Jane Austen Goes to Hollywood

by Abby McDonald

  “It’s OK, I’ve covered it,” Grace told him. “I did most of this stuff last semester at my old school.”

  “Oh.” Harry looked downcast. “Sure. OK.”

  Grace felt guilty. As lab partners went, he was one of the good ones: actually doing the assignment, instead of slacking off, or fooling around like so many of the other guys in her class. The least she could do was make sure he didn’t fail.

  “I could take you through the material, if you want?” she offered. “Sunday afternoon, maybe, at the library?”

  “Great!” Harry brightened. “Let me give you my number. You know, in case.”

  They exchanged details on the grand front steps. Unlike Grace’s old school, with its cramped buildings stacked haphazardly in the middle of a city block, her new school radiated out from a grassy central quad: neat white stucco buildings fringed with trees, and seating areas set back from the main pathways. In the month since school had begun, Grace often marveled at the spotless grounds: there was no graffiti or litter or any sign that this was, in fact, a school and not some serene spa.

  A car horn sounded behind them, loud and insistent. Grace turned to see Dakota’s beat-up old Camry cruise into the parking lot; Hallie waving from the passenger side. “I better go,” she told Harry, stuffing her notebook into her bag. The horn sounded again. Grace gave an apologetic smile. “My sister waits for no man.”

  Harry gave Grace a salute. “See you Sunday.”

  Hallie and Dakota were making out when Grace reached the car, hungrily intertwined the way they had been all summer. After months of walking in on them kissing in the hallway, out by the pool, and, one time, in Uncle Auggie’s walk-in pantry (canned goods clearly proving an unlikely aphrodisiac) Grace barely noticed anymore. Except when things got . . . intimate.

  Right on cue, Dakota’s hand wandered lower. Grace banged on the window. “PG-13! Children present.”

  Hallie laughed, scooting forward so Grace could slide in the backseat. “No complaints! I’m the one doing the good deed here, picking you up.”

  “Why are you here?” Grace pushed aside Dakota’s guitar case, and a stack of fast-food wrappers. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” she added. “But I would have come quicker if I’d known.”

  “It’s cool,” Dakota said, yanking the car into gear. “You were busy with your new friend.” He waggled his eyebrows at Grace in the rearview mirror. She kicked the back of his seat good-naturedly.

  “What are you, a matchmaker now?”

  “I think he’s cute.” Hallie joined the teasing. “All ruffled and skater-boy.” Grace glowered at her. Hallie sighed. “I forgot, your heart belongs to another!”

  Grace changed the subject. “What about you guys, what have you been up to?”

  Dakota grinned. “Tell her.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Hallie twisted in her seat, beaming. “I got a callback, on the soda ad!”

  Grace gasped. “That’s amazing!”

  “I know! It’s down to me and three other girls,” Hallie added, “but I saw them in the waiting room, and I’m way more photogenic.”

  “And modest too.” Grace laughed.

  Hallie stuck her tongue out. “Just wait. Once I land this gig, I’ll be able to get an agent, and then things will finally start happening!”

  “I’m glad,” Grace told her, sincere. “This is really great for you.”

  “And it’s all thanks to this one.” Hallie leaned over and kissed Dakota loudly on the cheek. “He’s the one who found out about the job in the first place.”

  “The things you hear in line at Trader Joe’s,” Dakota agreed. He took Hallie’s hand and kissed it, not taking his eyes from the road. It was an automatic gesture, an afterthought, even, but something about the warm familiarity made Grace’s chest clench, deep behind her rib cage.

  It wasn’t that she begrudged Hallie her happiness. She was glad her sister was in love, she truly was, especially since that love had transformed Hallie from a tempestuous brat into an even-tempered delight, but their obvious intimacy still pained Grace. It wasn’t so much a hurt as a wistful ache for a world she’d never known, only glimpsed from the outside looking in.

  “So how’s school?” Hallie demanded as they turned into their neighborhood. Fall was tinting the leaves orange and red, shady over the wide streets. “Are you making any new friends — besides the cute skater-boy, I mean?”

  Grace shrugged.

