Sugar and Spice

by Lauren Conrad

  Caleb squeezed her arm and kissed her on the cheek. His lips brushed so close to her lips that she could smell the peppermint on his breath. She pulled back instinctively and picked up her drink, trying to distract herself from the sudden racing of her heart. Why did he have this effect on her? Especially since she had just been daydreaming about Braden, not Caleb?

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Caleb said, sitting down. “I’ll never get used to driving around L.A. I was on Wilshire going in the wrong direction for, like, ten miles before I figured it out.”

  “Yeah, I’ve done that, too. No worries. And it’s pronounced Will-sher, not Will-shire.”

  “God, you’ve turned into a native. So what’s the score?” He glanced at the TV set.

  “Um . . . we’re the blue-and-white ones, right?”

  Caleb laughed. “Uh, yeah.”

  “I think we’re winning, then.”

  “Awesome. I’m getting myself a beer. You good?”

  “I’m good.”

  Back when they were dating, Caleb had spent a lot of time watching sports, and Jane had spent a lot of time watching Caleb watching sports. She wasn’t a big fan—she still didn’t know the difference between an RBI and an ERA—but it used to be fun cuddling on the couch and eating wings with him while he yelled at the TV screen. Even now, the only thing she knew about the Dodgers was that their star pitcher and Aja’s fiancé, Miguel Velasquez, was super-cute.

  Caleb finally put in his order and turned back to gaze at her. “It’s really nice to see you. You look . . . incredible.”

  “Thanks.” Jane took a sip of her drink, turning her face away so he wouldn’t see her blush. “So, how are things going?”

  “Great. I love L.A., and I love my job. I know it sounds cheesy, but building houses for people who can’t afford them is really gratifying.”

  “That’s so cool. And you don’t miss school?”

  “I kind of do. But I chose this, you know? I can go back this fall if I want, or even next spring, and my advisor says they’re going to give me academic credit for my time with Habitat Builders.”

  “That’s awesome!”

  “Yeah.”

  The bartender set a beer down in front of Caleb. He took a long sip, then said, “Enough about me. How are you? That night at dinner, you said things were kinda stressful at work?”

  “Yeah, well.” Jane began playing with her hair. She didn’t feel like going into the details of these two last awful weeks with Madison in the office. Every day brought some new drama, and Madison was always picking a fight with her—on camera, of course. She had tried to talk to Trevor about it, but he had been completely unhelpful. He’d even managed to make her feel ashamed, like she was an ungrateful, snotty little kid who wasn’t getting her way. Maybe after Aja’s party, it might be time to start looking for another event-planning job?

  “I’m handling it,” Jane told Caleb after a moment. “Sort of. I mean, I’m trying to take the high road, you know? Just because, um, other people are being jerks doesn’t mean I have to be.”

  “That’s not always easy,” Caleb said. “Hey, you know what I do when other people are being jerks? I act really nice to them. It totally messes with their heads.”

  Jane laughed. “Kill them with kindness, huh? You would do something like that.”

  “Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?” Caleb leaned toward her, bumping her playfully. The contact felt warm and familiar, and Jane didn’t move away. Was the vodka going to her head?

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Jane said. “I just meant, you always know how to handle stuff in a funny, positive way. When people are jerks to me, I get all worked up and want to start throwing things. But I don’t. I just get really quiet and angry inside.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Caleb said, rolling his eyes.

  Jane punched his arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m just messing with you, Janie. Besides, I used to like it when you got angry, because then we got to make up afterward.” Caleb reached for her hand. “Remember?”

  Jane remembered, but was not about to stroll down that memory lane. Luckily, her cell rang, which gave her an excuse to extricate her hand from Caleb’s hand—reluctantly, because it was kind of nice, having him flirt with her like this. Wow, the vodka was going to her head, and she was only on her first drink.

  She glanced at her phone. DIEGO NERI CALLING. D! D was one of the first people she and Scarlett met in L.A. Jane hadn’t seen much of him lately due to her crazy schedule, although he’d come to the season premiere party and they’d gone to a fun new club afterward. She missed him.

