaining momentum each day. His heart went out to her. The anger was ferocious. People were calling her the ultimate fraud, and crying sacrilege over a Black American Princess adopting a ghetto-girl persona to make inroads on the hip-hop scene. Radio stations had dropped her cold from their playlists, and there were reports of public events where the entertainment was mass destruction of her CDs.

Page Six
caught his attention next. The day's column led with a photograph of Joaquin Cruz at some benefit the polo player probably knew nothing about. What an operator. No doubt the dude had just shown up in hopes of making it into print. Mission accomplished. Dean Paul shook his head, baffled. No matter how hard he tried, he could not picture Lara giving this guy the time of day. But Jinx Wiatt and her
It Parade
column were rarely off the mark.

It suddenly dawned on him. Who needed phones, e-mail, and get-togethers? This crew lived out their whole lives in the columns. He laughed a little. All you had to do to stay informed was keep up on current events. Still, this Lara business with that Cruz character had Dean Paul worried. He needed to warn her about him. She had no idea what kind of games he played with women.

The shuttle touched down on the LaGuardia runway.

Aspen stirred from her semi-sleep.

Dean Paul grinned warmly and stroked her leg. "You feel okay?"

"Since when do my feelings matter?"

"I underestimated you."

She gave him a quizzical look. "How?"

"I thought for sure that bitchy resolve would fade somewhere between Paris and Boston."

Aspen glared at him. "You have no idea how long it can last."

He believed her.

It was back to the same dreary silence as the happy newly-weds waited to file out. They were passing a newsstand in the airport terminal when Aspen screamed. And not just any scream. This was Jamie Lee Curtis in
Halloween-
worthy.

A brand-new edition of a tabloid mocked them. Shit, the issue must have just hit the stands, because he'd picked up last week's rag ninety minutes ago in Boston. But there it was. Front and center. Stacked high. With a headline that shouted THE WEDDING PICTURES THEY DIDN”T WANT YOU TO SEE.

Well, Dean Paul couldn't actually accuse the editors of spreading lies. He didn't want to see the photos. Especially if they looked anything like the cover sample—Aspen, eyes closed, mouth open, eating something of unknown origin. Man. It was beyond ghastly.

Aspen dropped her carry-on and snatched up the offending tabloid, tearing through it only to see more of the same. The bride at the altar from an unfortunate profile angle, the caption reading OINK, OINK, ASPEN—THE DOUBLE CHIN SHOULD START A FEW YEARS AFTER THE WEDDING. And under a close-up of Dean Paul with a lusty expression on his face, HORNY HUBBY CHECKING OUT BROWN SUGAR AT THE RECEPTION. A SEVEN YEAR ITCH ALREADY?

The psychic damage went on and on. Brown Sugar's streetwalker costume. That washed-out Broadway tramp getting felt up by her loser husband. Finn Robards in the last stages of a trick-of-the-night pickup with some bartender. The spread made the affair look like a gathering of cheap freaks.

Aspen started to cry. "Who took these pictures?" she wailed. "
InStyle
had the exclusive!"

Dean Paul put his arm around her, drawing her close and kissing the side of her head. "It's terrible, sweetheart. But it's all part of the game. This will be off the stands in a week, and everybody will forget about it."

A young female traveler stopped next to them to eyeball the cover. She glanced up and did a double take. "Oh, my God! What are you guys doing in the airport?"

Dean Paul smiled kindly. Even in their grungy travel clothes and baseball caps, they were still recognizable to some. "Coming back from our honeymoon."

The woman stared at the tabloid again. "That's gross!" She turned to Aspen. "What are you eating in this picture?"

"Leave us alone!" Aspen yelled.

“Screw you!” the woman snapped. "By the way, everybody I know hated you on
Survivor.
You were a bitch!" And then the stranger disappeared.

Aspen sobbed into Dean Paul's shoulder.

He threw down some cash for the tabloid, managed to add her carry-on to his own haul, and gently but firmly led her away from the scene. "People don't realize what they're saying, baby. You're just this person on television to them."

"I don't give a shit about that stupid woman!” Aspen cried. "She's just jealous and wants my life!"

Dean Paul surmised that it would be easier to go along with this. "Of course she does."

Aspen's crying jag began to subside. "I want to sue! The magazine! The photographer! Everybody!"

Dean Paul said nothing. It just didn't seem worth the effort. In a week, all this drama would be a stale joke. But for the moment, he had to mollify her. "I'll have our family lawyers look into it."

Aspen clung to him all the way down to baggage claim. They waited around for their luggage without incident, then tumbled into a cab and began the somber ride home. She cried quietly, and he stroked her hair, sinking down against the torn leather seat, thinking about the complications that lay ahead.

It was important that he talk to Lara.

A confrontation with Babe was inevitable.

And he wanted to see Gabrielle.

After all these years, they were back in his life. God, it was ironic. That marrying another woman had been the catalyst to bring them together again. Dean Paul glanced down at Aspen. A stinging regret seized him.

Who was he kidding?

The It Parade

by Jinx Wiatt

Fill in the Blanks

All it takes is one bad boy to make a good girl go the same way. Yours truly is a staunch advocate for getting this out of the way in high school. Remember that hot guy who never came to class, totaled his parents' car, and hated your popular jock boyfriend? Well, here's hoping you went out with him at least once. Otherwise, trouble lies ahead. Don't believe moi? Take a look at the too-perfect event planner. You know the one. By comparison, she makes Miss Manners seem uncouth. Not anymore. Her sizzling new romance with that scrumptious polo player has her making major faux pas in the etiquette department.

