Acknowledgments 11 страница

Nina blew out a breath. “About Playboy? ”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s a good play. ”

Nina smiled politely.

“Keep thinking on it, ” he said. “I have a feeling when you see the money, you’re gonna come around. ” He gave her a sincere wink and a finger gun and then left to get a beer.

A cocktail waitress came by with a tray of glasses of white wine. Brandon took one and raised it. “Everybody, I’d like to raise a glass to my incredible wife, Nina. She knows how to throw one hell of a party, am I right? ”

The early crowd raised their glasses and cheered.

“And with that, I say, have fun, get wasted, and don’t wreck my stuff! ”

9: 00 P. M.

Ricky Esposito—the guy that ran the photography studio at Pepperdine—was in the kitchen eating cheese and crackers. He had seen Kit walk by four times and, each time, couldn’t stop staring at her abs.

He’d had a thing for her for approximately three years now even though he’d never spoken to her and was absolutely positive she had no idea he existed. But when you live in the same town your entire life, you notice people. And everyone always noticed the Rivas.

Sometimes Ricky would go into Riva’s Seafood and order fried clams with no bellies, a large Coke, and french fries. He’d take a seat out by the parking lot on one of the wooden benches. He’d hope to spot Kit Riva.

She was the most appealing person he’d ever seen in his life.

He liked that she never had to try to be beautiful. He liked that her body was so solid, so strong. He imagined she was the sort of girl that didn’t need a guy to kill a spider and he liked that because, to be honest, Ricky was afraid of spiders.

He’d seen her surf at Surfrider Beach every once in a while. He liked to go down to the pier and take a seat on a bench and watch the fishermen. But he could always recognize Kit when she was in the water. She had a bravado that he liked. She was aggressive with the waves, never deferred to other people. Ricky had always imagined marrying a woman like that. His mother was like that.

He just needed to find the guts to talk to her.

Nina had wandered away from Brandon and was talking to a group of young runway models by the front door. They wouldn’t stop asking her questions like who designed her skirt and what eyeliner she was wearing.

“Like, what are you doing for your skin? It’s fucking … radiant, ” the tallest, lankiest one said. She was brunette with blue eyes and Nina had gathered, based on how often she kept bringing it up, that she’d walked in McLaren and Westwood’s Fall show last year.

“Oh, thank you, ” Nina said, kindly.

“And what are you doing for crow’s-feet? ” the sweeter-looking woman asked.

“What am I doing for crow’s-feet? ” Nina asked.

“Like, to prevent it. ”

“Oh, you know, just zinc when I’m surfing sometimes. And moisturizer, ” Nina said.

“La Mer? ” the taller one said.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me, ” Nina said.

“La Mer, ” said the sweeter-looking woman. “Crè me de la Mer. The moisturizer? ”

“I just use Noxzema, ” Nina said.

The taller woman looked at the sweeter woman and they exchanged glances. Nina became overtaken with the sense, one she had often, that she wasn’t a very good model.

She pulled herself away from the group, as if someone had called for her. She continued to move through the party.

Brandon was holding court in the living room, talking to a crowd of photographers and artists that had gathered around the Lichtenstein hanging above the fireplace.

She watched Brandon from a distance, seeing his hands gesticulating wildly, everyone in rapt attention. She decided she needed a glass of wine and so she made her way toward the kitchen.

She waved as she walked past the surfers up from Venice who were sitting on her living room sofa drinking beers. She smiled at the three actors trying to pretend they weren’t doing coke off of her entry table. She said hello to the four women talking to each other about Dynasty outside her guest bathroom.

Before Nina could make it to the wine bar set up in the kitchen, a cocktail waitress came by with a tray of merlot and Nina smiled at her and took one.

“You have a lovely house, if you don’t mind me saying, ” the waitress said. She was a redhead with green eyes. Nina liked her smile.

“Thank you, ” Nina told her. “My husband picked it out. ”

And then the waitress kept walking and Nina stood right in place, people moving all around her.

Actresses, models, musicians. Surfers, skaters, volleyball players. Agents and executives. Development assistants. Writers, directors, producers. Those two asshole comedians with that stupid movie everyone loved. Half the cast of Dallas. Three Lakers. It was barely nine o’clock and Nina already felt like everyone in the world was in her house.

