The A-List: Hollywood Royalty #1

by Zoey Dean

  little sister."

  That's exactly the problem, Amelie thought.

  "Thanks, Hunter," she said, turning her key over in her hand.

  "I mean it, Amelie," he said, a sad look on his face. "You need someone like me to look out for

  you. Because, honestly, there are a lot of guys out there--guys like me, who can't resist you.

  And you're too good for us." With that, he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He

  hopped down the steps, leaving Amelie standing on the porch.

  She watched him pull away from the curb, feeling a fresh glimmer of hope. Guys like me, who

  can't resist you.

  She could deal with that. At least for now.

  MISERY LOVES EGGS BENEDICT

  "Jacob, you haven't touched your pancakes." Jake's mom Gigi eyed his stack of buttermilk

  pancakes with envy as she took another bite of her breakfast salad. One of her clients was

  having a beach wedding in a few weeks, and Gigi was trying the veggie cleanse that Demi had

  gushed about on Oprah the month before.

  Gigi and Jonathan sat across from Jake, watching every bite he wasn't taking. Next to him, his

  little brother, Brendan, plowed through his second stack of pancakes.

  Jake was slumped in a booth at Hugo's in West Hollywood, possibly the most popular brunch

  spot in the world. If you read the little history on the menu--which Jake had done on a dozen

  different visits as his parents lingered over one last cappuccino--Hugo's credited itself with

  starting Hollywood's power breakfast trend in the 1980s, when Spielberg, Lucas, and John

  Landis met to do business over breakfast. Now, it was the place for Sunday brunch. As usual,

  every table in the place was packed, the chatter of other diners drowning out Jake's thoughts. In

  the booth next to them, Scott Caan read the L.A. Times over his Pasta Mama. Across the

  crowded dining room, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinze Jr. gave their orders to a tall,

  skinny waiter, whose artfully gelled hair suggested he had a stack of head shots in his trunk.

  Jake didn't understand why his mom thought he could eat at a time like this. He'd told his

  family the whole sad story. That he'd thought Amelie--Amelie "Beautiful Starlet Worth

  Millions" Adams--liked him. That he'd read maybe one thousand web pages in an effort to

  learn everything about her. That he'd dropped pretty much all his summer camp earnings

  buying overpriced jeans that Amelie wouldn't have noticed unless they caught fire. That he

  hadn't guessed she was using him to take her to Lewis Buford's party until Hunter Sparks had

  shown up. That he was going to feel like an idiot the next time he went to her trailer for tutoring

  in his pathetic Corolla. That he'd left Lewis's party alone, feeling like every guest knew he'd

  been rejected. Even Miles hadn't been able to console him with a deluded pep talk. His only

  response had been, "That's rough, Jake, really rough."

  Gigi sighed, relenting as she stabbed a pancake with her fork and made room for it on her plate.

  Cutting it carefully, she closed her eyes and took a bite. Jonathan, with his oversize bowl of

  Pasta Papa--a pasta dish made breakfast-friendly with eggs and sausage mixed in--laughed

  with affection at his wife. Gigi reached across the table, putting her hand over Jake's.

  "Do you know how many people I see make colossal mistakes every day?" Her wide brown

  eyes surveyed Jake's hangdog face. "And people forget--they always forget. Nothing is ever as

  bad as it seems."

  "Except for thinking you can nail Fairy Princess," Brendan piped up through a mouthful of

  pancake. "Moron."

  Gigi slapped Brendan's hand. "Language! And how many times do I have to ask you to take

  off that fucking hat?" Gigi had a tough time enforcing a no-swearing rule with her boys when

  she was the household's worst offender.

  Brendan rolled his eyes, removing his Dodgers cap and shaking out his light brown curls.

  "Focus on Jake, mom, and his delusions of scoring hot chicks."

  Jake poked his brother hard in the ribs. Brendan looked toward his parents to scold his older

  sibling, but they turned a blind eye. They felt sorry for Jake. Which just made him feel worse.

