Dylan. Part 2

Tuesday, June 30 7 A.M.

"Ca.s.sidy, can you please do something about these waves?" Merri-Lee whipped off her headphones and tossed them onto the black director's chair. "They're killing my audio."

"Um . . ." The rattled a.s.sistant hurried to the edge of the precipice and searched the turquoise ocean for a possible solution.

Ever since the alarm beeped at 5 A.M., Merri-Lee had been a nervous wreck. Was her cream-colored pantsuit white enough? Was the sky blue enough? The breeze cool enough? Her blowout full enough? Were the interview questions edgy enough? Was the cliffside paG.o.da charming or tacky? Did the palm trees in the background look fake? Should Svetlana recline on the pink satin couch or sit? Orrrrr Orrrrr should they lose the couch altogether and go with something more sporty? Like a treadmill? Wait! Maybe they should forget the paG.o.da and move the shoot to the clay court. Or would it be better for Svetlana's new image to keep her in this Zen environment? What would Barbara do? should they lose the couch altogether and go with something more sporty? Like a treadmill? Wait! Maybe they should forget the paG.o.da and move the shoot to the clay court. Or would it be better for Svetlana's new image to keep her in this Zen environment? What would Barbara do?

Dylan did what she could to rea.s.sure her mother over a pointless breakfast of hot lemon water and dry whole wheat toast points. But she had her own concerns and didn't really give it her all. True, this interview, if done right, would put Merri-Lee in a whole new category of get-the-story telejournalists. But if Dylan could use this time to truly study Svetlana-her tennis style, her tennis lingo, her tennis elbow-she'd have a much better chance of convincing J.T. that she was just as worthy of his love as Svetlana. And in the big picture, that was much more important than this interview. After all, The Daily Grind The Daily Grind featured high-profile celebs five days a week. But the chance to lose her lip virginity to a perfect ten would probably never happen again. featured high-profile celebs five days a week. But the chance to lose her lip virginity to a perfect ten would probably never happen again.

Dylan stepped into the paG.o.da. A maze of duct-taped camera wires had been stuck to the white wood floor by the crew, and Ca.s.sidy had seen to it that all of the star's needs had been met. A mini Sub-Zero fridge had been installed to keep the spirulina detox smoothies chilled, and a Paris Hiltonfree stack of Us Weekly' Us Weekly's, OK' OK's, and h.e.l.lo' h.e.l.lo's were fanned out on the teak coffee table. Thirty packs of chocolate mint Altoids were stacked into a pyramid beside the magazines, and the flames on the Tocca candles bowed in the island breeze.

"Pickles, have a seat on the couch for a minute," Merri-Lee said with an impatient smile. "We need a stand-in for Svetlana while we adjust the lighting."

Dylan sat immediately. How poetic! There she was trying to be be Svetlana and she was asked to- Svetlana and she was asked to- Re-owwwwwww!

A gray kitty cat with haunting blue eyes leaped up from underneath a throw pillow and pounced on top of the silver fridge. It hissed at her, baring its pointy, Gillette Venussharp teeth.

"What the-?"

"Thank you for getting me Boris." Svetlana extended her white bell sleevecovered arms as she glided into the paG.o.da and lifted the kitty off the fridge. She held it against her Puma minidress and swayed back and forth. The silver S clips that held back her blond hair wink-reflected each time they caught the sun.

"Is he yours yours?" Dylan stood, more out of nervousness than respect.

"Nyet." Svetlana shook her head no just in case Dylan didn't understand Russian. " Svetlana shook her head no just in case Dylan didn't understand Russian. "My Boris is trapped in Moscow. Your president will not allow him to enter this country without quarantine. So I have Boris look-alikes until we are together again." She squat-pivoted next to the fridge and pulled out two green spirulina-soy lattes. "Have." Boris is trapped in Moscow. Your president will not allow him to enter this country without quarantine. So I have Boris look-alikes until we are together again." She squat-pivoted next to the fridge and pulled out two green spirulina-soy lattes. "Have."

Unsure whether that was a question or a command, Dylan politely accepted.

"There's my little superstar," Merri-Lee gushed.

Dylan rolled her eyes. Her mother was constantly embarra.s.sing her with silly nicknames and- Merri-Lee pulled the tall blonde into a suffocating hug.

Oops. Wishful thinking. Wishful thinking.

