by Marie Powell
Twenty to eleven now. In another five she was definitely leaving. She didn’t care about the pills. She really didn’t. Tomas Angerman could —
“Robyn, baby, you look wonderful!” Tomas said, dropping into one of the retro seats on the other side of the gold-flecked formica table. “CZ92 really does do wonders, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Robyn snapped back. “It does wonders, which is why I’ve been waiting for more than an hour to get more of it. Where have you been?”
Tomas rolled his eyes. “Being so uptight isn’t good for your skin, you know.”
He thought she was uptight? Was she uptight? She was. She was worse than uptight, she realized — she was being awful. He was being so sweet and the first thing out of her mouth had been to yell at him for not being punctual.
“I’m sorry, Tomas,” Robyn said. “I swear I didn’t mean to be such a bitch about it. I just need my pills, you know?”
“I know, beauty,” he said, “and I am late; I’m sorry. I got stuck with another client across town.”
“No, no,” Robyn said. “It’s all right. I’m just glad you could meet me on such short notice.”
“Anything for you, Robs,” Tomas said, smiling at her warmly. “You know that. I would have set up a meet earlier, but I didn’t expect you to be running low so soon.”
“I’ve been doubling the dose a bit,” Robyn admitted, blushing. “I just … They work so well and I wanted to keep on losing weight despite all the dinners and shows and events and things … the Sprinkles cupcake truck has been at the last FOUR parties we went to, you know, and —”
“You needed something stronger,” Tomas finished for her. “That’s perfectly understandable. I admire your dedication.”
“Thanks,” she said. She just knew that her face was turning the color of her hair but she couldn’t help it. He must think she was a complete idiot, blushing like she’d never been given a compliment before.
“It’s too bad Debra won’t pay for anything more aggressive,” he said, casually picking up a menu and opening the plastic-covered tri-fold. “I’ve got something that would do wonders, but DZ thought it was too risky for you.”
“There’s something better?” Robyn said. “Can I try it? I don’t care what Debra thinks. I can handle it.”
“Oh, I know you can,” Tomas said, lazily eyeing the dessert section of the menu, “but DZ just won’t hear of it.”
“Do we have to tell her?” Robyn asked, breathless. If Tomas had something better than CZ92, she wanted it and she wanted it now.
“You’d want to go behind her back?” Tomas asked, shooting her a considered look over his menu. “Are you sure?”
“I mean, I don’t want to. I just … I don’t want to let her hold me back, do I?” Robyn said tentatively.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he want her to challenge Debra’s wishes? Or would he think her too eager? She was being too eager. She really was. What kind of person was this excited about super-strength diet pills?
But then a broad smile spread across his face. Robyn let out her held breath. He didn’t think she was bonkers after all.
“I should have known you were hardcore,” Tomas said.
“I’m up for anything, as long as it works,” Robyn said, straightening up a bit at the thought that Tomas Angerman thought she, Robyn Miller, was hardcore.
Tomas’s face fell. “Wait, I’ve just thought of something. If Debra isn’t going to know about this, she can’t pay for it.”
“Are they expensive?” Robyn asked, praying the answer would be no though she knew it would be yes.
“Sadly,” Tomas said. “You get what you pay for. Cliché but true.”
“Oh.” Robyn sagged in disappointment. “I suppose I’ll just take some CZ92 then.”
“Such a shame,” Tomas said, reaching out to squeeze her hand again. “I’d love to see what the good stuff could do for you, but I suppose we’ll have to stick with the CZ92. Unless …”
“Unless?” Robyn breathed, quite literally on the edge of her seat.
“I might have a way we could finance you getting some of my best product, and without Debra or my suppliers being any the wiser.”
“What is it?” Robyn asked eagerly. “I’ll do anything, well, almost anything. Not anything, anything, obviously. I’m not going to do anything illegal or —”
“Don’t worry,” Tomas said soothingly. “You don’t have to do anything shady at all. Just get me on the list for the parties and events you girls do. I’ll handle the rest.”
