Say It Sexy

by Virna DePaul

  After showering, I spent half an hour getting ready, feeling rushed and sick to my stomach. My hair wouldn't do. I looked bloated in my royal blue dress. My face and eyes appeared puffy, as though I had been crying.

  Knowing Erica would be happy when I arrived had made the hassle almost worthwhile, and I forced myself through the ceremony of applying makeup. A short time later, I arrived at Double Tree, the location of the party. I paid the cab his fare, put my strappy blue heels on the cement, and crossed the paved entry to the crystal glass doors. A man dressed in a stiff black collared suit and white gloves opened it for me. I nodded my appreciation.

  Following the signs, and other courteous concierges, I took the elevator to the top floor. The elevator opened to reveal coarse gray carpet, the landing bracketed by the glass balcony, leading to what looked to be a room for conventions, or some other sort of assembly.

  Feeling more like I was attending a high school prom than a Hollywood cast party, I breezed toward the doors. Stepping inside, I noticed the pretty decorations, flower bouquets, edible arrangements, and buffet table. As though she had a sixth sense, Erica’s head popped up from the bar.

  “Oh my God,” I heard her breathe in unbridled exasperation. Hopping out of her seat, she hurried to me. She didn’t even bother to say goodbye to the scrawny guy standing much too close to her. “Thank you, savior.”

  “That bad, huh?” I giggled.

  “You don’t understand,” she insisted, eyes widening. “I’ve been here for two hours.”

  “Two hours! Why?”

  “Because I promised I’d help Alice set up,” she whined, slouching forward and dropping her head on my shoulder. With another glance around the room, I noticed that most of the attendees were over forty. Frank Sinatra played in the background.

  “You’re right. This is a nightmare,” I murmured.

  “Tell me about it,” Shane’s voice said as he came up behind me with Garrick and Tyler flanking him. “I was going to spike the punch bowl… but it’s covered.” And he looked quite upset about this too.

  I chanced a glance and a smile at Garrick. His eyebrows jumped up, lips only moving to continue to chew his gum, and looked away. I deflated and guilt washed through me. Of course he was mad at me. How could I expect him not to be?

  “Damn, Gwen,” Shane suddenly announced.

  “What?” I blinked.

  “You look—” He could only shake his head, stare, and exhale a whistle. I even caught Tyler staring.

  Straightening, Erica agreed. “Right?”

  Glancing down, I realized that my cleavage had come up a bit during the cab ride. I also realized that the cabbie hadn’t recognized me at all…

  Quickly, I adjusted myself.

  “Why don’t you wear sexy clothes more often?” Shane teased. I swatted him with my clutch.

  Erica pulled us into a huddle, wearing one of her famous smirks. “So. Now that we have the gang together… you guys wanna go to a real party?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Garrick

  “You’re sure your friend is going to be cool?” I muttered dubiously as we piled out of the cab. The guy had been nice enough to take all five of us, even though the car only seated four passengers. We tipped him well. As the taxi pulled away, we all lined up on the curb, staring at the one story squat adobe house with a rickety porch and a sagging wooded fence around the property. The windows had been blacked out. Muffled bass boomed from inside.

  “Well. This isn’t sketchy as fuck at all,” Tyler observed, deadpan.

  “Yeah, Garrick,” Erica said. “I’m sure. I’ve already told him.”

  “Right,” Shane added, looking more nervous than skeptical. “But sometimes, people lie.”

  Erica snorted. “Logan’s cool. So is his housemate. Her name is Stephanie, by the way.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Gwen chimed in, wringing her hands and then clutching her elbow, eyeing the house as though it might lurch forward and bite her. “Isn’t this the wrong side of Central? Aren’t we all… overdressed?”

  Still pissed at her, I didn’t answer. She had blown me off just hours ago, despite what I’d told her about wanting to prove myself to her, the world, and her dad. How was I supposed to prove myself if she never gave me the chance?

  Erica turned to us, gave us all a pointed once-over, and shook her head. “I think you guys seriously overestimate how much being famous means to real people.” She strolled up the drive, hopped up the steps of the porch, and opened the door. Pulsing base roared out from the house, enough to rattle the station wagon parked in the side yard.