  “Grace! Come on, you need to try. You’re a month into the semester already, and you haven’t hung out with anyone!”

  “Hey,” Dakota said. “Ease up. It’s hard settling in. Grace’s doing fine, we can’t all be social butterflies.”

  “I’m not a butterfly, I’m more . . . a hummingbird,” Hallie declared. “Rare, delicate —”

  “Arrogant,” Grace added.

  “Exhausting,” Dakota finished, with a grin.

  Grace laughed.

  “Don’t listen to Hallie,” Dakota told Grace, meeting her eyes in the mirror again. “High school is hell on earth. As far as I’m concerned, if you make it through the day without wanting to slit your wrists, you’re winning.”

  “Yeah, I’m not quite at the Bell Jar phase just yet.” Grace smiled. “It’s just, hard, that’s all. They’ve all known each other forever, and everyone is so . . .”

  “Spoiled? Rich? Bitchy?” Dakota offered.

  “Pretty much.”

  Hallie sighed. “I’ve told you, Ana Lucia’s little sister is a senior, and Tai’s cousin is in your English class. Hang out with them!”

  Grace didn’t reply. Those kids were the über-popular crowd, all glossy haired and stylish, and although Hallie might have waltzed into their platinum-credit-card world — meeting her new, shiny friends for brunches, and shopping, and cocktail nights sneaking into the Roosevelt Hotel — Grace knew she didn’t belong. One lunchtime spent lingering on the edge of their crowd as they planned a lavish birthday dinner, and weekend trip to Catalina (“because, like, who stays at home to celebrate anyway?”) was enough to prove for certain that they occupied entirely different realities.

  “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “I’m a lone wolf, remember?”

  “A-roooo!” Dakota howled. Hallie giggled, and nestled up against him; auburn curls spilling over his leather jacket.

  Grace felt that pang again. “Actually, guys, could you just drop me here?”

  “You sure?” Dakota checked. “It’s no trouble.”

  “It’s just a couple of blocks,” Grace said. “I could use the walk.”

  He pulled over. She grabbed her bag, and clambered out.

  “Tell Mom I’ll be back late!” Hallie called.

  “Are you kidding?” Grace sighed. “She started a new portrait series. You could elope to Vermont, and she wouldn’t notice.”

  Grace’s tone must have revealed something, because Hallie paused, leaning out the car window. “Maybe we could hang tomorrow,” she suggested brightly. “Go to a movie, or something.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Dakota added. “Maybe if you come along, we’ll outvote her, and I’ll get to see something that doesn’t involve tragic deaths due to consumption.”

  Grace gave them a faint smile. “It’s OK, I don’t need babysitting.”

  Hallie rolled her eyes. “Duh. I’m just saying, someone needs to get you out of the house.”

  “It’s OK,” Grace insisted. “Anyway, I have work. Thanks for the ride!”

  Grace wandered slowly back to the Jennings estate. Or, as she couldn’t bring herself to think of it yet, home. If there was anything worse than Hallie’s relentless remarks about Grace’s supposed secret love affair with Theo, it was the pity invites to tag along with her and Dakota. Grace knew that Hallie meant well, but she would far prefer to sit at home, alone, instead of be the third wheel as they gazed into each other’s eyes, and murmured sweet nothings through the night.

  Her phone buzzed with a new text. Theo.

&
nbsp; Catalyst: 32 points. Bow at my erudite majesty, peon!

  She should be glad, that nothing had changed, and part of her was. But the other part, the part that wistfully longed for something more. . . .

  I bow to no one, she texted back. The peasants shall rise and defeat you yet.

  A car slowed nearby.

  “And on your left is the Carson estate, site of the Hollywood Hell murders of nineteen fifty-two.”

  Grace looked up. Their neighborhood saw a steady stream of tourists on the star tour trail — strapped into open-top buses, clicking their cameras in unison — but this seemed unlike the others: five Japanese tourists clustered around an old pink convertible, with a blond girl on her hands and knees, trying to change a flat tire.

  “Three of the Carson daughters burned to death in a fire,” the girl continued loudly, heaving at the jack. She was wearing tweed city shorts and a white shirt that was crumpled and smeared with dust. “It was rumored to be a mob hit, but nobody was ever arrested for the crime.”

