Bad to the Bone (24 page)

“So, I haven't seen Jonathan lately,” Beverly said. “What are you guys up to?”

Esme's eyes flicked to Jorge, who was unreadable, then back to Beverly. “Actually, Jonathan and I broke up.”

“He dropped you,” Beverly surmised. “That sucks.”

That assumption
really
rubbed Esme the wrong way. Of course Beverly would think that the rich, gorgeous, semi-famous Jonathan would be the one to drop the poor brown girl. “Not really. I told him it was over.”

She deliberately took Jorge's hand, and Beverly made some excuse about why she had to take off. Moments later, she had worked her way into the crowd.

“Adiós!”
Jorge called.

“I stop being with Steven Goldhagen's son and I'm not worth much to her,” Esme said.

“Do you care?” Jorge asked.

“Please. You know me better than that.” She snorted.

“Yes, I do.”

Esme realized this was true. Jorge knew her, the real her, not someone she was trying to be to please someone else. He wanted the best for her because he really knew her, got where she came from, and where she might be going.

“I want to show you something. Outside. It's too loud in here.”

He nodded and led her through the crowd, which was growing larger by the minute, and outside into the humid night air. They dodged around Gwen Stefani, deep in conversation with Christina Aguilera about their respective children.

Once they were outside, Esme opened the clasp on her black satin borrowed-from-Warner-Brothers evening bag, took out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to him.

“What's this?” he asked.

“You're in college. Read it.”

“American Literature, Art History, Still Life and Life Drawing, Advanced Calculus,” he read aloud. “Sounds like school.”

“It's my class schedule,” Esme explained. “For the High School of Visual Arts. They let you do a lot of the work over the Internet, so I won't have to spend much time at a building. The art classes meet at night. When I finish I'll have all the credits I need to graduate from high school.”

“Impressive.” To his credit, Jorge wasn't making that much of it.

“We'll see when I'm done. My parents will be happy, anyway.”

“When will you tell them?” Jorge asked.

“Next week,” she said. “I'm flying down for a visit.”

He gave her back the schedule. “What about after school?”

“One year at a time. Please.”

“Fair enough. But what made you change your mind?”

Now. Now was the moment to tell him.

“Back when I was in middle school and we lived in Fresno,” she began softly, “I had my first boyfriend. Nick. He was older, in the Diegos. They were in a big war with the Razor Boys. My cousin Ricardo was a Razor Boy.”

“I know those gangs,” Jorge said.

“Nick taught me to drive. One day when I was driving with him next to me and two of his boys in the backseat, they shot my cousin Ricardo and three other Razor Boys coming out of a Taco Bell. They all died.”

The image came back to Esme as if it had happened yesterday. She had spent so many years trying not to remember. Jorge was the first person she had ever told.

Esme went on, determined to spill the whole thing. “It was a setup. Nick wanted me to be driving when he murdered my cousin. Afterward he laughed and said it was payback. And he
called me a whore.” She swallowed hard. “For a long time, deep down I didn't think I deserved better because of what I had done.”

“You were just a kid,” Jorge pointed out gently, keeping his voice down. Esme realized that what they were talking about verged on the criminal. “And you didn't know what he was going to do.”

Esme nodded. “So finally I figured, if I let that ruin my life, then it will be kind of like he killed me, too. And then, he wins.”

Jorge pulled her to him. He didn't say a word, just held her close. And Esme felt, after all these years, that she was finally putting down a huge burden. She felt light, as if she could fly.

She felt free.

“What are y'all doing out here?” Lydia asked Esme and Jorge. They were standing outside in each other's arms, like some kind of statue. Esme seemed so relaxed. Jorge was hot in a tux. It was so sweet.

“Come on in and party!” Lydia insisted. She refused to take no for an answer. It wasn't every day that she and her friends appeared on national TV escorting famous rock stars off a stage. If that wasn't worth celebrating, nothing was.

When they got inside, Jorge said he'd get a plate of sushi for Esme and moved into the crowd. Lydia watched Esme watching him go.

“Shoot! Are you two together now?” she asked her friend eagerly.

“You have a way with words,” Esme commented.