"Mom-Coach sends these for you and delightful a.s.sistant Ca.s.sidy." Svetlana looked from Merri-Lee to Dylan and held out a red, heart-shaped tin containing black-caviar pierogi-and-cheese blintzes dipped in Valrhona chocolate.

Dylan almost choked on her green smoothie. "I am nawt nawt her a.s.sistant-I'm her daughter." her a.s.sistant-I'm her daughter."

"Really?" Svetlana studied them for a moment, then stroked Boris's tiny gray head. "You look like sisters."

"Did you hear that, Dylly? Sisters! Sisters!" Merri-Lee lost herself in a fit of hysterics, her smile lingering long after the laughter faded.

On the outside, Dylan grinned with faux amus.e.m.e.nt. But on the inside, she imagined herself on the black beach below, tanning next to J.T. as the cobalt blue waves lapped against the sh.o.r.e. In this particular fantasy, he was feeding her BBQ Baked Lay's, admiring her curves, and begging her to tell him funny stories about the Pretty Committee. Oh, and she was not not wearing white. wearing white.

"Where is is the charming Olga?" Merri-Lee glanced over Svetlana's shoulder. the charming Olga?" Merri-Lee glanced over Svetlana's shoulder.

"Mom-Coach could not be here. She is checking clay courts for dents."

"Well, thank her warmly for me." Merri-Lee quickly unloaded her nosh on a member of her lighting crew. "I'm so thrilled to have you here." She clapped as if she and Svetlana were off to their first Kappa Kappa Gamma social. "Please, have a seat."

Svetlana sat on the pink satin couch, knees firmly together. Dylan climbed up on the black director's chair just outside the paG.o.da and snapped her knees together too.

Knowing she had tons to learn if she wanted to turn the J.T. beach fantasy into a reality, Dylan switched her brand new LG Chocolate phone to camera mode. This way, she wouldn't miss a thing.

Her mother quickly briefed Svetlana on the nature of the interview, and complimented her on her beauty, poise, outfit, maturity, hair, business savvy, media savvy, and flawless skin. Then she ordered the makeup artist over for last-minute touch-ups. Once satisfied, Merri-Lee joined Svetlana and Boris on the couch.

"This is Merri-Lee Marvil coming to you from the Aloha Open in Kauai, Hawaii. I'm here with Wimbledon champ and cover model Svetlana Slootskyia. Welcome to The Daily Grind The Daily Grind."

Svetlana smiled. "Thank you, Merri-Lee. It's very wonderful to be with you."

So far, Dylan had determined that the tan was real, the thick black eyelashes were fake, and the accent, even though it was gruff and hard to decipher, had a certain appeal.

"Svetlana, allow me to get to the heart of the matter. You went from big winner to sore loser. Care to comment?" Merri-Lee tilted her head to show how interested she was, her diamond tennis racket earring colliding with the side of her neck.

Svetlana stroked her thick blond snake-braid. "I will never be able to express how sorry I am for what I did to little Ali Chipley's teeth. But I bought her new ones, and they are much nicer than old ones, so Svetlana feels good about that."

Dylan snickered.

"Can you tell us what was going on in your head when you . . ."-Merri-Lee looked up, as if searching the thatched roof for the right words-". . . when you had the episode episode."

Svetlana chewed her tight bottom lip and held Boris to her heart. "I have worked so hard and given up so much for tennis." She blinked back tears. "And when I lost that match, it felt like I had lost everything I had worked for. And not just me. My mom-coach, who gave up life to train me; my father, who worked three jobs to pay for lessons; and my brothers and sisters, who gave up time with comrades to visit my tournaments." She dabbed her blue-green eyes on Boris's fur.

Merri-Lee didn't say a word. It was one of her great interview techniques. Silence made her subjects so nervous and uncomfortable they ended up revealing more than they'd planned.

Dylan took a long, loud slurp of her smoothie. Svetlana seemed so fragile and vulnerable. But Merri-Lee held firm, nodding yes with gentle encouragement, silently communicating that they had all the time in the world.

"And," Svetlana sighed, "when I saw that ball girl congratulate my opponent, I felt like it was a slap. Not only to my cheek, but the cheek of my family. And I went into a blond blond rage." rage."

Dylan snickered again. Had Svetlana brilliantly coined a new term, or was her English worse than her temper? Either way, it was awesome.

"And what went through your mind?" Merri-Lee crossed, then uncrossed her pale legs.

"I'm afraid I cannot recall." Svetlana gazed out at the horizon.

