The A-List: Hollywood Royalty #1

by Zoey Dean

  club, fatigued dancers leaned back in buttery leather Warhol-era furniture and couples

  shamelessly made out.

  Kady poured herself another flute of Veuve, passing the bottle to Amelie, who quickly handed

  it to Moira Lacey. It was 1:30 a.m., and Amelie had passed up alcohol for a few hours now.

  She wanted to have fun, but that didn't mean she had to get drunk.

  "You look bored," Kady commented, as Duffy faded into a new track by the Virgins. "Maybe

  it's time you had a drink."

  Amelie was bored. Bored with scanning the crowd every two seconds to see if she noticed

  traces of Hunter's broad shoulders and dark hair. She'd joined Kady and the other girls on the

  dance floor several times, shimmying with all the enthusiasm of a marionette controlled by a

  Xanax-addled puppeteer. Now she just wanted to go home--actually, back to Kady's, given the

  lie she'd told her mom--crawl into bed, and sleep off the whole experience. She wasn't a

  nightclub person, plain and simple. Plus, the last time she'd gotten up to dance, she'd

  remembered that she'd totally blown off her tutoring session with Jake. All because her mind

  had been filled with Hunter, who wasn't even here. Now the guilt of ditching Jake clung to her

  like a sticky film.

  "I'm fine," Amelie said, smiling weakly. She didn't want to hurt Kady's feelings, or worse,

  come off as judgmental. "Thanks for bringing me out with you."

  DJ Homicide faded the Virgins into "Shut Up and Let Me Go," and DeAndra squealed, "I love

  this song--let's dance!"

  Staring at the area somewhere over Amelie's shoulder, Kady nodded. "Yeah. Amelie, you

  probably want to wait here."

  The other girls got up, bouncing their way to the dance floor. Amelie felt like a jerk. Had she

  offended Kady? Sitting alone in the banquette, Amelie turned to catch sight of her group now

  on the dance floor. Maybe if she joined them, she could patch things up with Kady.

  Amelie stood up from the cushy seat, bumping into the shoulder of a guy who had been about

  to sit down. "Sorry, no more pictures," Amelie said, speaking to the guy's arm.

  "Amelie?" Hunter's unmistakably deep voice cut under the poppy beat. Amelie looked up to

  find herself staring into his dark, liquid eyes. A shiver careened through her, rattling every

  sequin on her dress. Hunter wore dark jeans and a plain dark blue button-down shirt, open at

  the collar. His normally stoic face bore traces of surprise.

  "Kady told me you might come out tonight," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I'm

  kind of surprised you actually did. Glad, too."

  Amelie hoped her face wasn't shiny from her earlier time on the dance floor, even though

  Hunter seemed to be eyeing the glimpse of her shoulder the black dress afforded. Finally

  realizing I'm not eleven years old anymore? Amelie thought with satisfaction.

  "Here I was, thinking you'd stayed in for the night," Amelie said, hoping she sounded teasing,

  and not like she'd been anxiously awaiting his arrival.

  Hunter laughed. "No, just got stuck at Hyde longer than I'd planned."

  Amelie had a brief flash of Hunter surrounded by a bevy of Hyde beauties but quickly pushed

  the jealous thought from her head. Hunter held up his cocktail glass. "I'm all out--want to have

  a drink with me?" He held up a finger to the waitress in a short brown minidress and white gogo boots. She waited patiently a few feet away, sizing up both Hunter and Amelie.

  "Whatever you're having," Amelie said, liking the easy way the words rolled off her tongue.

  Hunter cocked his head toward the waitress. "Two Bombay and tonics," he said without

  hesitation. "Put it on my tab."

  The waitress smiled and quickly strode off in the direction of the bar.

  "So, Amelie Adams, come here often?" Hunter's voice sounded playful as he sat down on the

  wide banquette seat, patting a spot next to him for Amelie.

  She folded herself into the chair, turning just enough that she could see Hunter's face. "It's my

  first time, actually," she admitted. As Hunter's leg brushed her bare thigh, she reminded herself

  to thank Kady for the alone time with him.

