In Too Deep (23 page)

“You’re here,” Sophie said quietly, aware that the Pulse cameras had moved in for the kill and were recording her every move. To make matters more complicated, paparazzi had infiltrated the club and were circling the pair like vultures. Flashbulbs exploded in Sophie’s face and she blinked rapidly, momentarily blinded by the powerful lights that made her dizzy. “You’re really
here
.”

“Of
course
I’m here!” Melissa said jovially, reaching over and placing her arm around Sophie’s shell-shocked shoulders, leading her out of the crowd. “I told you’d I’d come, didn’t I? I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time now, Sophie. You can’t imagine how long.” Melissa turned to face her, her expression grave as she touched Sophie’s cheek with her fingers, tears swimming in her green eyes, her touch cool and light on Sophie’s skin. As she stared into her mother’s eyes, she felt a void inside her begin to close.
It’s like a dream
. Sophie thought as she reached up, taking her mother’s hand in her own as the cameras went ballistic, the reporters smelling a good story as they moved in, sticking tape recorders and microphones into Melissa’s face and shattering the moment between them.

“Melissa, why didn’t you ever admit to having a daughter? When did you get pregnant? What made you decide to get in contact with Sophie?”

The reporters’ questions filled the air and Melissa threw up her hands, her expression playful.

“Whoa! Hang on a minute!” She yelled good-naturedly, throwing her head back as she laughed, and in the one, insignificant gesture, Sophie saw herself. Watching her mother and seeing her own tics and mannerisms in this woman she didn’t know, who she’d never met before, was downright spooky. “One question at a time, okay?”

A blond, female reporter stepped up, rudely shoving a microphone under Melissa’s aquiline nose. “Melissa, when is
Speed Quest
going to be released? Is it true that you and costar Jude Law have become more than just friends?”

“You’ll have to check with the studio about the release date,” Melissa said, turning her attention to the camera that was busily filming her every word. “They’ve pushed it back so many times now that I’ve lost count. And Jude and I are dear friends,” Melissa said with a wink and a smile into the lens. “
Very
dear friends.”

At that, the reporters went wild, pushing in closer and closer until Sophie found herself shoved into the background, the crowd threatening to swallow her whole on its celebrity-obsessed wave. Sophie watched with rapidly growing disappointment as her mother patiently answered question after question, smiling happily into the camera—and not once turning to look in Sophie’s direction.
Is this all I get
? Sophie thought incredulously, her hands balling into fists at her sides. As she watched her mother ignore her, use her for a goddamn photo op, Sophie felt herself growing smaller and smaller, shrinking into the background as the crowd clamored around Melissa—her party, the fact that Melissa Von Norton was her mother, her entire presence clearly forgotten. There was an ache in Sophie’s throat, and a turning in her stomach as she silently pleaded with Melissa to turn around and remember that she was standing there, to tell her that it had all been an oversight, that she’d been overwhelmed by the crowd, the cameras, the flashing lights—by her own emotions. At that moment Sophie would’ve believed any explanation, as long as there
was
one.

All her hopes came crashing down as Melissa allowed herself to be led to the V.I.P. room, walking away without a backward glance and leaving Sophie standing near the dance floor as practically everyone she knew stared at her piteously, taking in the scene with whispers hidden behind palms and sly glances. Gathering all the dignity she could muster, Sophie turned her back on the scene sharply as the DJ began blasting Calvin Harris’s “Acceptable in the 80s,” and the room filled with the hyper-happy sounds of crashing synth beats. Sophie began walking blindly toward the back of the club, her vision blurred by her unspilled tears, her glitter-dusted cheeks flushing hotly.
If I can just make it to the bathroom
, she thought silently, feeling as though she were underwater as she pushed through the flailing arms and legs of the crowd, the shrieking laughter of delighted partygoers ringing unpleasantly in her ears.
If I can just get out of here for a minute, I’ll be all right
.

Just as she was about to push through the bathroom door, lock herself in a stall, and contemplate never coming out again, a rustling movement and a flash of silver glitter hidden in the shadows caught her eye. Sophie peered through the darkness and walked a little closer as she realized that the flash was Phoebe’s shimmering silver dress. Sophie breathed a sigh of relief, ecstatic to have found someone she could pour her heart out to. But as she got closer, she realized that Phoebe was definitely not alone—Phoebe was pressing up against a shadowy figure dressed in black, her lips moving rapidly in what seemed to be a heated conversation. Well, whatever was going on, it could definitely wait—she was in the middle of a crisis! Phoebe could go back to getting her flirt on after she’d properly consoled her.

