Starkissed (2 page)

Chapter Two

“Take Wilcox,” I tell Caroline as I slide my hand along the smooth grey strip of seatbelt pressed against my chest. We’re driving downtown, just about to head for Albuquerque to get an early dinner before my flight.

“I’m not taking Wilcox,” she clutches the steering wheel of her little VW Golf and stares at the road. Caroline is a great driver, but she’s so tiny her seat has to practically sit against the steering wheel so her legs can reach the pedals. Her body being so tight against the wheel makes her look nervous and twitchy.

“Come on.” I urge her.

“You’re being irrational.”

“Says lover of Liam...”

“Fine,” she swings off Main Street and drags the car up Wilcox Avenue. A series of houses blur by on both sides of us, until the neighborhood thins and we reach the northern end of the street, littered with half a dozen small businesses not quite pretty enough to fit in with the picturesque beauty of downtown. A tire store, a falling down pizza joint, two gas stations, and a giant chain grocery store. And then, there on my right, Wicks Garage. I swallow a hard lump in my throat and try to stare carefree out my window, as if it’s completely normal for Caroline and me to take this route, which it is...sort of. We do come this way a lot, it’s just not usually necessary. I squint hard at the open garage doors and let my shoulders sag when I don’t find what I’m looking for.

“He’s not there,” Caroline points out the fact I’ve already discovered.

Colin Wicks, aka – the would be love-of-my-life, if he ever had a clue. I’ve known Colin for ages, ever since – excuse the clenching of my jaw – he and Ava dated when I was in seventh grade. He’s gorgeous and if my father ever knew about my crush, he’d declare him wildly inappropriate for me. So he happens to be...ahem...three years older than myself. Dad is six years older than Mom. But I guess that doesn’t really matter when you’re in your twenties. When you’re 16 (almost 17) and 19...it’s not as acceptable. Not that I’d ever have a chance with Colin anyway. Every girl I’ve ever seen him with has been buxom and beautiful, girls with glossy blonde hair and shiny lips, girls like my sisters, girls like Ava.

Since he graduated two years ago I barely see him anymore – usually only when my white 1998 Toyota acts up and I bring it to the garage. He’s always so nice. Even when I was the annoying twelve-year-old kid sister of his girlfriend – he treated me like a person, he treated me like I mattered. In my freshman year, his senior, even though Ava had dumped him two years previously and he owed me no recognition – he said hi or nodded to me whenever he saw me in the hall. An act so small can go a long way in the heart of a fourteen-year-old girl.

“Oh my God there he is,” Caroline squeals in my ear. I immediately follow her gaze across the street and spot Colin climbing out of the cab of his shiny red pickup truck. He runs a large, faintly tanned hand through the tuft of loose brown curls on his head, and then squints his denim blue eyes at something off in the distance. Before I can figure out what he’s looking at, he grabs something out of the bed of the truck and starts to cross the street. For no particular reason I can justify, I immediately duck down in my seat so I’m not visible.

“Drive,” I command Caroline with a hint of panic. She rolls the car forward and away from Colin. I only slide back up into the seated position when we’ve turned the corner. I avoid eye contact with Caroline and stare out the window.

“Chicken.” She mutters.

***

Not wanting to pay for parking, Caroline dumps me at the curb at departures and hugs me briefly before setting off. Before I leave she laughs and asks me if I want her to go let the air out of the tires in my car while I’m gone, so I’ll have a reason to go see Colin when I get back. And also so Ava won’t take it again.

“Maybe he’ll even have to tow it,” her eyes glitter.

“Don’t be silly,” I shake my head. “You don’t need to let the air out of all the tires, just one is enough.”

Although I know she’ll never do it, the idea makes me laugh.

My first flight takes off twenty minutes late and lasts about two hours. I’m far too wired to sleep. I’ve never been to New York City, but I’ve wanted to go for so long. Last summer when I went to Lake Tahoe with Caroline and her family, my parents decided on a whim to take everyone else to NYC to visit Alyssa. I was beyond pissed when I got home and found a flimsy ‘I Heart New York’ t-shirt on my pillow and an even flimsier apology from my parents for leaving me out. I got to go to Lake Tahoe, they argued. To which I responded, “who the hell cares about Lake Tahoe?” and really...who does care about Lake Tahoe?