“But how will that help finance the new pills?” Robyn asked.
“I’ll sell a ton at those events. I can charge all the drunk rich people double. My suppliers only care about being paid; they don’t care where the money comes from,” Tomas said. “They’ll have the cash they want, that’s all that matters.”
“Really?” Robyn asked, barely hearing anything outside of the fact her pills would be paid for. “It’s that easy?”
“It is,” Tomas said, fishing a blue plastic pill bottle out of his pocket. “In fact, you can take these right now if you promise you’ll help me out later.”
“Of course I will!” Robyn said, reaching for the bottle. “You’re amazing, Tomas. Thank you so, so much!”
“Anything for you, darling,” he said. “Go ahead.”
He pushed her water glass closer to her as she fished one of the square yellow pills from the bottle. It looked powerful, Robyn thought, even just sitting in her palm. She lapped the pill up and swallowed it greedily.
“That’s my girl,” Tomas said. “That’s my girl.”
All Lucy ever seemed to be able to do at Skye Owen’s house was get lost. She would freely admit that if she’d just stay put and enjoy herself, she wouldn’t end up in these situations. Doing that was impossible, though, when Rafe and Harper were determined to win the grossest-couple-who-aren’t-actually-a-couple-and-are-also-right-in-front-of-his-actual-girlfriend award.
It wouldn’t be so bad if the other girls were there, but Iza was on her date with Luke and Robyn was off on some mysterious errand. Toni had come along, but she was so oddly distant today that she couldn’t even properly be considered company.
Lucy had practically bashed Robyn over the head with hints that she’d rather go with her than go back to Skye’s, but Robyn seemed to have missed them all. Either that or she was doing something she didn’t want Lucy to know about.
Stop being such a mother hen, Lucy, she told herself, and focus on working out where in the world you are. She’d made it back to the guest suite easily enough this time, so she had her iPod, restocked by Alexander that morning, and her phone. Now all she needed to do was find a quiet spot to hole up and wallow.
Her phone buzzed insistently. John was sending her pictures he’d taken at Emily’s ballet performance. It was the closest Lucy had come to actually being part of the family in weeks. She was dying to look at the next picture but she had to work out where she was first.
God knows what she’d stumble upon today. After last time, she wouldn’t be surprised to find that Skye’s mum had the lost treasure of the Incas stashed in one of her cupboards.
Finally, Lucy turned a familiar corner and found herself in the family room. She didn’t bother turning on lights; she just plopped down on the couch, plugged in her earbuds and opened her latest text from John — a picture of Emily wearing her ballet shoes like elephant ears and pulling a silly face for the camera. The text said,
We miss you, sis.
Lucy swiped at a tear. She was such a brat, Emily. If Lucy were home, Emily wouldn’t give her a moment’s peace. But she wasn’t at home, and apparently she was actually crazy enough to miss being nagged, told on and generally followed about like she was under surveillance.
Lucy wiped her face again. She wasn’t going to get caught crying. Not here. Switching to
a happier track on her iPod, she stared out at the starlit hills beyond the dreadful faux-log fence that Mrs. Owen had installed around the garden.
It’s worth it, she reminded herself. Even if Mum and Dad never speak to me again, Crush is worth it.
But was it really?
She’d learned so much already. No one could deny that. She’d spent part of every afternoon for the last few weeks in special studies with Alexander. They’d worked on her drums — the drum lines on all of the tracks were so vastly better it was hard to believe she’d ever played them any differently — but most of the time they talked about musical history or went to visit musicians he knew and listened to them play. Alexander was even teaching her to play the piano, because he thought it was a basic skill every musician should have.
Lucy hated to admit it, but she’d learned a lot from Debra Z as well. It had been positively humiliating at first, but after two weeks of flailing about, she’d acquired the ability to construct outfits that Debra almost approved of. Lucy couldn’t really see the difference between the outfits Debra liked and the ones she didn’t, but she could feel the difference when she wore them — a little extra dose of electricity simmered through her, sparking off the people she met and highlighting every step she took.