She sipped the merlot in her hand slowly, with her eyes closed, breathing it in as much as tasting it. Can I go hide in my bedroom?

Suddenly, the DJ put on “1999” and it broke something open in Nina’s chest. Just the sound of Prince’s voice, the beat. This song, in this moment … Nina felt like she could leave the world behind—all the people, Brandon—and simply enjoy herself for a second.

She walked out onto her lawn to join the partygoers who had started to dance.

“All right! Nina! Gettin’ down to boogie, ” a woman called to her from the mass of bodies moving. Nina looked up and saw Wendy, from the restaurant.

“You made it, ” Nina said, smiling. She started bopping her butt from side to side, sliding her shoulders. She wasn’t much of a dancer but when you love the song, it doesn’t matter.

“It’s nice to see you like this, ” Wendy said. Wendy was a much better dancer than Nina, a much more sexual dancer. Nina marveled at the freedom it took to hump blindly in midair like that.

“See me like what? ” Nina called out, over the music.

“I don’t know, you seem lighter, maybe. Carefree? ”

Nina wondered if everyone secretly thought she lived with a stick up her ass. And then she wondered if maybe she did.

“It’s Prince, ” Nina said. “He does it for me. ”

“Oh, he does it for everybody, ” Wendy said.

Nina saw Hud by the firepit and she called to him, tried to wave him over, but he was talking to a woman. Nina looked closer. Who was her brother flirting with?

It was Ashley. Hud was talking to Ashley.

He’s screwing her.

It seemed so obvious. The way they were standing so close to each other, their lack of reticence about their bodies brushing together. It is discernible, when two people feel complete comfort with each other’s skin. It is plain for anyone to see if they are looking.

And that’s exactly what they had: an electric sort of peace between them.

Nina instantly understood that Jay would not take this well. Jay didn’t have the benevolent confidence necessary to absorb this blow with ease. And Nina felt a sense of doom, as she imagined how the night would play out. The conflict, the mess.

This night, Nina could feel in her gut, was not going to end well.

Jay was coming down the stairs when he saw her.

There she was. Lara. His Lara, if people could belong to other people.

She was standing by the door, next to Chad, wearing a plain white T-shirt tucked into a black miniskirt. She looked about eight billion feet tall, her legs the full length of her. All Jay could think about was running his hands from her ankles all the way to her ass, how smooth the journey would be, how long it would take him.

He pulled it together and walked up to Lara, affecting nonchalance. “You guys made it, ” he said. “What are you having to drink? ”

“Why don’t I head over to the bar? ” Chad suggested. “You two can wait here. ”

Lara asked for a white wine spritzer. Jay took Chad up on the offer to get him another Jack and Coke. And then Chad was gone.

Jay looked at Lara, with her gigantic eyes and her thin lips. He felt as if it was just the two of them there together even though there were now close to two hundred people in his sister’s house. But who cared about the rest? Who cared about the music and the people and the noise?

Jay pulled Lara toward him. “I’m going to kiss you, ” he said.

“All right, ” she said. “So kiss me then. ”

He leaned over and put his lips to hers. She tasted like spearmint and he tasted like whiskey.

Jay grabbed her hand and felt a whoosh through his head. It was the booze. He knew that. But it was also the thrill of letting yourself get swept away. It felt so good to fall.

Vanessa was watching Hud through the window as he spoke to a blond woman out in the yard. “Who is Hud talking to? ” she asked, as casually as possible. “I mean, not that it matters. ”

“I don’t know, ” Kit said, distracted. This guy Ricky kept looking at her. There were a few guys that had been looking at her all night. Seth had smiled at her again, that guy Chad from the Sandcastle was looking at her. Dressed as she was, she could feel a difference in how the rooms she entered made space for her.

She was still trying to figure out how she felt about it. All she knew for sure was that she didn’t want to strike up a conversation with Seth or Chad. They seemed too … cool, like they’d expect something of her she wasn’t ready to deliver.

Vanessa continued to watch Hud out the window as he smiled at the woman he was talking to and snuck a kiss on her neck, right behind her ear. The woman closed her eyes and then touched Hud’s face tenderly.

Vanessa’s heart sank.