  The waitress returned with their drinks, lowering her white-shadowed eyelids at Hunter. He

  took a sip of his gin and tonic and Amelie did the same. The drink was strong, and the gin sent

  a pleasant burn down her throat and into her chest. The warmth radiated from her middle

  outward, covering her whole body like a blanket. With her second, bigger sip, she felt the

  tension leave her shoulders and back, as though she'd just had a La Prairie deep-tissue

  massage. It was her first cocktail. She was accustomed to champagne's fizzy tickle--she'd had

  celebratory glasses at New Year's and the occasional wrap party. And she'd tried glasses of

  wine at dinner with her mom, but never had more than a sip or two. This was different. Her

  body happily vibrated along with the thumping music, the club's spinning, colored lights

  washing over her like a warm rainbow.

  "I like this dress on you," Hunter said, running two fingertips over the sequins near Amelie's

  neck. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear black. You look like a whole new woman."

  Amelie surveyed his face as coolly as she could, even though her heart was beating double

  time. She wanted to look at him in a way that said, I think about you constantly and would like

  nothing better than to be boyfriend and girlfriend, even if it means my virginity and your

  sexuality are constantly debated in the press, and we frequently read about our impending

  breakup in Life & Style.

  Instead, she said, "I'm allowed to leave the princess outfit at home once in a while."

  Hunter laughed again, a rich, deep laugh. Amelie beamed, feeling like the word "Yay!" was

  flashing on her fore-head. "Let's dance," he said, picking up both their drinks.

  What felt like minutes later, Amelie was sweaty and giddy at the center of the dance floor with

  Kady, DeAndra, the Lacey twins, and Hunter. It was two thirty in the morning but she felt as

  fresh as if she'd just woken up. Hunter had been just an arm's reach away all night, and had

  never let her gin and tonic go dry.

  Not that that was a good thing. Amelie definitely felt a little woozy, but thanks to the dancing,

  she'd burned off enough alcohol not to feel drunk.

  Now, the go-go-booted waitresses were making final rounds, announcing last call.

  "We should get out of here before we're stuck with all the closers," Kady yelled over Blondie's

  "One Way or Another."

  Amelie nodded, following Kady off the dance floor.

  Hunter was right behind them as they made it out onto the street, to waiting taxis and town

  cars. Kady, DeAndra, and the twins took turns hugging Hunter goodbye, until just Amelie was

  left standing in front of him.

  "This was fun," he said, a bead of sweat on his cheekbone. "You should come out tomorrow

  night. There's a party at this mansion in the Hollywood Hills. Lewis Buford's place. Have you

  heard of him?"

  Amelie shook her head, pulling her straightened red hair off her neck as she did so.

  "Well, you don't need to know him. I'm inviting you. So come, if you want." With that, Hunter

  reached down and enfolded her in his strong arms. It was all Amelie could do not to run her

  hands down his solid back. As he let go, Hunter leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

  Without even thinking abou
t her schedule or if she'd be too tired, she beamed back at Hunter.

  "I'll be there."

  At ten thirty the next morning, Amelie strode through the door of the two-story Craftsman she

  and her mom had purchased in Toluca Lake the previous year. Though it wasn't original by any

  means, having been built in the 1990s and not the 1890s, they'd both fallen in love with the

  expanse of white-railed patio on the red house's frame.

  Amelie was still wearing the yoga pants and Class Angel production T-shirt she'd slept in the

  night before. Well, barely slept in. Amelie's night had been one of a happy insomniac as she

  replayed all of her and Hunter's moments like some kind of glorious dream.

  The only not-so-great thing was that she'd missed call time for the Kidz Network promos she

  was supposed to do. But she'd at least called to cancel and ask for a reschedule. She'd gone to

  Fairy Princess shoots sick as a dog. So this was just like comp time, she rationalized.

