Beach Lane Collection

by Melissa de la Cruz

  * * *

  On the adjoining court, Eliza was matching a two-time NCAA champ from Stanford serve for serve. She’d won the semifinal in a nail-biting sudden-death round, and it was a total thrill to be in the finals. She’d never expected this. Eliza looked up at the stands, enjoying being the center of attention for the first time all summer. She caught Ryan’s eye and smiled at him in the front row, and then looked up again and saw Jeremy. She botched her serve, lobbing it into the net weakly.

  Mara was sitting in the front box next to Garrett, directly opposite from Ryan, but she and Ryan weren’t looking at each other. Sugar and Poppy were there as well, close to Mara. Eliza noticed that the three girls were wearing identical pastel Cynthia Rowley dresses. Totally weird—they’d hardly known Mara existed last summer.

  Eliza shook the distractions from her head. This was it: last set. The Stanford champ sent a liner down the middle. Eliza sent it back with a powerful crash. Game. Set. Match. And just like that, Eliza won.

  * * *

  The NCAA champ was giving interviews in the locker room, trying to explain away her loss to a high school student, so Eliza ducked in, took a quick shower, and changed into a tiny Sabbia Rosa camisole and white Chloé jeans. She ran out to the hallway, hoping to avoid her surly opponent.

  “Hey, good game!”

  Eliza looked around. Ryan was standing underneath the archway with a bouquet of flowers.

  “Ryan! Thanks!” She smiled, flushed and happy to see him. “Are those for me?”

  Ryan handed the flowers over and they hugged warmly. Ryan was leaning down to kiss Eliza on the cheek when another hand tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to find Jeremy, smiling a little warily at her.

  “Hey!” Eliza enthused, throwing her arms around Jeremy’s neck.

  “You were great on that court,” Jeremy whispered.

  Eliza smiled into Jeremy’s polo shirt, almost forgetting that he’d completely blown her off ever since dinner with her parents. Ryan coughed, and Eliza remembered her manners.

  “Jeremy, you know Ryan Perry, right? He’s an old friend of mine,” Eliza explained, a little nervously.

  “Sure. I used to work for you guys,” Jeremy said, taking Ryan’s hand.

  “How are you, man?” Ryan asked. The two of them clenched hands, smiling tightly at each other. Ryan affected a relaxed pose that Eliza could tell was just an act.

  “Oh, Eliza, this is Carolyn,” Jeremy said, turning to introduce a tall, auburn-haired girl behind him. “Eliza Thompson, Carolyn Flynn.”

  Eliza handed Ryan the bouquet so she could shake hands with Jeremy’s friend.

  “You should turn pro,” Carolyn said. “That was amazing.”

  “Thanks—you’re sweet. You know, you look familiar,” Eliza said, narrowing her eyes. “You went to Spence, didn’t you?”

  “I think I was a year older,” Carolyn agreed.

  “And you two know each other?” Eliza asked, gesturing from Carolyn to Jeremy.

  “We’re both interning at Morgan,” Jeremy explained.

  Eliza felt her jaw muscles tighten from having to smile so much. It was so great to see Jeremy—finally. And she was so touched he’d actually remembered the tennis tournament, but it sort of seemed like he was here . . . with a date.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been by the club,” Jeremy was saying. “Work has been killer.”

  “That’s okay,” Eliza said. “Make it up to me tonight at Seventh Circle?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  “Me too,” said Ryan, still holding the bouquet of flowers, but Eliza was already gone.

  forbidden love is the greatest aphrodisiac

  JACQUI RAPPED ON THE DOOR. SHE KNEW PHILIPPE was sulking inside. Having lost the game in the most humiliating manner—6–0, 6–0, 6–3—he had stormed off the court. But watching Anna watch him at the game, Jacqui decided that she might just want to help him feel . . . better. She opened the door and walked in, just as Anna Perry was walking out.

  “Oh! Excuse me!” Jacqui said. “I was just—”

  “The children’s wing is that way, Jacqui,” Anna said in a cold voice.

  “Yes, I . . . I was just looking for Cody’s blanket,” Jacqui said, hurrying away. She ran down the hallway, and when Anna’s footsteps receded, she tiptoed quickly back to Philippe’s door.