  With a look of impatience, Erica waved us to join her. “Come on! I didn’t fall in love with Albuquerque, the place. I fell in love with Albuquerque, the people!” She grinned. “Vamos!”

  Shane and Tyler broke from the line first, shuffling up the steps to sink into what awaited us inside.

  Gwen and I exchanged glances. I pulled my hands out of my pockets, opened my arms, and gave her a hapless shrug. Together, we ascended the driveway.

  I’d been to countless parties like the rager at Wes’s mansion weeks ago. Still, I couldn’t believe what I walked into.

  The bulb in the kitchen was on but had been replaced with a black light that made outfits glow like fireworks in the night. The air smelled of flavored hookah and booze, intermingled with a hint of weed and sweat. People of all body types—not the cookie cutter types abounding in Hollywood—created an eccentric and exotic mélange, like a decoupage coating a girl’s nightstand.

  Dudes in guyliner and hoodies stood over a cooler, shot-gunning beers with guys in Polo shirts. The Latinas who spoke clique-Spanglish had teamed up with two girls with more piercings than I had fingers and toes to take on a group of frat guys in beer pong. Sporty chicks in sweats swayed near the couch, giving lap dances to Star Trek shirts, and the guys were giving them right back. A guy with, admittedly, killer assets, stood near the wall, teaching a girl with the figure of a very effeminate boy, dressed in furry boots and a strip of a skirt, how to twerk. On the floor, to the right, seven or eight people sat in a circle around an empty glass, no doubt rallying for King’s Cup. And everyone, in one way or another, was smeared with glow-paint.

  “Where… the fuck… are we?” I managed, stunned, and mildly horrified. Gwen and I slowly met eyes. And I legitimately considered snatching her up and high tailing it out of there.

  “Shots, newbies!” someone called above the music from the kitchen.

  “Come on!” said a brunette with deep olive skin who popped up from seemingly nowhere. Flashing the most bizarrely unassuming smile I had ever seen, she seized Gwen’s hand. “You have to catch up!” And with that, she tugged her off to the kitchen. Gwen followed her, flashing me a helpless, but oddly excited expression. I couldn’t help but turn a smile back at her.

  For the second time, my eyes swept the scene.

  No one recognized us, and if they did, it didn’t matter. No one started screaming. No one started pointing.

  Erica appeared, clasping the hand of a built guy in a collared shirt. His hair, in tight ringlets that suggested a mixed heritage, stuck out an inch or so from his head. It took me a moment to recognize him from the front as the twerk teacher.

  “This is Logan,” Erica introduced. “Logan, this is Garrick!”

  “Hey, man,” Logan greeted, jutting his open hand forward.

  Still a bit blindsided, a measure of lag time passed before I mustered the sense to shake his hand and nod. But somewhere in my shock, an epiphany dawned on me. I had forgotten what it was like to be a regular person, to enter a room and not be swamped with attention. And damn, did it hit me like a kick in the gut—how desperately I missed that normalcy. Another rush of thoughts followed, the sort that painted a miraculous picture of what Gwen and I could be… had we not been pieces of the celebrity chessboard.

  From the group beside us, a guy yelled, “Bottoms up!”

  “That’s two game
s you’ve lost, and two cups you’ve drank!” another girl squealed.

  Logan laughed at my silence, clapped his hand on my shoulder, and wheeled me inside. A minute later, Gwen joined me.

  Stephanie, the one who had taken charge of Gwen when we first walked in, had given her a change of clothes, insisting that she would never be comfortable dressed as she was. She now wore a relaxed Reese’s t-shirt and rolled running shorts, long hair down and disheveled. She giggled and gave me a twirl. She had never looked more stunning to me.

  She wandered off to do some socializing on her own.

  I talked to people. I drank. I had a genuinely good time, all the while keeping my ears and eyes on Gwen. And it was getting harder and harder to stay mad at her.