  “Do you mind if I get this?” Jane asked Caleb. “It’ll just be a sec.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Caleb said, turning to watch the game on TV.

  Jane swiveled around on her bar stool and hit Talk. “Hey, D!”

  “Miss Jane!” D sounded hysterical. Of course, he always sounded somewhat hysterical. “I’m soooo glad you picked up!”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Your lover is not. Sorry, ex-lover. I thought you should know—he’s in the hospital.”

  Jane’s chest tightened. “What happened? Braden . . . is he . . .”

  “No, not Braden, you adorable little slut! Jesse. He was in a car accident. He was driving drunk on the freeway. I got a tip from one of my sources, and I just confirmed it. He’s at Cedars-Sinai.”

  “Ohmigod!”

  Caleb touched Jane’s shoulder and whispered, “Is everything okay?” Jane held up a finger, to indicate that she’d explain in a moment.

  “That boy was asking for it, ya know?” D was saying. “I know that’s a bitchy thing to say at a time like this. But the way he’s been partying these past few months . . .”

  Jane thought about the message she’d left on Jesse’s voice mail. Guess it didn’t do any good for her to reach out. Or maybe she should have made that call way sooner?

  “When did this happen? How bad is he? Was anyone else injured?” she asked D. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying silently that Jesse hadn’t hurt other people.

  “He smashed into the center divider and there wasn’t much traffic, so no one else got hurt,” D replied. “I guess the accident happened this morning? He was admitted but he’s not in ICU, so that’s good news, right?”

  “I’ve got to go see him. You said St. Vincent’s?”

  “Cedars-Sinai, sweetie.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jane ended the call and turned to Caleb. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta go. My friend was in a car accident, and—”

  “I kinda figured. I’m driving you to the hospital.”

  “No, I’m okay, I can—”

  Caleb stood up and put his hand on her elbow, at the same time tossing some bills on the bar. “No arguments. You’re too upset right now to be driving anywhere.”

  Jane wasn’t sure what to expect when she reached Jesse’s private room at the hospital. She’d managed to avoid the paparazzi outside, thanks to Caleb, who had arranged for a hospital resident friend of Naveen’s to sneak them through a side entrance. Caleb was now sitting in a lounge, watching the end of the Dodgers game. He’d told Jane to take all the time she needed. He was being so sweet and helpful; she was really glad he had insisted on coming along.

  Jane paused outside Jesse’s door and knocked lightly. A nurse opened it a moment later. “Yes?”

  “I’m here to . . . I’m a friend of Jesse’s, and I was wondering if I could see him?” Jane said.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to let anyone in this room.”

  “It’s fine, I know her,” came Jesse’s voice from inside the room, so quiet that it was barely recognizable.

  The nurse nodded and moved aside to let Jane in, then left, closing the door behind her. Jane stood there for a second, trying to get her bearings in the small, depressing room.

  Jesse was lying in a narrow bed, his left arm hooked up to an IV line. His fac
e and what she could see of his body were covered with purple bruises, gauze bandages, and blots of brown iodine. His right eye was puffy and swollen, as though he’d been in a fistfight.

  “Hey, Jane.” He sounded so weak.

  “Jesse.” She went to his side. “Are you all right? How do you feel? What did the doctors say?”

  “That I’m an idiot,” Jesse joked wanly.

  “Yeah, well, you are.” Jane reached over and squeezed his hand. He winced in pain. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “That’s okay. Everything kinda hurts right now. No broken bones, though, so that’s good, right?”

  “Right.”

  Jesse stared at her, his light brown eyes full of sadness. Jane hadn’t seen him in nearly two months, since he sort-of crashed a Valentine’s Day party at the Thompson Hotel that she’d organized for one of Fiona’s top clients. Jane had broken up with him the week before, after he had gotten wasted and abusive one too many times.

  She tried to remember what it felt like to be in love with him. She tried to remember what it felt like to be America’s “It” couple, photographed at the most glamorous restaurants and clubs in Hollywood. She tried to remember what it felt like the night he gave her a beautiful silver bracelet, with a heart-shaped charm inscribed JESSE + JANE 4EVER.

