Sunset Boulevard Part 10

By way of answer, Myla said plainly, "It's Tucker's dad's place."

Hitching her Dior beach bag on one shoulder, Myla hopped out and impatiently gestured for Jojo to follow. Jojo stepped out tentatively, wis.h.i.+ng she'd worn her beat-up Havaianas instead of Myla's four-inch Gucci heels.

Myla led the way, slipping in through the open gla.s.s doors. Every face at the party turned and waved. Jojo took in Tucker, Ash, their friends Geoff, Mark, and Julius, Billie, Talia, Fortune, Mai, Tosha, and a whole array of BHH's best and most beautiful.

Her body tensed. It was the first time she was seeing these people in a social setting since Lewis's party, and she was wearing a bikini and a skimpy cover-up. Maybe this is how those dreams where you're naked in front of your whole cla.s.s feel, Jojo thought. Finally, Tucker cried, "Jojo and Myla are here!"

The guys, already feeling the effects of whatever was in the hollowed-out coconuts they sipped from, let out a "woo-hoo!"

Jojo smiled, relieved. Okay, so maybe a bikini and heels made that entire gender forget past party blunders. The girls weren't so easily impressed, though, offering Jojo a mostly bland chorus of h.e.l.los with a few stronger welcomes from hangers-on who'd never quite gotten in Myla's elite circle. Billie waved spastically at Myla, giving Jojo only a tight-lipped smile. Talia none-too-subtly scanned Jojo's outfit, comparing it to her own white halter one-piece and dark shades. Fortune Weathers hid her distaste for Jojo about as well as her two-tone green string bikini disguised her hips. She sighed audibly, allowing herself an irritated split-second smirk before sucking in her stomach again.

For a few seconds, Jojo imagined the soccer invitational, where her teammates would have wrapped her in a tight group hug. But, hey, a week ago she'd been losing her lunch on these people, and they were still saying h.e.l.lo to her. Besides, she realized, maybe Myla's friends were a little jealous. The idea that Myla would prefer Jojo's company to theirs thrilled Jojo as much as it probably scared them.

Tucker came up beside her, and Myla not-so-subtly shoved Jojo in his direction. He put a hand gently on her back and said, "I'll get you a drink." Book learning might not have been Tucker's thing, but apparently he was well versed in the art of smooth, flirty hosting.

He led her outside, where the pool was crammed with bodies bobbing along to a new Creases song featured in Cla.s.s Angel. In the distance, the Malibu waves crashed along a vast expanse of uninterrupted, and privately owned, white sand. Tucker steered Jojo past Olivia Abdabo, holding court with a trio of girls on Myla's A-minus list. Olivia smiled at Jojo, and when Jojo realized that Olivia was looking at her, she responded with a friendly wave.

Tucker's guitar-callused fingers fluttered over her lower back as they stopped before the endless bar. Girls in tropical-print bikinis were mixing fresh fruit and rum, pouring the contents into carved-out coconuts.

"Daiquiri? Colada? Margarita?" Tucker asked. His pale blue eyes picked up the turquoise of the water, and he ran a hand almost nervously over his half-inch of naturally platinum hair. Ash had told Jojo that his buddy got just one haircut a year: a buzz cut in September that would grow to shoulder-length by the time school started again. At least he's low-maintenance, Jojo thought.

"Whatever has the least alcohol," she said, feeling a little dorky. She wished she'd asked Myla for tips on the best way to handle the situation. After her experience at Lewis's house, she wanted to stay far away from anything remotely close to the Long Island iced teas that had brought on BarfBarf. Still, she didn't want to seem lame.

"That's cool." Tucker grinned, sweetly pus.h.i.+ng a strand of hair away from Jojo's face. "She'll have a frozen margarita, go easy on the tequila. And make mine the same," he told the bartender, a curvy brunette. He didn't look twice at her toned bare stomach, his eyes on Jojo the whole time.

Jojo felt a warm sensation flow through her body. So what if Tucker wasn't an A student? He was sweet. And he wanted to be with her.