  When she broke away from a girl she was talking to and walked toward me, I took her hand and tugged her into a quiet corner.

  “We need to talk,” I declared, struggling to keep my eyes on her face and off of her tantalizingly curvaceous body.

  Gwen swallowed thickly, her pretty jeweled greens darting around behind me for any sign of eavesdroppers. “Okay,” she agreed, not without reluctance.

  “Today. On set. That was your dad, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded sheepishly.

  “Why didn’t you introduce me when you got my text? You completely ignored me, and we were standing a stone’s throw apart. I saw you read it. You could have at least told me that he was coming. What was it? My clothes? My hair?”

  Gwen licked her lips, loosened by the alcohol. “I had no idea he was coming, Garrick. It caught me completely off-guard too. I panicked. I’m a damn good actress, but I haven’t practiced hiding my feelings about you from him. And I was afraid he’d see right through me.”

  I huffed to convey my irritation. “We already talked about this. I can take him, Gwen. What the hell is so bad about our dad knowing that you’re happily coupled with a sexy guy like me?”

  She thumped me in the chest. “Garrick, I wanted to introduce you. I did. I just… I got scared. You haven’t been coached on what to say.”

  I balked. “You have to coach me on what to say? What’s the point of him meeting me at all if I have to pretend?”

  With a huff of frustration, she massaged her temples. “My dad is a time bomb, Garrick. I don’t expect you to understand. I’ve had bad experiences in the past, experiences that led to another guy I was seeing getting hurt. And I don’t mean in the emotional sense of the word.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Did these bad experiences result in you getting hurt? Does your dad hit you, Gwen?”

  Her eyes widened and when she looked away, I could barely swallow past the lump in my throat. “Oh God. Oh baby. Tyler said there were rumors about abuse but—“

  She shook her head vigorously. “No, no. My dad, he’s never hit me. But he does have a temper. He does scare me sometimes. But I know him. He’d never hurt me. He just wants the best for me.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her about her dad not hurting her. I wasn’t even sure she realized how scared she looked of him. “Gwen,” I began.

  “Garrick, I’m trying. Give me time.”

  “How much time do you need?”

  “I’m not sure. And I know that’s a cop out, and a vague answer—not what you’re looking for. I’m sorry I ignored you today, and made you feel crappy. It was a horrible thing for me to disregard you like I did. But trust me. It would have been much worse if I had introduced you, and things went even the slightest bit wrong.”

  Frowning, I looked away until she gingerly slipped her fingers under my chin and turned my face toward hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, a sheen of tears appearing in her eyes. “I really am.”

  At last, I nodded, adopting what I could of a smile.

  “You’ll meet him,” she promised. “Someday. And I’ll work on it. It’s not you. It’s me. And it’s him. Can’t we just forget it and enjoy our time together here?”

  I uncrossed my arms, threaded our fingers together, leaned in, and kissed her. “I’d like that.”

  Logan and Stephanie, climbing up on a fold-out chair, switched off the house mix, directing our attention to them. After explaining the directions of the drinking game about to begin, they made sure everyone had a drink in their hand. Then all of us, possibly thirty people, stood around a laptop and played Thunderstruck.

  From there, the night came in flashes.

  *

  After an exceptionally awkward and hilarious round of Pass the Orange, Tyler put his phone in his pocket and actually started talking.

  *

  Erica pulled Shane onto the small square of empty space that served as a dance floor.

  *

  Gathered around the beer pong table, Erica and Gwen shot against Tyler and Shane. I stood with Logan, cheering them on, and watching Gwen’s face, glow hearts sketched onto her cheeks, light up.

  *

  “How can you drink so much?” Gwen slurred, sleepy eyed and grinning as she clumsily reached for Erica’s hand.

  Erica took her hand and pulled her close, which was probably a good idea because Gwen looked as though she might fall over. “It’s the only way I can shut my brain off,” Erica answered.

  *

  At some point, Alice Barnhart showed up. And Tyler suddenly looked stupid happy.

  *

  Logan, Erica, and I teamed up against another trio and played flip-cup. And, by some fortunate glitch in the cosmos, we won.

