All Night Long (21 page)

“They love Tarshea,” Esme replied. “Diane loves Tarshea. Jonathan definitely loves Tarshea. It's a lovefest. No one will miss me.”

“I don't believe that.” Jorge bit into his muffin. The look on his face—somewhere between shock and disgust—made Esme crack up.

“It's bad?”

“The worst thing I ever tasted,” Jorge managed, and he washed the bite of muffin down with a huge gulp of coffee.

Esme threw hers away. As they walked out of the café, Jorge looped a sinewy arm around her shoulders. “Just remember,
chica
. You can't run away from your problems.”

“Do not do that psychologist bull with me,” Esme warned.

“You got it,” Jorge agreed. They reached the door. Before he held it open for her, he added, “If I can say just one more thing about it.”

Esme folded her arms and gave him the evil eye. “Well? Go ahead.”

“Wherever you go, Esme … there you are.”
Tom opened the door to his suite at the Hotel Bel-Air sporting their logo-embroidered terry cloth bathrobe, which fell open to reveal his tanned washboard abs and a pair of faded, low-slung jeans.

“You look like a model,” she accused, teasing him.

“Oh, I just play one on TV,” he joked, and pulled her into a kiss. The kiss got hotter. She could feel Tom's hand inching under her T-shirt. And she liked it. A lot. But she stepped back and put a palm on his chest. “The recreation portion of the activities will have to wait.”

“Until after you call your mom,” Tom concluded. “Got it.”

Kiley sat in the taupe Italian leather desk chair and pulled out her phone. “I so do not want to make this call.” She had to try once more to clean up in the aftermath of the bomb that was the
Universe
exposé.

“What's the worst thing that can happen?” Tom asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Thermonuclear war?” Kiley ventured. “Dragging me back to La Crosse by my ponytail?”

He yanked said ponytail playfully. “Just call.”

Kiley pressed the speed-dial number. It rang three times before her mother answered.

“Hello?” Her mother sounded tentative, unsure, as if somehow even making the choice to answer the phone could turn out to be a bad thing.

Kiley did her best at sounding upbeat. “Hi, Mom!”

“Kiley? Oh, thank goodness. I thought it was one of those reporters again. Do you have any idea what your father and I have been dealing with?”

Kiley winced. She could imagine: reporters on the phone, on the doorstep, in the grocery store. Friends and coworkers during the hours in between. All asking too-well-informed questions about every private McCann vice. Jeanne's panic disorder, her father's drinking, the piece-of-crap house they lived in—a photo of which had been printed in the
Universe
right next to a photo of Platinum's mansion, with the caption THIS
IS
HOW
FAR
PLATINUM
'
S
NANNY
HAS
COME.

“I can explain about the story, Mom.”

“How could you do that?” her mother asked, voice tightening. “We raised you better.”

Well, that one scored a big fat bull's-eye at the heart of Kiley's guilt.

“I'm sorry,” Kiley said, and she truly was; she knew how badly she'd handled this. “It's just been crazy here. And I had really hoped that the sleazy guy who wrote the article wouldn't really print it—”

“Well, you thought wrong. They made us sound like horrible, stupid people. They said I had a nervous condition and they called your father an alcoholic!”

Well, um, her mother
did
have a nervous condition and her father
was
an alcoholic. But pointing out that this part of the article had been factual did not seem to be the way to go at the moment, especially since Kiley could hear the increased speed of her mother's raspy breathing, a sure sign she was heading straight for a panic attack.

Kiley tried to talk her down. “Just breathe, Mom. You're safe now. There's nothing to worry about.”

“Kiley?” Her father's sandpaper voice rasped in Kiley's ear. He must have taken the phone from his wife.

Kiley closed her eyes. This was really, really not good.

“What?” Tom whispered.

“My father,” Kiley mouthed at him. “Hi, Dad,” she greeted him. “I know you—”

“Do you have any idea what you're putting your mother through?” he asked.

Now that she'd heard a complete sentence, she realized her father was slurring his words, meaning that he was already drunk.