Months of hounding and Mom finally relented. And now I’m almost there. Just one more flight to go. A few more hours and then Alyssa will be waiting for me, bleary eyed but surely smiling, on the other end.

The second flight is a bit longer than the first and I finally find myself starting to nod off just as they put a stupid zombie movie on the overhead monitors. It’s the first movie of a planned trilogy, based on these ridiculously popular books about zombie hunters. The second movie is supposed to come out soon, like in a few weeks. Angelina is beyond excited. Personally I hated the first one. The acting was terrible, the writing was ridiculous, and the chemistry between the leads was cringe worthy. And besides...zombies are gross. All the blood and guts. No thank you. I’m asleep before the opening credits finish playing.

***

Where is Alyssa? It’s almost 5:30 a.m. and my plane landed over an hour ago. I’ve barely had three hours of sleep, and I can’t seem to find an open Starbucks. She said she’d meet me at baggage claim, but so far she’s a no show. I’ve been standing here, watching the baggage carousel from my flight go around and around, the pile of luggage on it steadily depleting until all that’s left now is a single car seat – probably forgotten by some hassled, sleep deprived parents. Once when America was a baby and we were going to visit Aunt Cheryl in Palm Beach, Mom forgot the car seat at baggage claim. We got all the way out to the parking lot before she remembered.

Okay no Alyssa, but there’s a weird guy with twitchy eyebrows and wiry limbs staring at me. And he’s holding a sign. I squint. It’s a limp piece of torn cardboard and scribbled on it, in thick black marker, is my name. I tentatively step forward.

“Are you looking for me?” I ask him. He looks up, his watery brown eyes flashing suspiciously.

“Sydney Kane?”

“Um, yeah. That’s me”

He sighs and I can’t tell whether it’s a relieved sigh, or an ‘I hate my life’ sigh. “I’ve been here for ages looking for you. I’m Alyssa’s assistant, Topher. She just told me I was picking up her sister...she didn’t give a description and really...because of her other sisters...I just thought...”

“That I would look like her?”

“Well yeah,” he nods, as if my being born a brunette is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. All I can say is: get in line buddy.

“Well I don’t. Where is she?”

“She had a night shoot on the steps of the Met. It was supposed to be done by now, seeing that sunrise is coming, but one of the models didn’t show and it was chaos. Anyways,” he sighs wistfully, probably wishing he was there for all the fun instead of stuck here searching for me. He reaches for my bag, “the cabs are this way.”

Not trying to be lame or anything, and it really does sound like he knows Alyssa, but that little voice in my head keeps repeating what my mother always taught me. Never get into cars with strangers.

“I just have to run to the washroom,” I tell him and spin on my heel. When I reach the Ladies’ I duck in a stall and grab my cell out of my purse. I dial Alyssa’s number and am met with voicemail. I try again, three more times. Nothing. She’s always been terrible with answering her phone – either forgetting to turn the ringer on or leaving it in her purse, in another room. Finally, out of sheer desperation, I dial her home line. After four rings a very groggy male voice answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi Steve?” Steve is Alyssa’s fiancé. He’s a journalist for the New York Times. They met when Alyssa first moved to the city and went looking for work there.

“Uh yeah?”

“It’s me, Sydney,” I pause. “Alyssa’s sister?”

He laughs. “Yeah, hey, I know who you are Sydney, what’s up?”

“Um, I’m at the airport. Alyssa was supposed to pick me up, but there’s some guy here calling himself her assistant and I just wanted to make sure...”

“Gopher,” he clears his throat, “I mean Topher’s there?”

“Yes.”

“You’re good. He’s a bit of a smart ass, but he’s too afraid of your sister to pull any crap.”

“Thanks Steve.”

“No prob Syd. See you soon.”

***

There’s a certain magic to being awake to see the sun crest over the New York City skyline, turning the heavens from deep blue to sparkling periwinkle, then watching the arrival of pale, luminous orange on the horizon. I see all this from the window of our cab as it zooms across the George Washington Bridge.

Beside me, Topher is busy typing into his Blackberry, not paying attention to world outside. If I wasn’t worried about setting him off, I’d poke him and make him watch the sunrise with me. This is the kind of thing you want to share with someone, not gaze at alone. I briefly wish for Caroline, then a hopeful image of Colin flashes through my mind. I push the thought out of my head, no use pondering the impossible, not when New York City is just a blink away.