  "Are you paying attention to me, Jacob?" Gigi speared another bite of pancake as Jonathan let

  loose a chuckle loud enough to make Sarah Michelle look their way.

  He nodded halfheartedly, avoiding eye contact as he twirled a parsley sprig between his thumb

  and forefinger.

  Swallowing a sip of his coffee, Jonathan cleared his throat. He patted his wide belly and leaned

  across the table so he was closer to his son.

  "Maybe you should start with a lady-in-waiting, instead of the princess herself," he half

  whispered. His dad chuckled at his own dumb joke and his mom slapped him playfully on the

  shoulder.

  Jake sighed. "Don't worry about it guys, it's no big deal."

  His mom shook her head, as if to say, You idiot.

  "You're our son, Jacob," she said, popping another sliver of pancake into her mouth. "Of

  course it's a big deal."

  Jonathan put his arm around Gigi. "Son, I didn't land your mother until I'd dated a dozen

  women who weren't even half her equal. Brainy types like us have to start small. You don't

  learn to mountain climb by heading straight for Everest." Brendan rolled his eyes, grossed out

  by the parental affection.

  Gigi snuggled into Jonathan's shoulder. "And you're not always going to be driving a Corolla,

  Jake. Things get better after high school."

  "You mean if he changes his identity and stuff, right?" Brendan gurgled through a swig of

  orange juice. "Spell out all the conditions, guys."

  Jonathan scowled at his younger son. His features softened and he looked Jacob in the eye.

  "Trust us, Jake."

  Jake broke the parsley sprig between his fingers. He knew he was lucky to have parents who'd

  work so hard to try to cheer him up. But all the parental support in the world wasn't going to

  heal his broken heart.

  THE LAST WALTZ

  Ash played with his iPhone's touch screen, pressing Myla Everhart in his contacts list. A photo

  he'd taken of her at Manhattan Beach came up next to her number. She was blowing a kiss at

  him, her face half shaded by the wide, white sun hat she wore.

  He lay on his bed, a copy of Guitar magazine open on his chest. He'd had trouble falling asleep

  after the party last night. He'd kept closing his eyes to see Myla with Lewis, locked at the lips.

  At 3 a.m., he'd given up on sleep and tinkered with his guitar for a few hours. Finally, he'd

  drifted off into dreamless sleep. When he woke at noon, he felt purposeful, like he knew what

  he had to do.

  He pressed the call button. Myla's phone rang three times, then four. On the fifth ring, she

  picked up. Her voice sounded hazy and tired.

  "Can you meet me at our place?" Ash asked shortly.

  "Yeah, of course." She sounded confused.

  "Okay, see you at three." Ash hung up. They'd talk later.

  For once, Ash was early. He plopped down in the shade of a knotty, gigantic tree and watched

  the Griffith Park carousel as it spun a little too fast, playing a tinny waltz that was barely

  audible over the kids' shrieks and giggles. Parents clicked away on cameras or stared in terror

  as their babies clung to the old wooden horses.

  This spot of the park was his and Myla's place. Two years ago, A
sh had taken her here for a

  picnic on her birthday. He'd called Canter's Deli and ordered a massive spread--miniature

  sandwiches, sparkling grape juice, homemade potato chips, and chocolate cake. He'd even

  snuck a bottle of Dom from his dad's wine cellar--the first time he'd ever stolen from his

  parents' alcohol stash. It was a school day but they'd ditched, and the park had been nearly

  empty except for them. On the way there, they'd stopped at a grocery store in Silver Lake

  because Ash had forgotten cups. They'd bought surprises for each other from the store's '50s

  bubble gum machine and traded them while toasting with Solo cups of Dom. He'd given her a

  Green Lantern plastic band and she'd presented him with a flimsy pseudo-gold lightning bolt.

  They'd been wearing each other's rings since then.

  Even though it butted right up to the Golden State Freeway, Griffith Park made you feel like

  you weren't in L.A. anymore. You couldn't hear any of the traffic or noise of the city, and the

  park felt slightly wild and untamed in places, so you could almost imagine what the rest of L.A.

  had been like before it became populated with freeways, movie studios, and shopping malls.

