Finally, the interview is over. The good news is that while there were some uncomfortable moments, there were no serious catfights. The bad news is that it was probably a total waste of time.
“Do we still have to cover the fashion show on Saturday?” I ask Paige as she and I are on our way home. “I mean, what’s the point?”
“I plan to ask Helen about it,” Paige tells me. “I have a bad feeling about the whole thing. And Helen cannot expect me to act like Brogan is some great designer. Seriously, she’s clueless about design and she knows it.”
“And your fans are going to know it,” I tell Paige. “Even I can tell and I’m kind of clueless too.”
Paige laughs. “I’d put your fashion sense up against Brogan’s any day.”
“Thanks … I think.”
All day Friday, Paige and I are obsessed with putting together the final details of Mom’s bridal shower. More accurately, Paige is obsessed; I’m just trying to cooperate. And I’m trying to keep myself from saying, “Hey, it’s just a shower.” Paige seems determined to turn this event into the shower of the century. Or, more likely, she’s just indoctrinating me for what she expects I’ll do when her turn comes around. Although she and Dylan seem in no hurry to set a wedding date (thank goodness!), I can tell she’s making plans and I’ve seen a stack of wedding magazines and notebooks in her room.
Anyway, we’re having Mom’s shower at her friend Jackie’s, who has this really amazing house in Malibu. Jackie seems content to let Paige call the shots, which is smart since it’s one of the things Paige does best. Well, that and bossing me around. It’s like she thinks I’m her personal gopher. I go for this, I go for that. Eventually I go and pick up Mollie and hope that Paige’s perfect evening is on track.
By the time my mom’s friends are all gathered around and it’s party time, I feel somewhat frazzled and worn out. Fortunately, Mom’s friends are full of energy. I’m not sure if it’s thanks to Jackie’s margaritas, which she is handing out to those who are of age, or just something in the air, but this place is hopping. Paige, playing the role of happy hostess, is in her element, flitting around as the women visit loudly between the goofy games that Paige insists must be played. Even Mollie seems caught up in the merriment and she actually wins the last game, securing the prize of Godiva chocolates.
Eventually, with my ears still ringing from the noise, I retreat to the kitchen on the pretense of making sure that everything is going okay with the caterer. But just as I’m sneaking a delicious mini lobster cake, I hear what sounds like my cell phone ringing. When I track down my purse, which Paige must’ve shoved into the pantry along with hers, I see that it’s Blake calling. I know, out of respect for my mom, that I should turn off my phone. But since I seriously doubt she will miss me, I answer.
“Hey, Blake,” I say cheerfully as I head down a back hallway. “What’s up?”
“I’m returning your call,” he says in a voice that sounds strangely businesslike. “You left me a message.”
“Yeah, like a week ago.”
“I believe it was on Monday.”
“Right.” Now I’m feeling uncomfortable, almost as if I’d called him and caught him at a bad moment, but then I remember he’s the one who called me.
“So did you have something to tell me?” he asks.
“No, not really … I mean, I think I only called to say hi and to make sure you’re doing okay. You are, aren’t you? Okay, I mean?”
“Sure. I’m great. I just finished finals week.” Now this sounds a bit more like the Blake I know—or thought I knew.
“I’ll bet that feels good to be done with.”
“Uh-huh.”
I tell him about how we’re having Mom’s shower tonight and that I was just taking a little break from all the craziness.
“Which reminds me of something,” he says in a formal voice.
“What’s that?”
“Well, I kind of assumed we’d be together at your mom’s wedding and all that …”
“Yeah?” I’m getting a funny feeling.
“As you must know, that’s not going to happen now and I didn’t want to just leave it hanging. I know the wedding’s next weekend and there’s that dinner the night before and whatever. So I just figured I should talk to you, Erin. Just so we’re on the same page.”
As soon as he says “same page,” I remember how I said those exact words to him last week. Somehow it feels like he’s on a different page than I am now.
“You’re not coming to my mom’s wedding?”
