No Strings Attached (43 page)

“It's all good,” Jared insisted.

“Well, then c'mon over. Julie can't get up, and she wants to chill with your ass.”

Julie, who'd suffered a hairline fracture that night at Spider, was playing her “tragic injury” for all it was worth. “I can't dance,” she complained to Jared. “I need company. Lots of it. And liquor.”

“I'm here for you, Julie. What are you drinking?” Jared asked.

“A lot.”

That was the theme of the night, as far as Jared and Lindsay's group was concerned. Those who couldn't, or wouldn't, dance were drinking, eating, and dishing. The talk was shop: who was up for what role, who got hired or fired, who was sleeping with the director, or wanted to; who was hooking up; who was breaking up; who was in the closet, who was about to be outed.

He'd heard it all before. Over and over. Like a loop. Jared found his attention drifting away. To Lindsay, looking hot
while dancing, drinking, and giggling. He checked on Uncle Rob's belongings, the guitars on the walls, the copper bongs, the CD/record collection. No one had touched anything.

“Jared.” Julie pulled him off mental surveillance. “Unknown dude flirting with your girl.” She pointed across the room.

He was tall, wearing rumpled cords and a wrinkled T-shirt that read “Napster Rules.” He was so not one of them. And he was all over Lindsay.

Before Jared could jump up, Lindsay led the newcomer over to their group. “Guys, this is Mark.”

She was met with blank stares.

“Mark!” Lindsay squealed. “You remember, from the park.” She jogged their memories. “He rescued George Clooney, and he tried out for that heinous
Heiress
movie. Neither of us got it.”

Jared remembered: Mark had auditioned opposite Lindsay, and presumably Sara, for
The Outsiders
. Mark, this granola guy, was now an FOL, a Friend of Lindsay?

“Move over, guys,” Lindsay urged. “Make room for us. Mark, what can Jared get you to drink?”

“Yeah, what're you having, man?” Jared grumbled, getting up to head over to the bar. He'd need another few shots of tequila if he had to hang out with this dude.

When Jared, carrying a tray full of shots, returned, Tripp was singing some old folkie song. Mark, Austin, MK, and Julie were singing along.

Jared freaked: Tripp had removed one of the guitars off the wall. Before he said anything, Lindsay leaped up. Even quasi-drunk, she realized this was a major no-no. She swiftly wrested the instrument from him and put it back on the wall.

Mark left soon after. Jared found himself relieved. A relief that lasted a microsecond:

“Body shots!” Lindsay shouted, peeling off her top—to reveal a cute cami underneath. “Let's do body shots, let's get this party movin'!”

She practically skipped into the game room, rounding up as many revelers as she could. She opened the sliding doors, summoning party-peeps inside. When she bumped straight into Sara and Eliot, she hooted, “It's your birthday! Happy—”

Eliot put his palms up. “As a birthday present, Lindsay, please don't throw up on me.”

That set off a giggle-fit. Which, midway through, led to Lindsay's inept interpretation of
E.T.
—the Spielberg classic, not the TV show. She held up her finger and started chanting, “Eh … lee … yot … Eh … lee-yot …”

Caitlin hooted, “Wait, your finger has to glow. What's in the house that we can use to light it up?”

Lindsay, Caitlin, and Ava scouted around. Five minutes later, they returned, having glued glitter to all their fingertips. And succeeded in making Eliot turn tomato red and probably wish he really could go “Home—ET go hooomme,”
even as the girls were dancing around him and teasing.

The body shots had just begun: Ava was the first volunteer. Tripp had poured a tequila shot into her belly button and was first in line to lap it up. MK followed, as did Nick, then a flotilla of fellas, as Lindsay laughingly called them.

Jared felt calmer. Most of the celeb crew had split, as Lindsay predicted. No photogs had crashed the party, and so far, nothing he could see had crashed and burned.

A few body shots among friends—what was the harm in that? As long as no one was licking liquor off his girlfriend, that is. After Ava, it was Caitlin's turn to be tickled with tongues and tequila. Even Eliot had joined in by this time: no doubt because Nick had finally made sure the E-man was sloshed. Sara and Naomi remained the teetotalers in the house.