“Do you see this guy over here? ” Kit said. “I think he’s friends with my brother. Ricky something? ”

Vanessa looked in the direction Kit was indicating, trying to distract herself, pretending she wasn’t thrown. “Oh, wow, OK, that guy is checking you out, ” Vanessa said.

“Don’t look right at him! ” Kit said, hoping Vanessa would quiet down.

“He’s cute, ” Vanessa said. But from the way that she said it, it was clear she thought it was a qualified sort of cute.

Vanessa stole another glance at Hud. Now he and this woman were playing with each other’s hands covertly, as if no one could see them.

Vanessa closed her eyes, unable to look anymore. What had she honestly thought was going to happen tonight? That Hud was going to fall in love with her? How ridiculous. How completely and utterly ridiculous. She thought she might cry.

“Should I talk to him? ” Kit asked. “Like, if he comes to talk to me? ”

“Hm? ” Vanessa asked, turning back to Kit and trying to catch up. “Yeah, totally talk to him. ” I will not cry over this, Vanessa thought as she kept her tears back. She had to meet someone else. She couldn’t sit around pining away for someone who barely noticed her after this many years. She was just learning what type of woman she was but she decided she wanted to be the sort of woman who didn’t do that. She turned her full attention to Kit. “You should go up to him and start the conversation yourself. ”

Kit sipped her water from a Solo cup. She’d never had a drop of alcohol, never smoked pot once. Had no plans to. She pulled the cup away from her mouth and glanced in Ricky’s direction. She looked at the way he hovered by the window, pretending to look out of it but, in fact, looking nowhere at all. He looked comfortable being in the middle of a party completely alone.

There was something about him.

He was the one she was going to kiss.

10: 00 P. M.

Seth Whittles was standing by the edge of the pool, a bottle of beer in his hand, talking to Hud and Ashley.

Seth’s jeans were cuffed, his high-top Chuck Taylors were new. His hair was shellacked to his head with a preposterous amount of mousse.

“When are you and Jay leaving for Hawaii? ” Seth asked.

“Soon, man, ” Hud replied. “Hoping Jay takes all three events. ”

“You guys will probably get another cover, ” Seth said.

“We’ll see, ” Hud said. “Fingers crossed. ”

“You will, ” Ashley assured him. “I know you will. ”

“For sure, ” Seth said. But then it occurred to him it was odd for Ashley to be there at all. Hadn’t she and Jay broken up recently?

Ashley noticed Seth considering her. Hud noticed it, too.

“I’m going to go get another beer, ” Hud said. “Anybody want anything? ”

“I’ll come with you, ” Ashley said, as if the idea had just come to her.

And the two of them walked away, pretending it was a coincidence they were headed in the same direction.

Seth, now abandoned, sipped his beer awkwardly and looked for someone else to talk to. He scanned faces for any familiarity, tried to make eye contact with any cute girl he could find.

He was—at every party, at every bar, on every beach—living with his heart wide open, looking for the One. His soulmate, his other half. The love of his life.

And yet, he could never find Her. He always found women who thought he was a nice guy but weren’t very interested or women who were interested only until something better came along. But he never could quite find what he was looking for: true love.

And, unfortunately, this party was no different.

He tried to catch the eye of a girl he recognized from General Hospital, which he secretly watched sometimes when he had an afternoon off. He’d been watching more this summer because Luke was back in Port Charles.

He’d thought the actress was gorgeous every time he saw her on the show. And now here she was, smoking a cigarette over by the barbecue.

When she glanced at him, he smiled.

She took a drag of her cigarette without acknowledging him and then looked back to her friends.

If only Seth would make his way out to the driveway. His perfect match was standing right outside.

She was on the first step of the front stoop talking to a group of women about whether Lionel Richie was an asshole. She was arguing that he was not.

Her name was Eliza Nakamura. She was wearing a belted jumpsuit and high heels. Her father was Japanese. Her mother was Swedish. She was a development executive at the Geffen Company. She hated it when people called her a D-Girl.

Every morning she woke up and donned a leotard, leggings, and leg warmers and then made her way to the gym for the 5: 45 aerobics class. Afterward, she showered, ran mousse through her hair, blew it dry, teased her bangs, set it all with hairspray, and then put on her nude hose and one of her power suits. She always doubled up on the shoulder pads.