“Hey!” Sophie called out as she approached. “God, am I glad to see you, Pheebs. Everything’s a complete disaster, my mother—”

Phoebe look at Sophie, wordless, a sheepish and slightly terrified expression moving over her heart-shaped face, her dark eyes darting from Sophie to the shadowy figure standing against the wall. Sophie could see that Phoebe’s bright, magenta lip gloss—which had been perfectly applied at the start of the evening—was now hopelessly smudged in one corner. She’d clearly been getting up close and personal with whoever was lurking in the shadows. Sophie squinted her eyes and moved closer to the shadowy lump half-hidden behind Phoebe, the shock registering in her eyes as she came face-to-face with a figure that was scarily, horrifyingly familiar.

“Jared?” Sophie demanded as her pulse quickened, her blood boiling like lava in her veins. “What’s going on?” Sophie turned to Phoebe, feeling like everything familiar and safe had just been ripped away from her in the last twenty minutes. First her own parents betrayed her—and now her brother, too?
At least we’re keeping it all in the family
, Sophie thought bitterly. This was like some bad acid trip. Could someone have spiked her champagne or something? Try as she might, there seemed to be no other explanation for the total randomness that she was now experiencing. “
Phoebe
?” Sophie stared at her best friend, her gaze murderous.

“Sophs,” Phoebe said quickly, regaining some of her composure, “it’s not what it looks like.” Sophie narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I mean it
is
. . . but it’s not like we wanted to lie to you, it’s just—”

“No, that’s fine, really,” Sophie said, cutting Phoebe off before she could get another word in, her voice like ice. “Haven’t you heard?
Everyone
lies to me. Why should you be any different? But I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Sophie went on, a tear escaping her right eye and sliding down her cheek before she could stop it. “That I thought you were different. I thought you were my
friend
.”

“Sophs, listen.” Phoebe’s face crumpled along with her composure, and she extended her hands, trying to grab onto Sophie’s arm, her eyes pleading, her expression mirroring the one Sophie had seen and subsequently ignored in Phyllis’s eyes earlier that evening. And as Phoebe’s hands reached out, Sophie backed up rapidly, smacking into a disco cowboy wearing a pair of metallic gold leather chaps.

“Don’t
touch
me!” Sophie yelled putting out her own arms in front of her to ward Phoebe off. “Don’t talk to me. Just leave me alone.”

“Listen, sis, you need to chillax,” Jared said as calmly as if he’d been languidly waxing his surfboard for the last ten minutes. He threw his head back, shaking the hair from eyes covered by chrome aviators, and straightened the bottom of his ridiculously retro beige Members Only jacket. “Let’s just go and sit down and we’ll—”

“Don’t you
dare
talk to me right now,” Sophie screamed, tears streaming down her face, streaking her gold shadow and liner. “And that’s not even seventies!” she yelled, pointing at his jacket. “It’s
eighties
!”

Before either of them could say another word Sophie spun on her heel, almost toppling over completely before she righted herself and tore off into the crowd.
Just get me the hell out of here
, she prayed silently as her eyes darted from side to side, looking frantically for the exit. As she pushed through the gyrating crowd on the dance floor, a familiar voice came over the sound system. Sophie turned and looked up at the DJ booth. Melissa Von Norton stood there, a microphone in her hand, beaming down at the crowd.

“Can I have your attention, please? I’ve brought a very special gift for the birthday girl—my dear daughter, Sophie!” The crowd gasped, turning around en masse to face Sophie, who stood there as motionless as a wax figure. “Will everyone be so good as to follow me outside?” Melissa said with a twinkle in her eye as the crowd rushed toward the front door of the club like someone had announced that Zac Efron was standing directly outside, on the pavement in front of Marquee, completely naked.
That would give a whole new meaning to curbside service,
Sophie thought as she moved numbly through the crowd, ignoring the constant chatter that surrounded her, feeling as totally and completely alone as she ever had in her entire life.