  But at the moment, all she could remember were the bad times, like being home alone at 3 a.m., wondering if he was passed out in a bar somewhere . . . or with another girl . . . or behind the wheel of a car. The bracelet, which had felt so special at the time, was gathering dust in a drawer she had for crap she didn’t need anymore but couldn’t bring herself to throw away.

  “So . . . what happened?” Jane asked.

  Jesse shrugged. “Same old stupid bullshit. I had too much to drink, and the next thing I know, my Rover’s practically flipping over on the freeway. No one got hurt,” he added quickly. “Except, uh, yours truly.”

  “You’re lucky it wasn’t way worse.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Jesse took a deep breath. “Listen. I’m glad you’re here because I’ve been wanting to . . . anyway, I can’t even begin to apologize for everything I put you through. I know I was an asshole, and you were totally right to break up with me. The thing is . . . this accident was a major wake-up call, and I’m gonna get help. I’m going to change. And I was wondering . . . well . . .” He hesitated, and his fingers curled around hers. “Do you think I still have a chance with you?”

  Jane looked away. What was she supposed to say? There was no way in a million years she would ever get back together with him. She had learned her lesson about him—about all guys like him—the hard way.

  But what if Trevor was right? What if she needed to tell Jesse what he wanted to hear so he could be motivated to get help? What if making Jesse think he had a chance with her was the only way to get him back on track?

  “Why don’t we talk about it after you get sober?” she said.

  Jesse beamed. “Yes! That’s awesome! You just made my day.”

  Jane smiled back, but it was an effort. She had just done something really nice for someone she used to care about.

  So why did she feel like crying?

  Chapter 12

  Sophisticated to Super-Slutty

  Madison drove down “The Strip” trying not to get distracted by the passing scenery. She had been in Las Vegas many times before, with various boyfriends, but the main drag never ceased to amaze her: the (fake) Sphinx and pyramid at the Luxor Hotel, the (fake) Eiffel Tower at the Paris, the (fake) Coney Island–style roller coaster at New York-New York, the (fake) everything. It was the most artificially glamorous place in the world, and Madison absolutely loved it. On the street, dazed-looking tourists wandered alongside high rollers in designer clothes, and stretch limos glided alongside trucks with “mobile billboards” advertising strip clubs.

  Madison spotted Jane’s Jetta a few cars ahead. Jane was driving, with Hannah in the passenger seat and Intern Boy in the back. The four of them were on their way to the Venetian to meet with the hotel staff and Aja’s reps to organize the pop singer’s engagement party. Much to Madison’s annoyance—as if having the party at the Venetian versus the Palms wasn’t annoying enough—Jane had announced at the last minute that there was no room in her car for Madison and her “huge amount of luggage.” WTF? All Madison brought were her three Louis Vuitton rolling bags, which wasn’t much for an overnight business trip, considering. A girl never knew which outfits (and shoes and purses and lingerie and other accessories) she might need in Vegas, and so Madison had brought a wide assortment, everything from sophisticated to super-slutty.

  Still, being alone in the car for the five-hour drive from L.A. to Las Vegas had given Madison some time to think about Project: Sophie. Sophie had been living with her for the last ten days, drinking all of Derek’s liquor and trying to sneak out in the middle of the night to meet up with God knows who. Madison kept telling her that she had to stay out of sight until her transformation from Scary Goth Girl to one of L.A.’s pretty people was complete. Unfortunately, Sophie had never been the obedient type.

  Sophie had never been the communicative type, either—although Madison had managed to get her to admit that she’d been using their grandmother’s identity and credit card (Grandma Mains had Alzheimer’s and was in a nursing home) and that Sophie had known what Madison was wearing at the L.A. Candy premiere before the preshow went live because of a cell phone picture that had been Twittered.