“Oh, I’ll still come if you want me to. I mean, I do have an invitation. Unless you’d like to uninvite me.”
“No, of course not.”
“And your mom is my friend too.”
“Yes. Absolutely.” I feel confused and slightly irritated.
“So I guess I’ll still come then.”
“Good.” Now my voice sounds stiff and formal.
“Anyway, have a good shower. See you around.”
“Thanks. See ya.” As I hang up I shake my head. What’s up with Blake? Why is he acting so weird? And was that what I thought it was—is he trying to dump me? Or did this actually happen last week? Maybe I dumped him and we’re both just figuring it out now. And if that’s what’s going on, why does it feel so lousy?
I’m aware that we weren’t in a serious, committed, or exclusive relationship. It’s what I was trying to tell him last week. Even so, I thought we had some kind of a relationship. Good friends anyway. Very good friends. In fact, there’ve been times when I’ve felt closer to Blake than Mollie. But now what? It’s just over? End of story?
I feel a lump in my throat as I go to the powder room, hoping to get a grip on my emotions. Really, this is ridiculous. Why should I feel like this, like someone just jerked the ground out from under me? Because I do. I feel blindsided … and kind of betrayed too. I wonder if Blake did this to hurt me. If so, why? Why would he want to hurt me? Is that how friends treat each other?
Someone knocks on the door and I realize I need to move my pity party of one to another location.
“Erin!” gushes Abby, one of my mom’s work friends. “This is such a great shower you girls planned for your mom.”
“Thanks, it was mostly Paige’s doing.”
“Well, it’s very fun.”
Instead of going to where the women are still talking and laughing loudly, I slip out a back door and, with my phone still in my hand, sit on a deck chair and try to decide how to react. Should I call Blake back and demand to know what he means? I want to know what he’s saying, what kind of a game he’s playing, and whether or not he knows he hurt me. I almost push the speed dial and then I stop myself. What am I doing?
Seriously, what right do I have to question him? He’s actually doing what I said I wanted. At least it’s what I think I said I wanted … but is it what I really wanted? I’m not so sure about that. And if I did want it then, what if I don’t want it now? But what if I do want it tomorrow?
Why am I so flaky?
After a few minutes of head-clearing, or what feels more like an emotional Ping-Pong game, I realize that I should get back to Mom’s shower and at least give the appearance of being mentally present. Especially before Mollie comes looking for me and wants to know what’s up. But as I rejoin the party, laughing and smiling, it feels like such an act. Underneath, I am miserable. Fortunately, no one seems to notice. Eventually the party winds down and I distract myself by cleaning up, until it’s finally time to leave.
“Are you okay?” Mollie asks as I drive her home.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I attempt one of my party smiles, but I can tell it’s wearing thin.
“You’re sure?”
“Just tired,” I tell her. “I’m so glad that shower is over with. Paige really pulled out all the stops, didn’t she?”
“Your mom seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.”
“Yeah …”
“Seriously, Erin, are you okay? You seem bum
med about something. Are you worried about your mom’s marriage? Jon seems like a great guy. Your mom seems really happy.”
“No, that’s not bothering me. I’m happy for both of them.” I’m tempted to just spill my story. At the same time, I’m determined not to say anything about this to Mollie or anyone until I really know how I feel about everything. It’s possible that I’m simply suffering hurt feelings, wounded pride, bruised self-esteem … all because Blake dumped me. Yet again.
Although, to be fair, you can’t really dump someone if you’re not in a serious relationship. So why am I taking this so hard? The truth is, I’m not even sure how I feel. What’s the point of rehashing this whole thing, even with my best friend, until I figure out some things for myself? So, as I turn down Mollie’s street, I explain that I’m tired and a little worried about tomorrow’s fashion show, which is not untrue.
“Tell Paige not to let that snooty Brogan Braxton push her around,” Mollie says as I pull up to her house.
“Why do you call her snooty?” My experiences with Brogan have been bad enough that I think she’s snooty too, but Mollie has never actually met her.