Instead of a naked teen sex symbol, a brand-new black BMW convertible was parked at the curb, a bright pink ribbon wound around the hood ending in a garish, glittery bow. As Sophie stood staring at the car like it was a dinosaur that had somehow crawled its way back to the island of Manhattan, Melissa came up behind her, resting one peach-manicured hand lightly on Sophie’s shoulder, and pressing the shining silver car keys into Sophie’s palm with the other.

Sophie stared down at the keys in her hand, resisting the urge to gouge them into the soft flesh of her arm, the roar of the crowd seemingly miles away as she looked up uncomprehendingly into her mother’s face. This time—though the resemblance was clearly still there—she saw none of herself reflected back in her mother’s placid, empty green eyes. “I don’t drive,” Sophie said woodenly, shoving the keys back into her mother’s hand, and shrugging off her touch with a brisk shake of her shoulders. “But you wouldn’t know that about me, would you? Because you’ve never been
around
.”

“Sophie, I . . .” her mother began with a worried smile, looking nervously at the flocks of photographers that had gathered around them like birds.

“You
what
?” Sophie snarled, letting the anger and disappointment she felt wash over her in what felt like an emotional tidal wave. “You came here to use me as a photo op—that’s what.” Sophie’s eyes darted around the circumference of the crowd and rested on Madison standing there
. Stop
, she mouthed, rolling her eyes for added emphasis. But Sophie felt like she’d gone too far already, that stopping, or even slowing down was completely out of the question, not to mention impossible.

“Sophie, that’s not true,” Melissa said firmly, reaching out and grabbing onto Sophie’s arm. “I came here for you.”

“You came here for
this
!” Sophie yelled, pulling away from Melissa’s grasp as if her mother’s touch burned through the fine silk of her jacket. She pointed an index finger accusingly at the rapidly popping flashbulbs, the crowd pushing in for a better look, her murky green eyes red and wet. “And you can have it.”

Sophie turned and ran, her legs moving as fast and as hard as she could. She ran like someone was chasing her, like her life depended on it, turning down the city streets, her heels clicking against the still-damp pavement from the rain shower that had sprinkled Manhattan a few hours earlier, her arms moving in time with her breathing as her nose began to run and the fedora flew off her head, twirling once in a gust of wind, then smacking against the windshield of a yellow cab with a barely audible thud.

one big happy family

“Drew, wait ! ”

Drew ignored his father’s voice, picked up the pace, and kept walking, his hands shoved into his pockets, his head down to hide the tears that had sneaked out from the corners of his eyes. When he didn’t slow down or answer, his father began to run, and Drew heard a rush of footsteps on the pavement as his dad fell into step alongside him, breathing heavily.

“Listen,” his father said breathlessly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to crouch deeply, bending over at the waist, his white jacket pulling tightly over his slightly rounded stomach. Robert Van Allen was still carrying around one too many pounds from his days working as a chef—too many slivers of foie gras and spoonfuls of cream-based sauces had somehow found their way around his middle over the fifteen years he’d worked in the kitchen.
The guy couldn’t even run half a block and he was having an affair?
Drew thought, looking at his father with undisguised disdain.

“Drew,” his father said, once he’d regained his breath, his face red and sweating, “we really need to talk.”

Ten minutes later, Drew found himself regarding his father stonily from his perch on a cracked and peeling leather barstool at O’Malley’s, a faux Irish pub a few blocks from Marquee. The air was hazy with smoke, and his dad raised his hand in the air, signaling for a refill of the Glenlivet on the rocks he’d just downed in a few easy swallows. Drew scuffed the toe of his vintage Converse high-tops against the sawdust-covered floor, angling his body as far away from his father as he could possibly get without getting up and moving to another seat.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Drew’s father asked, looking over at his son, his brow lined with worry.

Drew shook his head and looked away—determined not to look back. “Water’s fine,” he said, his voice tight, his hand circling the rim of his glass. Drew still couldn’t believe what he’d just seen back at the club. He had the happiest parents in all of Manhattan, didn’t he? Whatever his dad had to say couldn’t
possibly
explain why he’d been having an affair with Phoebe’s mom, of all people. He’d never had even one nice thing to say about Madeline Reynaud. Drew had heard his dad complain that Madeline was a bourgeois, stuck-up snob more times than he could count—and now he was
dating
her?