Bliss (28 page)

Grimly said, “Dream on.”

Packing took longer than expected. She'd acquired quite a lot of clothing and trinkets in Thailand and London—nine suitcase's worth. To think, she'd arrived in Phuket with one suitcase full of cheap dresses and ugly shoes. Now she had enough finery to fill Nordstrom. She couldn't resist trying on a few outfits as she packed, fantasizing about wearing them in LA, at movie premieres and dinners at Chassen's. Time flew playing dress up and, when the doorbell rang—it had to be Harris!—she wasn't finished. Leandra threw the remainder of her stuff into bags and cases, and then ran down the stairs to greet her American hero.

Grimly opened the door, but it wasn't Harris who walked through it. Oliver Bracknell strode into his home, and zeroed in on Leandra descending the staircase. The valet stood at his master's side.

Oliver said, “Thank you, Grimly. I misplaced my keys.”

So Grimly had tipped Oliver off that Leandra was back. Slight adjustment to her plan. A note was no longer necessary. She'd just tell him what she would have written. “Oliver! I'm so glad you're here. I need help getting my suitcases downstairs.”

The nineteenth Earl of Grayson stared at her, silently. He had a lot of practice on Holy Isle. Grimly said, “Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes, you may go.”

Leandra wasn't going to get help with her bags until she made nice. So she walked down the stairs toward her ex-boyfriend. Or … was it possible Oliver didn't know she had dumped him? Escaping Holy Isle with another man should have been his first clue. She had sent him a text saying she was fine and he didn't need to worry about her. But could that be misconstrued? Brits seemed to fall in and out of love so quickly, he might not realize what was going on.

Leandra pecked him on the cheek. “You look well rested! Did you get what you were looking for on Holy Isle? I hope so. Um, yeah, I just wanted to say I appreciate everything you've done for me. I value our friendship. Thanks ever so much. If we don't meet again, just, you know, have a jolly ol' life.”

“You're not really from Malibu,” he said coldly. “I've been in touch with Charles Lemming in Bangkok. He told me you're really from Vancouver, Canada, and that you've never even been to California.”

“Charlie doesn't know anything about me,” she said, and realized how true that was. Neither did Oliver. Harris was getting to know her, but he'd only scratched the first layer of surface. The only people who
really
knew Leandra were her parents (who seemed kind of scared of her), and Sophia. Demi knew her, too, but didn't like her. So fuck her, basically.

Oliver seemed very pleased with himself for Sherlocking her other ex-boyfriend. “You're a fraud!” he announced, index finger raised to heaven. “You were faking all those ommms! I doubt you're spiritual at all.”

“I am spiritual, just not about spirituality,” she said.

“What the hell does that mean?”

It was a bit too late in their relationship to call her on her schemes. “Look, I wanted to tell you that Grimly was very rude to me. You should sack him.”

“The ferryman told the Lama about you and the American, but only after everyone at the retreat spent a full day searching the island for you. I was frantic with worry. I thought you drowned. Anyway, the truth came out. For the next five days, I meditated and chanted about forgiveness.”

“That's nice,” she said. “Look, my friend will be here very soon. So chop-chop with the servants. My bags? Upstairs?”

“During my meditation, I learned something important. You are a taker. And I am a giver. To forgive is to give. It's right there in the word. For-give. I am
for
giving. Do you understand? You are for
taking
. I am for
giving
.”

Eating bark had softened his brain. “Okay,” she said. “For-give away.”

“That's what I'm doing,” he said. “This is me, forgiving.”

It looked like he was trying to hold back an elephant fart.

The bell rang again. “I'm just going to get that,” she said, and skirted around Oliver to let Harris in. Fortunately, he came with a helper of his own, his limo driver. Leandra directed them to her room, and the three of them got all her luggage in the car in only a few trips.

Oliver continued to project forgiveness at her, which completely creeped Harris out. “You fucked that guy? Seriously?”

“If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have met,” she said. “It's amazing how things happen, isn't it?”

“You're amazing,” he said.

*   *   *

Once settled at the Virgin first-class lounge at Heathrow, Leandra FaceTimed Sophia, who answered on the first ring. “Hi!”

“Hey,” said her best friend, who looked exhausted.

“Guess what? I'll be in LA tomorrow! I'm going to be staying in the Valley. How far is that from you?”

“With the earl?”

“Oh, no. That's over. He was just too snobby! I couldn't stand the phoniness and repression. The Brits keep all the feels locked up inside, stiff upper lip, keep calm, carry on. I'm just too self-aware and in touch with my feelings for London. I need a dose of North American realness.”

“Great. Call me when you get here.”

“Oh. Okay,” said Leandra. “I thought you'd be more excited to see me.”

“I am excited.”

Leandra detected a great gulf separating them that had nothing to do with their being six thousand miles apart. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” said Sophia. “I'm just really tired. I've been dealing with a lot. We're shooting round the clock to have enough finished episodes for—”

“I can't wait to hear all about it.” Leandra cut her off. “I've got to go. They're calling our flight.”

“Our?”

“I'm with a new friend. Say ‘hello,' Harris!” He leaned into the iPhone screen and waved at Sophia. “He's a movie director. I told him all about you, and he's dying to meet you. We'll be there in twelve hours. I'll text when we land.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Sophia, listless and dopey in the middle of the afternoon, her time. Was Sophia on drugs? She'd always been as pure as Canadian snow with that sort of thing. Leandra hung up, doubly assured that she was heading in the right direction.

“Is she okay?” asked Harris. “She seemed out of it.”

“She misses me,” said Leandra.

“You're a good friend.”