“Don’t you ever watch their show?”
I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I know you think Malibu Beach is juvenile and a waste of time, but I can’t help myself.” She pats her big tummy. “It’s not like I have a life. And, hey, you can make fun of me, but watching stupid kids doing stupid things makes me feel better about myself.”
I can’t help but laugh. “So it’s kind of like therapy?”
She grins. “Yeah, and it’s free too.”
“So is Brogan pretty bad on the show?”
“She’s a total brat.” Mollie nods. “She’s spoiled and selfish and—”
“Aren’t those prerequisites for being on that show?”
“But Brogan is the worst of the lot. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s rich or what, but she treats her friends like dirt sometimes. Oh, not to their faces. She’s manipulative and a hypocrite and a fake.” Mollie opens the car door. “And her friends are starting to figure it out.”
“But her friends were with her at the studio on Wednesday. Like they wanted to show support for her.”
“Or else they’re just looking for publicity ops.”
“Maybe.”
“Anyway, tell Paige to watch her back. You too.”
I tell Mollie I’ll do that and, as I drive home, my concern over Blake is overshadowed by my curiosity about how tomorrow’s fashion show will go. It’s been a while since Paige and I have had much to do with the Malibu Beach scene. Even Paige’s involvement with Benjamin Kross, which thankfully is over, was kept separate from that show.
Wednesday was like a small sample of what we can expect and, for the most part, Paige seemed to be in control. Still, it was obvious that Brogan wasn’t too thrilled with the interview. Not that she could blame us for her inept answers about being a “designer.” Really, how did she think it was going to go down? I’m hoping we can make it through tomorrow’s show without fireworks.
Chapter
4
I decide not to mention what Mollie said about Brogan Braxton as we’re getting ready for the show. For one thing, I figure Paige already knows since she still (secretly) watches Malibu Beach sometimes. Plus, she’s experienced Brogan’s meanness firsthand. But, besides that, I’m hoping that maybe Brogan has grown up some. Even though she was a little difficult at Wednesday’s interview, she wasn’t exactly mean. Besides, this is her big day — why would she want to ruin it?
“Look how white you are,” Paige says as we’re leaving the studio with Fran.
I glance down at my bare arms and legs, which are rather pale, especially in the bright sunlight. We’re wearing sundresses and sandals since today’s fashion show will be outdoors and poolside at one of Hollywood’s premiere hotels. “So?” I shrug. “At least I put on some sunscreen.”
“But I told you to schedule a spray tan,” Paige reminds me.
“I didn’t have time,” I tell her. “What with Mom’s shower and all.”
“How did that go?” Fran asks as we get into the car.
“That’s right,” Paige says, “you weren’t there.”
“Sorry to miss it.” Fran makes an apologetic smile. “I had a migraine.”
“Are you feeling better?” I ask with concern.
She nods.
“Well, you missed a good time,” Paige tells her.
I take a moment to really look at Paige in her lemon-yellow sundress, which is stunning against her sprayed-on tan. The tan’s not too dark and has no streaks; just golden and healthy and realistic. “Your tan looks really good,” I tell her. “Very natural.”
“Thank you.” She holds out her arms to admire them. “I finally found the best salon in town. This girl is a real artist and she uses several shades of dye to get these results.” She extends a long tan leg, which sets off her white Louboutin sandals nicely.
“The tan is lovely, Paige.” Fran nods. “In fact, you both should be sure to get yourselves sprayed before the Bahamas trip.”
“Absolutely.” Paige nods as well. “You should go too, Fran.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Fran looks back at her notebook and I suspect that getting herself spray-tanned doesn’t rank high on her to-do list.
“I want Mom to go in before the wedding,” Paige tells me. “I scheduled her for Thursday.”
Fran then pulls out her notebook and begins going over some details for today’s show. I’m surprised Leah’s not here to help, but at least Fran seems to be doing better than on Monday. I want to ask how she’s feeling but don’t want to tip-off Paige.
