The Royal Treatment (12 page)

“Yes! You have to believe in yourself to be great. That’s what I keep trying to tell you. Sometimes, when you say a line, it’s the most genius thing ever. I’m completely convinced that you’re that character, that you understand her. But other times you’re just saying words.”

“You’re seriously going to start directing me?” I tried to pull my hands away, but Reed tightened his grip.

“I’m sorry. I’m messing up again, aren’t I?”

“Whatever. It’s fine.”

“No, this happened last week and you stopped talking to me. I want things to be right between us.” He looked away for a bit, considering his next words, then looked me right in the eye. “I can tell you’re different, Desi. That’s all. And I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl so…I don’t even know how to describe you. So…special.”

I almost interrupted him with a joke or a subject change, but he was so earnest, and a part of me—most of me—wanted to hear the rest.

“I hardly know you, but I kind of feel like, in a weird way, I’ve
always
known you.” He blushed. “I’m not trying to confess my undying love or anything. I just want you to know where I’m coming from. I see…something, so I might be hard on you because I know there is more there.”

“Oh. Um…oh.”

My stomach knotted. Where did that all come from? I’m not different. Sure, I have magical abilities, but in Idaho I was just Desi. I was content with that. So what was Reed seeing that no one else was? He did say one thing right—he didn’t know me.

And holy roller-skates, what was he doing telling me this stuff?

“This is the longest song in the history of couple skating,” Reed said. We did one more lap around the rink in silence, and let go quickly when the music ended.

“Kylee probably ate all the nachos by now,” I said. Kylee was wrong about the fate thing—just because you can’t talk to a guy and he makes you feel sick to your stomach and you don’t act like yourself around him…that doesn’t mean it’s a waste of time. Time is exactly what she needed. And I should have stopped Reed when he was saying all that stuff about me.

Except…except I didn’t want to. “Thanks. For the dance.”

“Uh-huh. And, uh, sorry I went off on you like that.” Reed fiddled with his ref whistle. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the play. Don’t break a leg before you break a leg.”

“I’d say that to you, but you seem to have this figured out.”

He flicked me one more look. “There’s a lot I don’t have figured out.”

His shoulder brushed mine as he skated away, leaving a sharp zap of unexplainable
electricity
.

W
hen I got to the theater the next night, an hour before curtain, everyone backstage was abuzz with chaotic energy. Mom did my hair and stage makeup at home, so all I needed was to put my costume on and try to not get stage fright. Try.

I found a folding chair next to the sound booth. My lines played over and over in my head. I had a nightmare the night before where I’d forgotten the words. No, actually I’d replaced them with things I’d said while on my subbing jobs. Celeste had laughed and Reed threw his head off and stormed off the stage, leaving me alone in the spotlight.

I shook my head. I didn’t have time to analyze the dream—I needed to mentally prepare myself for this moment, a moment I’d thought about as I’d watched the old screen sirens in my favorite movies. I was a legitimate actress, and unlike when I subbed, people would actually know
I
was performing. There was no Rouge to cover up a mistake.

A couple of techies ran past me, both frenzied. “I don’t know where he put his head. If I knew, we wouldn’t be looking for it.”

“How do you lose a donkey head?”

“I didn’t lose it. Stop blaming me.”

“The play starts in thirty minutes.”

“STOP BLAMING ME!”

I swallowed a smile. Reed probably hid the head in the dressing room just to mess with the poor girls. Because, really, that head weighed ten pounds. Hard to miss.

The duffel bag at my feet began to rumble. I zipped it open, but sat back up when I saw my manual light up. Really? Now? We were past the thirty-minute house call. That buzz had better be another BEST instruction and not gig info.

The manual’s phone vibration grew louder, causing the duffel bag to inch across the floor.

“Ugh! Be quiet.” I yanked the manual out and clicked on the text.

Meredith:
Be there in two.

No way. That princess could wait three hours. These people could stop time! Or slow time town—I don’t know how it worked, but whatever was going on at Façade was not as important as my play. Plus, I had to get into character—Titania’s character.

Before I could even pound a text of protest, Meredith’s bubble popped up.

“I can’t go now!” I hissed at the bubble.

The bubble didn’t reply.

“Can I at least change?”

Nothing. Not that bubbles talk back, but Meredith could hear me. Her silence said enough. After a minute-long standoff, another text appeared.

Meredith:
It’s not like I showed up in the middle of the play. You’re still fine.

I stomped my foot. “I helped hand-glue a hundred beads onto this costume. I don’t want to lose even one while we are in transit.”

Meredith stepped out, her hand on her hip. No one else could see her, just me yelling at nothing. But with theater people, talking to the air was a regular event.

“I’m going to yank all those beads off if you don’t get going,” Meredith said. “My personal time is about to start.”

“So that’s why you’re here on the biggest night of my life?”