  She looked up, and saw Grace staring at them. “Look! One of the Carson granddaughters!” She pointed at Grace. “They’re famous recluses. Photos, everyone!”

  The tourists turned, and began snapping. Grace instinctively covered her face. “What’s going on?” She moved closer to the car. “I’m not a Carson!”

  “Shh! They don’t know that!” the girl hissed. “I need to give them something, or they’ll start asking for their money back!” She rocked back on her heels, wiping her forehead — and leaving a trail of dirt.

  “You’ve got, um . . .” Grace pulled a tissue from her bag, then paused, looking at the girl again. “You go to my school, don’t you? We have gym together.”

  “Right!” The girl brightened. “You were the one who hit Cassidy in the face with the volleyball.”

  Grace cringed. “I really didn’t mean to.”

  “Are you kidding? That was, like, the highlight of my entire week. She’d only just gotten the bandages off from her nose job! I mean, ‘deviated septum surgery,’ ” the girl corrected, with a grin. “Oh, I’m Palmer.” She offered a hand to shake, then stopped. It was covered in grease.

  “Grace,” Grace replied. “Do you, umm, need any help with that?”

  “Would you?” Palmer brightened. “I’ve seen this done, like, a million times, but I can’t seem to make all the pieces fit.” She hauled herself up, and turned to the tourists. “The next house up is where Brad Pitt once mowed the lawn in nineteen ninety-two, when he was working as a yard boy to pay rent!”

  The tourists aah-ed, and obediently went to snap photos.

  “Did he?” Grace asked.

  Palmer shrugged. “He could have. Why ruin their happiness?”

  Grace laughed, taking the pieces of the wrench and fitting them together. “Why didn’t you call someone?” she asked. The car was old, but it was in gleaming new condition, and Palmer’s clothes were clearly designer beneath the mud stains.

  “And wipe out my profits? No way. Besides, aren’t they always saying we need to learn this stuff — female empowerment, or whatever?”

  “Feminism is all well and good, but I’m afraid you’re missing a piece.” Grace held up the jack. “This car isn’t getting any higher.”

  Palmer swore, and hit the side of the convertible. “What am I going to do now?”

  “Sorry.” Grace began packing up the pieces, but when she looked up, Palmer was gazing at her with an unreadable expression. “What? Do I have some on my face?”

  “No, I was just thinking . . .” Palmer grinned. “Do you have a car?”

  “Sure. I mean, my mom does.”

  “How many does it seat?”

  “Oh, no.” Grace caught on. “Sorry, but, I’m not into this kind of thing.”

  “You mean, making money?” Palmer beamed, fluttering her eyelashes the way Hallie always did when she wanted something. “Come on, you drive, I guide, we’ll have them back at their hotel in an hour! I’ll split the fee with you,” she added.

  Now it was Grace’s turn to pause. “How much?”

  “Twenty bucks a head, between us.”

  Grace turned to the group, calculating. That was . . . more than she’d make selling overpriced macaroons at the store tomorrow.

  “You get a free hat!” Palmer added, producing a baseball cap from a bag in the backseat: bright blue and emblazoned with a replica of the Hollywood sign. She modeled it, striking a pose. “Fresh from the runways of Paris, the envy of every fashionista in town!”

  Grace couldn’t help but laugh. Palmer seemed nice — if a little insane — and besides, what else did she have planned other than her ever-thrilling routine of homework, reading, and studiously not checking her e-mail?

  “OK,” she agreed, feeling almost cheerful. “I’m in. But on one condition: you keep the hat.”

  Palmer grinned. “Deal!”

  Palmer with her alternative star tour earned Grace not just a healthy bump to her savings account, but also a new friend — and with it, a place to sit at lunch, someone to do homework with over coffee, and the hope that, perhaps, there were some relatively normal kids in the 90210 zip code, after all.

