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Authors: Nicole Richie

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BOOK: Priceless
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“You’re a persuasive woman, Charlotte Williams.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed her. “OK, we’ll take it slow and see what happens. I don’t know if I’m an L.A. kind of guy, and New Orleans is my home. But hey, as long as I get to write and play music every single day, I’ll probably be fine.”

There was a knock at the door. Jessika.

“Hey, handsome duo. John Sparks sent me to give you both a message, although, of course, I forget exactly how he said it.” She looked totally different today, wearing a long white dress with a beaded hem, her hair braided like Pocahontas, no makeup at all. She caught Charlotte eyeing her with surprise. “I change my clothes a lot. I like to mix it up, you know. Anyway, John says basically that he’d changed his mind, that he wants both of you as a band if you’re interested. After you left yesterday, he listened to all the tracks and realized how fantastic you sound together.” She laughed. “Besides, there’s so much buzz about you right now, he can’t resist building on it. You have a day or two to think about it.” She turned to go. “I’m going to go visit your friend Kat at the hospital.” She paused and blushed. “Do you think … do you know … do you think she would mind if I visited? I mean, we don’t know each other very well. We were going to go out last night, but that asshole kidnapped her before we met up.” Her eyes clouded briefly. “I thought she’d stood me up, actually. I waited for her for ages.”

Charlotte tried to suppress a smile. “I think she’d love to see you. You should definitely go. We’ll talk it over here and let you know later today.”

“OK, sounds like a plan.” Jessika left, looking more cheerful.

“Hmm, seems like maybe Kat has a new friend.” Jackson was looking thoughtful.

“Yup. That’s a nice surprise.”

Charlotte stood up and went to look out at the view. “We don’t have to take the record company’s offer. We could record the songs ourselves and distribute the music online. It’s been done.”

“Using your money?”

“Sure.”

Jackson sighed and came over to stand behind her, kissing the back of her neck.

“As I said, I just don’t know. I wish I could promise you I’d stay, but I can’t.”

Charlotte sighed, and suddenly she realized it was fine. She turned and hugged him.

“It’s OK, I get it. I’ve decided that life is about doing the things that make you happy, not the things that please other people. If you can please other people, that’s a plus, but as long as you’re not hurting anyone, you’re golden.” She squeezed his bottom. “But will you stay until there aren’t crowds of photographers everywhere?”

Jackson laughed, picked her up and carried her to the bed. “Well, that might take longer than you think, because I have a feeling you’re about to become famous for all the right reasons, rather than the wrong ones.” He laid her down on the bed. “And now I think you should go to sleep, tempting though it is to keep you awake a while longer.” He grinned as she reached up for him.

“I’m not that tired. Why don’t we talk it over a bit more?”

He grinned and lay down next to her.

Chapter
FORTY

In the end, everyone got what he or she wanted, which was unusual.

Once Kat was out of the hospital, the three friends found an apartment in Venice, near the ocean, and settled down to write an album. Well, Jackson and Charlotte did. Kat turned around and launched her assault on the fashion world of L.A.

Once the songs were written, Jackson took Charlotte out for dinner to celebrate.

Abbot Kinney Boulevard was thronged with people on that warm evening, and as they made their way to Joe’s Restaurant, Charlotte marveled at how quickly she’d come to love this funkier area of Los Angeles. An eclectic mix of edgy fashion and art spaces, along with your standard tattooed weirdos and chainsaw jugglers, Venice Beach was somewhere she never would have gone before her world changed so dramatically. Now it felt like home.

But it didn’t feel that way to Jackson. She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“You’re going home, aren’t you?” She took his hands across the table.

He smiled at her. “How did you know?”

“You stopped mentioning New Orleans a week or so ago. I realized that it probably meant it hurt too much to talk about it, because you missed it so badly.” She grinned. “It’s OK. I’m happy here, Kat’s fine, and if you think I won’t be coming to visit you every other weekend, you’re wrong.”

He looked enormously relieved. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Honestly, it’s fine. Before my dad … before things went wrong, I always wanted my needs met first, do you know what I mean? Now I realize that I’ll be OK whatever happens. I’m stronger than I thought, you know?”

Jackson nodded, thinking again how cool Charlotte had turned out to be. “You’re a pretty tough cookie, that’s for sure.”

“Well, you had something to do with it.”

He laughed. “I don’t think so. I think you were born tough, you just didn’t realize it.”

She shrugged and called the waiter over. “Well, whether that’s true or not, I’m a hungry tough cookie right now, so let’s eat.”

THE ALBUM WAS
being released the last week of summer, and the weather in Los Angeles was still baking hot. Kat met Charlotte at Smashbox the week before the release, dragging a rack of swimsuits and vintage cover-ups across the parking lot.