  “Hurry, open up, it’s me,” she whispered.

  “It’s open,” he whispered back.

  She walked in to find Philippe lying on his bed, smoking a cigarette and looking a little more relaxed than he had earlier when he’d thrown his racket against the concrete and pushed away the TV cameras.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  “What?” Philippe replied.

  “Anna.” Jacqui motioned over her shoulder.

  “Who?”

  “Our boss. Was she just with you?”

  Philippe shrugged.

  Jacqui pressed her lips tightly together. Looking at Philippe now, completely sweaty from the match, his honey blond hair damp and stuck to his handsome face, she could hardly resist him. Knowing she wasn’t supposed to be with him made her want him even more. But if he really was having an affair with Anna Perry, then that was another story.

  “Don’t worry about Anna Perry,” Philippe said, practically reading her mind. “It’s not your concern. Can I help it if she is attracted to me? But me, I am not attracted to her, so there is nothing between us.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking,” Jacqui lied.

  Philippe took a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke whirl around them. “Really.” He smiled.

  Jacqui smiled back. God, he was hot. “Well, how are you feeling? Are you okay?” she asked gently.

  “It’s just a game,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette and readjusting his head against a pillow.

  “Well, I’m sorry.” Jacqui looked at the door, nervous that Anna would come back at any minute.

  “I’m sorry too,” Philippe said. “But as Americans say, you win some, you lose some, n’est-ce pas?” He smiled impishly. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. “I have to lose a tennis match to get your attention?”

  “Well, you’ve been kind of busy with someone else,” Jacqui said, sitting down on the side of the bed.

  “Anna Perry again! What do I have to do to make you believe there is nothing between me and that woman?” Philippe asked, throwing up his arms.

  “Prove it,” Jacqui taunted, her full lips parting into a sexy smile.

  Philippe pulled her toward him. “Is this what you want?” he asked, between kisses.

  Jacqui responded by kissing him ardently back. He slid his hand up the back of her shirt, but she pushed him away. “No—not now . . .” she said, looking at the door again.

  “When?” Philippe asked.

  “We’ll figure something out,” Jacqui said, smoothing her hair and kissing him one last time.

  She stuck her head out the door. The coast was clear. She ran out the door, just as Dr. Abraham was walking purposefully toward his room. As she shuffled down the hallway toward the kids’ wing, Jacqui heard them talking and wondered what that was all about. Philippe was one popular boy.

  mara acquires a perry sister nickname

  NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER. THAT WAS WHAT MARA had always been taught, growing up in a small town like Sturbridge. Her parents were heavily into clichéd sayings, such as Still waters run deep and The Lord helps those who help themselves, which her mother had embroidered and framed in their kitchen. For the most part, Mara abided by the first one—she was always willing to give people a second chance.

  Look at Garrett Reynolds. She’d assumed he was some rich playboy who only had one thing on his mind, but he’d turned out to be genuinely interested in her. So, she’d been wrong about Garrett. Could it be possible she’d been wrong about Poppy and Sugar as well?

  It had started innocently enough, when she and Garrett had attended Charlie Bor
shok’s birthday party, at Sugar’s invitation. They’d had a decent time, and the twins hadn’t mentioned one thing about her being an au pair. In fact, unlike last summer, they were treating her like one of them. Poppy, who’d recently come back from a “spa” in Arizona with a pumped-up chest and her hair dyed dark chocolate brown, was especially friendly after the Nipplegate incident. “It’s good to be a little controversial—it keeps people interested,” she’d told Mara.

  Poppy knew all about controversy. Since she had been overlooked by the reality show, Poppy had tried to recapture the spotlight through alternative means. First up: a line of scented candles inspired by her oh-so-glamorous life. Fragrances included New York City Musk, which unfortunately smelled exactly like its name; Last Call, which smelled like the backroom of a bar; and Fame, made from poisonous elderberries and cloyingly sweet gardenias. It didn’t seem to bother their parents that neither of the twins was planning on going back to high school in the fall. As Sugar put it, they could always get their GEDs just like everybody else in Hollywood.

