“Why don’t you and Tony do something anyway?” I suggest.
“Because now we don’t have reservations anywhere.”
“But still, you could—”
She waved her hand. “It’s okay. I’m over it.”
I shake my head and wonder if she came over here to make me feel guilty. And if so, why?
“But I must say, you do look glamorous.”
I look down at my T-shirt and jeans. “Huh?”
She points to my head. “Hairdo…makeup. Must be for the Malibu Beach party, huh?”
“How did you hear about Malibu Beach?”
“Paige’s Page.”
“Huh?”
“Facebook.”
“Oh…”
“She wrote about the party. In fact, that’s how Blake figured out that tonight was not going to work. I thought you already knew.”
“Not really. You know, we only heard about this party yesterday,” I tell Mollie.
“That’s what it said on Facebook.”
“So do you, like, check it out every day?” I ask.
“Not every day. But sometimes I get a tweet and then I go and check.”
Okay, I don’t even want to talk about Twitter. I’m so not into that. I mean, seriously, why is everyone out there blabbing about everything? Sometimes I wonder what would happen if all our cell phones, IMs, emails, and all that just vanished. Would everyone go nuts, or would we learn how to just have a normal conversation? Of course, I can’t say this to Mollie because she’s so into all that. Maybe I was just born into the wrong generation. Or I’m “conservative,” as Fran told me earlier today.
“And Paige is really getting a lot of fans too.”
“Fans?” I try to wrap my head around how Paige can possibly have fans when she doesn’t even have a show yet.
“Fans, friends, whatever. I think she has about five thousand on Facebook now.”
“You’re kidding!”
“The Wonderland spot was one of the most-watched You-Tube videos.”
“It’s on YouTube?”
“Do you like live under a rock, Erin?”
I scowl at her. “I have other interests.”
Mollie frowns. “Don’t you ever check these sites out?”
I just shrug. “Not really.”
“And you should probably get your own page too, Erin.”
I get out of bed now. I look at myself in the mirror, trying to estimate how much damage I may have done to my makeup and hair. It actually looks pretty much the same as it did earlier, and I’m sure Paige can fix whatever doesn’t.
“Is that what you’re wearing tonight?” Mollie is looking at the garment bag hanging on my closet door.
“Yeah, it’s called meow meow or something like that.”
“What?” Mollie gives me a weird look. “Can I see it?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
While she’s unzipping the bag I make a trip to the bathroom. It’s already after seven and the limo is supposed to get us at seven thirty. Okay, this is so surreal that I can’t even wrap my head around it. How weird is it that I’m going to a Malibu Beach party, dressed to the nines, and riding in a limo?
“Are you getting ready?” Paige calls from the kitchen where she’s getting herself a soda.
“I guess.”
“I already touched up my makeup and hair,” she says. “I’ll come in and look at yours in a few minutes.”
When I return to my room, Mollie is standing in front of my mirror, holding the black dress up like she’s wearing it.
“Kind of boring, isn’t it?” I say as I close the door.
“Boring?” She turns and gives me an are-you-crazy look.
“I mean, the dress isn’t that interesting. But it’s what fit me.”
“It’s pretty. And it’s not a meow meow. It’s a Miu Miu.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” I say with a smile. I start removing my clothes, trying not to mess my hair, thinking about what the hair guy said about wearing a button-up shirt next time.
“I’m trying really hard not to be jealous.” Mollie hands me the dress with a sad little smile.
“Hey, if there was a way I could trade places, I would.”
She nods. “Yeah…you probably would.” Now she brightens. “And maybe if Paige’s show is a big hit, you’ll be able to invite some of your friends to join you sometimes. You think?”
“I don’t see why not.” Even as I say this, I have no idea. Still, I hate to see Mollie feeling bad. “Hey, how did the commercial go?”
“I don’t know. They used several girls for it. I might end up on the cutting-room floor.”
“You and me both,” I tell her as she zips up my dress.
“I doubt that.”
