by VC Andrews
He nodded. “I’m not blaming you.”
We started toward the tennis courts.
“Maybe he’s just being overprotective,” I suggested, and began to tell him about my first experiences with Kiera and her friends. I was sure that Gary had given him some of the highlights, but he seemed surprised to hear the nitty-gritty details concerning me and her boyfriends. I went into detail about the Virgins Anonymous club they had pretended to belong to and the initiation ceremony.
The expression on his face softened in sympathy. “You had to make love someplace where you might be discovered or seen?”
“The more chance of that, the bigger the respect the others gave you, supposedly. As I said, it was all a setup to hurt me.”
“So on top of their daughter when she was high on something hitting you and your mother and killing your mother, they also accused you of being the bad one, the one who told these perfect girls all about the nasty stuff and suggested they do these things?”
“Yes.”
“And they believed it?”
“Mr. March was especially gullible like that until Kiera overdosed on G and her house of cards came tumbling down.”
“They owe you a helluva lot. No wonder they bought you that car.”
“Nothing they can give me can make up for my mother,” I said. “And remember, legally, I’m still an orphan, and they are just foster parents. They don’t have to do anything more than provide food and shelter.”
“They don’t want to adopt you, or you don’t want them to?”
“I suppose it’s both. Jordan wants it.”
“But Mr. Know-it-all doesn’t?”
“He’s resisting.”
“Lucky for you. Right?”
“I don’t know, Ryder. It’s not easy dealing with all of this. Sometimes I feel like running away, and sometimes I think I’m very lucky “
“I’m the same way.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but obviously for different reasons. Okay. You showed me enough of yours,” he said.
We kept walking until we reached the lake. I watched as he looked at it all. Most of the kids my age whom I brought here weren’t all that interested in sitting at the lake or rowing. They wanted to see the theater and watch some videos or just gossip.
“This is beautiful,” he said. “If I lived here, I’d be here every day. Good place to get away from it all.”
“Because?”
He was silent.
“So where’s the quid pro quo?”
He smiled. “Excuse me?”
“You just said I showed you mine,” I said.
“Okay, okay.” He sat on the bench, and I sat beside him. Then he made a circle in the air. “We’ll do this the way they pitch stories in Hollywood for directors, producers, and actors. Ryder Garfield’s life story. Huck Finn meets Rebel Without a Cause.”
“Huh?”
“That’s the pitch line. Hollywood people need it laid out simply in tags or slogans. First act. When Ryder Garfield was young,” he began, “before Summer was born, his glamorous, world-renowned mother was working a lot. Ryder had a nanny from England, an au pair.”
“That’s why you have that slightly British accent?”
“Does he? Okay, we’ll think about casting a young English actor. Please hold your questions until the end. Don’t you know that most Hollywood producers have a five-minute attention span? Okay. Ryder’s nanny was a bigger influence on him than his own mother, so he picks up some of her accent. He’s a neat little boy, always well dressed and schooled in proper etiquette.”
“Like standing up when a woman comes to his table,” I said.
He shook his head. “If you’re going to write this . . .”
“I’m listening, sorry.”
“As I said, Ryder is with his nanny more than he is with his mother. His nanny is still with them when his sister, Summer, is born. She’s raising the baby, really, because the first chance their mother gets to return to work, she’s out and into the celebrity scene full blast, like someone who has been suffocated because of her pregnancy. Their father, acting all the time, chasing parts, is out as well. Both of their parents, in fact, miss their birthdays occasionally. When someone is young, that hurts, hurts deeply. Back then, Ryder feels sorrier for Summer than for himself. Eventually, he and his sister are old enough to take care of themselves, and their nanny is dismissed. It’s a sad day, because to them, it’s like losing their mother.”
He paused to look at my reaction. I just stared at him quietly, waiting.
“Act Two. Their mother vows to be more of a mother, of course, but things don’t change all that much. There are maids taking up the slack. Even when they go on trips, there is always someone hired to care for both Summer and him, mostly Summer. Coming to their mother with a problem is usually like speaking to a translator. She sends them off to talk to their father or some therapist at the drop of a pin.”
“And their father?”
“Ah. He’s always intent on being a big movie star, you see. There are long periods of time when he isn’t home, and even when he is, he’s out and busy so much. For a joke once, Ryder takes one of his father’s eight-by-twelve head shots and puts it on a piece of wood that he then attaches to a short pole. Using his camera that has a timer, he has Summer and him take pictures with it, making it look as if their father is with them at restaurants or when they go shopping. Their mother thinks it is funny until Ryder puts it on a chair at the dinner table. His father finds out and gives him one of his he-should-feel-sorry-for-him lectures.”
“Feel sorry for him? How did that work?”
“Simple . . . something like your Mr. March. Here he was working so hard to make a success so Ryder’s family could enjoy all of these wonderful things, like big homes, servants, trips, expensive clothes, and here Ryder was being unappreciative. Ryder guesses it eased his father’s conscience.”