  *

  Soundly drunk, the girls hiccupped and giggled their way into the bathroom together, where they surely plotted the destruction of all males… and took a billion selfies for the next fifteen minutes.

  *

  Gwen, Stephanie, Logan, Erica, Shane, Tyler, Alice, and I congregated for a round of strip poker.

  *

  “No way!” Tyler exclaimed to Alice. “You’re flowerbombbarista?!”

  Alice laughed, nodding. “I can’t believe you’re hardwired15!”

  “Is this even real life?” Tyler exclaimed, talking animatedly with his hands.

  “I don’t know,” Alice cackled, unable to stop as she lifted her hands to cover her flushed face.

  *

  Erica had Shane in the corner, and they were kissing like their lives depended on it. Momentarily confused, but too delightfully drunk to care, or string more than two thoughts together, I pounded back a round of tequila shots with Logan.

  * * *

  Shortly after three a.m., Gwen decided that she wanted to go home. We caught a cab with Uber less than five minutes later. Nestled beside me in the backseat, my arm strung around her, Gwen’s eyes kept fluttering closed. She had to be exhausted, especially in light of the fact that partying was practically a foreign concept to her. Still dressed in Stephanie’s clothes, as she had been afraid to ruin her dress in the process of pouring herself back into it, she lifted her head. She pouted up at me.

  “Do you like Steph better than me?” she asked, her voice assuming a silly sort of childish quality, adorably slurred from the liquor.

  “Why would you ask that, goof?” I chuckled.

  With a huff, Gwen nuzzled into the crook of my neck. I could still smell the Midori, limeade, and vodka on her breath. Kissing her would be like sucking on a starburst, and my sweet tooth was jonesing for a taste. “Because she’s fun. She’s really fun and nice, Garrick. She let me borrow her clothes. Look.” As if I hadn’t noticed, she directed my attention to her shorts.

  “Yes, baby. She did.” I gave her hair a kiss and squeezed her gently. “No, I don’t like her better than you. I don’t like anyone better than you, to be perfectly honest.”

  “Good,” she stated bluntly. “Because I would bleach these and she would never ever ever get them back if you did.” Punctuating the promise with a stiff nod, she gave me a lopsided smile.

  “Does that mean you’ll go out with me tomorrow night?”

  Her brows furrowed in confusion.

  �
�It’s Valentine’s Day,” I explained. “I made reservations at a nice restaurant. Nothing fancy. Just in case. But if you’d rather not—”

  “No. I do. Want to go out with you tomorrow. Tomorrow would be…perfect.” She leaned in to kiss me softly and I grinned like a crazy person. With a sigh, she resumed her contented position on my shoulder, then promptly fell asleep. It took us half an hour to get back to Nativo.

  The driver pulled off the highway and cruised into the parking lot of Nativo Lodge just as I felt myself start drifting off too. We rounded the corner toward the front entrance only to be suddenly bombarded with a storm of camera flashes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gwen

  “What the hell?” the driver said, sitting up straighter.

  I sat up like a shot from my Garrick-shaped niche, suddenly wide awake in the path of the incoming throng of paparazzi. Surrounding us, they blocked all access to the road. Commotion and questions buzzed around the car like a swarm of hornets. I heard my name called over and over as reporters tried to get my attention from outside the window.

  “Oh my God,” I choked, gripped by nausea and an intense burst of panic.

  “Get us out of here,” Garrick ordered the man in the driver’s seat, his arm tightening around me. “I’ll pay you whatever you ask.”

  The driver glanced into his rear view mirror, the vehicle now at a full stop, and gave a sigh of dismay. “Sorry, man. But I just paid this car off. And I’m not about to drive over anybody and land my ass in jail. You’re going to have to get out.”

  At some point, I had started trembling. I only noticed because Garrick took me by the upper arms, turned me to face him, and gave me a shake of his own. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll be fine,” he assured me. “Just hang on to my hand, okay?”

  I nodded dumbly. Quickly, Garrick shrugged out of his jacket and helped me into it.