“Yap! Yap! Yap!” He heard it, even as he joined the line to do a shot off Caitlin, and whirled around. Lionel, Sara's agent, had arrived. In his arms, he carried a small rat-faced dog.

“George-fuckin'-Clooney!” Lindsay bellowed. “What's he doing at my party? And … who invited you?”

Lionel, who couldn't wait to rid himself of the runt, gave him over to Lindsay. “Good evening to you, too, Ms. Thing,” he said. “Sara invited me, and I happened to be dog-sitting. Since you and George Clooney are already BFFs, I didn't think you'd mind if I brought him.”

“Think again,” Lindsay hissed, then drew Lionel into the
kitchen, where Sara immediately rushed over to them, alarmed. “I … I …,” she stuttered. “I'm sorry, Lionel, I didn't invite you. …” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. Lionel was a direct link to Rusty Larson, and even Sara had pledged to keep anyone away who might report to him.

Lionel beamed at her. “I know you didn't, sweetie. I called the cell phone, and Eliot said to come on over. I have delicious news for you! And I had to give it to you in person.”

Jared barged in. “Come here, man, I need to talk to you.” Before anyone could stop him, he'd pulled Lionel out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out to the backyard. And told the dude in no uncertain terms: He wasn't here; there was no party; Rusty Larson would know nothing about this evening. And—urgent bulletin—whatever news he had for Sara, if it was about
The Outsiders
audition, he'd better tell Jared first. No way would Jared let Lindsay be humiliated. Not tonight, and not like this.

Sara was shaking with dread and anticipation.

“You got the part! You got the part!” Naomi repeated excitedly. “Why else would Lionel be here?”

“Is that what he said?” Sara rushed at Eliot. “Is that what he told you on the phone?”

“He said he had good news for you,” Eliot explained, “and he wanted you to come to the phone.”

“So why didn't you come get me?”

Nick answered for his bud. “El probably said, ‘Come over and tell her yourself.' Am I right?”

Eliot offered a sloppy smile. And a hiccup.

Sara bit her nails. “But … how could you do that, Eliot? If he's come to say I won the audition, that would mean
Lindsay lost. And she'd know it, in front of everyone. That'd be horrible for her.”

Eliot's bug eyes widened, and he happily slapped his face. “Oh. I was only thinking of you, Sara-dorable one.”

She sighed. She'd been preached to her whole life about the evils of alcohol. What she hadn't understood until this summer was that liquor loosened lips, acting like truth serum. She knew Eliot was crushing on her—who in the house didn't? But she didn't think it was serious. As far as Eliot knew, she was still committed to Donald. Or had he inferred the truth, that she wasn't so sure anymore?

She adored Eliot. As a friend. A true friend, one she hoped she'd have for life. It'd never be anything more than that. And now, this thing, inviting Lionel over—in front of Lindsay—that was unlike Eliot. It was just insensitive.

Naomi read her mind. “What do you care? Lindsay's been nothing but mean to you. And besides, if Lionel is here to give you this amazing news, it just means you were the better actress, the better fit for the role.”

Sara found herself saying, “But Lindsay, she'll die if she doesn't get it.”

“Oh, come on, Sara.” This was Nick now. “She's a drama queen. She'll get over it. And get another role, too. Lindsay's determined; she's a survivor.”

Did that mean Nick thought Sara wasn't? She looked at
him. Her legs turned to jelly. Those charcoal eyes were smoldering. And those lips … no! She was not going to think about Nick Maharis now.

She stalked out of the kitchen, on a mission to find Lindsay. She didn't make it farther than the living room. Jared and Lionel were just coming inside. Lionel rushed up to her and threw his arms around her. He glanced over his shoulder at Jared. “So is it all right if I tell her?”

Sara had not won the role—yet. The news, Lionel insisted, was almost as good. He had just got a call from Amanda, who was having dinner with the producer of the movie. They'd narrowed the search to two actresses for Cherry, and Sara was one of them. She'd audition for the head of the studio on Monday. Wasn't that the most fabulous news ever?”

Sara stared at her agent. “I'm up against Lindsay, aren't I? She's the other person.”

Lionel's silence was her answer. “Come on, Sara, you're supposed to be over the moon about this news. Why the long face?”