“So Ryder doesn’t like his father?”
“Ryder doesn’t know who he is. He thinks his father has treated the parent role as just another role. That leads to another thing he does that gets his father pretty hot.”
“What?”
“He writes a scenario for him, gives his father lines to say. Of course, his father doesn’t see the humor and never gets the point. In short, Ryder Garfield is just as much an orphan as you are. The big difference is that his parents expect him to pretend he’s not. And they wonder why Summer gets into trouble.”
“Is that part of your Act Two?”
“Exactly.”
“What happens to her?”
He smiled. “You don’t know?”
“I know only rumors, Ryder.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Rumors.” He paused. I thought he wasn’t going to speak about her, but then he started again. “She gets pregnant, but she keeps it a secret so long it is almost too late to do anything about it. Their father is the sort of person who would rather ignore a problem, anyway. She takes after him. He thinks he literally expects some writer will come in and do a rewrite of what happens, and he can forget the old version. Anyway, he blames the whole thing on Ryder.”
“Why?”
“He’s her big brother. He should have been watching over her. Ryder’s father forgets how many times Ryder has warned him and his mother about her. The whole thing causes a big embarrassment and cover-up, and they are shipped to another private school.
“At the start of Act Three, his mother and his father expect him to make sure she behaves at Pacifica. There’s a big blow-up between them on the first day of school. I think you saw that in the trailer.”
I put my hand on his arm. I could see how describing all of this as a movie was disturbing him.
“Your parents are so famous everyone at school thinks you have the perfect life,” I said.
“Yeah, I know.” He looked back at the mansion and the property. “I imagine they think the same about you now, the poor little rich girl. Cinderella herself.”
“You and me both,” he muttered. “I haven’t written the third act completely yet.”
“Pretty funny, the two of us feeling sorry for ourselves.”
I shifted my gaze from him and then back to him. He looked at me without speaking. I thought I could see the pain behind his beautiful eyes, the same pain I often saw in my own when I looked in the mirror. In tiny increments, as if we had been captured by a slow-motion camera, we brought our lips to each other’s and didn’t kiss so much as touch. He pulled back quickly, as if he had made a mistake.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I wanted you to do that, but with more determination.”
He smiled, and then he kissed me for real, his hands on my shoulders. When I lowered my head to his shoulder, he embraced me, and we sat there at the lake, just holding each other. I heard Alberto shouting something in Spanish to one of his grounds people, and I pulled back.
“I don’t feel like going rowing just now. Let’s go see your room,” Ryder suggested. I nodded. “Next time I come, we’ll have more time and maybe go rowing.”
“I’d like that.”
We started for the house. I kept my arms around myself, but after a few moments, I lowered them, and he took my hand. He paused as if he had forgotten something back at the lake.
“What?”
“I just realized that I told you more than I’ve told anyone else. Including my therapist,” he said.
“You don’t have to worry about my telling anyone else,” I said, thinking that was what concerned him.
“No. That’s not it.”
“What, then?”
“I’m surprised at myself,” he said. We started to walk again. “Or maybe . . .”
“What?”
“Maybe I’m surprised about you.”
“A good surprise?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
I laughed, and we entered the house and ascended the stairway. Before we reached the top, I glanced down and saw Mr. March looking up at us. He looked very upset, his face awash in displeasure. Did he think it was wrong for me to bring Ryder to my room? It was the first time I would be alone with a boy there. I was never very comfortable inviting friends here, even though Jordan encouraged it. Regardless of the time that had gone by, I still couldn’t help feeling I was bringing classmates to someone else’s home. It was truly like a guest inviting her own guests.
“Impressive,” Ryder said when we stepped into my suite. “Bigger than mine or Summer’s, that’s for sure. In fact, I think this is bigger than my parents’ master bedroom.”
“I still feel lost in it.”
He began to look at everything. “You’re into giraffes?”
“No, that was Alena’s thing.”
“Well, why is all of that still here? You said you’ve been here three years.”
“I don’t mind. In fact,” I said, “it helps me feel closer to her.”
“Why do you have to feel closer to her?”
“It’s not easy to explain. It makes me feel less lonely,” I offered.
He nodded and then paused to look at some of my calligraphy. “I know what this is,” he said. “They call it . . . ca . . .”
“Calligraphy,” I said.
“Yeah. Why are they here?”
“I did them.”
“You did these? I’m impressed.”
“My mother taught me. Her mother had taught her. When we were living in Santa Monica, she sold her work on the boardwalk.”
“What did you do?”
“I did lanyards.”
“You made enough to get by?”
“Some days. Some days not, and those days we ate very little.”
“When I was at the beach yesterday, I saw some people selling stuff, but nothing like arts and crafts.”
“Hungry and desperate people will sell anything they can for a day’s food.”
He nodded and then just threw himself onto my bed.
“Comfy,” he said. “Like sleeping in marshmallow, I bet.” He lay there with his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. “So, you’ve had a few boyfriends?”