“Hey, babe.” Charlotte kissed her friend. “How was the
Vogue
shoot?”

In the previous few months, Kat had taken the city by storm and had been getting work styling the young and hip, as well as advising the older and wealthier on their vintage-clothing collections.

“Are you kidding? I met Grace Coddington in person. I honestly thought I was going to die. She is the most brilliant, the most amazing …”

Charlotte listened to Kat going on and on, watching the play of expressions across her friend’s face, feeling the usual wave of affection she felt every time they were together. Whatever crimes her father had committed, his actions had led to her making probably the best friend she would ever have, and she was grateful.

They went into the facility, which housed recording studios, rehearsal spaces, practice rooms, and video-editing suites. They were there to shoot the back cover of the album. They’d shot the front the week before, an homage to the famous
Vogue
cover of her mother, Charlotte naked, her arms folded across her chest, wearing the gorgeous agate and diamond collar her mother had left her. She’d dedicated the album to her mom, and it all felt right to Charlotte. On the back, Kat wanted to shoot her in a 1970s string bikini, possibly with a cover-up, sitting on the sand, looking relaxed and natural, no makeup at all, her hair loose.

“Did you have fun with Jackson last weekend?” Kat had been busy that week and hadn’t seen Charlotte for a few days.

Charlotte nodded. “Yeah, it was great. The Pearly Kings got picked up by a New Orleans label and are working on a CD. He’s thrilled.”

“Good.” They pushed open a studio door, where an assistant was spreading sand next to a scrim.

“Why aren’t we doing this at the actual beach?” Charlotte was smiling as she followed Kat.

“Are you joking? It’s, like, ninety-three degrees out there. I’ll freckle!” She pointed to a large wooden packing case, set to one side of the room. “What the hell is that? Is that a prop?”

Charlotte grinned. “No, it’s a birthday present for you.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“No, but it will be at some point. Open it.”

Kat narrowed her eyes at her friend but grabbed the crowbar that was sitting on top of the packing case. Prying carefully, she muttered under her breath about splinters.

Inside the case were layers of tissue paper, and as Kat started to lift them off, her voice went up an octave or two.

“Ossie Clark … a Celia Birtwell print … oh, my God.” She lifted the deceptively simple chiffon dress from the case and looked at Charlotte with wide eyes.

“Keep going.” Charlotte started looking through the swimwear, trying not to show how pleased she was by Kat’s thrilled response.

“Holy shit. Alaïa …” Rustling of tissue paper. “Zandra Rhodes … the sleeves! Missoni … Ungaro … Lagerfeld … Calvin Klein … Lacroix!” Suddenly, Kat turned to Charlotte. “This is your mother’s collection, isn’t it? I just realized. There’s nothing here from …”

“From after she died. Nope. It all stops in the mid-’90s. But it should be a good start, right?”

“For what?”

“For your new store. I signed a lease on a space on Main Street yesterday. I thought you might need some stock to open with.” She smiled. “There are three more cases waiting for you at the store, but we’re going to need to stop and get another crowbar. I borrowed that one from Smashbox.”

Kat stood very still and looked at her friend. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all.”

“You rented me a store?”

“Yes.”

“In Santa Monica?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how exciting that is for me?”

Charlotte laughed. “Yes, which makes it very exciting for me, too. Listen, Kat.” Her voice grew serious. “You’ve been the best friend I’ve ever had. Never once have you made assumptions about me because of my background. Never once have you judged my father harshly. And never once have you hesitated to call me on my bullshit or help me react like a sane and normal person rather than the spoiled bitch I was raised to be.”

Kat frowned. “I hope you’re not getting all gooey here. It could easily become awkward.”

Charlotte grinned. “Nope. Not gooey. But I’m not the person I was, and the person I’ve become is a better person because of you. You’re awesome.”

“That’s true.”

“And you’re very stylish.”

“I’m glad you mentioned that.”

“And I love you.”

“That’s nice. I love you, too, you idiot. Now, can we get on with the squealing and jumping around part? Because I’m really having a hard time staying calm about the store, and I feel the need to leap.”

Charlotte laughed, took Kat’s hands, and jumped up and down with her. Maybe Kat would never know how much Charlotte appreciated her, but Charlotte knew, and she knew how valuable true friendship was.

It was priceless.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to my family, Michael Baum, Nicole Perna, Jan Miller, Nena Madonia, everyone from Atria Books, Jonathan Ehrlich, Robert Strent, Randee St. Nicholas, Andy, Rachel, Abbi Waxman, and Simone.

BOOK: Priceless
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