  The night of the launch party for Sniffers by Poppy Perry at Seventh Circle, Poppy had totaled the family’s Mercedes SUV. Kevin had not been pleased and had told the girls that they could either drive the Volvo or pay for a new car themselves. Unwilling to raid their own trust funds, the twins had asked Mara if she’d mind if they joined her in that sweet little 7-series BMW convertible she was tooling around town in.

  They were the last two girls on earth that Mara had ever thought she would like—but since they were invited to all the same parties and were friends with Garrett’s friends, and there was no one else for Mara to hang out with anyway, it just seemed natural. Even though Eliza had told Mara not to worry about it, Mara and Eliza hadn’t hung out since that night at Seventh Circle. Mara was upset that Eliza was harboring a grudge, but she didn’t know how to resolve their quarrel.

  Later that evening, Mara was sitting on Sugar’s platform bed, the three of them trying on clothes and putting on makeup.

  “This is gorgeous,” Mara said, fingering a daringly low-cut white Versace dress in Sugar’s closet.

  “I know, it’s like, my fave,” Sugar said. “I can’t wear it anymore, though. It’s been in too many magazines. And I’d give it to Pop, but it won’t fit her anymore because of, you know”—she laughed, pointing at her sister’s chest—“the surgery.”

  “Shut up! They still huuuurt,” Poppy whined, rubbing her breasts. “Mara, you try it on,” Poppy encouraged. “I bet it’ll look amazing on you. C’mon.”

  “I couldn’t!” Mara said, although she was already stepping out of her shorts and pulling up the dress over her hips.

  “What are you wearing tonight?”

  “I hadn’t decided.” Mara said, zipping up the white Versace.

  “Oh my God. Poppy, look!”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “What?” Mara asked, “Does it look stupid?”

  Poppy turned Mara to the full-length mirror. “Doesn’t she look like a ripe, juicy, perfectly sweet little plum?” she asked her sister.

  “Totally,” Sugar drawled. “She is such a plum.”

  “Plum—that’s it! Your new name! That’s what we’re going to call you from now on. No offense, but ‘Mara’ is so boring,” Poppy said with her hand on her hip.

  “That dress is made for you. You know what? You look so good in it, you should keep it,” Sugar told her grandly.

  Poppy nodded enthusiastically. “You look like that Russian model Natalia Something!”

  “Really? You think so?” Mara blushed. She looked at herself in the mirror. It was the same dress Eliza had worn to P. Diddy’s birthday bash last year, and Mara remembered wondering where Eliza had gotten it. Now she knew.

  “Darling, it’s yours. A present,” Sugar said. “Anything for our Plum.”

  “Hey, do you guys know if Ryan is seeing anyone?” Mara asked, suddenly. She’d noticed that Allison had stopped coming over to the house lately.

  Sugar shrugged, and Poppy looked blank.

  “Not that we know of,” Sugar assured, winking at Poppy when Mara turned around.

  “C’mon, we gotta go to the club,” Poppy said. “I’ll drive,” she declared, jangling Mara’s BMW keys.

  * * *

  Eliza stood outside the club, manning her little four-foot-square empire, shivering in yet another skimpy outfit. She recognized the BMW that pulled up, but why was Poppy driving it? Poppy threw the keys to the valet, and Sugar slid out of the passenger side. The twins posed for a few shots, completely ignoring Eliza in order to squeal hellos to Kartik.

  “Hey, wait up!”

  Eliza turned to see Mara climb out of the back door of her car, running unevenly after the twins. Eliza grabbed Mara’s arm as she walked past. “What, we don’t say hello anymore?”

  “Eliza! I didn’t see you!” Mara squealed, in pitch-perfect imitation of Sugar’s signature greeting. “Congratulations on the win today. You rocked!”

  “Plum! Get your ass over here!” Poppy yelled from the entrance to the club.

  “Coming!” Mara screeched, running over. “Bye-yee!”

  Plum? Eliza wondered. Who the hell was Plum? Eliza stared at Mara’s retreating back. Was she just imagining things, or was Mara wearing Sugar’s white Versace dress? In front of Sugar?