And then she got in her white convertible and hopped into bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 101.

At work, she read spec scripts and recommended the good ones to her bosses. She gave writers notes. She took lunches with agents and directors at Spago and the Ivy. She scheduled drinks for herself every weeknight with other executives at places like Yamashiro. She kept a Rolodex of every business card she collected. She wanted to run a studio one day. She knew she would be good at it. She knew she could not let anything derail her.

When her boss slipped his hand up the skirt of her suit, she smiled at him and moved away. When a producer chased her around the watercooler, she laughed it off as best she could.

On weekends, she’d hang out with her girlfriends and find a bar on the Sunset Strip—the Roxy, the Rainbow, maybe join the party at the Motley House—and make out with whatever eyeliner-clad metal rocker suited her fancy until the early hours of the night.

Eliza was not looking for love, necessarily. She had other things on her mind. Both long term and short term. She was angling for the head of production opening at work. She was saving up money to buy her own condo in West Hollywood. She had not yet decided if she ever wanted to have children.

But she would welcome a certain type of man in particular: a good man, who was a nice guy, who didn’t play games and understood that her career was important to her, that she could never quit the business, that she was living her dream. A man that could give her an orgasm every night and not expect her to make breakfast in the morning. That Eliza Nakamura would have welcomed with open arms.

But as Eliza stood in the gravel driveway—now listening to her friend Heather and two other girls ponder whether or not to go talk to some actors inside—she was perfectly happy not finding love at all. She had two scripts back at her apartment that she was supposed to finish by Monday morning. She was looking forward to getting that done tomorrow.

And so, she did not go inside. Instead, she hung out in the front yard, talking to her friends.

And Seth hung out in the backyard, looking for love.

Hud grabbed Ashley’s hand. “C’mere, ” he said, as he nodded toward the worn path and stairs down the side of the cliff.

“To the beach? ” Ashley asked.

“Just for a second, just to talk, ” Hud told her. “With no one else around. ”

He led her over to the steps gently and when they got down to the beach, the two of them sat on the sand. It was cold, almost wet, having released the heat of the sun.

Hud put his arm around Ashley and confessed. “I fucked up, ” he said.

“What do you mean? ” she asked.

Hud shook his head, buried it in his hands. He should have told Jay long ago. He should have confessed it all to him the moment he realized he had feelings for Ashley, when she and Jay were still together, before he ever slept with her, before he fell in love with her, before before before.

What sort of man sleeps with his brother’s girlfriend?

“I lied to Jay, ” Hud said. “I made it seem like I wanted to ask you out instead of … well, you know. ”

Ashley braced herself. “And what did he say? ”

Hud looked at her. “He said he’d rather I didn’t. ”

Ashley frowned and turned her head toward the water. She watched it ebb and flow at its own pace, entirely unhurried.

She hadn’t wanted to push him on this. She hadn’t wanted him to feel like he had to choose. But he might have to. That was becoming clearer to her by the minute.

“I’m going to talk to him tonight, ” Hud said. “Again. I really am. I’m going to be firm about it. Explain that I’m very serious about you. And he’s going to understand. ”

Ashley watched the waves come in to the shoreline, watched the moonlight bounce off the water, creating ripples like stripes. She caught her breath.

“Hud, ” she said. “I’m pregnant. ”

11: 00 P. M.

Bobby Housman came through the door looking like he’d raided Jordache. He had on black acid-washed jeans, a yellow patterned button-down shirt, and a jean jacket with the collar flipped up.

He was not handsome. He was portly and had a slightly cartoonish nose. He had always known if he was going to make it in Hollywood, it was going to be behind the scenes. That was fine with him. He’d been studying films since he was old enough to watch them, holed up in his parents’ finished basement outside of Buffalo.

And now he was the guy writing some of the biggest hits of the decade so far. Gorgeous, Baby. Summer Break. My Mia. Bobby Housman was thirty-two and considered Hollywood’s new “It” screenwriter. He’d always imagined that if the day ever came when he was the hottest screenwriter in town, he’d shed his crippling inhibitions and have the time of his life. But in reality, success had not done enough to change him.

Three blockbuster comedies under his belt and he still felt like the weird wallflower at the movie premiere, the guy not making eye contact with anyone at the Golden Globes.

