A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  While Lindy’s in the bathroom, I quickly slip into a funky chic dress and some heels and plug in my flatiron for a touch-up. When my phone pings with a text, I giggle at the name of the sender. Hunter.

  Can’t wait 2 C U. I’ve got a Sprite w/ur name on it.

  He’s so sweet. Why can’t all guys be as gentlemanly as Hunter? Like Luke the spastic editor.

  “Okay.” Lindy opens the door. “I guess I’m ready.” And steps out, wearing Abercrombie cargos and a plain red t-shirt.

  “Um . . . are these your party clothes?” I can hear Mia and the girls already.

  “Yeah.” Her spine straightens. “What about it?”

  I plaster on a smile. “Because we want people like Matt to notice you’re a girl.”

  “Are you saying I don’t look like one?”

  Tread carefully. “Lindy, you came to me because you said you wanted help looking more feminine. If that’s going to happen, you can’t get offended every time I try to make a suggestion. Tomorrow we’ll go shopping”—on Daddy’s money, thank You, Lord—“and I’ll show you exactly what you need.”

  “I don’t know, Bella.”

  “It will be fun.” I toss my lip gloss back in my purse. “Let’s touch up your makeup”—as in put more on your face besides Chapstick— “and hit the club.”

  I pay the cabdriver and all but drag Lindy to the door of Viva’s.

  “Come on, you can do this.”

  “My face looks like a clown.”

  “You look amazing.” And she does. Turns out Lindy has some enviable hair wrapped up in that ponytail. And lips that would make Scarlett Johansson jealous.

  “Have I mentioned I’m not much of a dancer?”

  Clearing the bouncer, I pay our cover and walk in. “Is Matt?”

  “Yeah, he’s totally got skills.”

  “Then tonight you’ll learn how to dance.”

  “Bella!” Mia and two friends rush me, squealing my name. We clutch each other in a group hug and jump up and down.

  I cling to Mia like a fabric softener sheet on a sock. “Oh my gosh. I have missed you guys!” We pull apart, and I introduce them to Lindy.

  “Hi.” Mia smiles prettily. “I like your lip gloss. Is it MAC?”

  Lindy blinks. “No. It’s pink.”

  The girls dissolve into giggles.

  “Come on, Lindy. Let’s get something to drink.” And I lead her to the bar area. “Aren’t they great?” I ask, pointing to my friends.

  “Oh yeah, they’re . . . something.”

  “Bella! What’s up?”

  “Colton!” I bump knuckles with Hunter’s friend. “Just the guy I was hoping to see. This is my friend Lindy.” He holds out his fist for her. “And this guy right here is the best dancer in the city.”

  “Oh, go on, girl. Get out of here.”

  “No, seriously.” I pay for our drinks and hand Lindy her Coke. “My friend would like to learn some basic moves. Can you handle that, Colton?”

  “Anything for you, Bella. Come on, Lindy. Let’s get started.”

  Her eyes widen like he’s offering to push her in front of a moving train.

  “If you want Matt, you gotta do the work.” I jerk my head toward Colton. “He’s the best. Take advantage of the opportunity.”

  “I’ll go easy on you.” Colton pulls a hesitant Lindy onto the floor.

  And I walk upstairs, sipping my Sprite, the bass of the song sending my head to bobbing. I stand on an open balcony and overlook the dance floor. Colton is laughing at something Lindy said. Her body is stiff and uncomfortable. And so far the girl has no rhythm.

  Hands cover my eyes, and a deep laugh rumbles near my ear. “Don’t tell my girlfriend, but I was wondering if you’d like to dance.”

  I giggle and turn around. “Hunter!” I throw my arms around him and just hold on. His hands find my face and he leans down, his lips on mine.

  Seconds later we pull apart, but I rest my forehead on his. “Tell me I never have to leave here.”

  He runs a hand over my hair. “Sorry, Bel. Can’t do that. But I wish I could.”

  I take a step back, keeping his hands in mine. “Why haven’t you called me this week?”

  “I talked to you Monday.” He plays with the hoop in my ear.

  I swat his hand away. “That was four days ago, Hunter.” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice, but it comes through anyway.