“Oh come on, sweet pea,” Lydia said. “Tell me. Like, if you were comparing Jorge to Jonathan—”

“Stop!”

Lydia sighed. Esme really could be maddening. “What is the big, bad deal? Sex is one of my favorite topics.”

“I am not sleeping with Jorge,” Esme said, unable to keep the smile off her face. “As far as talking about sex goes, I'm sure you'll get plenty of practice when you're on tour with Audrey.”

“Yeah, about that. You know how Audrey missed her duet with Platinum?”

“Yeah, what was that about?”

“Well, it seems she raided my guesthouse when she was staying at Kat's. I found out the hard way. Tonight.”

“What did she take?” Esme asked.

“Hallucinogen. After about a couple of hours, it kind of paralyzes you for a while. Dang it. I told her my powders weren't recreational drugs, but she was just determined to see for herself.”

“She'll be all right?” Esme asked.

“Oh sure, after a while it'll wear off. But for her to steal it? That's just
wrong
.”

Esme nodded. “I agree with you.”

“It kind of makes me think she isn't a real friend,” Lydia concluded. “I mean, I got real dazzled by her, if you want to know the truth. That got me thinking about going on tour with her. I'd have to go where she wanted to go and do what she wanted to do, and I'm much too ornery to be under someone's thumb like that. Plus, I really did feel a little guilty
about leaving my aunt in the lurch without a nanny. And there's school. Not that I go all that often, but it's the principle of the thing.”

“You're staying?” Esme asked.

Lydia smiled. “At least here I'm my own woman. Plus, you know that lead guitarist of Dangerous Minds?”

“You escorted the band off the stage after they won Best New Artist.”

“His name is Charlie. We got to talking, which led to flirtin', and he's taking me to a party in the Hollywood Hills tomorrow night.”

Esme cocked her head at Lydia. “What about Flipper?”

“Oh, he's a big ol' sweetheart. So was Billy. I just don't think I'm a girl who's meant to be tied down.”

“Ever?”

Lydia thought about that. “Ask me ten years from now,” she decided as Jorge came back with a plate of sushi for Esme. Lydia plucked a slice of tuna off the plate, and looked around as she popped it into her mouth.

She was actually living the life she'd once only imagined from a mud hut. How great was that?

Kiley sat at the mirrored vanity in the ladies' lounge at Level 3. She'd already been there a long time. She adored the dress she was wearing—her very first floor-length gown. On one hand, she felt kind of like Cinderella at the ball. Just like Cinderella, having that amazing gown was temporary because she had to return it tomorrow. On the other hand, she felt more like one of Cinderella's stepsisters, because she'd lost out on the prince.

Kiley thought about how badly she'd treated Tom. How she was so insecure that she'd jumped to the conclusion that Tom was cheating on her in Russia with Marym. She did
not
want to be that girl. She thought about how nice he'd been to her from the very first day they met. She thought about how normal he was under all the flirtin, how he'd waited until she was ready to have sex for the first time and hadn't pushed her. How he had been the one to help her get over the underwater panic attacks that for a few days had made it seem as though her dreams of a career as a marine biologist were just that: dreams.

Tom had trusted her, Kiley realized. But she hadn't trusted him. She had simply assumed the worst. She was ashamed of herself.

She stood. She couldn't mope in the ladies' lounge all night, even if that was what she felt like doing. She washed her hands in one of the black onyx sinks, then dried them on a rose-scented hand towel.

Tomorrow
, she thought as she pushed through the ladies' lounge's massive cranberry leather double doors,
tomorrow I'll call him and see if I can get him to forgive me and—

“Hey.”

It was him. Standing right in front of her. Unlike most of the crowd, he wasn't dressed up. He wore faded jeans, a gray T-shirt, and sneakers.

“Lydia told me she saw you go into the ladies' room and that was …” He looked at his watch, then at her. “Twenty-three minutes ago,” he observed. “I was about ready to come in after you.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, feeling off-kilter.

“I had an invite.”

Right. Of course he had an invite. He was hot, young, and famous. This party was for the hot, young, and famous.

“I wasn't going to come. But then my bud Slade called me, so I went home, got my invite, and … here I am.”

Slade wasn't exactly a common name. The only Slade Kiley'd ever met before was Slade Wayne, the model who was getting married.