“Being at Façade’s disposal is what you signed up for, darling. Acting in a theatrical production was your final BEST accomplishment. Technically, I should have waited until after the play, but I got clearance now. Delivering you to your job is the last thing on my to-do list before I go on vacation.”

“You never go on vacation.”

“
Exactly.
So I’d like to use the time I have to full advantage. Get inside and check your manual. You’re going to have plenty of performance practice with this girl anyway.”

I hesitated, and my hesitation was what did me in. Meredith’s smile was smug when I entered the bubble, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of admitting that, regardless of the lousy timing, I was dying to find out about this mysterious royal. I flopped onto the couch with my manual and compact, sweeping on some Rouge before clicking on the new profile.

FLORESSA CHASE

Age:
16

Hometown:
Hollywood Hills, California

Favorite Book:
Design: A Photo History

Favorite Food:
White cheddar rice cakes. The chocolate ones if I’m being naughty.

Anything Else We Should Know:
Like being me isn’t awesome enough, I found out about your little agency from some random Internet link. The perks of Hollywood royalty never end. And don’t worry, I followed the rules and haven’t told anyone about it. Can I tell you how fun it is to have a secret like this when basically my whole life is documented?

This couldn’t have come at a more perfect time, because I am in desperate need of a vacation from my mom, Gina Chase. Yes, THE Gina Chase—heiress to the Davidson carpet fortune and an Academy Award–winning legend of the big screen. You’ve seen her in Unspooled Love, Surrender a Moment, Once Upon an Island, The Alligator Club; and she hates when I mention this, but she also was on an awful cop show for three episodes. She recently divorced her second husband, Internet mogul Mason Gravis.

She is also trying to ruin my life.

She wants us to take this mommy-daughter trip to Tharma. She did a movie there back in the nineties, and feels like going back will be some spiritual awakening. So she got a yacht and wants me to experience the culture with her. Culture. Um, no thanks. The only thing I want to experience on vacation is some tanning oil and a bunch of magazines. And with my new fragrance line and the MTV hosting gig and all the time I’ve spent in the studio, I really need a relaxing vacation.

Of course, Mom would be seriously upset if she found out I skipped out on our whole bonding thing. I know she’s got big plans for us—I shudder to think what they are. All you have to do is go along with her craziness, but don’t get too excited. You still have to be me, right? And for the love of all that is holy, no embarrassing paparazzi moments once you’re off the boat. I have a relatively clean record and would like to keep it that way.

Speaking of paparazzi, I take a lot of pride that I have yet to make a worst-dressed list. I design my own clothes and live for fashion, plus I have my personal stylist/designer, Ryder, to help me. He’s so fab and sooooo expensive. Actually, looking like me is always expensive, so please keep up my beauty routine. I’ll be livid if I come back to ragged cuticles, K? Oh AND I’m on this special diet and exercise plan called Wheels, No Meals. I roller-skate when I’m not wearing heels, and don’t eat too much. I’ve already lost two pounds!

Last thing: make sure you talk and text Barrett a bit. A BIT. I hate it when girls try to creep on my man. So communicate only enough that he doesn’t suspect I’m gone. Which should be easy since he’s supposed to be halfway around the world on a fishing trip with his little brother.

Remember. Mom = Bond. And be careful not to let her talk you into doing anything I wouldn’t do.

“Floressa Chase? I’m confused. I thought Façade only deals with legitimate royals. I mean, besides the watcher and trial gigs. What makes Hollywood royalty Level Two?”

“I can’t fully answer that. Suffice it to say Floressa’s connections go beyond her mother. To test our findings, we put out what we call a feeler ad online—only someone with some trace of regal blood would see it, not that she knows that.”

“Still, everyone has a great-great-great dead royal in their family somewhere,” I reasoned. “What makes Floressa special enough for a sub?”

“It’s not just royal connections, although that certainly is the main criterion. Part of what qualifies a client for a higher level is wealth and exposure. Floressa has those coming out of her heiress ears.”

“So all I have to do is hang out with a super-famous actress on a yacht next to some exotic island.”

“Yes. I’m glad it seems simple to you. Keep it that way. Since I’m taking personal time while you’re on this job, I may be difficult to contact if you need me. But you won’t need me.”

I hardly heard her. All my pre-play anxiety melted away, replaced with complete rapture. In my wildest dreams, I’d never imagined an opportunity like this. “I get to be Floressa Chase! I get to be Floressa Chase!”

“Calm down. Floressa Chase does not squeal.” Meredith sighed. “I’m dropping you off in the yacht bathroom, so it’s a tight fit. You dock in Tharma in two days. And watch out for the spicy food. I may be dropping you off in a bathroom, but there is no reason for you to spend your entire sub job there.”

I’d woken up this morning, nervous about acting, with no clue that I was about to play a much bigger role. A
red carpet
role. This far exceeded my princess dreams.

