What Remains of Me (18 page)

BELLAMY WAS RIGHT ABOUT VEE'S BUILDING. IT DID LOOK LIKE THE
Sleeping Beauty Castle at Disneyland. What she hadn't mentioned, though, was that Vee lived in a tower. His apartment was one big, perfectly round room, with a minikitchen on the end near the door and a huge curved window on the other, a bathroom off to the side of it. His only furniture, if you could call it that, was a mattress, its far end shoved up against the window. He'd covered it with a tie-dyed sheet to make it look like something to sit on, but when Kelly arrived, nervous and winded after climbing the seven flights of stairs, there were about fifteen people in the room and they were all standing.

She scanned the crowd. She couldn't find anyone she recognized from school, which was more good than bad, but still it made her feel paralyzed. She stood in the doorway for a long time gaping at the group of strangers—girls in tight jeans, sleeveless T-shirts and chains or sheer halter tops showing tanned shoulders, their hair loose and shining or in perfect asymmetrical bobs, guys in ripped T-shirts with punk band logos on them, hair spiked up sharp or half shaved off, slippery bangs falling over kohl-lined eyes, cheekbones jutting, each stunning face like something off an album cover. Nobody looked familiar. Kelly wondered if maybe she'd gotten the apartment number wrong, but then Bellamy flung herself out of the bathroom, Vee trailing behind her. Kelly's shoulders relaxed. She was able to move again.

“Kelly!” Vee said it first, then Bellamy, both rushing to her. A few of the guests turned and looked at the three of them—one a skinny girl of about thirteen with copper hair and wide, startled eyes. The
girl looked familiar—so much so that Kelly smiled at her, started to wave . . . But then she realized she knew her from a Peter Paul Mounds commercial and dropped her hand, the girl's startled eyes narrowing at her in . . . what? Disgust? Confusion? Kelly didn't care. She tried not to, anyway.

Bellamy was throwing her arms around her and Vee was saying, “We were scared you wouldn't show,” and Kelly felt instantly, happily, at home. “I like your skirt,” Bellamy said as she pulled away. Same peasant skirt Kelly had worn when she'd first gone to Bellamy's house, that strange day and night with Len . . . How far Kelly had come since then. Though, when she thought about it, she wasn't sure whether she'd come up or down. “I got suspended,” she said.

Bellamy clapped her on the back. “Good job! I knew you would!” She steered her around a group of boys, into the kitchen, the boys looking them up and down as they passed. “Hi, Beautiful,” said one boy to Bellamy. He was a ringer for Robby Benson. In fact, for all Kelly knew it could have actually
been
Robby Benson, but Bellamy ignored him anyway, rolling her eyes at Kelly for emphasis, making Kelly love her even more. “That's a gorgeous necklace,” she said.

Kelly smiled. “Thanks.”

Vee handed Kelly a Styrofoam cup full of champagne. “If you're suspended it means you don't have to go to school tomorrow.”

“I never want to go to school again.” Kelly took a sip. The bubbles tickled her nose, exploded on her tongue. She had never tasted anything like it and it wasn't as though she'd never had a drink before. It reminded her more of cocaine or solid gold jewelry or the seats in Vee's Jag or one of Bellamy's leather jackets against her skin—more a feeling than a taste. The gun in her hands. It made her heart soar.

“Dom Pérignon,” Vee said.

She took another long sip. “I love it.”

“We've got something even better,” Bellamy said, “but we can't take you into the bathroom now because Vee's dad is watching.”

“His dad?”

Bellamy gestured at the startle-eyed Mounds girl near the window. Kelly took a closer look at the group she was talking to—two women and three men, all of them adults, all stunningly beautiful. The oldest, Bellamy told her, was John McFadden. He wore tailored dark pants, a pale blue button-down shirt that picked up the color of his eyes—the same color as Vee's, noticeable even from twenty feet away. His arm rested at the waist of the woman standing next to him—tall and tanned in a short macramé dress with full lips and golden hair like Julie Christie's. But his eyes were focused on Kelly in a who-are-you-supposed-to-be way, a way that made her feel as though she didn't deserve to be friends with his son. She put the cup of champagne down on the counter and stared down at her sandals, her confidence floating away. “Who are those people your dad is with?”