She felt like a different person now. A better one. But the band …
They’d been so brilliant last night. They’d had the entire Hollywood Bowl on its feet. But this morning’s rehearsal had been a disaster. Robyn had been so jittery she’d barely made it through a song. Iza had been daydreaming as much as she’d been playing. Harper and Toni had spent the entire morning shooting vicious glares at each other, especially after Ash had told them Jason wouldn’t be stopping by the studio that day. For a while, Lucy had been afraid they’d come to blows.
It was just a bad day, she reassured herself. They’d had bad days before. They’d have them again. But Crush would be brilliant again tomorrow. They had to be. Growing and changing and being an awesome drummer with a sense of fashion was great, but it wasn’t worth it without her friends.
If only Alexander wasn’t leaving. He was going to be gone for five weeks touring with his own band. She would miss him dreadfully, but he’d done his job. They had laid down a fantastic EP, all recorded and ready to go if Crush won Project Next. He was a producer, after all — it wasn’t up to him to see to it that their gigs went well or that Lucy kept up her musical studies. That was their job, and she was sure Crush could handle it as long as they stuck together. Maybe that was why this day was setting Lucy’s teeth on edge. Today, for the first time in a long time, Crush didn’t feel like they were in it together at all.
So why did she have such a dreadfully bad feeling about it?
Light abruptly flooded the room.
Lucy looked up to find the gardener she wished she hadn’t seen kissing Skye the last time they’d visited, standing in the doorway and clutching a beaten-up laptop.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, blushing. “I thought all the guests were out on the patio. I would never have come in otherwise.”
“No, no, please. No worries. I am meant to be out there but I needed to check a text from my brother and … I should head back, though, so I’ll be out of your way.”
“Oh, you’re not in my way. Skye lets me work back here sometimes when I’m done outside. But I don’t want to —”
“What are you working on?” Lucy said. “I mean on the laptop. Not the garden, obviously. Though the garden is beautiful,” she added, hoping she didn’t sound totally mental.
“You don’t have to ask,” he replied, setting the old laptop on the coffee table.
“I know. And you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. I’m just curious, that’s all,” Lucy added, trying not to sound as awkward as she felt. “Besides, if you tell me about it, I won’t have to go back out there for a few more minutes.”
He laughed. “Okay … Lucy, right?”
“Oh, right, sorry, I’m so rude! Yes, I’m Lucy. Lucy Gosling.”
“Cesar Delgado,” he said, extending a hand to shake. “And you’re talking to me like a normal person. You’re not rude.”
“People don’t talk to you normally?” Lucy asked, shocked. “Really?”
Cesar shook his head. “And the fact that it surprises you makes me like you even more, Lucy Gosling.”
“Thank you … I suppose,” Lucy said. “Does that mean you’re going to answer my question properly now?”
He flipped open the laptop. “It’s a screenplay. I know, I know, I’m a walking Hollywood cliché. But I can’t help it. I love to write. I can’t stop, even when I’m working in the yard or whatever. When I’ve got a new idea, my brain is always in the story.”
“I know the feeling,” Lucy said. “I get that way when I’m working on a new beat. What is it about? Your screenplay, I mean.”
“I have a couple of things I’m working on,” Cesar said, “but this one is about my family. The story of how they came here from El Salvador. My older brother almost died. So did my father. It’s called Crossing Over.”
“Wow,” Lucy replied. “That’s incredible. How far along are you?”
“It’s done, actually,” he replied. “I’m just making some changes that Skye suggested. She’s done a ton to help me, you know,” he added, almost defensively.
“That’s cool,” Lucy said, hiding her surprise that stuck-up Skye would spend hours reading her gardener’s screenplays. Even if she was sleeping with him. “I’d love to read your work sometime. When it’s done, I mean. It sounds fascinating.”