Tucker handed her a coconut adorned with pineapple, mango, and papaya slices, and took her other hand. "Come on, I'll make sure you have a good time."

As he steered her through a crowd of her dancing, laughing peers-each of whom gave friendly nods and greetings-she felt pretty sure he would.

Jojo smoothed more SPF 32 into her chest. She ran her bare toes over the warm sand as she took a deep breath of fresh, salty air. The crack of every wave sounded like a burst of applause: Jojo felt wrapped in a blanket of social triumph. Okay, so maybe it was just the way warm ribbons of suns.h.i.+ne fell across her body that made her feel so good. She was returning from social pariah-dom with surprising speed. Not that she'd suddenly become co-ruler of the school with Myla. But she was definitely holding her own.

The party had moved from the house to the beach. The girls lounged on cushy orange sun chairs, lined up in order of ascension: Myla, then Jojo, Talia, Billie, and Fortune and a half-dozen others. Jojo was reaping the rewards from the Three Little Stalkers' behavior: Usually Talia got to sit next to Myla. But Myla had patted the chair next to hers and told Jojo to sit. Now Myla's friends were giving Jojo the cold shoulder, trying to pretend they weren't interested in everything Myla said to her. Out in the waves, the boys were acting the parts of laid-back alpha males, trying to outsurf one another. Music still poured from Tucker's deck to the beach, and the bikini-clad waitresses made their way back and forth bearing fresh fruity drinks. Down the beach, noise from another s.h.i.+ndig wafted out to the sh.o.r.e. The BHH girls kept checking in that direction for revelers to stray from the other party and emerge on the sand. Rumor had it a Young Hollywood party was being held at the Polaroid House, which had been built expressly to entertain celebrities and had its own gifting room where swag was handed out. Some of the Cla.s.s Angel stars were supposedly there.

"I swear that's Grant," Billie said, as she not-quite-stealthily put her rhinestoned binoculars up to her face. She bit her lip in concentration as she focused the lenses.

"Give me those," Fortune scolded, yanking the binoculars from Billie's hand. Peering through the lenses, she shook her head. "That's not him. It's just Robert Pattinson."

Jojo and Myla exchanged a look of disdain. The idea of Grant Isaacson s.h.i.+rtless had pulled every girl to the beach. They'd all posed, somewhat pathetically, displaying their a.s.sets in hopes of catching Grant's eye.

"Oh, I see someone coming," Fortune squealed, before sighing in disappointment. "Oh, it's Kady Parker. And Jake."

Jojo turned and saw Kady and Jake approaching, Jake's arm around her. He looked cute in his long trunks and a pair of aviators. A tinge of regret coasted over her body. She'd helped Jake get to the costar-dating point, after all. And now he didn't even notice her.

Myla poked Jojo in the arm. "Check out your man," she commanded. As Jojo watched Tucker through her Versace lens, she saw why Myla had picked him for her. He'd never cure cancer, but d.a.m.n if the boy couldn't surf. He was better than every guy out there, even Ash.

Tucker wore just his Hawaiian board shorts, even though the water was freezing-after September, you had to be crazy to go in without a wet suit-his sculpted chest and abs bare and tan. He looked like a bronze G.o.d as he rode his board.

"I wish Grant surfed," Olivia said, practically shouting from her chair at the end of the line, as she rubbed Clinique sunblock onto her cheeks. "Tucker is so good, Jojo," she noted, as if Jojo were responsible.

Jojo raised her eyebrows beneath her shades. After two hours, she was getting complimented on Tucker's skills? They'd been pretty much strangers as of this morning, but with approval from Myla, they were now a bona fide couple already. Does it even matter what I want? Jojo suddenly wondered, thinking of Jake walking hand in hand with Kady.

Tucker rode his wave in to the sh.o.r.e, hefting his board under one arm and striding across the sand. He made a beeline for Jojo, ignoring the scantily clad females surrounding her. His lips c.o.c.ked in a satisfied grin.