“They're all from the movie he's shooting now,” Vee said. “It's called
Resistance
.”

Bellamy said, “You recognize Cynthia Jones, right?”

“Who?”

“The chick standing next to him. Totally famous model? She's on the cover of
Cosmo
this month?”

Kelly shrugged. “The only one I recognize is the kid from the Mounds commercial.”

Bellamy laughed. “You are like the best person I've ever met.”

Kelly flushed a little.

“The only way he let me have this party was if he came and, like, chaperoned,” Vee was saying. “I'm incredibly sorry about that, but that's the way he is. And I don't have too much bargaining power after Mariposa.”

Kelly thought it seemed pretty reasonable, considering what they'd all put him through the previous night. But she stayed quiet about it. And within moments, Vee's dad was in the kitchen with them, sticking out his hand. “We didn't meet properly.” He smiled, his face instantly turning less angry and severe. Up close, he looked almost exactly like his son—a carbon copy, only with thinning hair and laugh lines. She shook his hand. “I'm Kelly,” she said. “I'm uh . . . I'm really sorry.”

“It's entirely Vincent's fault,” he said.

Bellamy laughed.

“Thanks a lot, Dad.”

“Honestly, I'm a real believer in learning from your mistakes. And what is being sixteen about, other than completely screwing up time and time again?” He gave Vee a look. “Vincent certainly lives by that credo.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Well, I'm seventeen and I've definitely learned my lesson.” Bellamy's voice was shaky. Speedy. Her pupils were dilated and her eyes were opened much too wide. Kelly hoped John McFadden didn't notice. Her mother surely would have.

“I certainly hope so,” McFadden said. “I'm getting older, son. I have a busy life and I don't need this kind of stress.”

Bellamy laughed, which wasn't the appropriate response at all. Kelly felt like she should deflect attention, but as it turned out she didn't need to. John McFadden's eyes remained on her. “Vincent tells me you're interested in a screen test,” he said.

She frowned. “Huh?” And then she remembered. Two months ago, in Bellamy's car, they'd been talking about acting . . . So strange the things you say, the things you agree to, when you're trying to get someone to like you back.

“Dad,” Vee said, “Kelly is Cat Lund's twin sister.”

“Who?” McFadden said.

“Cat Lund,” he said. “You've got to remember. I introduced you.”

He shook his head. “Sorry.” He gave Kelly a wink. “I'll have my girl call you,” he said. “We'll set something up.”

McFadden went back to his sparkling group, and they absorbed him, Cynthia Jones snaking a tanned arm around his waist, resting her golden head on his shoulder.

“Did I sound weird?” Bellamy said.

“Not really,” Kelly lied, her eyes on Vee's, the hurt in them. “So,” she said. “I guess I'm going to have a screen test.”

“I can't believe he doesn't even remember her,” Vee said, very quietly.

Kelly took another long sip of champagne, but it didn't give her the same feeling. The taste was familiar now, dull almost. She thought about how thrilling it had been to head up Bellamy's driveway for the first time, or that first moment when Vee had turned and looked into her eyes and she'd seen the whole of his face. There was comfort in getting used to wonderful things. But there was sadness in it too. “Your dad probably meets a lot of people,” she tried.

“You could have refreshed his memory,” Bellamy said. “Like . . . you know . . . tell him how Cat and Kelly's dad is a stuntman.”

“Jimmy did say that he's worked with your dad before,” Kelly tried.

“He should remember Cat because of
me,
” he said. “Not her dad.” He swallowed hard. “Sorry, Kelly.” He went back into the bathroom. Kelly looked at Bellamy.

She shrugged. “I have no idea,” she said. “But I'll tell you one thing. Just between us.”

“Yeah?”

Her eyelids fluttered, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I shouldn't say this, because he's my dad's best friend and I love Vee so much . . .”

Kelly was starting to get impatient. “
What?
”

“John McFadden is . . . kind of weird.”

“What do you mean?”

Her gaze darted to McFadden's group, then back to Kelly. “Nothing,” she said. “Forget I said that. I'm just . . . you know.”

“Okay.”

“Paranoid.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, that's great you're getting a screen test. I forgot you wanted to act.”