Then Mollie sits down and watches as Paige comes in, all dressed and looking like absolute perfection. Naturally, Mollie makes a big deal about this. Paige then repairs the damage I apparently did to my hair, and finally hands me a small purse. “I equipped it with lip gloss and powder just in case the Malibu Beach stylists are too busy to help us.”
And before long, Mom is calling us to say that the limo has arrived. Then, as if we’re going to the prom, she insists on taking our pictures before we leave. I’m actually a little surprised that she didn’t want to come with us, but since she’s dressed up too, I’m guessing she has other plans.
“Have fun on your big date,” Paige says to Mom as we’re heading out with Mollie trailing us like a lost puppy.
“Big date?” I echo, but Paige ignores me.
Mom calls out thanks as we traipse down the stairs, and reminds us that she’s got her cell phone in case we need to call. “It’ll be on,” she says, as if she might be worried about us being on our own for New Year’s. Or maybe she thinks we’re worried about her.
“Mom’s going on a date?” I ask my sister after I’ve said good-bye to Mollie. Paige and I are sitting in back of the limo now, which is really just a town car, but kind of fun just the same. “A real date with a real guy?”
Paige simply nods as she rechecks herself in the mirror of her compact. Like she’s not perfect?
I simply cannot believe my mom is going out with someone. This is a first and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Not that anyone seems to care about my opinion lately.
“Who with?” I try to sound casual as I ask.
“A guy at work. She said it’s not really a date—but I’m not so sure.”
“Have you met this guy?”
“No. But I think his name is Tom. Or Tim. Or maybe it’s Jim.”
“Right…” I try not to worry about my mom being on a date, or the fact that our big debut could easily blow up in our faces if my sister offends one of the Malibu Barbies. Don’t worry…just pray, I remind myself.
And before I know it, the car is passing through the security gate, and there are tents and camera crews around. I feel like my stomach is tying itself into knots. Malibu Beach is supposed to be the edgiest reality show for teens yet. Besides the casual use of alcohol (don’t let those plastic red cups fool you), there are rumors that some of the cast are experimenting with drugs and who knows what else. I’m so not ready for this. Then the town car stops and, although it seems too soon to be in Malibu, the door opens, but instead of us getting out, it’s Fran getting in.
“You girls ready to rock and roll?” she asks as she opens a bag and starts removing what I can tell is sound equipment. “We wanted to get you wired up with mics before you arrive at the scene. It makes it easier for the guys to just start shooting, getting your natural reactions and all that.”
As we fumble with the wires and small microphones, trying to conceal them beneath our dresses—which is no small feat—Fran continues to brief us about the evening.
“Now remember, although our own camera crew is there on the grounds, they won’t be allowed into the actual party because that’s where the Malibu Beach crew is already set up to film, and there’s only so much room. The truth
is they can get kind of territorial. So you girls have to make the most of it before we go onto the actual party. My guess is that some of the Malibu Beach cast will want some camera time with you girls and our crew too, hoping that they can get seen on your show. Remember these girls are opportunistic. Just make the most of it, okay?”
“No problem,” Paige says with confidence.
“Right.” I bite my lip and prepare myself for the worst.
“And don’t be nervous,” Fran tells me as we pass through some security gates, and the driver slows then finally parks. “I’ll be around if you need anything. Act like yourselves, like you’re guests at a party.”
Then someone is opening the car door, and I watch as Paige slowly extends a long leg out, just in time for a camera to catch her emerging from the car like a star. In comparison, I feel like a klutz, and as I catch my heel and nearly fall on my face, I hear trickles of laughter from what I can only assume are cast members…people in formal clothes, clustered here and there as if trying not to appear too obvious as they watch us.
“Hey there, little sister.” Paige reaches for my hand to steady me, using a voice that I can tell is for the cameras. “I guess we should’ve cut you off sooner. But then it is New Year’s Eve…time to party.” This is followed by more laughter. At my expense, I’m sure. Hopefully none of this camera footage will make it into the actual show. I glare at my “big” sister and try to remember that she’s probably hamming it up for the sake of our TV show. But what if she pushes it too far? How much will be too much? And am I supposed to challenge her?