"You were watching me," he said mischievously.

Jojo felt her face grow hot. She thought she was supposed to watch him. And he was awfully nice to look at. Myla wouldn't be embarra.s.sed in this situation, she reminded herself.

"You were watching me too," she said, her voice composed.

"How could I not?" He knelt in the sand near her chair, his cold forearm brus.h.i.+ng Jojo's thigh. She felt the slightest of tingles activate in a wave over her body. He leaned forward, and put his lips softly against her face, just next to her lips. Another tingle. She turned her head ever so slightly, and their lips met-hers warm and dry, his cool and salty-and he kissed her. It was a solid kiss-pa.s.sionate, with gradually increasing force, almost like he'd practiced. Jojo couldn't deny that he had skills. And maybe once they got to know each other better, there'd be more behind their kisses than a mutual physical attraction.

As he broke away, Tucker squeezed Jojo's arm. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"If you're lucky," Jojo teased him with the half-smile again. Over Tucker's shoulder, Jojo glanced at Myla. Her sister nodded approvingly, even though she never took her eyes off Ash out in the surf.

Jojo reached out and clasped Myla's arm. "You should talk to him," she whispered, so none of the other girls could hear.

Myla grinned appreciatively, shadows falling on her face beneath her wide-brimmed sunhat. "You're right."

Myla hated the idea of trailing Ash as he left the water and headed up to the house, but Jojo was right. She stayed twenty paces behind him, having excused herself to visit the powder room.

She clipped through the gla.s.s doors, to find the big party room empty, save for Ash, checking his texts.

"You're getting better at your cutbacks," Myla said, quietly sinking into the custom couch that was big enough to seat ten comfortably.

Ash looked up from the phone and grinned. "Thanks, but not really. I sort of reversed direction on that one wave by total accident. But I'll take the compliment." Little specks of sand dotted his face just above his eyebrow. Out of habit, Myla reached up and brushed them away.

"Sorry," she said, drawing her hand away and rubbing a grain of sand between two fingers. "It just looked itchy."

"It just looked itchy"? Who tries to have an intimate moment with their ex and uses the word itchy? Myla thought. She was nervous. She wanted to ask Ash if he'd kissed anyone yet, but she was almost scared to know the answer. It would probably hurt, and she'd probably be jealous. But as crazy as her suggestion that he kiss someone else sounded, the only thing crazier was their not being together. And if the only way Ash would know her kiss with Lewis meant nothing was for him to have a meaningless kiss of his own, then so be it. The pain would be worth it. Right?

"It's okay, My," Ash said, his gentle eyes seeming to ask why she'd followed him in here.

"So," Myla started, taking off her giant hat so he could see her eyes. "Have you... you know... yet?"

Ash pushed a wet strand of hair, falling adorably in front of his eyes, out of his face. "What's 'you know'?" He grinned, half-amused. Myla cursed herself for being so uncharacteristically fidgety.

"Kissed anyone," she said, looking at her hands. She couldn't look him in the eye.

Ash sighed, sinking backward into the cus.h.i.+ons. "Seriously, this is ridiculous," he said. "Who am I going to kiss, anyway? I'm not gonna make out with some BHH girl that I have to see every day."

Myla winced at the idea of Ash kissing Fortune, or Billie, and suddenly she understood how hard this was for him. But she needed him to understand that all kisses weren't created equal. She wished he'd stop being so stubborn and get this over with. "Then pick a different girl," she said, as an idea formed in her head. "Kiss Crazy Daisy. It's perfect. You might even get that nut job out of your life if she gets mad and your dad finds out."

Ash said nothing, just hefted himself off the couch and sauntered back toward the door.

He looked back at her, chuckling lightly but with affection. "You know, you're a little bit of a nut job too, My. It's why I fell for you in the first place."

He opened the door, the whoosh of the waves flowing inside. He headed back in the direction of the beach, pulling up his wet suit as he went.

