Playground (21 page)

The phone rings. I answer it.

J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

“It’s me. We’re outside,” Kendall whispers excitedly.

“I’ll be right there,” I say.

I tie the end of my homemade sheet-rope to the doorknob and

toss the rest of it out the window. I begin climbing down the wall

of my second-story bathroom window. I jump the remainder of

the way, scraping my tight stonewashed jeans along the side of the

house. I bypass the creaky gate and hop over the backyard wall. A

black stretch limo waits for me on the other side. The back door is

ajar and I hop in. Kendall and Austin are glammed-out and drunk.

Troy’s in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, Troy.” I flash him a smile.

“Right . . . what’s up, girl?” He winks.

Kendall immediately places her sweater over my legs as she dis-

creetly moves her hand underneath it, running her fingers over my

left leg. We sip champagne, crank up the Rolling Stones, and cruise

down Sunset Boulevard.

“I need to stop at the market for a sec,” Kendall says, motioning

Troy to pull into the 7-Eleven.

Kendall grabs my hand.

“We’ll be right back,” she tells Austin as we jump out.

We run in and Kendall asks for the bathroom key. We get in

and Kendall locks the door. She grabs my arms, pins me against

the wall, and kisses me playfully, but for me her affection has be-

come more of a physical ache: a gaping hole deep inside me is sud-

denly filled when she touches me. When she lets go, it’s as if I am

drowning again and cannot breathe.

On the way out, Kendall buys a pack of cigarettes.

“Let’s get our asses over to Vertigo!” she roars with enthusiasm.

Moments later, we roll out of the limo, strut past a line of club-

goers, and head straight through the crowd to the purple velvet

rope. As soon as the doorman sees Kendall, he lifts the rope.

Kendall throws him a kiss. We enter the mass of decadence. After

the first round of drinks, we drop ’ludes, turning the night into a

fog of dancing, laughter, and general fabulousness.

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Playground

It’s almost morning. The haze begins to clear when we go to Ed

Debevic’s, a twenty-four-hour diner in Beverly Hills. Kendall,

Austin, and I chill in a corner booth. The decor is pure camp with

red booths and checkered floors.

“So, what are you going to tell Hef ? I mean, where does he

think you are?” I ask Kendall.

“Not with you, that’s for sure. He thinks I’m with Austin and

Jamal. He knows Jamal’s gay, so he doesn’t care. I’ll just say I got

drunk and crashed at his house,” Kendall answers.

“Where’s Hayden?” asks Austin.

“He left me to become famous in some European shithole,” I

tell them. “I hope he catches gonorrhea.”

“Typical self-centered asshole,” Kendall chimes in.

The waitress puts plates of omelets in front of us and I look

down at mine and can’t conceive of eating anything. The thought

of food is so disconcerting. We decide to leave and on the drive

home Kendall holds my hand, squeezing it every few seconds. I feel

a tingling sensation run through me as she presses her fingers into

my palms. Most of me wishes we could sleep next to each other

just for the night so I could feel the warmth of her body next to

mine, a comfort and closeness surpassing the realm of sexuality:

it’s a deeper connection I am searching for and have somehow

found in Kendall. But I know the simple fact that we are out to-

gether is risky and my heart pounds as the limo drops me off at the

side of the house. Kendall whispers, “Call me tomorrow.”

“ ’Bye, hon.” Austin throws air kisses from the back.

I make my way toward the front door and decide to chance it

with the alarm. I turn it off and quickly run in, holding my breath

as the numbers make a beeping noise. I wait to hear Dad’s footsteps

coming from his bedroom door, never knowing when he will wake

up. Nothing happens. All is silent. I tiptoe upstairs to my room.

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J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

At school, I’m chilling alone on the second-floor patio as friends in

side ponytails, rolled-up sleeves, and ripped sweatshirts breeze by

me but I barely notice; I am consumed by thoughts of Kendall.

I’m talking to Troy up at the Mansion.

“Are you sure my dad’s not there?”

“Girl . . . he left. I saw him drive off the property myself.”

“You’re a cool cat, Troy. I owe you, big-time.”

“Who takes care of you, babe?”

We hang up and I leave school, arriving at the Mansion to

show off my new rooster-bang haircut, sleeveless Breakfast Club

T-shirt, and Molly Ringwald earrings. Kendall skips down the stair-

case in tight cotton pants and a white tee without a bra.

“C’mon, we’re going to the beach,” she says, and pulls me out

the door and into my Mercedes.

David Bowie is on the radio as we head down Sunset, holding

hands in the car. I keep looking in my rearview mirror, paranoid

that we’re being followed.

“So, did Hef ask where you were going?” I ask hesitantly.