“It is.” Skye’s voice cut through the room like a sliver of ice. “Which is why we’re keeping it under wraps, right, C?”
Cesar shot Lucy an apologetic look.
“It’s nothing to get intense about, Skye. Lucy can read it when I’m finished. It’s fine.”
Skye was intense all right, and at that moment she looked like she intensely wanted to slaughter Lucy.
“Er, great,” Lucy said. “You know, I think I need to get back to the girls. They’re probably looking for me. Lovely to meet you, Cesar.”
Then she fled.
Lucy made it as far as the living room. She was just a few steps from the door to the patio when she heard a voice call out.
“Lucy!”
Damn. Skye had followed her.
Lucy turned back to face Skye, who still looked murderous. What was this girl’s issue, anyway? Was she really worried that Lucy was going to steal her gardener’s film idea?
“Hi, Skye,” Lucy said, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”
Skye deliberately stalked into Lucy’s personal space.
“Stay away from Cesar,” she hissed.
“What?” Lucy said, baffled.
“You heard me,” Skye said. “Cesar is not on the market, so go find some other guy to hit on.”
“Hit on?” Lucy said, reeling at the sudden turn of the conversation.
“You can have a zillion other guys, Lucy, but not that one.”
“Fine,” Lucy said, holding her hands up in a placatory way.
Skye was being such a cow that Lucy was tempted not to be reassuring, but she looked so miserable at the idea that Cesar might be interested in another girl that Lucy couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
“I wasn’t trying to flirt with Cesar; I just happened to be in there checking my texts when he came in with his laptop. I asked him what he was working on because I was actually curious about it, not because I was trying to flirt.”
Lucy could almost see Skye’s muscles unwinding from attack mode. “Really? You really just wanted to read it? Just … because?”
“It sounded interesting and he seems nice. Why is that such a surprise?”
“I … I’m sorry.” Skye dragged a hand through her hair, suddenly looking like just
another insecure teenage girl, rather than her haughty Hollywood Princess self. “I just … Sorry.”
Skye turned to walk back up the hallway.
She really loves him, Lucy thought. As impossible as it seemed, Skye Owen hadn’t just been making out with her gardener for a cheap thrill. She was in love.
“Skye?”
“Yeah?” Skye said, turning back.
“If you love Cesar that much, why are you still with Rafe?”
Skye just stared at Lucy for a long beat.
“Is it that obvious?” Skye asked finally.
“No,” Lucy said, “but you don’t seem like the type to go ballistic over another girl talking to a guy you’re only messing around with.”
“You saw us?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Lucy said quickly, “and I haven’t said anything to anyone. But really, if you’ve got a sweet, smart and — let’s be honest — hot guy like Cesar, what on earth do you want with Rafe?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Skye said, still wary. “Just please don’t tell Harper. You know she’ll rat me out.”
“Would that be so bad? Cesar … I mean, I only talked to him for a few minutes, but compared to Rafe … I just don’t get it,” Lucy said.
“You don’t need to get it,” Skye snapped, her hard shell of Skye Owen-ness falling abruptly back into place. “It’s none of your business, Lucy. Just stay out of it.”
Then Skye stormed off, leaving Lucy alone in the living room.
Outside she could hear Toni and Harper arguing loudly while Rafe sang something off-key, banging away on the strings of Toni’s guitar without even bothering to try to form notes.
The pocket of her jeans buzzed. Lucy fished out her iPhone and checked the text. It was from Robyn.
Totally out of it and no money for cab.
Can someone give me a lift?
It’s just a bad day, Lucy tried to remind herself. That’s all. Tomorrow would be a better one. It had to be.
9. No One to Save Me
The acoustics at The Echo were so bad that Lucy could hardly hear Harper over the clatter of her own drums and the misaligned screech of Toni’s amp. The cave-like room was only half full and most of the crowd was milling about at the bar in the corner rather than watching the stage. Not that Lucy blamed them. Tonight’s set had been awful. Just like the set before it and the set before that.