I hopped out of the bubble, nearly stepping into the bathroom wall. “Oof,” I said, turning around to see a mirror. I swallowed another squeal. There I was, starring as Floressa Chase in a green striped bikini, dark shades resting on my head. I flipped her black hair and smiled over my shoulder. There were thousands of girls who would love to be Floressa Chase. I was the only one, besides her, who actually was.

A tightness clamped my ankles, and my feet grew heavy. The yacht swayed, sending me reeling—no, make that
wheeling—
into the counter. Oh, great. I knew Floressa was doing the roller-skating diet, but on a boat? How did she stop herself from rolling overboard?

I opened the door and edged along the walls until I reached the stairs. Placing the toe of the skate along each step, I bumped my way up. I let out a sigh when I reached the top, holding out my arms to ensure my balance as I faced the top deck.

The sun bounced off the crystal blue water. I could barely see the outline of land in the far distance. The salty air was ribboned with a light breeze, perfect for lounging. Which was exactly what Gina Chase was doing in one of the many padded deck chairs.

It’s generally known that celebrities are airbrushed and made up in photographs and movies, and that in real life they have zits, bad hair, and cellulite like everyone else. Maybe that’s true for other celebrities, but Gina Chase’s appearance verged on perfect. One look and you knew she was
someone.
She had the same dark hair and vibrant smile as Floressa, but her cheetah-print, one-piece suit complemented her creamy skin and sultry curves. I could almost place her in the same exalted category as my favorite fifties and sixties icons. Almost.

She tugged off her sunglasses. “Flossie! Where have you been? Don’t answer—I’m sure it involves those silly roller skates. Tell me, what do you want Johann to make for lunch?”

I considered my first question. Millie had been so exact on these sort of details, but I didn’t need everything outlined to make an educated guess. I’d survived on practically zero information as a Level One, and it’s not like Floressa was this big enigma. So rich girl on the ocean would want…“Uh, lobster sounds yummy.”

Gina chuckled “Since when do you eat lobster, or anything over a hundred calories?”

“Ha. Just kidding.” Oh, yeah. Rich girl on ocean doing the Wheels, No Meals diet. I prayed her meal plan didn’t involve counting calories and carbs—I had no clue how that worked. Lobster is a fish—isn’t that good for you? “I’ll have…a salad?”

“Let’s indulge and add some grilled chicken to it. Johann?”

All the yacht catalogues I’d flipped through had a dimpled, chiseled Johann, whose side job was likely modeling for Ralph Lauren ads. He wouldn’t even need to change his polo shirt. When he left to get our food, I rolled at slow-motion speed until I made it to the chair next to Gina.

She rubbed my arm. “Are you all right? You seem wobbly.”

“Hungry. That salad should be yum.” I untied my laces, removed the skates, and stuffed them into Floressa’s bag. “Don’t want tan lines.”

Gina went back to the script she was reading. I tried hard not to stare. Although I’d met countless royals during my adventures, it was still different from seeing an actress—an actress who was in movies and magazines and hair dye commercials. Part of me wanted to reach out and touch her cheekbones to check that she was really real.

“So you’ve gone thirty entire seconds without complaining about being on this yacht. Are you finally having a change of heart?”

“No.” I said, remembering this job’s balancing act: bond with mom and act like I was barely tolerating it. “I think the rocking of this boat is wearing me down.”

“Yachts don’t rock. It’s that ridiculous roller-skating diet. Why don’t you do some yoga with me instead? Wonderful boost to your immune system, and you’re going to need your energy when we land. I have some surprises for you.”

I could only imagine what kind of surprises Gina would shower upon her daughter. I tried to act bored. “I’m sure it’ll be just as exciting as the rest of the trip.”

“I want this to be a spiritual awakening for you. When was the last time you connected to your inner child?”

“Um, never?”

“Exactly. That’s why I’ve divided the next two days into three categories. Mind, body, and soul. Although we may switch up the order—do mind today, soul tomorrow, and end with body. We have a congratulatory pamper session booked. Doing this together will draw us closer as a family, and we’ll need that foundation when we arrive in Tharma.”

“Why? What happens in Tharma?”

Gina opened her mouth like she was going to say more, then closed it slowly. “Mind, body, and soul first, Flossie. Now, go into the study and find an enriching book. No pink covers! We want depth!”

The next two days were so deep, I felt like I was drowning. Drowning in AWESOME. I was making money doing activities most people would pay a fortune for. I didn’t know if I had any “inner child” action going on, but my one-on-one time with Gina Chase was golden.

On the first day, we talked about politics and books and Gina’s religious awakenings. And when I started asking her questions about her theater background, she poured out information, revealing how she tapped into her emotions, how she kept a straight face when things were funny, tips for line memorization. I think she was flattered that her daughter was finally interested, when in reality, she was being grilled by a small-town theater newbie.

The second day—our communion with our souls—was devoted to lots of self-exploration and discussion. We explored why Floressa preferred the color purple to green. Gina talked about her childhood fear of puppies. And we ended the day on the deck, meditating as the sun set.