“He knows I need to get out for a while. I get claustrophobic in

that house all the time,” she answers.

“So, he’s cool with us hanging out?”

“He’s not thrilled about it. He knows I always get myself into

trouble.”

She lights a cigarette.

“Is that what I am to you—trouble?” I ask, slightly hurt.

“Oh, don’t be so serious.” She slaps me on the leg.

We pull into the Sand and Sea Club, where my mother is a

member. We cruise through the women’s locker room and stop at

the sauna. Kendall leans against the door, holding her cigarette in

her slender fingers. We look at each other with a deep, meaningful

stare, one filled with loneliness and longing. She reaches over and

pulls me close. I can feel the electricity between us. My enslave-

ment to her touch makes me feel loved and complete. We’re both

naked underneath our white fluffy towels and the hot air leaves us

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Playground

no room to breathe. I crave her in a way I cannot explain. Our

bodies are on automatic as we reach for each other and our lips

softly meet. When we finally pull away, she lies down and gently

uncovers the towel revealing her firm, round breasts. She reaches

for my hand and traces it slowly up her tan flat stomach. My

hunger to consume her is lost in a state of recklessness. I lean my

head down to kiss her voluptuous full lips as a high-society woman

in her fifties comes in wearing a pearl necklace and sits down.

There’s a wall of aloofness between us as the woman closes her eyes

and leans back against the wooden sauna. I instantly sit upright as

though caught in the act of a criminal mistake. Kendall moves her

hand without abandon underneath my towel, not caring what

anyone thinks. She finds delight in people’s discomfort, something

I admire but am still afraid of at the same time. I try to move away

from her, but end up giggling nervously. Sweat pours down my

face as I maintain a plastered smile. The woman opens one eye and

glares at me peculiarly. Out of nowhere, Kendall lets out a thunder-

ous groan. The woman shakes her head and leaves. We laugh

hysterically.

Kendall combs my hair with her fingers as we kiss. She trails

her fingers up and down my spine and rolls onto her back. I trace

my hand over her breasts, barely touching them as she sighs in

desperation. I touch her softly, allowing my fingers to make their

way in between her legs. Kendall’s moans become louder and

longer until another woman opens the sauna door, and I jolt to my

feet. It’s one of my mother’s friends!

I grin awkwardly and run out; Kendall follows behind. I turn

back once and see the woman standing there, staring. Nosy bitch.

Kendall and I spend the rest of the day frolicking in the water and

running around on the beach as if we’ve been best friends all our

lives.

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J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

A few days later, I ditch school, pick up Kendall, and sneak out to

Gregory’s on Sunset, a trendy New Age candlelit furniture store

with a full bar and slamming music. Kendall’s friends with the

owner, so we stop by to sip champagne and be glamorous. I watch

her smoke Marlboro Lights, fascinated by the way she holds the fil-

tered cigarette in her hand.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks,” the owner

says, waving his crystal glass of Dom Pérignon.

“I’ve been . . . ,” begins Kendall.

“Fucking your brains out?”

“If your friends won’t fuck you, who will?”

Kendall spins around in a Coco Chanel hat, posing in front of

the mirror.

“Oh look, she twirls,” the owner laughs.

I watch quietly, infatuated with Kendall’s seen-it-all eyes and

how comfortable she is in her body.

For a moment, I feel my age, my youth, my awkwardness, but

stifle it. Just being with her makes everything okay.

“We need to go on a real date, to Disneyland,” Kendall says as

she jumps up and wraps her arms around me lovingly. “We could

ride in the teacups and wear Mickey Mouse ears. Or move to New

York together and be really outrageous.”

Kendall leans in and kisses me sensuously on the lips as Cul-

ture Club plays in the background.

“That, my friend, is the future,” the owner says, popping open

another bottle of Dom.

“What used to bring us shame now brings us status.” Kendall

pulls away, licking her lips naughtily.

After Gregory’s, we stop by Mirabella’s for a quick strawberry

margarita, sitting at an outside table as we watch packs of Euro

trash go by. We parade down Melrose wearing colored fur scarves

and tinted winter sunglasses. Strolling hand in hand as best friends

do, we stop and look at our reflection in a storefront window.

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Playground

I know we’re being careless. I turn around with a funny feeling

that we’re being followed, but tell myself I’m being paranoid.

Troy picks us up in Hef ’s limo and we cruise by Dad’s house

but keep going when we see Carmela’s Pontiac parked on the side.

He drops us off at the park across from the Beverly Hills Hotel,

and Kendall and I tackle each other playfully as we race up the

grassy hill.

Looking around, I notice a man who’s wearing a long black

coat. It strikes me briefly as odd, considering the warm weather.