  “You know how crazy the first few weeks of school are.”

  My eyes narrow. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s been a very stressful time for you.” Are you kidding me?

  He pulls my chin up with his hand. “We knew this would be hard.”

  “But we also knew we’d have to try.”

  “Are you saying I’m not trying?”

  I look away and stare at the dance floor. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve found yourself a cowboy in Oklahoma.”

  My lip curls and I return my attention to Hunter. “Don’t be small-minded. That’s a stupid stereotype.”

  He steps back and holds his hands up. “Whoa, what is this? I’m just kidding. Somebody sounds a little possessive. Maybe you do have another guy.”

  “Oh yeah, Hunter, I’ve found someone else. After I sat in a few trash heaps for the paper, then did my new list of chores at the house, and my hours of AP homework, plus the time I’ve put in helping Lindy, I managed to find a moment or two to cheat on you.”

  My anger could incinerate this whole club. “Do you want me to see someone else?”

  Hunter just stops. Says nothing.

  His eyes fuse with mine. “What’s going on with us?” He braves a smile. “Bella and Hunter do not fight.”

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. “This wasn’t how I pictured our little reunion.”

  He tucks a stray lock behind my ear, his hand sliding down my jaw. “I’m sorry I haven’t been good about calling. I know you’ve had a tough few weeks, and I haven’t been there for you.”

  “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  “Why don’t we start over?” The dance floor lights flash in his brown eyes.

  He spins me around and his hands cover my eyes.

  “Don’t tell my girlfriend, but I was wondering if you’d like to dance.”

  I swivel on my heel and wrap my arms around his neck. “I’d love to dance with you.”

  chapter eighteen

  I’ll see you ladies at dinner, okay?” Dad kisses my cheek and hands me his credit card.

  I swear I hear angels singing the “Hallelujah” chorus. Oh, credit card! How I’ve missed you. Your plasticky goodness. The zipping sound you make when the clerk runs you through a machine. The rattle of a long receipt being spit out by a boutique register.

  “Go easy on me today, okay?” He points to his card.

  “But, Dad, I haven’t shopped in forever.” Ever since Mom married Jake and somehow I got financially cut off. So unfair.

  “You’ve only been in Oklahoma two weeks.”

  “But in my heart . . . it’s an eternity.” I push Lindy out the door before my dad goes back to his idea of curtailing my spending and teaching me a lesson. Hmph. Whatever. It’s teaching me misery, is all. And causing me to lust in my heart—over other people’s clothing.

  I step outside onto the front stoop and breathe in the familiar Manhattan air. Ew. Maybe I shouldn’t breathe too deeply. We are a little smoggy at times.

  A yellow cab speeds us away, like a chariot taking me to heaven.

  Shopping—oh, I could just burst into song. The closest I’ve come to shopping lately is squeezing the melons at Wal-Mart with Mom. And that’s just indecent, if you ask me.

  “Okay, Lindy. Our first stop is Marco Ricci’s salon. While Marco’s working his magic on your hair, I’ll be getting a manicure and a pedi. Then we’ll switch.” Dad totally called in a favor to have my stylist work us in on such short notice. Marco’s usually booked, like, a year
in advance. Maybe Dad’s giving him a discount on a new nose or something.

  “I don’t know.” Lindy fingers her ponytail. “I kind of like my hair.”

  “But it’s not about what you like. It’s about what Matt might like.” I thought we established this last night when we stayed up ’til 2:00 a.m. talking. I felt like Dr. Phil, coaching Lindy toward a new vision of herself.

  The taxi pulls up beside Marco’s, and I have to force Lindy out of the car and into the salon.

  Lindy plants her feet in the lobby and just takes it all in. The pink walls. The techno music. The ladies in the chairs sipping champagne.

  “Um . . . isn’t there a Supercuts or a Regis somewhere?”

  A squeal has me clutching my ears.

  “Profanity! Profanity!” Marco, head to toe in black, scurries from behind the front counter, his beret bobbing on his head. “Who is zees you bring to Marco?”

  I swallow. “This is my friend Lindy.” I elbow her. She doesn’t move. “Greet Marco,” I say through gritted teeth.