She was speaking very quickly, reminding Kelly how wired she was. Had to be the cocaine—or whatever speedy drug she and Vee had done in the bathroom. But still Kelly felt as though a curtain had been pulled back, but just for a few seconds—not long enough for her to make out what was behind it.

She touched the diamonds on her sister's heart necklace—a new habit. It felt almost as though she was talking to Catherine and also, it stopped her from saying things she shouldn't. Now, for instance. Kelly was thinking about John McFadden—how the whole time he was talking to the three of them, she was the only one he'd looked at—not the daughter of one of his prized actors; not even his own son. Kelly Lund, the daughter of a stuntman, the sister of a girl he claimed not to remember. She was the one who had captured his complete attention. Maybe it was because he'd never met her before and he wanted a good look at the girl who had been arrested with his son. But even if that was the case, it didn't explain why, during the entire conversation, he hadn't looked once at her face. He'd been looking at her necklace.

She had wanted to say something to Bellamy about that. But touching the diamonds kept her quiet. And what she was feeling was something she couldn't quite put into words. Something that was probably best kept to herself.

THE GUESTS MOVED IN AND OUT, MUSIC BLASTING—MADNESS, THE
Specials, X-Ray Spex, Gang of Four. Bellamy and Vee shouted the band names into Kelly's ears as she drank and smoked, the beats blurring into one another, guests singing along and dancing and shouting to be heard.

Vee kept refilling Kelly's champagne glass and sneaking lines with her and Bellamy in the bathroom, her heart racing and slowing, meeting people whose names she would instantly forget. It went on and on—a loop of color and sound and touch, peaks and plateaus—until finally they were the only three people in the room, lying on the mattress next to the big window smoking Bellamy's Marlboro Reds, the neon sign from the hotel across the street making everything in the room glow sunrise-pink.

Kelly was good at smoking now, just like she was good at getting high. She could French inhale in a way that Vee once told her was sexy, and she could light a match with one hand, just by squeezing the matchbook together. She could blow smoke rings too, and that's what she was doing now, creating a whole series of perfect, slender rings that Bellamy kept piercing and breaking, one by one.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Kelly said.

“So they don't die virgins.”

Kelly pulled up onto her elbows. She arched her back and let her head drop and exhaled a cloud at the wall behind them. “I'm a dragon,” she said.

“I love you,” said Bellamy.

Kelly smiled. She wished Vee had said it though. Vee, so strangely quiet for the last she-didn't-know-how-long.

“Lucky cigarette!” Bellamy was down to the bottom of her pack, to the last cigarette, turned upside down for good luck. “Light it for me,
we can both make a wish.” She put it between her lips, and Kelly got out her matchbook, lighting a match with one hand. Kelly glanced at Vee to see if he'd been watching, but his eyes were closed. Passed out, probably. As she held the match up to Bellamy's cigarette, she closed her eyes and listened to his breathing and wished hard for something she couldn't put words to.

When she opened her eyes, Bellamy was still wishing. Kelly watched her as she took a hit off her lucky cigarette, watched her mouth the words to her wish, eyes shut so tight she was grimacing. So funny how hopeful she was. Worldly, cynical Bellamy Marshall, taking her cigarette wish so seriously. Kelly put a hand over hers. “I love you too,” she said.

Bellamy exhaled, smoke billowing out of her lips. She opened her eyes and grinned at Kelly.

“Got my wish,” Bellamy said.

FIFTEEN MINUTES, MAYBE HALF AN HOUR LATER—IT WAS HARD TO
figure time—the cocaine had worn off, leaving Kelly drained and floaty from the champagne, sleep closing in on her. On her left, Bellamy was dead to the world, snoring lightly, while Vee was as silent as ever.

Kelly closed her eyes and basked in the darkness, let her muscles sink into the mattress. She was almost gone when she heard Vee speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. She hadn't even known he was awake. “She thought she could do anything,” he said.

“Who?” Kelly said.

“Cat,” he said. “Your sister.”

“Oh.”

“She said she'd changed her face and body, just by thinking hard about what she really wanted to look like. She was a good actress just because that's what she wanted to be. She never took lessons because
she didn't need to. And also, she said she'd willed all of her friends into her life. Including me. She used the power of her mind.”