Once we’re off the bridge, the city surrounds us. Towering buildings form walls on either side of us, the sky barely visible behind them. Though it’s early, the city is more than awake. Cars fill the wide streets and traffic slows. I gaze out my window and something inside sparks every time I spot a landmark I recognize – I jump at the Empire State Building, squeal at Time Square, and gasp at The Plaza Hotel. Central Park comes in to view and I nearly scream.

Just a block or so later the cab comes to a halt outside of a large gray building, God knows how many stories high, with a deep green awning and a doorman tucked just inside the lobby.

“This is where Alyssa lives?”

Topher climbs out of the cab and offers me barely more than a shrug. He hands over a small stack of bills to the driver, who drops my suitcase onto the sidewalk and then speeds away. I go to grab the handle, but Topher swoops in before me and starts yanking the large, wheeled contraption behind him. If he didn’t look so hassled, I’d find the act chivalrous. As it is, I wish he’d just let me take the thing. Every time he looks at me, or does anything for me, I get the feeling I’m ruining his life. I follow him up the walk to the door, which is now being held open by the doorman.

“Morning, Topher,” he smiles genially as we slide by. He nods to me. “And who do we have here?”

“Alyssa’s kid sister,” Topher grunts and abandons my bag by the elevator.

“Tom,” the doorman introduces himself to me. “Nice to meet you Miss Kane.”

I smile at him, and am about to speak when Topher cuts me off. He shoves something hard and jagged into my hand. It grates across my palm and I flinch. I look down. It’s a key.

“I got to get going. Head up to the 26th floor, apartment 2602.” Then without another word, he spins on his heel and pushes out the front door.

I look over at Tom, perched behind his desk. He just shrugs at Topher’s disappearing back. “Help with your bag?”

“I’m fine.”

I push the small button on a brushed silver plate beside the elevator door. Seconds later the two panels in front of me slide open and I step inside. My hand brushes over the interior panel, pressing firmly on the circular button emblemized with 26.

There are only a couple buildings in West Plane tall enough to need elevators and usually when they start moving there’s a shake and a grunting noise. Not here. This elevator moves swiftly and steadily, so smooth that I barely notice it’s moving at all. It seems to float to a stop, as if delivering me to my destination via cloud. The doors slide open revealing a hall adorned with plush burgundy carpet and walls painted the color of heavy cream.

2602 is just a few steps to the right. I pause in front of the door and contemplate knocking, then remembering the hour, I shove the key Topher handed me into the lock.

The door swings open and my first instinct is to curse very loudly.

Chapter Three

I kick off my shoes just inside the door and pad my socked feet across the gleaming, hardwood floors. Where the hell am I? Certainly not the ‘practically a closet’ apartment Alyssa told me she was moving to back in September when she announced she was going to live with Steve. Definitely not the sixth floor hovel she’d been occupying in Chinatown with three other girls up until that point.

My eyes glide over my surroundings in awe. Immediately to my right is a large kitchen with marble countertops and appliances so shiny they look brand new. On my left is a long hallway, and moving forward is a huge living room with giant windows overlooking Central Park. I step tentatively around the leather couch and stop just short of firmly pressing my nose against the glass to see outside.

I turn back and wind myself around the furniture, toward the hall where I find a total of seven doors, three to my right, and four to my left, all closed. I ponder the idea of opening each in search of the bed I’m supposed to be occupying this week, but the fear of walking in on Steve doing who knows what – sleeping, dressing, peeing – holds me back.

I walk back to the living area and drop down on the couch. Sleep is pulling at my eyelids and I can barely resist any longer. Just as I’m about to succumb fully, I hear the slam of a door and my sister’s voice thrown across the room.

“Oh my God, Sydney.”

I spring up, as if waking from a startling nightmare, and turn to see my sister rushing at me with unnaturally wide eyes and manic glee in her voice. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come get you! This stupid shoot went forever and ever.”

Her curly blonde hair is a mess, sticking out at strange angles, and her lips are stretched into a jack-o-lantern grin. She pulls off a brown leather jacket and drops it on the floor.

I’ve seen this face before. Many times over the years, mostly back when Alyssa was in high school, on nights before big tests and big papers. Caffeine and my sister make for a ruthless combination. I can practically see her pupils vibrating.

I wrap her in a big hug and smell the sticky sweet odor of Red Bull on her breath.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Your assistant got me here just fine.”