“I'm sorry,” Kiley said. “Things got out of control.” Tom reached over and squeezed her hand.

“You're a snot-nosed brat, Kiley,” he brayed. “Ungrateful little—”

“Give me the phone!” Kiley heard her mother exclaim.

“Shut up,” her father hissed. “I'm gonna give her a piece of my mind.”

Kiley felt as though she was about to have her own panic attack. “I admit I should have told you ahead of time,” she said, careful to keep her voice even. “But I am not responsible for that article.” She wanted to detail that she was blindsided too, that the
Universe
had manipulated her, that Platinum really
was
improving, and that technically, Kiley had made all the right decisions.

But her mother would hyperventilate way before Kiley could ever get through that story, and her father was too wasted to listen. Or care.

In fact, after braying at her for another five minutes, her father hung up on her. Just like that. Kiley was left with a dead phone in her hand, until Tom gently took her phone from her and put it on the desk.

“I should have told them.” Kiley let the guilt wash over her as she stared unblinking at the Victorian-inspired molding on the ceiling.

“Come 'ere.” Tom tugged her onto the bed with him. “Your parents will forgive you. As far as the Hollywood gossip mill goes, they're already onto the next thing, I guarantee it.”

She leaned into him. “You're right. I just …I feel bad. Like I let them down.”

“You're too hard on yourself.” Tom used two fingers to bring her face to his and kissed her lightly. “You do not appreciate the Kiley I know.” He kissed her again. “She is genuine, and sweet and smart and sexy because she doesn't try to be, in a town where that's about as rare as natural hair color.”

Kiley laughed. “They gave me streaks during the TV show. I can't even claim—”

But she never finished the sentence. Because Tom's hand was tangled in her hair, his lips were burning into hers, and she never, ever wanted it to stop. This time she had no doubts, or insecurities, or fears that he was the gorgeous model and she was just some ordinary girl from Wisconsin.

She'd weathered the storm of Platinum's trial. She'd overcome her panic underwater. And she was here with Tom because that was what they both wanted.

When he tugged her T-shirt over her head, she didn't stop him.

“Yes?” he whispered, peering into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said.

“So, when they say Up All Night, do you think they mean up all night as in sex? Or up all night as in we never went to sleep?” Lydia asked as Kiley pulled Platinum's new silver Prius (purchased, Kiley had told Lydia on the drive to Malibu, because she thought she'd get good publicity for it) into the line of cars leading to the temporary valet stand.

They were at the rear side of a massive beach house of unbleached wood; the front of the house faced the ocean and was not accessible by car. This beach house belonged to the parents of a girl in what would be their senior class at Bel Air High. Her name was Heidi Van Meussen. Her father, Alex Van Meussen, was the genius behind all the Pixar cartoon movies. Lydia knew this because she'd done her research before the party. According to an article she had unearthed in
Los Angeles
magazine, the Van Meussens owned homes in Bel Air, Malibu, and Hawaii, and had also recently purchased a castle in Scotland. Their Malibu
beach house was “cozy,” only ten thousand square feet, and was nestled between homes owned by Steven Spielberg and Barbra Streisand.

“I think it means what you want it to mean,” Kiley replied as she inched the car closer to the valet stand.

Lydia flicked her eyes at her friend. “Not that you care, now that you and Tom are doin' it.” Kiley had informed her of this on the way to Malibu too. Lydia wanted details, which Kiley refused to provide.

“Well, I doubt that you're going to jump some guy you just met on the sand,” Kiley said. “But I have no idea what these other girls will do.”

“I might jump two or three guys,” Lydia mused as Kiley pulled the car up a little farther. “I've decided that variety is the spice and all that. I hooked up with Billy too soon. Now I just want to have fun.”

Lydia found she actually meant it. Yes, she felt terrible about Billy. Yes, she had messed up. And yes, she missed him. But on the other hand, she had a lot of years of no-boys-at-all to make up for. Maybe she just wasn't cut out for a serious relationship right now. At least, that was the theory her mother had floated just this morning at breakfast.