  In the meantime, Derek was not happy about the whole situation—Madison had fed him a story about how the PopTV cameras were at the apartment practically 24/7 for a special story line, so he couldn’t risk visiting her there—and was making noises about cooling off their relationship. Which wasn’t good, since the apartment was his, and if they broke up—well, where would she live? There was no way she was going back to some two-room dive downtown. Between her “job” at Fiona Chen Events . . . filming . . . Sophie . . . press interviews . . . photo shoots . . . and trying to keep her married boyfriend happy, Madison was stretched to the max.

  At least Sophie’s makeover was going well. A talented, discreet stylist Madison knew had gotten rid of the hideous black dye job and replaced it with a sleek platinum pageboy with bangs. Another discreet contact had performed a series of lip injections—not that Sophie’s lips needed plumping, but they needed to alter her appearance. Next would come waxing (the girl obviously didn’t believe in basic grooming), a full set of acrylics (she had always been a nail biter), spa appointments (had she never considered a regular skin care regimen?), contact lenses (green? brown?)—and last but not least, new clothes and new makeup. A nose job would have been the perfect way to further mask Sophie’s identity from the people back home, but there wasn’t time; recovery could take a month or more, and Sophie was already threatening to walk if she wasn’t introduced to Trevor and put on the show ASAP. Ugh. Still, Madison had to make Sophie understand how crucially important it was that no one ID her as Sophilyn Wardell—or ID the two of them as the Wardell sisters (since together, they were twice as recognizable). Then everything would be lost. Hollywood was fine with fakes, but it most definitely wasn’t fine with frauds.

  Madison eventually reached the Venetian (okay, so it was kind of spectacular, like an over-the-top Italian palace with real gondolas gliding along real canals) and pulled up to the valet stand. The PopTV crew was already there, as were Jane, Hannah, and Oliver. Madison noticed Oliver wrap his arms around Hannah as they stood on the curb, giggling idiotically about something. God, had the two underlings hooked up? Madison had noticed a certain vibe between them at the office, and more than once, she had spotted them leaving on the elevator together, at the end of the day. (Not that Madison usually stayed at the office that late. Who had the time to work when there were so many other important things to do?) Madison had no idea what Oliver saw in Hannah—she’d originally pegged him as gay, because she’d asked him out for a drink on his first day at Fiona’s and
he’d begged off with some lame excuse. He obviously had no taste in women.

  One of the PopTV sound guys gestured for Madison to roll down her window, then handed her a mike pack and a roll of tape. Eyeing her skintight, low-cut black tank shirt, he said, “I’m not sure how you’re gonna manage this.”

  “I’ll manage. Unless . . . you wanna help me?”

  “Uh . . .”

  The director—Matt?—called out to the sound guy just then, and he took off hastily, leaving Madison to fend for herself. Sighing, she slipped the mike pack onto the back of her skirt. It bugged the producers when the thing was visible; but she worked hard to be in shape, and she didn’t like the awkward bump it created on her back when she wore it under her shirt.

  After a moment, Matt signaled for her to get out. Checking her makeup in the rearview mirror, she opened the door and emerged slowly, seductively, making sure the camera got a good angle on her five-inch black stilettos, her slender, spray-tanned legs, her super-short skirt, and her impressive (even by Hollywood standards) cleavage. She had a mental image of her fans crowding around, cheering, shouting out her name. Without thinking, she smiled and gave a little wave to no one in particular before handing her car key to the valet.

  “Who are you waving to?” Dana asked, appearing with the camera crew. “Are you miked? Good. I need you to go say hi to Jane and the others and walk into the lobby with them. Then stay put for a min while we move the cameras inside. If you can, suggest lunch at Postrio. We just got it cleared, and the guys need to start lighting right now if you can get them all to go. Also, you should say something to Jane about having to drive separately.”

  “Got it,” Madison said. So Dana wanted her to pick an on-camera fight with Jane about the car thing. Personally, Madison would much rather humiliate Jane about her ex-boyfriend’s DUI, which everyone was talking about, or her truly unattractive teal dress (some people just couldn’t pull off that color). But, whatever. Madison knew it was important for her to do whatever Dana told her to do, since Dana took her orders from Trevor.