“No.”
He raised his head. “No? Gary says you’re practically a one-girl escort service.”
“A little exaggeration. I have had dates with a half-dozen or so boys.”
“Or so?”
“Stop. I haven’t had any real boyfriends. Actually, escort is a more accurate description of the boys I’ve been with.”
“Did they come here to pick you up?”
“Yes.”
“And Mr. March? How did he treat them?”
“Most of the time, he wasn’t here, and I told you, if he was, he didn’t show any particular interest.”
“What did I do to deserve it? Stop playing the piano?”
I laughed. “I haven’t dated anyone this year yet. Maybe since you’re the first I’ve invited . . .”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. What about you? I bet you’re the real escort service.”
“You’d be surprised, too. Among other things, I’m allergic to airheads.”
“There hasn’t been a girl who wasn’t one?”
He was silent.
“What about at the last school?”
He sat up. “Why is it so important to know what my past romantic experiences have been?”
“Why is it so important for you to know mine?”
“You’re more interesting.”
“Right. You’re the one in the movie, not me.”
He laughed. “Your story would make a better movie than mine. Did you have a boyfriend when you were living on the street?”
“Get serious.”
He smiled, and then he did become serious. “I have a confession to make. I didn’t go to Santa Monica just to look at the ocean. I went to imagine what it must have been like for you sleeping on the beach and everything.”
“How did you do?”
He shook his head. “I’ve camped out when I was younger, but living out there like that must have been something else. I mean, where exactly did you and your mother sleep?”
“I told you before. I really don’t want to talk about all that, Ryder.”
He put up his hands. “Okay, sorry. Since you told me about the calligraphy and the lanyards, I thought maybe . . .”
“I don’t want to dwell on it. I still get nightmares.”
“I bet. Sorry.”
He got off the bed and looked into my closet.
“Isn’t it against some zoning ordinance to have a clothing store in your house here?”
“Very funny. Most of it was Alena’s.”
“Well, why is that stuff still in there? It can’t be your size. They could give it to needy people.”
“Jordan can’t get herself to take it out. It’s all too final.”
He nodded and then looked at me with that sympathetic face he wore at the lake. “This has to be hard for you. I shouldn’t be asking so many questions about your situation here. It’s unfair. You can’t do all that much about what goes on here, I imagine.”
“I’ll survive.”
“I bet. I wish I could say the same.”
“You will, too.”
He stared at me a moment. I felt there was something more he wanted to say, something he truly had never said to anyone. My heart beat faster in anticipation, but I could see in his eyes that the moment had passed.
“I guess I should start for home. Summer’s probably back and might set the house on fire or something. But I’m glad I came,” he added quickly.
“I’m glad you came, too.”
I walked to him, and we kissed, stepping back into the closet. This time, the kiss was very passionate. It wasn’t only the excitement that came from the way he drew me closer. We were touching each other in
ways that stirred the passion we had only begun to realize and explore inside us. I wanted it to last longer. His hands moved under and up my blouse. His breathing quickened. His lips glided gracefully off mine and down to my neck. I welcomed his fingers gently lifting away my bra and pressed myself against him. I lifted my head back and felt as if I was sinking into him.
And then we heard Mrs. Duval call my name. We parted instantly, and I fumbled with my clothes.
“Who’s that?” he whispered. I put my fingers on his lips and stepped out of the closet.
“Hi, Mrs. Duval. What’s wrong?”
“Mr. March sent me up to tell you he’d like to see you in his office before dinner,” she said. She stood there, obviously aware that Ryder was in the closet.
“Thank you. Tell him I’ll be there.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yes, I’m just . . . yes,” I said.
She nodded and then left.
“Who was that?”
“It was just Mrs. Duval. She’s sort of the house manager.”
“He had to send her up here? What’s he want? Does he always do that, send someone to fetch you, or is he doing it just because of me?”
“No, he’s done it before,” I said.
“I guess he likes ordering everyone around. I’d better get going.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
There was no one downstairs when we descended. I walked to his car with him.
“Call me later,” I said.
“You sure you want me to?”
“Of course I do. I don’t kiss just anyone in my closet,” I said. I kissed him quickly and turned to head back into the house.
“Hey,” he called.
“What?”
“Maybe we’ll both run away one of these days. You already know how to survive out there. We’ll do what Romeo and Juliet should have done.”
“There’s nothing to romanticize about it, Ryder. It’s better to stay and face your demons here.”
“You haven’t met mine yet,” he said, and got into his car. I stood there watching him drive off, and then I went inside and headed for Mr. March’s office.
I didn’t want to tell Ryder, but his sending for me through Mrs. Duval was exactly what he would do when he sent for Kiera to bawl her out or chastise her for something she had done. Maybe, like Jordan, he was going to question me about her, about what she might have told me. I didn’t want to become their little spy, reporting on their daughter. I thought I had seen too much betrayal in my life already to see or be a part of any more.