  The last time they'd been here was right before Myla left on her trip. She and Ash wanted to get

  away from their families and friends. They'd come to the park to look for the L.A. zoo's old

  animal cages, which now sat next to a picnic area. Myla had even tried hiking, making it about

  twenty feet up a dirt path in her kitten heels. Ash had had to carry her back down. Then he'd

  paid the carousel operators to let them ride it by themselves for three songs in a row. They'd

  shared a horse, which Myla named Sparky, and giggled crazily through the whole ride. They

  got off, giddy and dizzy, before collapsing next to each other in the grass under the tree where

  Ash was sitting now.

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree's rough bark, running his finger over a

  small hole near the bottom of the Rolling Stones T-shirt he held in his lap.

  "Hi Ash." Myla's voice tinkled in his ear. He opened one eyelid and gazed up at her. She

  looked angelic. Rays of sunlight lit her from behind, and the emerald hoop earrings she wore

  sparkled around her face. Her huge white Gucci sunglasses were perched on her head, and Ash

  found himself staring at her glittering green eyes underneath the fringe of her long eyelashes.

  The sounds of the carousel and the kids faded, and all Ash could hear was his heart beating and

  Myla's breathing. If he could create the most beautiful girl in the world, he'd end up with one

  that looked just like Myla right now, with her dark pink lips in their familiar half smile.

  "Hi Myla," he finally managed. He didn't know what he wanted--not exactly. As much as he

  wanted to pull her close and feel her soft cheek against his neck, the image of Myla entwined

  with Lewis rushed into his head, overtaking everything. Calling up every ounce of strength and

  willpower he had, he launched into the speech he'd been mulling since that morning.

  "Okay, I just wanted to finally clear the air," Ash began. "We've both been acting like jerks

  because we're broken up, and we're so used to being together. But we have to act like human

  beings. We see each other all the time; we have a lot of the same friends. We've been a couple

  since we were kids, so maybe it's hard to be mature. But we need to be." He thrust the balledup Stones shirt at Myla. "I thought you should have this back," he said. "It looks better on you

  anyway."

  Myla tentatively took the shirt. The worn, familiar cotton felt foreign in her hands. This hadn't

  been what she was expecting at all. She knew Ash was mad after what happened last night, but

  she'd really thought he'd asked her here to get back together. That seeing her with Lewis had

  pushed him over the edge and he needed to know she was still his girl.

  The ground beneath Myla's ivory Lanvin flats felt like it was pulling her down. She and Ash

  were really done. Truly over. He didn't seem mad at her at all, which actually made her feel

  worse. Like his feelings had evaporated overnight.

  Myla pretended to squint into the sun, so she'd have an excuse to pull her sunglasses down

  over her eyes. She tucked the T-shirt into the Martin Rittenhouse bag Jojo had given her. The

  shirt was no longer part of their future together. It had become nothing more than an artifact of

  something long gone.

  Finally, she nodded, nervously smoothing her white silk BCBG empire-waist sundress.

  "Thanks," she said, her voice as even as her recently filed fingernails. "I've always liked this

  shirt." She turned to head to the waiting SUV, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.

  "Hey Myla?" Ash was still standing under their tree, the hint of a smile on his lips.

  She turned back, praying her face didn't look like a telethon orphan's. "Yeah?"

  "Remember that night? How you did your whole badass act with the bouncer, and told him

  your parents were Barkley Everhart and Lailah Barton and if they didn't let us backstage, you

  could have the Avalon shut down?" Ash's eyes were dancing with laughter.

  "Oh yeah, I wanted to impress you. But we really got back there because your dad had the

  whole concert set up just for our date. And you didn't have the heart to tell me, even though I'd

  already called my parents and their agents were calling the band's people to get us back there."

  Myla couldn't help but laugh too, remembering.