“As you know, the Malibu Beach camera crew will be there as well,” she tells us. “But we have a verbal agreement that our show will take the lead.”
“Hopefully Brogan agreed to that too,” I say.
“She’d be a fool not to.” Paige is polishing the lenses of her new Gucci sunglasses. The white frames look like old Hollywood, but Paige can pull it off. Add the sun hat that goes with her dress, and she looks pretty hot. I’m not so sure about my hat, but she told me it can be optional.
“Brogan should appreciate us being there,” I say, knowing full well that Brogan will probably act anything but appreciative.
“You’d think she might even be nice to us—that is, if she wants her line to be a success.” Paige chuckles as she slides her shades on. “Not that we can promise anything, since her fashion-challenged designs are not exactly stylish. And if she turns this show into a dramady, she might as well forget it.”
“Just get a good show out of it,” Fran says in a slightly tired tone. “That’s all Helen wants.”
“A good show …” Paige makes a sly smile. “We’ll do what we can, won’t we, Erin?”
“I’ll do my best.” I slip the notes Fran gave me into the new Prada bag that I’m using today. It’s from their summer line, a woven leather in shades of tan and white. It goes with my sandals, which are strappy and light-feeling with their tall cork platform soles. Thankfully, Shauna insisted on painting my toenails a peachy shade, which gives me a bit more polish and goes nicely with my peach and white floral sundress. I’m not as well put together as my sister, but I won’t embarrass her either. Well, except for my pale skin.
One of our camera guys, JJ, is already in front of the posh hotel with his camera ready to roll as our car pulls up. Paige gracefully emerges from the town car. And like she’s a real star, which I guess she is, fans and paparazzi greet her.
“Go ahead,” Fran tells me. “Just follow Paige’s lead and I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask quietly.
“I think so.” She presses her lips together. “Paige knows where you’ll be seated and I’ll be nearby.”
“Okay.”
“And if I have to visit the ladies’ room, I’ll have my phone.”
“Are you sure you’re�
��”
“I’m fine, Erin.” Her eyes have a slightly hard look. “You just get out there and do your job, do what it takes to make this a good show, and I’ll do mine.”
“Right.” I reach for my hat and purse and get out of the car, wishing I was as graceful as my sister. But no one seems to be noticing anyway, since all eyes and cameras are on her. She’s fielding questions about her recent engagement to the popular designer Dylan Marceau.
“No wedding date yet,” she says cheerfully. “We’re not in any big hurry.” Then she holds out her hand so the paparazzi can get shots of her big diamond ring. “I think a long engagement sounds like fun.”
“What does Benjamin Kross think of all this?” a young woman calls out.
Paige shrugs. “I suppose you would have to ask him about that.”
“So how does it feel to be rubbing elbows with the Malibu Beach crowd again?” another reporter asks Paige.
Paige smiles brightly. “I can’t wait to see Brogan’s new line of beachwear.”
“And you’re not worried that some of the cast, including Brogan Braxton, still bear some ill will toward you? Especially in light of the late Mia Renwick? You know Mia and Brogan were quite close.”
“It’s obvious by my presence here today that I harbor no hard feelings toward any of the Malibu Beach cast,” she answers. “And, although I deeply regret Mia’s death as much as anyone, I had nothing to do with the actual event. Brogan wouldn’t have invited me to join her today unless we were on friendly terms.” She flashes them a smile then links her arm into mine. “Now my sister and I are off to see what this new BBB line really looks like.”
“Nicely done,” I say quietly as we go into the hotel lobby, trailed by JJ and his camera. There I notice several people from the Malibu Beach crowd milling about. I’m surprised they’re not in the show, but maybe Mollie was right about how they feel about Brogan. Like us, the Malibu girls are wearing sun-friendly outfits, but compared to Paige, I think they look rather frumpy and dowdy. As we walk by, everyone says hi, smiling and waving as if we’re all good friends.
Glamour Page 3