  She tries to shake his hand, but he clutches his hands to his chest.

  “Do you know who I am, leetle girl?”

  Lindy shakes her head. “N-n-no.”

  “I am Marco Ricci”—his hand sweeps the room—“hair arteest.”

  He leans forward, his pinched face inches from hers. “Dream maker.” He draws himself up, his spine as straight as a hair pick.

  “Now would you like to greet Marco again?”

  With rounded eyes, Lindy looks to me. And back to Marco.

  Then she drops herself into an awkward curtsy.

  Laughter fills the entry as Marco doubles over and howls.

  “Zees girl you bring me—she is priceless.” He grabs a shaking Lindy by the shoulders. “Kees, kees.” And smooches the air beside both cheeks. Then his face sobers. “Oh, we have work to do, no?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Now you’re the expert.” I know this man so well.

  “But I was thinking maybe some blonde highlights. Four or five inches off. Some bangs.”

  “What?” Lindy squeaks. “Five inches off my hair? Are you crazy?”

  “Marco eez crazy about art. And your head eez a canvas vaiting to be painted, no?”

  “No.” Lindy steps away from Marco. “Nobody’s gonna paint my head.”

  Marco crosses his arms and huffs. “I cannot work with zees.”

  “You’ll have to excuse her. She’s very upset.” I put my hand over my mouth and lower my voice like Lindy can’t hear me. “She desperately wants to impress a boy. They met as young children and have been best friends ever since. But now . . .” I look away with a dreamy gaze. “Her heart has changed, Marco. She loves him, but does he even know the real Lindy exists?”

  He shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “Oh no. No, no, zees vill not do.” He nods his head once. “I vill do zees for you.” Marco pulls Lindy to him. “I vill do zees . . . for love.”

  “Give her the amoré special on those brows too,” I whisper to Marco. And I go in search of a foot bath.

  Two hours later, Carmina, the shampoo girl, signals for me to follow her. I clutch my toweled head and join her at Marco’s station.

  I would let my jaw hit the floor, but there’s hair on it. “Lindy . . . you look—”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Marco shushes me. “Marco vill now show her vhat she look like. Are you ready?”

  Lindy rubs the spot between her eyes. “He tried to rip my flesh off.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You had caterpillars taking over your face.” He looks at me. “Zees one ees tough cookie, no?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, she is.” I smile down at Lindy, who sits with her back to the mirror. Her face is a mask of calm and nonchalance. But her hands beat a punchy rhythm on her knees.

  “Marco geev to you . . .” He whirls her chair around. “My newe-est creation!”

  Lindy gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth. “Oh.” She touches a piece of hair. “My.”

  “You’re hot, Lindy!”

  “It doesn’t even look like me.”

  “Of course it does—only better.”

  “Marco make your true love crazy in ze head. He vill not stop looking at you, no?”

  “Matt’s going to flip.” I hug my new friend. “You look great. The blonde and caramel highlights really make your eyes pop.”

  Lindy sighs, sending her new bangs flying. “Let’s just hope

  Matt’s eyes pop.”

  We spend the rest of the afternoon shopping. I take Lindy all over Manhattan, from the ritziest boutiques to my favorite discount stores, like H&M on Thirty-fourth Street.

  At five o’clock, we wait outside of Bergdorf ’s for my Dad to pick us up.

  “Bella, I just want to thank you.” Lindy sets her packages down on the sidewalk. “When I said I wanted help . . . I didn’t expect all this.”

  I take in the revamped Lindy, who now looks nothing like a basketball star. More like a buff runway queen. “I had fun.” And I really did. “Well, except for when I had to chase you through the salon during the eyebrow wax.” We laugh at the new memory. “But you look amazing.”

  “I do feel . . . different.”

  “And that’s a good thing, right?”

  Her answer is interrupted by the arrival of my dad’s Mercedes.

  We climb into the backseat and smother him with girl talk.

  He parks his jet black car then escorts us into Tao, a New York City hot spot sometimes frequented by the Hollywood elite. We sit on the main level by the giant statue of Buddha, which actually is not a very appetizing place to eat some spring rolls. But the whole restaurant is filled with soft shadows, candlelight, and the buzz that is only found in New York. I just want to freeze it and never let it go.