But he always liked the Riva party. He’d been invited to tag along with a producer the summer Gorgeous, Baby came out. That night back in ’80, he’d smoked a joint with Tuesday Hendricks and made her laugh. Every year he came since then, he felt a little bit more like he belonged.

That night, when Bobby set foot on the landing of Nina Riva’s front steps, he saw that the party was packed. He was, in fact, the first person to comment out loud that things were getting a bit crazier than in years past. His exact word was “Whoa. ”

He looked through to the kitchen to see Nina Riva and that tennis guy. She was sipping a glass of wine and talking to a woman next to her.

Bobby couldn’t help but smile just looking at her. He’d loved her T-shirt ad, with her hair hanging long and her arm up against the doorframe. That see-through shirt and red underwear. Soft to the touch. That was gold. He’d come to Hollywood, in part, to meet a girl like that, so tall and lean and tan. California Girls, man. Heartbreakers, all of them.

Bobby watched Nina touch her husband’s arm and then leave the kitchen, out of his sight. He remembered his mission and got to work. He had spent the day procuring an obscene amount of coke and he was going to give it out to everybody. Wallflower no more.

As Bobby stood in the foyer, he saw a cocktail waitress—Caroline—walking by with a tray of shrimp.

“Coconut shrimp? ” she asked when Bobby caught her eye. She moved the tray toward him, grabbing him a napkin.

The very fact of her beauty made Bobby nervous. He tried not to think of it. “Can I … Can I have your tray? ” he asked.

“My tray? ” she said.

“Yes, please. If you don’t mind. ”

“I can’t just give you my tray. ”

“Because it has shrimp on it? ” he said.

“Uh …” she said. “Yeah. ”

Bobby, in a moment of inspiration, took each one of the three remaining shrimp and ate them. And then he said, “Now it doesn’t have shrimp on it. ”

“I guess so, ” Caroline said. She handed it to him and smiled and then started to walk away.

“Wait, ” Bobby said. “I have a gift. For you. If you want. Just hang on. ” He looked at her for only a split second, but in that split second he felt the spark of something strong enough to give him hope in himself.

He wiped the tray down with a napkin. And then took half a brick of cocaine from the inside of his jacket. There was another full brick in his car.

“Oh my God, ” Caroline said.

“I know. ” Bobby poured a little out and started cutting it into as many lines as he could using his Amex Gold. And then he rolled up a hundred. He was embarrassed it was the smallest bill he had.

Then, he held the tray up like a cater waiter would, and he looked at her. She probably went for the smooth guys with the nice hair. Probably didn’t give a second glance to the awkward, chubby ones like him. But somehow, in this moment, he didn’t feel foolish for at least trying. And he briefly considered that maybe that had been the problem all along: that he spent so much time feeling foolish instead of just letting go and risking looking like a fool. “Care for a line? ” Bobby said.

Caroline was enchanted by the reversal. It was more effective than Bobby ever could have imagined. She would so much rather be the one being served than the one doing the serving.

She smiled at him and took the rolled-up hundred he’d extended. She leaned in. It felt cold in her nose, burned her sinuses. She lifted her head back up and said, “Thank you. ”

Bobby smiled at her. “Sure, anytime. ” Then he added, “Just to be clear, for you, I would do absolutely anything at absolutely any time. ”

She blushed.

What was it about him? He wasn’t cute. He didn’t seem cool. But he did make her feel admired. It was as if he understood that she was the true star of this party. And she had come out to Los Angeles all the way from Maryland in search of that very thing: to feel like a star.

“You’re a nice guy, ” Caroline said. “Aren’t you? ”

Bobby gave her a lopsided smile. “Cripplingly so. ”

“Can I get in on that? ” asked Kyle Manheim, who appeared out of nowhere. Caroline had seen him come in with that woman Wendy and the rest of the Riva’s Seafood staff right at seven. He seemed to be intent on having the greatest night of his life.

Bobby held the tray out to him, magnanimously. “I brought enough for everybody! ” he yelled. Caroline tried to slink away, but Bobby mustered up all of his courage and grabbed her hand. “Stay, ” he said. “If you want to. ”

“I’m working, ” she said.

“But there’s no more shrimp. ” Something about the way he said it, the way he was pleading with her to stay by his side, the simplicity of his desire for her company … it was one of the most romantic things Caroline had ever heard. But there’s no more shrimp.