“Oh good! Did you like him? He’s kind of awkward, but totally a go getter. Does anything I ask! He even gets me tampons when I need them. Steve won’t even do that.” She’s talking so fast I can barely decipher one word before she leaps to the next and her hands fly from side to side in front of her face to punctuate every phrase.

She finally stops talking and gulps in a huge breath. She smiles and pulls me back in for another hug. “So glad you’re here Sydney.”

***

I wake up around noon and wipe my hands over my sleep encrusted eyes. Sunlight is streaming in through the gauzy white curtains and the duvet I wrapped myself in five hours ago is tossed aside. I climb out of bed and stumble over to my suitcase which, thanks to Steve’s heroic muscles, is now perched on a bench at the foot of my bed.

I hear clanking on the other side of the door. Alyssa must be up too as Steve is off covering some story in Brooklyn. He woke up around seven, just as Alyssa was trying to make her way to the coffee pot. I tried to stop her, but my influence was too weak. If Steve hadn’t strode in, removed the pot from her hands, and ordered her to bed, I’d probably still be in the living room with her, watching her eyes get wider and wider, and her hands shakier and shakier.

I peek outside the guestroom door and spot movement at the end of the hall. I head toward it and find Alyssa leaning over the kitchen table staring at her laptop.

“Morning!”

“Hey,” she looks up and grins.

I walk over to where she’s standing and peer at the computer screen: an image of a woman dressed in some weird contraption of an outfit, lain out across the steps of the Met.

“What do you think?”

I peer closer, the photo is actually quite beautiful. The bright colors of the clothes contrasting with the dull grey of the steps and dark of the sky. Alyssa didn’t win all those awards and spend four years at Rhode Island School of Design for nothing. I tell her what I think and she beams. Why the opinion of a clueless sixteen-year-old should matter to someone as accomplished as her baffles me.

“Let’s just hope my editor feels the same way.”

She closes the lid of her computer and steps into the kitchen, yanking food out of the fridge and pans out of the cupboards.

“So...you really live here?” I take in the room around me once more and then look over at her.

“Obviously,” she snorts.

“Okay. But this place is huge, and like the view? I thought you and Steve were moving to Brooklyn? Why didn’t’ you tell anyone. Mom and Dad have no idea you live across the street from Central Park!”

“Still nosier than can be, I see.”

I shrug. “Just curious. The rent must be insane.”

“Um well, not really.” She shifts awkwardly from side to side.

“Not really? How could it not be?”

“Well we kind of...own it.”

“Own it! Seriously? How?” I whirl around, taking in the apartment with new interest. Those gorgeous windows, the hardwood floors, the shiny appliances. I’m torn between awe and jealousy.

She twists her hands together and leans her hip against the counter. “Okay, just promise you won’t tell Mom or Dad?”

“Okay.”

“Steve’s parents bought it for us.”

“Really? Nice.”

“It’s an engagement slash wedding gift.” She presses her hands flat against the countertop and stares at me shyly, as if waiting for some sort of judgment.

“Does that bother you?”

“What?”

“Them giving you the apartment?”

“Well kind of, I mean we were all set to move into the Steve’s place and then out of the blue they hand over this key with big, controlling smiles on their faces. It’s great, and all. But it feels like we’re in debt to them now, like we have to go along with everything they say...and I don’t know. I’ve always done things for myself, my way, and now I’m just...here.”

“What does Steve think?”

“Steve thinks that his parents are amazing and that we’re the luckiest two people on the planet and he thinks I feel the same way. It’s just not really me,” she motions to the gleaming white walls, the sleek furniture. She’s definitely got a point. Back home her room seemed to pulse with color. Every surface had something on it; every inch of wall was covered with paintings, pictures, drawings. “I guess I always kind of pictured myself living in some old loft in Brooklyn, or maybe a brownstone. But this...well you get the picture.”

“You’re going to marry Steve, you should probably tell him the truth.”

“What good would it do? We have somewhere to live, we don’t have to pay a mortgage or rent. There are people starving in this world and I’m upset because I didn’t get to pick out my marital home.”

“And why don’t you want me to tell Mom and Dad?”

“Oh come on. Mom spent ages picking out that silver tray she gave us for our engagement gift. If she found out what Kim and Saul gave us…I just don’t want to make her feel bad.”