  She woke up with no sign of a hangover and now practically bounced on her Ugg-covered feet

  into the house. She passed through what was once their unused dining room, now a shared

  office for her and her mom. A chandelier hung in its center, and each side of the room

  contained a matching oak desk with wing-backed chairs upholstered in a shiny pink leaf

  pattern. Her mom's desk was spare, with room for her laptop, a vertical file sorter containing

  several folders, copies of today's Hollywood Reporter and Variety, and an old-fashionedlooking phone. Amelie's desk contained a pile of scripts, some scattered across the desk's wide

  surface, a white iMac with a twenty-four-inch monitor, and a Fairy Princess doll that had fallen

  on its side next to her two-foot stack of fashion magazines.

  Amelie skipped into the kitchen, an airy room with sunny yellow mosaic tiles along the walls,

  cream granite countertops, and hand-carved oak cabinets. In the car on the way over, she'd

  rehearsed her speech about all the fun she and Kady had had, if her mom asked. Natalie

  Portman movie. Manipedis. Et cetera. Her mom was sitting at the breakfast bar, her laptop open

  in front of her and an oversize mug of coffee at her side.

  Helen looked up from the computer, her face set in an irritated frown, without a trace of

  welcome for her daughter.

  "Morning, Mom," Amelie chirped, heading to the Cuisinart coffeepot to pour herself a mug.

  Most likely, Helen was just getting worked up over something on the Huffington Post. "What's

  wrong in the world today?"

  Helen sighed. "I don't know where to begin." She turned the MacBook Air so that the screen

  was facing Amelie. Instantly, Amelie recognized the garish red lettering of the TMZ home

  page. On the front page was a fuzzy, camera phone photo--unmistakably Amelie and Hunter,

  bathed in Area's rainbow lights. Hunter clutched a drink in his hand and was grinning at

  Amelie. Amelie had both arms in the air, and a cocktail in her right hand. Beneath the photo

  was a simple headline, "Fairy Prudeness No More?" Amelie skimmed the text of the story

  beneath it.

  Adams, best known as Fairy Princess--the goodiest good girl ever--is a never-seen on the L.A.

  club circuit, so her ease in tossing back cocktails and seducing in-demand Sparks is sure to be

  big news to her fans, not to mention Kidz Network, which has praised its progeny for her

  clean-living ways.

  Helen pursed her lips. "As your manager, I can't tell you how bad a light this casts you in." She

  closed the laptop before Amelie could read the rest of the story. "As your mother, I can't

  believe you lied to me. I'm sad to say I've tacked this to the Board. You're grounded. Please go

  to your room now."

  Shame washed over Amelie as she took one long last look at her carefree face in the TMZ

  photo. She padded out of the kitchen and up the oak staircase to her room.

  Her mom was right. Now that Amelie really thought about it, she couldn't believe how easily

  she'd canceled her appointment this morning. How carelessly she'd stood up Jake. She cringed,

  imagining Kidz Network president Dan Davies--who'd always been her biggest fan--seeing the

  photo. I can't believe I did that, she thought, stopping on the fourth stair and staring at a photo

  of her nine-year-old self in full Fairy Princess regalia. The tabloids would have a field day with

  her. What if she lost everything? She knew the time was drawing closer when she'd need a

  post-Fairy Princess career, but she'd always imagined her departure would be on her own

  terms. Had she just thrown away her good reputation?

  Reaching her bedroom, with its vaulted ceilings, hardwood floors, and a nook for studying and

  reading, Amelie flopped down on her four-poster bed. It was the bed she'd always wanted as a

  child. Her mom had had it custom-made after Amelie's first Fairy Princess paycheck arrived.

  She stared up at the white lace canopy, the sick feeling of guilt bubbling in her stomach. She

  wished she could erase the night before. Her mom was mad at her. Dan Davies was probably

  mad at her. Her fans' parents were probably lighting up the web with nasty comments about

  how disappointed they were that their kids' role model had proved to be just another bad

  influence.

  This is what I get for being good all this time, Amelie thought. If I hadn't been on my "I'm

  better than everyone" high horse, it would be no big deal now if I got spotted drinking at a

  club. With Hunter Sparks.