  Ash shrugged, watching as a guy jogged by with four Great Danes. "Well, you were so proud

  of yourself. And I thought it was so cool a girl would threaten the Stones' security guards just

  for me."

  "I barely knew who the band even was." Myla ran the flat sole of her gladiator sandal over the

  dry ground. "I remember telling the guard, 'Rick and Heath will have to personally answer to

  my parents.'"

  Ash widened his eyes, incredulous. "You seriously called Mick Jagger and Keith Richards

  Rick and Heath? Wow. I'll have to burn you a few CDs soon. You need an education."

  Myla rolled her eyes. "Come on, who was it that took you to see the Arctic Monkeys before

  you'd even heard of them?" She'd been so pleased, discovering the band before Ash did in a

  copy of Q her dad had brought back from a trip to London. She'd taken Ash to the band's first

  U.S. show at the Wiltern for his birthday.

  Ash shrugged, his sandy hair falling in front of his sleepy puppy-dog eyes. "Yeah, okay. But

  I'll bring you a few CDs anyway. It can't hurt."

  Myla grinned, pulling her sunglasses back to the top of her head. She giggled as a half-dozen

  little kids ran past, red helium balloons tied to their chubby wrists. "No, probably not."

  Ash nodded, satisfied. "Cool. So, I guess I'll . . . see you?"

  Myla smiled, not exactly sure how she felt but knowing she wasn't going to cry. "Yeah, see

  you."

  She took a few steps backwards, waving to Ash as she went. He didn't take his eyes off her.

  Suddenly, even her fingertips felt tingly.

  She finally turned away from Ash, the park's brush-covered ground springy under her feet.

  When she knew he couldn't see her any longer, she reached in her purse, running her fingertips

  along the shirt's soft, brushed cotton.

  Softly she sang the opening verse of her favorite Stones song, "Happy." She'd memorized the

  lyrics after listening to it about a hundred times on
the beach with Ash.

  Well I never kept a dollar past sunset. / It always burned a hole in my pants. / Never made a

  school mama happy. / Never blew a second chance, oh no.

  Never blew a second chance, oh no, indeed.

  HOLLYWOOD ENDING

  Jojo watched as David, the Everharts' backup driver, loaded her overstuffed Samsonite suitcase

  into the town car's vast trunk. She felt bad that she wouldn't get to see Charlie. He'd taken Myla

  somewhere earlier this afternoon and wasn't back yet.

  "Remember, you can come back whenever you want." Lailah's hand was on Jojo's shoulder as

  they watched David load up the car.

  "Anytime you need anything at all, just call," Barkley chimed in, his hand over Lailah's.

  Jojo felt a flood of sadness overtake her. She was so confused. One half of her brain couldn't

  wait to be back with Fred and Bradley. She hoped their apartment in Greenland had a couch as

  comfy as their beat-up Crate and Barrel pullout in Sacramento. She pictured the three of them

  curled up on movie night, watching a so-bad-it's-good campy horror movie. (Provided they had

  Netflix, or at least Blockbuster, in Nuuk.) She longed for her dads' familiar hugs and bad

  jokes--even for an apartment that was five degrees too cold because they refused to blast the

  heat.

  But the other half of her brain wanted to cling to Barkley and Lailah for dear life. These were

  her parents too. She'd finally had a mom who took her shopping, and told her she looked

  pretty, and smoothed her hair with long, graceful fingers. And Barkley's hugs felt like they

  could protect her from anything--maybe even her own stupid decisions. And she was leaving

  them behind, after only a week, just when she was getting to know them.

  She turned her teary face toward her mom and dad, clutching them both in another hug. Mahalo

  threw his wiry arms around her waist, Bobby grabbed her side, and Nelson her right knee.

  Adjani and Indigo wobbled across the grass on their chubby little legs and threw their arms

  around her left knee. Jojo felt like she might topple over, but the family hug felt good. Maybe

  she could come live here again. Someday, anyway. When she was thirty and Barnsley Toole

  was nothing more than a snapshot in People's Where Are They Now? issue.