Merri-Lee gave Svetlana's hand a comforting pat, then turned to face the flat screen on the coffee table.

"Maybe it will help you remember if we take a look at it."

Svetlana's blue eyes widened as the screen came to life. In slo-mo and set to "Apologize" by Timbaland featuring OneRepublic, the video showed roses raining down on the court as perky Bessie Evans blew air kisses at her fans. Ali Chipley threw a handful of b.a.l.l.s in the air like a giddy graduate and ran-bounced with open arms to congratulate her. Just before Ali and Bessie made contact, Svetlana pulled back her racket like a Spalding bat and swung straight at Ali's face. Little white teeth shards flew from her mouth like Tic Tacs.

"Make it stop!" Svetlana cried, waving away the horror.

Merri-Lee slit her throat with her index finger, letting Ca.s.sidy know it was time to cut the feed. "Bring back any memories?" she asked sweetly.

"No." Svetlana shook her head in shame.

Merri-Lee leaned in closer, her lips pursed dramatically as she waited for a better answer.

"I will never forgive myself," Svetlana said slowly, lowering her gold-dusted eyelids.

Merri-Lee addressed the camera. "Along with veneers, Ali Chipley received one-point-three million dollars, box seats to Wimbledon for life, and a spot on a new reality show called Celebrity Survivors, Celebrity Survivors, along with Naomi Campbell's a.s.sistant." along with Naomi Campbell's a.s.sistant."

Suddenly beaming with renewed pride, Svetlana nodded as if all of this somehow absolved her.

Dylan ran her tongue over her BriteSmile and wondered if she should be trying to emulate someone who knocked out a ball girl's teeth. And then she thought of J.T. and had her answer. Besides, it wasn't like Svetlana woke up that morning determined to hurt Ali. She just snapped, as would any tightly wound athlete who'd given up her life for no reason.

Merri-Lee patted her perfect blowout, then turned to face her subject. "Svetlana, do you think you are rehabilitated?"

"Yes. I have watched sun set on my anger."

Merri-Lee knit her thin brows.

"It is truth." She let Boris lick her wrist. "We did several activities at the center I never had time for as child. Some-ores and campfires and hikes. I made girlfriends and had gentle pillow fights." Svetlana's lids fluttered with emotion. "I tapped into part of Svetlana I never got to explore. Of course, if I could take back what I did, I would. But in a way, I am glad it happened. I lost my temper but found real me."

Dylan felt her throat tighten. No wonder Svetlana had snapped. Without the weekly overnights at Ma.s.sie's, where the Pretty Committee gossiped about their crushes, complained about teachers, and made fun of LBRs, Dylan would have become a raging tennis beast, too. Well, minus the tennis part.

"But it wasn't all fun. It was hard work, too-daily therapy sessions and hours of meditation. I've incorporated Zen into my everyday routine. It has been life changing." Svetlana crossed her legs, demonstrating the "om" position.

Trying to cross her legs Svetlana-Zen style, Dylan noticed a green splotch on her box-pleated skirt. How had that gotten there? Noting Svetlana's spotless LWTD (Little White Tennis Dress), Dylan wondered, How does she keep her whites so white? How does she keep her whites so white?

Merri-Lee took a deep breath. "Well, Svetlana, I have to say it's been an absolute pleasure to speak with you. You are a remarkable young lady, and I think we can all learn something from you. I know at least this fan"-Merri-Lee pointed to herself-"will be cheering you on out there."

"Thank you you and all people out there who have given me and Slootskyia family a second chance. Before, I just do it all for me. This time," she sniffled, "I just do it for you." She smiled like a seasoned spokesmodel and looked directly into the camera. "Nike: Just Do It." and all people out there who have given me and Slootskyia family a second chance. Before, I just do it all for me. This time," she sniffled, "I just do it for you." She smiled like a seasoned spokesmodel and looked directly into the camera. "Nike: Just Do It."

Dylan rolled her eyes. She felt like she was watching a sappy Lifetime Lifetime movie-ads and all. movie-ads and all.

Curling her collagen-enhanced lips into a dazzling smile, the host addressed her public. "This is Merri-Lee Marvil for The Daily Grind, The Daily Grind, coming to you from the Aloha Open. And remember, if you're not watching, you're not living." She held her smile for the requisite seven seconds, then whipped the mike off her white Ralph Lauren Polo dress. coming to you from the Aloha Open. And remember, if you're not watching, you're not living." She held her smile for the requisite seven seconds, then whipped the mike off her white Ralph Lauren Polo dress.