Myla felt her neck for the gold chain she used to wear Ash's ring on. It wasn't there, she remembered, as her fingers kneaded against her collarbone.

But maybe she'd be wearing it again soon.

MACHIAVELLI WITH A MACCHIATO.

"Oh my G.o.d," Kady squealed, running at Jake and jumping into his arms. "You look so hot!"

Amelie rolled her eyes as Kady wrapped her thighs around Jake's waist, her green leggings wrinkling his Hugo Boss suit. Jake glanced at Amelie, smiling in a semi-embarra.s.sed yet proud way, as if to say, Sorry for our public displays of affection. But not really. Then he turned away, kissing Kady deeply as she twirled one of his curls around her finger. To Amelie, the towering Jake and pet.i.te Kady resembled a giraffe with a garden gnome attached.

She pressed her lips closed and paged through her copy of Elle, the ink thoroughly smudged from multiple trips through the magazine. It wasn't even that great an issue. But it gave her somewhere else to look. The weekend had pa.s.sed, and Kake was still going strong.

"Hey, so why weren't you at the Polaroid House thing this weekend?" Jake asked, sliding on the new pair of aviators Kady had given him at the party Sat.u.r.day. Amelie didn't get why Jake was so eager to adapt to every trend Kady told him was cool. The gla.s.ses made him look like the dime-a-dozen wannabe actors who worked as personal trainers and office a.s.sistants at every cheap-rent locale from North Hollywood to At.w.a.ter Village. At least he was talking to her, though.

"I was busy," Amelie said, careful to smile only at Jake and not at Kady. "Had an in-store at Barnes & n.o.ble in San Diego for the new Fairy Princess book."

"Oh, that sucks," Jake said. She couldn't tell if he was looking at her through his reflective lenses. "Wish you'd been there."

Kady looked at Amelie like she was a puppy who had just peed the carpet. Almost cute, even when she disappointed you. "Amelie's always working, Jake," Kady said. "She's a machine. All work and no play. Maybe we should find you a boyfriend, Am," she said playfully. With that, she snaked her arms tighter around Jake's chest and rested her tiny face on his arm.

Amelie wanted to roll up her magazine and swat Kady away like a fly. Why the need to make Amelie sound like the lamest person on earth? "Well, that was just on Sat.u.r.day," she said. "Sunday, I hung out with some friends." She was lying, since the only friends she'd spent time with Sunday were Ben and Jerry.

Kady raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Who?" Her dark eyes twinkled mischievously as if she saw right through Amelie. Amelie ripped the page she'd been staring at. An article about why workplace romances fail. Because you chose the wrong costar was not among the reasons. "Just some people," she said breezily. Suddenly she felt irrationally angry at Hunter for making her leave Jake and Kady alone together in the first place. "n.o.body you know." With that, she jumped out of her canvas chair and walked away. She didn't have any more scenes today anyway. Kady and Jake had to film their last scene together-the two of them finally a couple at a big school dance, after Cla.s.s Angel cleared Lizzie's name, helped her get into art school, and won her the Big Man on Campus. After their PG-rated kiss, the movie would cut to Amelie in her heavenly wonderland, beaming with pride at receiving a promotion from apprentice angel to a.s.sociate.

Why had she let Jake slip through her fingers? She stomped toward her trailer as much as a pair of Ugg boots allowed a person to stomp. She was supposed to be waiting for Gary to return from a meeting with the producers. But they could call her.

She stopped at the craft service table for a macchiato, Kady and Jake still making out in the corner of her eye. A few feet away, Grant sat on the edge of the auditorium stage, his legion of followers now reduced to the three most devoted: Billie, Talia, and Fortune.

The three girls waved, but Amelie pretended not to notice. Much as she would have liked to get the girls' perspective on her situation, they were clearly occupied with Grant. Besides, hanging out with them seemed almost pointless now that she knew she wouldn't be attending BHH. She was headed for a destiny as an abject, loveless loser, surrounded by cats who listened to tales of her glory days as Fairy Princess. Why rub it in by spending time with girls who would never really be her friends?