Lara

LARA SEEMED TO BE OPERATING on autopilot. Here she was, back in the lobby of the Mercer Hotel, scarcely paying attention as Mio and Mako Kometani yammered on about their birthday party.

"We want our pictures on the invitations," Mio said.

Lara nodded vaguely.

"We think it would be best to show off our vaginas,” Mako put in.

"I think you're right," Lara said automatically. All of a sudden she stopped.
Rewind.
"Hold on. What did you just say?"

"We want to show off our vaginas,” Mako said. She stood up, forming a triangle over her crotch with her hands.

"The woman who does our bikini wax is an artist," Mio explained. "She shaved our hair into the shape of the astrological symbol for Libra."

Lara paused. She waited for the laughter. But it never came. These girls were actually serious. "So you want to send out invitations to your birthday party with an image of yourselves that displays full frontal nudity?"

Mio and Mako nodded brightly.

"This party is a very important social event," Lara began carefully, trying valiantly to get back on board. "It's a presentation of the Kometani twins to New York society. Certainly we want people to get to know you. But it's essential that you hold something in reserve. An air of mystery. And letting everyone see your . . . private areas . . . well, that could dispel it."

Mio and Mako frowned.

Lara attempted to bulldoze ahead.

Mako gestured for her to stop. "But we really want to show off our vaginas.”

Lara leaned in confidentially. "I think it's great that you want to share that part of yourself with so many noteworthy people in this city, but it's just not a good idea. Trust me."

Reluctantly, Mio and Mako conceded.

Lara moved on to a more useful topic—the atmosphere. She had been anxious to attempt a romantic Venice theme, and finally, she had clients with the budget and the moxie to go ahead with it.

She talked up her plan. The full-scale gondolas made of wood. The huge ornamental columns of cardboard and polystyrene. The welded metal centerpieces. An elaborate stage with an extended catwalk. The hand-painted Venetian murals. The black-and-white checkered linens. She assured the twins that the warehouse in the meatpacking district would be magically transformed and that their party would be the talk of the season.

Mio and Mako cut the meeting short. They were meeting their fashion stylist for a day of shopping later in the afternoon. The girls wanted to relax with a warm stone massage and manicure before their lunch with a realtor. There was also something about a consultation with a meditation specialist, but by that point, Lara had tuned them out.

She stood up to leave, and as luck would have it, Bizzie Gruzart came crashing through the door and clomped toward the bar in her special shoes. Lara held back a moment, hoping to avoid an encounter.

But Bizzie swept the area with a circular gaze, captured Lara, put on a plastic smile, and switched directions. "Lara, how are you? Isn't it awful about those pictures of Dean Paul? I can't believe one of his exes is doing this. You're friends with her, right? Somebody told me she saw the two of you having drinks at the St. Regis. It's Baby, isn't it? Like the girl in
Dirty Dancing?"

"Babe,"
Lara corrected.

"Oh, like the pig. That's fitting. I hear her agent wants a million dollars for the project. Is that true?"

"I wouldn't know. I wasn't aware of the book, and I haven't spoken to her since the story broke."

Bizzie put on a show of distress. "Dean Paul must feel so betrayed. I can't imagine an ex-boyfriend of mine writing a book about me."

"That would mean a man coming forward to admit dating you," Lara said. "Don't lose any sleep over it." She started to leave.

Bizzie stepped in her path. "Who has time for sleep? Random House just hired me to do Jake James's book party. I wonder if Dean Paul will cover it for
Hollywood Live.
Wouldn't that be fun? Oh, by the way, how's the party coming along for the Kometani twins? Did I hear that you're doing an Egyptian theme?"

"Venetian," Lara answered tightly.

"That's what I love about your little parties, Lara. The right people rarely show up, but you make the event seem bigger than it is with your trick themes. It's brilliant."

Lara managed to smile, even though she was quietly fuming. "It's not brilliance by a long shot, Bizzie. When a woman isn't relying exclusively on her father's connections, it's amazing how resourceful she can be."

The jingle of Lara's cellular played like a symphony.

She waved off Bizzie, recognized Finn's number, and answered right way, turning her back to the beast. "You've got so-so timing. If only you had called five minutes ago."

"What did I almost save you from?" Finn asked.

"Bizzie Gruzart," Lara hissed.

"Please tell me she's found a doctor to fix her feet."

"I'm afraid not."

"I'll never understand medical science. They can clone sheep, but Bizzie will always have to wear those awful shoes. Why, darling, why?"

"I don't know. Karmic balance?"

"Perhaps. Can you meet me for lunch?"

"No," Lara lied. "I have a meeting." She checked her watch.
 

"Oh, push it back. Please. I beg you. Guess what I have? The tabloid with Dean Paul's wedding pictures." His voice went down an octave. "
The ones he didn't want us to see.
There's a picture of me with that bartender. He's actually very cute. It's days later, and I'm not pretending it didn't happen. This is practically a relationship. And if his reading taste is as poor as mine, he'll find out my real name. Then it will be serious."

Lara hated herself for hesitating. She was starving. Lunch with Finn would be wild fun. What if Joaquin called, though? She sounded like some high school girl now. Since when did she wait around for unreliable men? After all, he had her home, office, and cellular numbers, and it had been three days without a word. Forget Joaquin Cruz.

But she couldn't. How many times in the last seventy-two hours had she pretended to soldier on with disregard, only to be slavishly yearning for him minutes later? The truth was, Lara didn't care about anything else.

She didn't care about gossiping with Finn. She didn't care about Babe's quest for money at the expense of friendship and dignity. She didn't care about Gabrielle's public relations nightmare. She didn't care about the Kometani twins' party or any other Regrets Only event at this moment.