“Does Lindsay know?”

Lionel assured her that Jared was going to find her and give her the excellent news that she, too, was a finalist. “It's all good, Sara. Now I insist you come and talk to me. I dragged all the way out here to tell you.”

Numbly, she followed him, and soon found herself in the middle of the living room, with Lionel, Naomi, Eliot, and
Nick. In a daze, she watched Nick's eyes wander the room: checking out the designer-decked dollies, as they checked him out. Yet he made no move to leave their little group.

Lionel leaned over, whispered in her ear conspiratorially, “You like him?”

She whispered back. “No! I mean … not in that way. It's nothing.”

What Lionel said next disquieted her. “Are you sure he's straight?”

She jerked her head up. “What do you mean?”

“What's the secret, you two? Why are you whispering?” Nick nudged her.

“I asked Sara if you were straight.”

Sara had never noticed Nick's vein, the one in his forehead that protruded when he was enraged, the way his lips pressed together, his eyes dulled. He bolted up without a word, headed for the bar.

Eliot was surprised. “Why would you ask a question like that? Nick's a babe-magnet.”

“I heard about this thing called gaydar. …” Naomi hesitated. “Like radar.”

Lionel shrugged. “No, nothing like that. It was an honest question, that's all. Just because girls like him doesn't mean he swings that way. Why should Sara waste lustful looks on someone who bats for the other side?”

Sara blushed and stood up. “I need to find Lindsay.”

Lindsay found her first. Out in the backyard, Sara was walking toward the pool when Lindsay, completely hammered, called from behind her. “I have just one question for you, Sara. Why didn't you read the scene like I told you to?”

Lindsay had seen her audition? Sara whirled around.

The stuck-up girl was coming at her now, guns blazing. But in her eyes, those normally dancing light brown eyes, Sara saw panic. And pain. She gulped.

“You didn't believe me, did you?” Lindsay accused her. “You thought I was tryin' to trip you up?”

“I never thought that, Lindsay. Anyways, your plan worked, didn't it? We conquered the competition, me and you.”

“My plan worked. Yeah, right.” Lindsay laughed mirthlessly.

Sara steeled herself. “But you're right. I didn't end up reading it the way you said. I don't know what came over me, exactly, but—I know you'll think this is stupid—I've been reading the other script, the one the policeman wrote?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Lindsay said.

“The one you tossed into the pool that first night? And I got it out?”

A hint of recognition crossed Lindsay's face. “
That
one? How does some hack script by some random wannabe have anything to do with
The Outsiders
?”

“It doesn't. Not exactly.” Sara drew a deep breath. “But there's a character in it, her name is Kate. And she sort of is like Cherry in a way. Conflicted, you know. It sort of spoke to me. And I ended up doing the reading as if I was Kate. Funny, huh?”

“Yeah, funny ha-ha,” Lindsay mumbled, then turned and walked away.

Sara took a step toward her, then froze. She wanted not to care about Lindsay. She wanted to win the role of Cherry: She deserved it. Her mom deserved it—all those years of sacrifice, all that money spent on the pageants, everything the family had poured into their only daughter. This was the payoff. This was the dream come true. She saw her name up on the screen: “And Introducing Sara Calvin as Cherry.” She'd be the toast of Texarkana. Best of all? It'd be because her whole family had worked for it and she'd earned it. She should win the role of Cherry, because it was right.

Lindsay. The cute, bubbly, freckled girl popped into her head, much as Sara tried to push the image away. Lindsay had worked too—she'd spent her whole childhood supporting her family. This was her moment, her destiny, too. And that was the difference between the two of them, Sara realized. She wanted the role—desperately—but she wanted it for her family, for her town, because she believed it her destiny.

Lindsay simply wanted it for herself.

Sara hung her head.

Naomi came looking for her. “What are you doing out here? Did you find Lindsay? What'd she say to you?”

“No,” Sara lied, “I didn't find her yet. I'm still looking.”

She stared out over the valley. The million-dollar view, Jared had called it. At night, the lights twinkled below her, around her. And this night, the air was so clear, like someone had sprinkled it with sweet jasmine, citrusy orange, and lemon.