"Grant, we were thinking. It's unfair Lizzie ends up with someone," Fortune said, twirling a strand of hair in a way that looked painful. "And you don't. What if they rewrote the last scene so that you get asked to dance by a girl? Or even, like, three?"

Talia and Billie nodded vigorously behind Fortune. "It would be soooo perfect," Talia said, leaning onto the stage in a way that afforded Grant a view of her La Perla bra.

"I took ballroom dance with Fred Astaire's grand-nephew," Billie bragged.

Grant looked past the trio, at Amelie, his eyes practically flas.h.i.+ng, Help! Amelie smirked as if to say, What can I do?

Grant put on his most charming smile. "Ladies, ladies," he said, shrugging apologetically. "It's probably too late for a rewrite."

As she made her way to the auditorium doors, a thought occurred to Amelie. In this business, it was never too late for a rewrite.

Amelie knocked on the door to the production trailer, where Gary was having his meeting. She was glad to be wearing jeans, a beige V-neck, and her Uggs rather than an angel costume that made her look like a couture-clad dessert.

A young studio executive swung open the trailer door, his smile displaying a set of oft-whitened teeth. He wore the guy equivalent of Amelie's outfit: blue Pumas, worn-in True Religion jeans, and a vintage Philadelphia Phillies tee. Amelie recognized him immediately as Sanjay Bhatt, a VP for Transnational's teen entertainment division.

"Amelie, h.e.l.lo," he said easily, welcoming her in. He gestured for her to sit in a chair across from Gary and Devin Phillips, Cla.s.s Angel's executive producer.

Gary squinted at her oddly. "What's going on, Amelie?" He was dressed up, for Gary. No hat, a b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt that was ironed and tucked, and khakis.

"Sorry for interrupting, but I had this idea over the weekend and wanted to run it by you," Amelie said, pus.h.i.+ng a wayward curl from her eyes as the men regarded her with interest. "It's about the ending. Another direction on this movie might really set Transnational apart."

Sanjay looked enthused. He leaned forward, his chin on the steeple of his hands. "I'm intrigued," he said, casting a glance at Gary and Devin. "Go on."

Amelie cleared her throat, projecting a businesslike voice that echoed her mother's. "It seemed to me it would be interesting, and surprising, if-in the last scene-Cla.s.s Angel reveals herself to Tommy. She explains to him that she's been pulling the strings, that she's in love with him and that she can stay on earth as a normal girl if he'd just kiss her. Tommy would be entranced and they'd kiss. Then in flashback we see that all along Angel was really pus.h.i.+ng Lizzie toward Knox. And by giving Angel a reason to stay on earth, we have franchise potential: Angel, recently turned human, tries to navigate high school." She shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was a random thought and not the event on which her happiness hinged. If she could just kiss Jake, just once, she knew he'd feel what she felt. She needed this kiss to show him being with Kady was all wrong. Jake was a cuddle-on-the-couch-watching-movies kind of guy, not a find-a-dark-corner-in-a-nightclub kind of guy. And he definitely wasn't a couple-nickname kind of boyfriend. Kake was ridiculous. Jake needed to see that, and not waste time on Kady the way Amelie had on Hunter.

"It would involve just a quick rewrite of the final few pages, maybe an endcap of Lizzie getting together with Knox, so the audience sees how perfect they are for each other. Right now, it just seems a little... pat," Amelie invented, knowing that executives hated to hear the word pat about their films, even when it was true.

Sanjay's eyebrows raised, and Devin and Gary exchanged a look.

Devin smoothed the lapels of his bespoke suit. He was the best dressed of the three, which in this town meant he was the least confident about how he did his job. "And what prompted this idea?"