"That's a wrap, guys." She stood. "That was Emmy-worthy, Svetlana. Nice job. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get this off to my editor aysap."

"Of course. Thank you for your time." Svetlana kissed Boris and waved goodbye. "Enjoy the nosh."

The rest of the crew members offered Svetlana sympathetic grins as they scurried about dismantling the set. Ignoring them, she began making her way across the gra.s.sy lawn toward the bungalows.

"What an interview!" Dylan yelled, grabbing her LG and chasing Svetlana across the gra.s.sy lawn.

"Thank you." Svetlana stopped and dumped an entire box of chocolate mint Altoids in her mouth, then handed Dylan the empty metal tin.

She gripped it hard, hoping some of Svetlana's DNA would seep into her pores.

"Mmmmmm." Svetlana chewed, then blew her chocolate mint breath straight up Boris's tiny black nostrils. "Russia Boris loved this."

American Boris sneezed.

"Question." Dylan eagerly set her phone to record. "How did you get your braid so tight? I always have little pieces that poke out, but yours is so smooth and even." She reached out to pet it. "Is it hair spray? Mousse? Extensions? Or a combo of all three?

Just as Dylan's hand was about to make contact, the tennis phenom grabbed her wrist and twisted it back down to her side. The pain was so severe Dylan dropped her phone and yelped.

"Ehmagawd-ouch!"

"Camera's off, interview's over!" Svetlana barked. Boris hissed.

"Woah-the devil wears Puma!" Dylan took a step back and rubbed her wrist. "What about everything you said about Zen and meditation and being sorry?"

Svetlana stared at Dylan's mouth.

"What?" Dylan felt her cheeks burn.

"Are those teeth real?"

Dylan took a step back, her heels sinking in the spongy gra.s.s. "Of course they are."

Svetlana swung an imaginary racket toward Dylan's glossy mouth.

"What are you doing doing?" Dylan's ears buzzed with fear.

"Why do you think you are worthy to touch Svetlana?" The tennis star cracked her hair-snake like a whip. "You are just loserfan, too sloppy to be an athlete and-"

"I am nawt nawt a fan!" Dylan shouted, her forehead starting to bead with sweat as the midmorning sun warmed the lush resort. a fan!" Dylan shouted, her forehead starting to bead with sweat as the midmorning sun warmed the lush resort.

"Correction." Svetlana leaned forward until they were practically b.u.t.ton nose to b.u.t.ton nose. "You are a loserfan stalker stalker!"

Then she head-b.u.t.ted Dylan.

"Ow! My skull!" Dylan grabbed her head, hearing a landline ringing inside her brain. "I think you gave me a concussion!" She whipped the empty Altoids tin at Svetlana, but accidentally hit Boris in the back left paw.

Without looking back, she scooped up her LG, put one silver Nike in front of the other, and ran as if her teeth depended on it.

KAPALUA SPA AND TENNIS CLUB.

MEDITATION ROOM.

Tuesday, June 30 2 P.M.

"Ah-lo-ha!" Dylan burped that afternoon, the heavy bamboo door of the meditation room slamming shut behind her.

Reee-owwww! Boris meowed from somewhere inside in the dimly lit chamber. Svetlana's jaw clenched. Boris meowed from somewhere inside in the dimly lit chamber. Svetlana's jaw clenched.

She was sitting alone, legs crossed, in the center of a caramel sandcovered floor with her eyes closed. Rake marks and tiny paw prints swirled around her. The pink travertine walls oozed water, which trickled into a gardenia-filled pond that flowed along the edges of the room. Birds chirped, waves lapped, and a deep man's voice chanted, "Ommmmm," over and over again, thanks to the sound effects that were piped into the candlelit chamber.

"Can we talk?" Dylan stomped over to Svetlana, leaving a Nike footprint trail in the sand.

"Nyet." Svetlana's eyelids fluttered. She looked almost angelic in a white satin robe with her blond hair-snake wrapped around her head like a halo. Svetlana's eyelids fluttered. She looked almost angelic in a white satin robe with her blond hair-snake wrapped around her head like a halo.

"Wrong answer." Dylan stomped. A cloud of sand puffed around her yellow pom-pom tennis socks.

Svetlana's eyes snapped open. "Back for seconds?" She reached out and pinched Dylan's calf.