“I just do what I can to help other people,” she said. “I'm for giving. That's what it's all about. For instance, I'm all for giving you a blow job on the flight.”

“Girl of my dreams,” he said.

 

19

useless as a bag of smashed asshole

Demi brushed her hair and tied it into a pony, her restaurant style. Dory was launching in a month, and she spent all day, every day there, building the website, planning a soft-opening party for Yelp superusers, running numbers for Internet advertising. Yesterday, she campaigned Aiden to invest in a permit to set up a picnic seating area. “Where?” he asked.

“Outback on a faux beach,” she said.

“Enough with the outback jokes! But, yeah, I like it. That's my idea of California. A picnic on the beach.”

It was hers, too. Every day during her lunch break, Demi walked along the boardwalk and on Venice Beach. It was a movie come to life, with girls in pink bikini tops and cut-off jeans on fixed-gear bikes, steroid junkie bodybuilders pumping iron, hippies selling friendship bracelets and hacky sacks, people of every color, class, and age, happily coexisting under the sky and on the sand. Smiles for miles. Even the bums were somewhat happy and healthy looking. It was paradise. To think that Demi had hesitated about moving out here. Catherine had gloated a bit when Demi thanked her profusely for kicking her out of the nest. Life
was
an adventure. You had to get out there and live it.

As Demi stroked on some light makeup, she gave herself a figurative pat on the back. She'd faced her fears, took a risk, and been rewarded. Working at Dory was her chance to prove herself. She was determined not to fuck it up.

Her very first task as an employee of Aiden Archer's had been to wait on line at the local chamber of commerce for an alcohol permit. The irony was not lost, and neither was the paperwork. She got the permits, double-checked the dates and location, dotted the i's and crossed the t's. When she brought it back for Aiden's approval, he said, “Good. Now create a mailing list.” Grown-ups didn't need gold stars. Demi didn't need Aiden's praise to feel good about herself. Approval worth having had to come from within. Whether or not Aiden gushed about her creativity or efficiency didn't really matter, as long as she knew she'd done the job well. The mental shift might be small, but it felt seismic. Demi didn't need to please her boss, boyfriend, or father. She only needed to please herself, and her standards for what that meant were rapidly escalating.

Demi had lived and died for James's praise. It was what got her out of bed in the morning and into bed at night. She'd cooked for his approval, shopped for it, fucked for it. Demi didn't want to compare her relationship with James to hers with Aiden. But they were both older men who had authority over her. It was impossible not to. Demi and Aiden's dynamic was healthy, and mutually supportive. She knew she was building a friendship, as well as a business. It felt great to create.

Demi finished her makeup and chucked her used tissues at the bathroom trash can. She missed and picked them up off the floor. Low down, she noticed a white plastic bag of empty boxes shoved under the sink.

The bag was stuffed with boxes of over-the-counter STD tests, every type imaginable, and pregnancy tests, and some with spent swabs, pee sticks, and other panels, all of them negative.

Sophia had gone to a pharmacy, and cleaned out the home-test shelf. She must have spent hundreds of dollars. Demi wasn't even aware her friend was having sex with anyone.

There was David, but as far as Demi knew, they'd only made out that one night at Bar Marmont. Sophia had put him decidedly in the friend zone. The poor guy kept stopping by. “Just seeing what you're up to,” he said when he wandered over nearly every night.

Sophia's usual blow off was “I'm going to bed.”

David would sulk back downstairs like a kicked puppy. He was clearly heartbroken. Sophia really was exhausted. She would come home from shooting, eat whatever Demi made for dinner, and then crawl into her room. She seemed to sleep for ten hours a night, but it only made her more tired.

If Demi didn't know better, she'd say Sophia was depressed. But her friend had never been depressive growing up and she had no apparent reason to be upset. The show was hard work but she was doing well, living her dream. It was nearly impossible to be sad in this weather. Her mood was probably just a reaction to the pressure she was under. Demi was under pressure, too, and the demands of their jobs kept them from having time for a heart-to-heart. Demi mentally scheduled it for a month hence, as soon as
The Den
finished shooting its first five episodes, and the restaurant had its soft opening.

But then Demi found the box of home tests. The heart-to-heart just got moved up to ASAP.

Tracking back, Demi tried to figure out when Sophia might've hooked up with someone. She didn't come home after the First Night party. When Demi had asked her where she slept that night, Sophia said she'd crashed at Renee's. Renee was probably crawling with STDs, but Sophia wasn't into girls, no matter how drunk she got. Also, she wouldn't buy eight pregnancy tests if she slept with Renee.

Demi put the empty boxes back in the bag. Sophia was already on set, and wouldn't be available to talk until tonight. Taking a chance, Demi called her anyway.

“I'm in makeup,” said Sophia. “I'm not supposed to move my mouth.”

“Take me off speaker,” said Demi.

“Okay,” said Sophia. “Now my phone is caked with spray-on foundation.”

“I had some time to kill this morning,” said Demi. “So I thought,
What to do for fun? I know! I'll see what's under the bathroom sink
.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Mind your own business?”

“Something else?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“I'm fine,” said Sophia. “And I've got to go. We
won't
talk about this later.” Then she hung up.

To the dead phone, Demi said, “We are
definitely
talking about this later.” But for now, she had to get to Dory. Aiden was auditioning a new chef today, and she wanted to be there for the tasting. Demi struggled to let it go on the way to work. She had a tendency to ruminate. She was worried about her friend. Just like the bag of boxes and test strips, Sophia seemed to be trying to bury this. When Demi saw her later tonight, she'd try to pin her down about what was really going on.