  As Eliza watched, dark-haired Mara and newly brunette Poppy flanked platinum blond Sugar, and the three of them stepped into the club, leaving Eliza outside in the cold.

  a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down

  JEREMY HAD PROMISED HE WOULD BE THERE, BUT IT WAS way after midnight and there was no sign of him anywhere. Eliza checked her cell phone again, just to make sure she hadn’t missed any of his calls. She walked through the club, checking to see how many tables she had left in the VIP room. It irritated her to see Mara ensconced in the best banquette in the house, bookended by the Perry twins, holding court with several of the richest young swans of Manhattan society. And it irritated Eliza that she was irritated. She didn’t want to be jealous of Mara, but there was something just a little off-putting about seeing her friend—whom Eliza knew couldn’t even spell Hermès last year—hanging out with the teenage heiress to the venerable French couture house. Mara was hobnobbing with the crème de la crème of the junior elite, and not only that, she looked like she totally belonged there.

  The girl looked seriously chic. Mara was wearing Sugar’s white Versace dress with a pair of flat-heeled Imitation of Christ gladiator sandals, and she was holding a slick little art deco cigarette case for a purse. Eliza was wearing her mother’s decades-old Alaïa halter dress. The dress was a metallic, thigh-high mock turtleneck with a racer back. It was so tight it hugged Eliza’s every curve, and she’d worn it to remind Jeremy what he’d been missing all summer. When she’d gotten dressed that evening, Eliza had felt pretty good about herself, but now she just felt average.

  “Hey, cool dress,” Sugar said, catching up with Eliza in the coed restroom, a shiny stainless steel room with an industrial trough for a sink.

  “Thanks, it’s vintage,” Eliza said, feeling gratified. Although she hated to admit it, she had missed Sugar’s attention. Sugar could be a real bitch when she wanted to—Eliza still remembered how nasty she had been when she’d found out Eliza was working for the Perrys—but she could also turn on the charm when she wanted to. And for some reason, she was doing it now.

  “Groovy,” Sugar nodded, rinsing her hands. “Congrats, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” Eliza sighed. She was happy she’d won—she could certainly use the money, and she loved being in the spotlight—but it bothered her that it was already one in the morning and Jeremy still hadn’t shown up like he’d promised.

  “What’s wrong, doll?” Sugar asked, powdering her nose out of a T. LeClerc compact.

  “Nothing,” Eliza shrugged. “I just . . . There was a guy I was supposed to meet here tonight.”

  “Our old gardener?” Sugar asked, not unki
ndly.

  “Yeah,” Eliza nodded, frowning at her reflection in the mirror.

  “I thought you were with Ryan,” Sugar said.

  “Who told you that?” Eliza asked, startled. They’d only hooked up once earlier in the summer, and neither of them was planning to do it again.

  Sugar smiled mysteriously. “He is my brother, you know. And there was that whole thing with you guys down in PB.”

  Eliza looked crestfallen. She’d forgotten the twins knew about that. “It’s nothing. We’re not together.”

  “Why not?” Sugar asked, leaning against the sink and folding her arms across her chest. “He’s not good enough for you?”

  “No, it’s not that. Of course not.”

  “Then you guys should just be together,” Sugar decided, as if she’d resolved a complicated matter.

  “But what about Mara?” Eliza asked anxiously.

  Sugar rolled her eyes. “You think Mara doesn’t know about you guys?”

  “Mara knows?” Eliza asked, a little taken aback. Why hadn’t she said anything to Eliza then? Because she was mad? Or because she honestly didn’t care anymore?

  “It’s so not a big deal. She’s with Garrett now,” Sugar declared, pecking Eliza on the cheek. “See ya.”

  * * *

  Much later that night, after all the celebrities had departed and Sugar’s entourage—including Mara—had left Seventh Circle for a party at Jet East, Eliza saw that she had a message from Jeremy. She went outside to listen to it. Apparently, he’d been stuck at a benefit with his boss that he’d thought he’d be able to get out of. Blah, blah, blah. Eliza heard glasses clinking and girls laughing in the background. He said he was really sorry. Sure he was. Eliza erased the message, too angry and disappointed to care anymore.