Caroline will think of that moment later on tonight, when she and Bobby have sex in the coat closet by the front door. No one will know they are there. And Bobby will cradle her hair in his hands to make sure her head doesn’t hit the wall behind them. And it will be tender and sweet. And when they are in the throes of passion, cramped up together in that tiny space, barely air between them, Bobby will say, very quietly, “I never thought I’d have a chance with a girl like you, ” and Caroline’s heart will flutter.

They will not know what the future holds or if their paths will ever cross again. But they will feel that—for one night at least—someone has seen them as they have always wanted to be seen. And that will be enough.

One tray of coke being passed around the party quickly became two trays of coke being passed around the party. And, just as swiftly, it was six trays of coke, waitresses offering blow like it was hors d’oeuvres.

To Kit, it felt like one moment she was at a fancy kegger and then she blinked and suddenly everyone around her was high as fuck and believing their own myths about themselves. I am the greatest. I am the funniest. I have it going on.

Kit was offered a line of coke by no fewer than three waitresses before she finally said, “I’m good. Stop offering me cocaine, thanks. ”

She walked to the patio by the firepit because she wanted some fresh air and because Ricky was there. She figured she should give him an opportunity, if that was what you could call it. If he was even interested. Which now she was thinking maybe he wasn’t.

“Uh, hi, ” Ricky said as she stood next to him. He had a small dab of feta dip on the very corner of his lip and Kit wondered if she should tell him.

“Hi, ” she said.

“Yeah, ” Ricky said. He looked down at his sneakers. Then realized what he was doing and looked back up. “I mean, yeah. Totally hi. ”

Kit smiled. Maybe he was interested.

“You have a tiny bit of feta, ” she said, pointing. “On your lip. ”

He took a napkin from the table behind them and wiped it off. “That makes sense, ” he said. “Because now is the moment that I’m finally talking to my dream girl, so yeah, cheese on my face sounds about right. ”

Kit blushed. Ricky smiled.

And Kit started to think this was all a lot easier than she’d made it out to be.

Nina was standing next to Brandon in the living room. He was holding tightly on to her hand and whispering into her ear.

“Thank you, ” he said. “For making me the happiest man in the world. ”

It didn’t sit right with her, the finality in his tone. “I think we still have a lot we have to talk about, ” she said.

“Of course, ” Brandon said, pulling her closer to him. “I know I have a lot of making up to do. I’m just thankful to be given the chance. I’m grateful you’re allowing me to right my wrongs. ”

Nina smiled, uncertain what else to say. She wasn’t quite sure how he ever possibly could right his wrongs. But she supposed she had told him she would let him try.

“So, Bran, tell us, ” said a lanky guy in a striped rugby shirt and salmon-colored chinos. He was standing next to a guy in Bermuda shorts and buckskin shoes. Every year more and more preppies were showing up at her parties and if she was honest with herself, she knew it was Brandon’s influence. “Think you’ll grab another Slam title next month? ”

The front door opened and Nina looked up to find that the person coming across the threshold was a great excuse to leave Brandon’s side. Her closest friend, fashion model Tarine Montefiore.

Eyes turned to look at the singularly gorgeous woman that had just walked in. Most people recognized her from her multiple covers of Vogue and Elle, her contract with Revlon. But even those who could not place her knew she had to be one of the most beautiful women in the world. With dark hair, warm brown eyes, and cheekbones that looked like they could cut you, Tarine seemed carved of marble, with too many casual perfections to be human.

Her hair hung long and straight, her eyes were shadowed in silver and black, her lips were covered in a high clear gloss. She was wearing a white microdress and a black leather motorcycle jacket. She had on black pumps that would have broken anyone else’s ankles if they took a single step but she glided into the room effortlessly.

And then there was the accent. Tarine had been born in Israel to Spanish Jewish parents and then moved to Paris when she was eleven, Stockholm at sixteen, and to New York City when she turned eighteen. She had an accent entirely her own.

She and Nina had met on a Sports Illustrated swimsuit shoot in Panama City a couple years ago. They posed together in yellow bikinis sitting on opposite sides of a dinghy. The photo became so well known, two guys had parodied it on SNL.

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