  If Palmer could ever qualify as normal, that was. The result of a high-powered attorney’s brief, misguided liaison with an NFL star (Palmer’s own words), Grace soon discovered that Palmer was a force of nature with an unrivaled collection of vintage hats. Grace suspected that she could rule the school’s social scene if she chose, but Palmer preferred to spend her time on madcap entrepreneurial projects that would build her a business empire by the time she was twenty.

  Popularity was fleeting, she told Grace with the bitter smile of somebody who had seen, firsthand, the damage believing otherwise could do. Self-sufficiency would last forever. Grace, still pining for her old home that was, by now, nothing but a construction site, knew exactly what she meant.

  “Here’s your cut.” Palmer grinned, counting out bills the next weekend, after their early-morning tour. Strike while the competition was still snoozing, that was Palmer’s philosophy — and while jet lag still reigned supreme. “Don’t you just love the British?” She sighed happily. “They have no idea how to tip, so they just keep thrusting money at you out of sheer politeness!”

  Grace gave her a knowing smile. “I think it’s more how you stand there, looking offended, so they think they’re committing a grave cultural faux pas.”

  Palmer shrugged. “You say ‘potato,’ ” she sang, “I say ‘exchange rate.’ Anyway, want to grab some breakfast with our entirely legit gains?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got a family brunch thing.” Grace drew up outside Palmer’s house, a sprawling ranch-style property just a few streets over from Uncle Auggie’s. “Mom likes us all to get together once a week, it makes her feel like she’s actually involved in our lives.”

  “Hey, you’re lucky.” Palmer passed over the wedge of bills, and jammed her trilby hat on at a jaunty angle. “My mom requires daily status updates and hourly check-ins. Or at least, her assistant does.” She climbed down from the van. “See you later for a movie? I’ll text.”

  Back at the compound, Grace found Dakota helping to set the outdoor table for breakfast — swatting away Rosita’s protests as he ferried fruit bowls and clean silverware from the kitchen.

  “You’re up early,” Grace remarked, stealing a strip of bacon from one of the serving plates. Yum.

  Dakota murmured noncommittally, as Hallie breezed out from the guesthouse. “Where have you been?” Hallie exclaimed, collapsing into a seat. “Don’t tell me you’ve started jogging, or whatever it is Amber does to stay so skinny.”

  “Jog? Ha!” Grace joined her at the table. “I was just hanging out with Palmer, this girl from school.”

  “Way to go!” Dakota cheered. “Making friends, getting out there. Soon you’ll be the Queen Bee of Beverly Hills!”

  Grace rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help feeling a small sense of achievement. Was it pathetic
that making one lone friend counted as such an accomplishment, she wondered, or was that canceled out by the fact that someone, somewhere, didn’t think she was a complete loser?

  Hallie reached for the toast. “Shouldn’t we wait for Auggie and Amber?” Grace asked.

  “They’re at the salon,” Hallie replied, pouring juice. “Amber said something about having his back waxed?” She shuddered. “Can you imagine? I wouldn’t go near a guy’s back hair, not even if he was a billionaire.”

  Grace coughed.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” Hallie told her, not at all apologetic. “We must not speak ill of the trophy wife!”

  Grace gave her another stern look. She didn’t know why Hallie insisted on holding her grudge against Amber — to Grace, it was like holding a grudge against those adorable yappy dogs: sure, they could be annoying sometimes, but they were just so eager and cute, you would have to be heartless to cast them aside.

  Grace had to admit, she’d been dubious at first. The age gap, and Amber’s penchant for pink Lycra workout gear had indicated a gold digger of the most basic kind, but after watching her and Uncle Auggie together for months, it was clear: the connection between them was genuine, however unconventional a love affair. Amber showered Auggie with affection, he adored her unconditionally right back, and together, they gossiped and laughed and mercilessly teased everyone all the day through.

  It may not be Hallie’s idea of wedded bliss, but Grace figured there were worse ways to build a marriage. After all, her parents’ union had seemed rock solid, but still crumbled when her father decided he wanted a faster, glossier life, with overpriced sushi restaurants instead of her mom’s one-pot roasts; opera and gala balls instead of nights in, playing Monopoly. Amber and Auggie at least seemed to value the same things in life, even if those things were salacious gossip and expensive spa treatments.