  But that was true: She was sixteen years old, not twelve. Wasn't she long overdue to sneak out

  and do something that pissed off the adults in her life? Wasn't it her right to get into the kind of

  trouble sixteen-year-olds everywhere else in the country did? Wasn't one night at Area the same

  as if she went to some wild house party? She hadn't driven home drunk. She hadn't hurt

  anyone. So she was guilty of a little underage drinking. Weren't, like, 90 percent of girls her

  age guilty of the same thing? The little girls who watched her show didn't care--or probably

  even know--that Amelie had had three gin and tonics and stayed out until 3 a.m. Or flirted with

  Hunter.

  She smirked in spite of herself. He'd finally asked her out. He could easily have any girl in a

  twenty-mile radius, and he'd invited her. But she was grounded. Banished to her ivory tower.

  Those twenty-mile-radius girls were going to have a field day at tomorrow's big party. Hunter

  would probably forget all about her.

  Amelie knew she was being childish, lying there feeling sorry for herself. But to her, clubbing

  was a means to an end: Hunter. She would fully relinquish any partying opportunities once she

  and he were a solid It couple.

  If she didn't go, Hunter would think she was a baby all over again. Or worse, think she didn't

  like him and had stood him up. Amelie couldn't bear the thought of Hunter waiting for her at

  Lewis Buford's house, wondering why she hadn't shown up. She had to go to that party.

  Hearing footfalls on the staircase, Amelie rolled over.

  Her mom's voice scolded her through the door. "Also, you left your calendar open on your

  computer, and I saw you missed tutoring," Helen said sharply. "Call Jacob immediately,

  apologize, and reschedule."

  So much for growing up. Amelie rolled back to her stomach, burying her face in a down

  pillow. Her perfect night out had officially become a pity party.

  ENEM
IES CLOSER

  "Do you want your nails the same color as your toes?" Tracy, Myla's favorite manicurist at

  Paint Shop, wiggled the bottle of Dior Vernis Golden Nugget under Myla's nose.

  "Please." Myla nodded as Tracy began massaging Myla's hands and wrists with the shop's

  green tea lotion. Myla leaned back in her chair, half closing her eyes. The narrow salon's line of

  overhead lights cast their gentle glow on her face. The Pierces' haunting, spooky vocals driftedthrough the shop, at once girly and ghostly. Myla had provided the sound track--she needed to

  wallow a little bit, and didn't think she could handle Paint Shop's usual upbeat playlist.

  On either side of Myla sat Billie and Talia, also in the midst of manicures. Fortune was absent

  due to a bad bout of swimmer's ear. She'd also missed the pool party. Not that anyone really

  minded--Fortune was sweet, but she could be a little much sometimes. The three girls were the

  only people in the tiny shop on Robertson. Myla had called ahead and paid to have the salon

  reserved for two hours so she and her friends could enjoy girl talk in private. Paint Shop

  sometimes overflowed with customers from the Valley who drove down in hopes of spotting

  regulars like Kate Beckinsale and Gwen Stefani.

  Myla opened her eyes, stretching her neck from side to side. On her left, Billie was getting her

  nails painted in Calvin Klein's Bombshell. Talia had chosen the same shade as Myla. Normally,

  this would have bothered her, but today she had bigger things on her mind.

  "I still don't understand how they even met," Myla said again. She'd been complaining about

  Ash and Jojo all day at school, the whole ride to the nail salon, and in dozens of text messages

  to her friends, all with variations on the same note: Do u think they r 2-gether? Jojo + Ash =

  bad couple rt? and Did A seem

  in class 2-day?

  What she'd left out was her hurt over Lailah taking Jojo shopping. Myla always resisted

  Lailah's offers of mother-daughter time because, unlike Jojo, she had friends and a life. But

  when she'd seen the way Jojo and their mother kissed goodbye this morning, Lailah smoothing

  her genetic daughter's hair, an act like something off a Mother's Day card, Myla had felt envy

  rise inside her. And it wasn't just because Jojo looked dazzling in a white and black Rag &