“He told me everything, Kiley.”

“Everything?” she echoed.

“You hanging out with Matt, and Matt convincing you that I was cheating on you.”

Kiley could feel herself blushing. God, she felt so
stupid
all over again.

She cleared her throat. “I owe you an apology. I should have talked to you, instead of assuming—”

“Do you have any idea what I was going through? I couldn't figure out what the hell had happened while I was in Russia. I figured you'd met another guy, and that was why you were so cold. So I told myself, okay then, I'll move on, too. And I did.”

A fist of misery shackled her heart. She deserved nothing better. What did she think, that she could treat Tom like shit and he'd live like a monk unless or until she decided to crook her little finger to beckon him? She'd never had that kind of self-confidence, and she probably never would. So, that was it, then. He'd stopped by to tell her in person that he was seeing someone else, that they were over. She was going to be strong and mature about this if it killed her.

“I hope the two of you will be very happy” she made herself say. “I should go find my friends now.”

His words stopped her. “I went on one date with a makeup artist named Monica who reads tarot cards and lives on carrot juice. We went to Hermosa Beach but she wouldn't go into the water because it would mess up her skin. And all the time we were there, all I could think was: I wish she was Kiley.”

“Because I don't usually wear makeup?” Kiley asked, her voice small.

“Because you're you. My dad? He's up at five every morning to feed chickens and milk cows. He and my mother have been married for twenty-five years. He doesn't bring her flowers or tell her how he feels about her, because he just figures she knows. I know that hurts her, makes her feel lonely—I can
see
that. I always said I'd be like my dad in the good ways, but not in the bad ways, and here I am—” He stopped midsentence. “Here I am making the same stupid mistake. Thinking you know. But how could you know when I haven't told you?”

Kiley could barely get the words out. “Told me what?”

“That I love you,” Tom said. “I love Kiley McCann from La Crosse, Wisconsin. I love how genuine you are, and the freckles on your nose, and the way you laugh like a little girl. I love how much you love the ocean. I love how you smell. I love how you think. I love your face and every inch of your body and—”

“Stop,” Kiley managed, but it was hard, because there were tears streaming down her face.

Tom looked bewildered. “You don't want to hear it?”

“Oh, I do,” she assured him, laughing through her tears.
“But we're standing outside a bathroom. It's not exactly romantic.”

He put his hands to her cheeks and gently wiped away her tears.

“I love you, too,” Kiley said.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah. I've never said that before,” she told him. “That's because I never felt it before.”

He took her into his arms and kissed her until she was breathless. “I never said it before, either,” he admitted.

Then the guy who made millions of women swoon kissed her again. But it didn't matter to Kiley anymore if they lusted after his billboards or called him or flirted with him on a movie set. Because he didn't love any of them. He loved her.

They went back into the party, which was now going at full decibels. It took them nearly fifteen minutes to find Lydia, Esme, and Jorge. They were out on the balcony with Steven Goldhagen.

Kiley saw how surprised her friends were to see Tom. Well, there was time enough later to explain it all to them.

“Kiley!” Steven exclaimed, motioning her over. “I was just asking about you.”

Kiley quickly introduced him to Tom; Steven knew who Tom was and assured him he had a big future. Kiley was sure Esme had introduced Steven to Jorge as well.

“So, girls,” Steven said, his gaze going from Esme to Kiley and Lydia. “I wanted to tell you what a terrific job you did this past week.”

Lydia, as usual, had a ready reply. “Aren't you the sweetest? And by the way, we're also available for the Oscars.”

Kiley was amazed at Lydia's audacity, but then, her audacity was one of the things that made her who she was.

Fortunately, Steven laughed. “If I produce the show I might take you up on that. Anyway…” He pulled a key from his pocket.

“What is the key for?” Esme asked.

“You know the swag room you set up? All kinds of gear is left over. Jewelry, jeans, shoes.” He shrugged. “Stars. They have everything already.”

“You want us to clean up?” Kiley tried not to look as disappointed as she felt. Oh well. They'd had a lot of fun.

Steven shook his head. “More like I want to show my appreciation for a job well done. Take the keys. Get some shopping bags. Go to town.”