“The Forrester sisters,” says a very pretty blonde that I’m guessing is Mia Renwick, but since I don’t watch the show, I could be wrong. Ironically, she too has on a red dress. Two diva-type blondes wearing two similar dresses. Not good. And, although I’m not a fashion expert, I can tell that Mia doesn’t look nearly as hot as Paige. I suspect Paige is thinking the same thing.
Paige just smiles and goes directly to the girl. “Hey, Mia,” she says like they’re old friends.
“Paige,” Mia says as she takes her hand and they exchange air kisses. I try not to laugh at how ridiculous that looks.
“And this is my little sister, Erin.”
Mia barely looks at me, but nods as if to say, “it’s okay, she can come too.” Then she leads Paige over to meet some of her friends. Naturally, the cameras stick with this group—the A list. I should be relieved for this little break, but instead, feeling like a party crasher or maybe just a misfit, I follow behind and watch from a safe distance. The girls seem to assess Paige with a sort of bored interest, but I suspect it’s only an act. I suspect they’re thinking, like I am, that she is outshining Mia Renwick. Then again, they might simply be planning how to get their own moment with Paige. Like Fran said, Malibu Beach won’t last forever.
“Hi,” a petite brunette says to me quietly. “You must be the sister.”
“I feel like the ugly stepsister,” I admit, then glance over my shoulder to be sure we’re not on camera.
She laughs. “I feel like that sometimes too. You probably know that I’m Avery Stratton. I’m pretty much used to living in Mia’s shadow on this show.”
“I’m Erin Forrester,” I tell her.
“The funny thing is that Mia and I actually really were friends before the show began. Best friends, if you can believe it.”
“So did the show mess that up?”
Avery nods sadly. “That and so much more.”
“Oh.”
“And being that you’re a sensible girl—that’s what I’ve heard anyway—you probably wonder why I stuck with the show, right?”
“Sort of.”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
“Money?”
Avery laughs. “Well, you may not be a star, but you are a smart girl.”
“You know what they say, follow the money. My next guess would’ve been boys.”
“Another good guess. And, like everyone else, you’ve probably heard that Mia thinks Benjamin and I are sneaking around.”
“Are you?”
Avery gives me a sly look, then glances around to make sure we’re not being filmed, which doesn’t appear to be the case since both crews are still glued to Paige and Mia, the stars. “We try to give the viewers what they want.” She casually waves to a guy who’s just coming out of one of the tents. “You will too.”
“Who’s that?” I ask as nonchalantly as possible.
“Are you kidding?”
“Let me guess—Benjamin Kross?”
“You don’t watch our show much, do you?” She looks truly shocked and maybe even slightly offended.
But I just shrug. “Not so much. Sorry.”
Benjamin is coming over to us. He and Avery exchange a friendly kiss, which surprises me since Mia, his supposed girlfriend, is only about ten feet away. But then, maybe that’s just the norm around here. As Avery introduces us, I notice Benjamin has a red plastic cup in his hand, like most people at the party. It’s amazing to me that they’d be so casual about drinking with cameras running.
“And that’s Erin’s sister over there,” Avery tells Benjamin.
He nods as if he approves. “How do I get an introduction to her?” He seems to direct this query to me, and so I take the initiative and walk him over to meet Paige. Knowing that cameras are rolling, I manage to introduce them without botching it too badly.
“Benjamin,” Paige says with a twinkle in her eye. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” He grins, then holds out his arms like he’s about to say tah-dah! “So, tell me, how did I do? Would I make your fashion do’s or don’ts list?”
Paige looks him up and down, then smiles with approval. “Oh, you are definitely a do.”