“Oh.” I get it. It’s not like we’re poor or anything, Dad owns his own restaurant, Mom’s the busiest realtor in town. But with six kids in need of college tuition and what not, it’s not like they’ll be buying us houses anytime soon. And they’re the kind of people who would love to do such an amazing thing for their children.

Alyssa goes back to assembling brunch, a rag tag assembly of bacon, eggs, oven fries, and garden salad.

While we eat she entertains me with stories about crazy models and crazier celebrities. I nearly spit out a mouth full of orange juice when she tells me about shooting pop singer Summer Stone and a peacock in Central Park.

“She ran around the pen screaming, thinking the thing was trying to eat her shoes...”

***

Over the next two days, Alyssa indulges my every tourist whim. Even though I’m sure she’d rather do anything but, we circle the Statue of Liberty on a ferry, take the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building, stand in the middle of Time Square during rush hour, and eat hot dogs in Central Park. By Sunday evening we’re both exhausted and my suitcase is already bulging with pointless souvenirs.

“So what’s the schedule for tomorrow?” Steve lopes into the room wearing a pair of ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s been working all weekend and finally finished just as we got home.

“I was thinking maybe The American Museum of Natural History?” I say hopefully.

“Awe hun, I’m sorry,” Alyssa frowns. “I’ve got work tomorrow. By the time I’m off the museum will be closed. But it’s pretty close to here, why don’t you go over during the day? Then we can grab dinner or something? I should be home by six.”

“Oh, yeah of course,” I say, not sure why I’m surprised. I knew Alyssa had work, but I guess I just figured we’d be spending the entire week together. That she’d play hooky special for me.

“Hey I’ll come if you want company,” Steve offers. “I’m off for the next couple days.”

“Oh definitely take Steve,” Alyssa nods enthusiastically. “He’s clocked more hours in that place than probably anyone who works there.”

***

The next day Steve and I awkwardly venture out on our trip to the museum. I say awkward but what I really mean is dreadfully uncomfortable. The fact is that I’ve never been left alone with Steve, ever. There’s always been someone there – Alyssa, my parents, one or all of my other sisters. It’s easy to carry on a conversation when several others are floating you along, but when the weight of the conversational burden falls on just two – things can get difficult. As we walk, both of us mine our brains for something interesting or useful to say, but somehow fall flat every time. Steve starts talking about work, but when he meanders on to the topic of a story he’s currently writing on STIs and teenagers, we both turn bright red and can’t speak for five or so minutes. I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, back in junior high. It wasn’t exactly earth moving. We kissed twice and spent the rest of our three week tenure together holding hands and barely speaking. Suffice to say, I’ve never been on a date and by the way things are going here, maybe I should never go on one. What does it say about me if I can’t even talk to a platonic male, soon-to-be relative?

When we get to the museum we climb up the big grey steps and glide into the lobby. The sight of the giant T-Rex bones, recognizable from any number of movies and television shows, sends a jolt of excitement down my spine and I forget to be nervous or weird. I instantly poke Steve excitedly and demand we get moving ASAP so I can see everything. Steve has a season pass, so he waits dutifully by the T-Rex while I sift through a ten minute line and finally purchase my admission from an overly cheerful man with horn-rimmed glasses.

The rest of the afternoon passes by in a blur as we take in every exhibit. I’m a geek, fully admitted. I love museums, I love history, I love soaking in facts and knowledge. I’ll never be as smart as Arianna, academically at least, but Dad has always said the difference between me and her is that she loves being smart, and I love learning, and those are two very different things.

When we finish it’s just past five. We head up to the apartment and I start getting ready for dinner with Alyssa. All weekend she was telling me about these fabulous places she wants to take me to, I wonder which one she’ll pick.

Just after six the front door bursts open and Alyssa frantically rushes in, Topher on her heels. She looks at me, waiting on the couch and she frowns apologetically.

“I have a work thing, I completely forgot. I can’t get out of it. I’m so sorry Syd.” She says breathlessly. She shoves her purse and keys at Topher and then runs to her room to change. A few minutes later she emerges her hair pulled back into a soft knot and wearing a pink silk dress and towering heels. Four minutes and she goes from frazzled to fabulous. Mom taught her well.

“Bye guys,” Alyssa waves to us and rushes out. Topher chases behind her, not even bothering to wave on his way out.

“So...” Steve rocks back on his heels, “want to go see a movie?”