  “Luisa tells me you got in late last night,” Dad says later, spearing a piece of his sea bass.

  I shrug and watch Lindy navigate her way to the bathroom in her new heels. “I guess.”

  “Your curfew was eleven thirty, was it not?”

  “Yes.” I feel my cheeks redden. “Can we talk about this later?” I force the corners of my mouth to lift. “It was only forty-five minutes late.”

  “You were past curfew.”

  “So were you.” I instantly regret my words. Well, regret that I said them.

  “I’m the parent here.”

  “Really?” Oh my gosh. This salmon I’m eating . . . It’s . . . it’s like truth serum! I can’t stop myself.

  “You and your friend have been shopping all day on my credit card. I think the least I deserve is some respect.”

  I peep over my shoulder to the table next to us then back to Dad. “I am grateful. But what I wanted this weekend was to spend some time with my father. You’ve been occupied all weekend. I haven’t seen you in weeks, and we’ve barely had a chance to talk. I thought you’d want to spend time with me. Instead you booked your schedule and handed me your Visa.”

  “You know I work long hours.”

  I nudge the vegetables on my plate with my fork. “You get me once a month. Couldn’t you adjust your schedule?”

  “Bella, I work very hard at what I do. I have goals. And right now I’m pursuing some opportunities that I’ve been waiting a very long time for.” He rests his hand on mine, and I watch our shadows overlap in the candlelight. “Don’t you want a dad who succeeds, a dad who becomes something?”

  I slide my plate away, my appetite gone. “I just want a dad, period.”

  chapter nineteen

  Three-forty-five in the morning.

  I sit straight up in bed and slam off the alarm.

  Exhaustion drags my eyelids down, but I shake it off. I have work to do. Two and a half hours before I have to be up for school . . . but if my hunch is right, ten more minutes before I have to be out the door—hot on Jake’s tail.

  I jump out of bed, knocking the cat to the floor. She meows and slinks away. With my phone as a flashlight, I find a pair of black sweats, throw my hai
r in a ponytail, and lace my feet into some running shoes.

  I crouch on the floor and peek over the windowsill.

  Seconds later, Jake’s giant form appears. He looks back toward the house then climbs into his truck.

  In a flash, I grab my car keys and sneak down the stairs like I’m a world-class spy.

  In the kitchen, I watch Jake’s truck pull out of the driveway, and when it’s a distance from the house, I run outside and jump into the Bug. Taking his cue, I leave my headlights off and navigate the car using only the moonlight. Which isn’t easy.

  I see the outline of his truck ahead as I pull onto the dirt road. I keep a safe distance behind him and hope he doesn’t even think to look in his rearview for someone tailing him at four in the morning.

  When we hit the first paved road, I hold the brake down, letting him get even farther ahead. Though his lights are on, I leave mine off and pray the illuminated streets will be enough to see by. And keep me hidden.

  He turns onto Central Street.

  Fifteen seconds later, I do the same.

  Three more turns, and we’re heading the opposite direction out of town.

  He hangs a left at Mohawk Avenue and wheels into an alley, and that’s when I stop.

  I frown at the landscape around me. I’m not familiar with this area. Kind of industrial looking. Lots of metal buildings. This is definitely not the maxi-pad factory.

  I park the car a street away and grab my cell phone, my keys, and the best pepper spray New York sells.

  I crouch low—why, I don’t know—and tiptoe toward the alley Jake disappeared into. Casting a nervous glance behind me, I stop at the corner of the alley and listen. Two buildings line the small street, and music blasts from the door closest to me.

  And yelling.

  A shiver dances up my spine. I clutch my phone in a shaking hand. Should I punch in 9-1-1 and have it ready just in case? Am I stupid for doing this? What if I open that door . . . and I’m never heard from again? Lord, please help me. Protect me from anything scary. And if something scary does happen, help me to be strong . . . and not pee my pants.

  I stand there for a few minutes and just listen. And think. And sweat.

  I ease my hand out and touch the knob. Inhaling deeply, I twist it, and the door opens easily. The shouts continue from the far recesses of the building. Somewhere in another room.