He chuckles. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“And how about the rest of us?” A tall girl in a bright blue dress steps up. She has long, nearly black hair and is wearing gigantic silver hoops in her ears. “Which list would the rest of us make?”
“Would you like me to start with you?” Paige asks, not missing a beat.
“Yes,” says another girl. “Do Natasha.”
“Why not?” Natasha strikes a poise, confidence exuding from her. And really, she looks like she could be a professional model. Tall, thin, stately.
Paige smiles sweetly as she carefully looks her over. “The color of your dress is superb on you,” she begins. “It really makes your eyes sparkle and brings out the best in your complexion. Great choice.”
“Thank you.” Natasha smiles
“But the cut is unflattering.”
“Unflattering?” Natasha’s smile evaporates.
“See how it sags a bit here.” Paige points to the loose fabric along the sides of her midriff. “Not very attractive. A slight alteration would’ve helped…maybe. Although this fabric, in this cut…well, it’s only my opinion, but it was probably a mistake from the get-go.”
Mia laughs. “I have to agree with her, Natasha. That dress makes you look totally flat on top and kind of hippy on the bottom. I was going to tell you myself, but I never got the chance.”
“Sorry,” Paige says brightly. “You asked.”
“What about Mia’s dress,” Natasha demands. “Tell us what you think of that.”
Paige looks at Mia innocently. “Oh, I don’t know…”
“Come on,” Benjamin urges her. “I’d like to hear this too.” He steps next to Paige, cupping his chin in his hand, appearing to study his girlfriend’s red dress, which is similar to Paige’s but not quite right. At least I don’t think it is, but then again, I’m no expert.
Mia just shrugs. “Go for it, Paige. I’d be interested to hear what you think.”
Paige presses her lips together, then nods. “Well, for starters, some blondes look good in a true red…and some just don’t. It has to do with your skin tone and eye color. And, don’t feel badly, Mia, but you’re one of the blondes that should just say no to red. It washes
you out.” Paige smiles. “You don’t hate me now, do you?”
“Of course I don’t hate you.” Mia frowns slightly. “And I suppose you can wear red?”
Paige ignores Mia as she turns to Benjamin. “What do you think? You know Mia better than anyone here, right?”
Benjamin looks at Mia and then at Paige, then back to Mia. “I think you nailed it, Paige. Mia does look kind of pale, like she’s not feeling so great.” He puts his hand on her forehead. “Still nursing that hangover from the weekend, are we?”
Several people laugh, but Mia pushes his hand away. “Paige didn’t answer my question,” she says to him. “Why don’t you answer it for her. Do you think Paige is a blonde who can wear red?”
He gives a sheepish smile. “Oh, yeah, I think Paige can wear red just fine.”
I can tell Mia is seeing red now. And it looks like she’s not going to give up on this. “So what about the cut of this dress, Paige? Anything you’d like to say about that?” Mia stands straighter now, holding her head high and exposing even more cleavage than my sister, which in a weird way is kind of a relief. Maybe Dad wouldn’t be upset after all.
“It’s an okay cut,” Paige begins slowly, as if she’s watching her step. “But I have to say that dress is not particularly well made.” She points to some tucks and seams along the front of the dress. “This workmanship is a little shoddy.”
“Shoddy?” Mia looks at Paige like she’s lost her mind. “Do you have any idea who made this dress, or what it costs?”
“I can take a guess.” Paige studies the dress even more closely. “I think it’s a Badgley Mischka—”
“That’s right,” snaps Mia. “And I can’t believe you’d call it shoddy. Do you realize that the cameras are on? And that you have just insulted one of the finest designers around?”
“You didn’t let me finish,” Paige says sweetly. “I was about to say that it looks like a Badgley Mischka knockoff.”
“That’s ridiculous.” But Mia looks uncomfortable, and I’m thinking my sister is right.
“Maybe you haven’t heard there are some counterfeits floating around this area,” Paige tells her. “My guess is that’s one of them. If you’d like, we could examine the label and determine—”
Premiere Page 7