Amelie instantly thought of a story she'd scanned in the Hollywood Reporter that morning. "Frothed Up, the teen comedy set in the magical coffee shop? It only made seven million and opened fifth this weekend, even though the producers thought Selena Gomez and Nick Jonas would put it at least second with twenty million," she quoted almost verbatim from the article. "Audiences said they could see the ending coming ten seconds into the trailer. I mean, of course Selena and Nick wind up together. We've fought predictability with Cla.s.s Angel, casting Jake as Tommy Archer and bringing on Grant. Think of the buzz we'd get if we take the audience somewhere they're not expecting."

Devin sighed, holding his graying head in his hands. "What are we doing here?" he finally muttered.

Amelie's heart thudded in her chest. She suddenly realized what she was doing: She was a sixteen-year-old best known for playing a girl who rode pink, winged ponies, and now she was telling a group of male bigwigs how to do their jobs? She was playing dangerously close to the edge with her first teen role. What if she not only lost Jake but also gambled away her career?

Gary stared at her, almost like he knew why she was bringing this up. He offered her a sympathetic, fatherly smile.

Devin finally spoke again, not looking at her. "Sanj, I don't know what to do with these kids."

Amelie felt like she'd just been caught shoplifting. After years of being voted Most Professional and Most Likely to Succeed, she was about to be fired for the first time. She'd be blacklisted and turn up twenty years from now as a celebrity judge on some reality show about glamorous toddlers. Maybe she'd get to go to high school in the meantime. But if her mother heard about this, it would definitely be military school.

"Is this a good idea?" Devin said. He was looking at Sanjay. Amelie knew Devin's type. When he'd started in the business, he'd probably been an "idea man" like Sanjay, but now that he was in his forties, he'd convinced himself he needed the insights of a young up-and-comer.

Sanjay rubbed the back of his neck coolly. He was enjoying this dramatic pause. His eyes traveled from Gary to Devin to Amelie, drawing out the suspense, like one of them was about to be awarded a top secret prize on a high-stakes game show.

"Personally, I think it's a fantastic idea," he finally said. "It could up our buzz with the twelve-to-eighteen demo. It's so unexpected and so meta. We should just try it. If it doesn't work, we cut it, and it's still a great bonus feature for the DVD. Great idea, Amelie."

Devin nodded, like this had been obvious to him the whole time. "Exactly," he said. "I'll have the writers do a few more pages, and we'll messenger them over in a couple days. Okay, Gary?"

Gary raised both eyebrows, a look indecipherable to Amelie. He could easily break this idea by citing budget overruns, scheduling problems, or even saying that Jake and Kady's grand finale kiss was perfect and shouldn't be messed with. Amelie caught his eye and knew she looked desperate. "Of course, it won't take long to shoot," he said.

Amelie grinned. It would take just long enough.

SHOCKER ROOM.

Jake stared at himself in the mirror above the locker room sinks. Of course the first break in filming he'd had in a while came just in time for him to go to gym cla.s.s. It was a cliche for a geek to hate gym, but technically he didn't hate gym-he hated the people in gym. Rod Stegerson in particular.

But, in Justin Klatch fas.h.i.+on, Jake had decided to change right out in the open. Justin wouldn't be worried about noogies or swirlies or whatever torture method Rod had picked up in the latest edition of Psychopath Weekly.

Jake headed toward the lockers, sitting on a bench that stretched across the dank locker room. He pried his feet out of the vintage Sambas Kady had talked him into buying and was shoving on his cross-training Nikes when a shadow fell over the bench. Jake looked up to see Rod Stegerson, surrounded by his football goons, arms folded over their BHH gym s.h.i.+rts. Why had he come to gym? It was totally unnecessary. Miles had cleared all Jake's absences with his teachers. And yet, Jake, who'd won the Perfect Attendance award for two years running, still harbored enough vestiges of geekdom that he insisted on making whatever cla.s.ses he could. He'd really have to work on breaking this habit when he got his next movie.

"Hey, Rod," Jake said as casually as he could. Maybe he could convince Rod to not give him a black eye or anything else that would mess up what was left to shoot of Cla.s.s Angel.

"Jake, my man." Rod slapped Jake's shoulder with his heavy palm.