Her mom also talked about going back to the Amazon again, which didn't surprise Lydia one bit. She knew that her mom's stay in L.A. would be temporary. Her parents loved each other too much to live apart.

Now, she peered out the window at the valet, who was holding open the door of the Jeep in front of them. “How tacky is that?” she asked rhetorically.

The valet attendants from Play Valet, which was
the
hot valet
service of the moment, were all female and all gorgeous. They wore yellow bikinis and high heels. Lydia had nothing against either the bathing suits or the pumps. But to wear them so that you could hold open doors for people?

“Why did I come?” Kiley asked, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “I don't like any of the girls we've met at that school so far—”

“Well, that's why, sugar plum. Everyone in our class can't be a big ol' pile of puke like Staci, Amber, and Zona—finally!”

Kiley pulled the car up to the valet stand. A girl with jet black hair extensions down to her ass held open the car door. “Welcome to Up All Night!” she chirped. “Your car keys, please?” She handed Kiley a claim ticket and got in the car to drive it off to who-knows-where.

Lydia eyed Kiley as they headed down the wooden pathway that led around the house and down to the beach. “Are you wearing a bathing suit under your jeans?”

Kiley had on one of her usual outfits—no-name jeans and a white tank top—and her hair was in its habitual ponytail. “Nope.”

“But it's a beach party,” Lydia pointed out. She herself had on a hot pink crocheted Bizmark string bikini under a sheer pale pink lace babydoll top over low-slung D&G white capri jeans.

“Rag on me all you want for having body issues,” Kiley said. “I am not wearing a bathing suit in front of a bunch of size twos.”

“One of these days we are taking you swimsuit shopping,” Lydia insisted. “And get something cute that shows off your curves.” She smiled at a cute blond boy who swerved around
them, then looked back at her with appreciation. “I bet Tom likes those curves.”

Kiley smiled. “No, I am not telling you
anything
.”

“Well, what kind of best friend are you?” Lydia groused. She saw one of the few Latina girls in their class walk by with her boyfriend. But that Latina girl was the daughter of a huge action-movie star. “It's weird, isn't it? That Esme isn't here?”

“I keep hoping she'll change her mind about dropping out of school.”

“Me too.”

They followed the hordes of other arriving seniors down the wooden steps to the beach. It was ablaze with tiki lights. A wooden dance floor had been set up in the sand; a DJ in a white tux minus a shirt was blasting the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Waiters in surfer Jams, the buff-male version of the girls who worked for the valet service, were wandering among the party guests with drinks and food.

Lydia and Kiley grabbed drinks—coconuts with some fruity concoction in them—from a passing waiter. Lydia could tell as soon as she took a sip that it was heavily laced with rum. She made a mental note not to drink too much. If she did meet somebody, she was going to know what the hell she was doing, and who the hell she was doing it with. No more drunk sex.
Ever.

“Let's see what's going on over there.” Lydia cocked her head toward a throng of people sitting on the beach farther down. Salty sea air whipped Lydia's hair into her face as they padded through the sand. When they got closer to the crowd, they saw that someone had placed a surfboard on the sand, and the people gathered around it were playing a drinking game.

“Ugh,” Kiley whispered to Lydia.

“Well, if it isn't the bitch and her fat cheese-fried friend,” Staci sneered, coming up next to Lydia and Kiley. She wore a white bikini and had clearly indulged in a serious spray-on tan.

“Now see, that is just a mean ol' thing to say,” Lydia said. “I'm not a bitch and my friend here isn't fat. You, however, are really boring. Which is why I dumped your ass the other night. Also, you might want to find a new place to spray on your tan, because you're going kind of orange sunset on us.”

Some kids who overheard snickered.

“Oh, like I'm hurt,” Staci retorted. “Hey, do you know why these two are going to our school?” She raised her voice to the drinkers. “Because they're
nannies
! Isn't that a hoot?”