Sunset Island - Sunset Secrets Part 3

Carrie had been in the girls' bathroom, brushing her teeth before a study date with Josh, when she'd heard someone being sick in one of the stalls.

Sarah had emerged from the stall and rinsed out her mouth in a sink a few feet away from Carrie. Their eyes had met in the mirror over the sinks.

"Are you okay?" Carrie had inquired.

"Oh sure, I just ate too much dinner," Sarah had replied.

"And it made you sick?" Carrie had asked wonderingly.

"Of course not, silly! I made myself sick. You think I want all that fried food turning to cellulite while I sleep?"

"But that's terrible for you, isn't it?" Carrie had asked before she eould censor herself. "I mean, that's what I've heard," she'd added.

"Only if you do it all the time," Sarah had a.s.sured her, reaching into her purse for a lip- stick. "I'm too smart to do anything stupid."

"So you just do it sometimes?" Carrie had asked wonderingly.

"Just enough," Sarah had said with a smile of satisfaction. She'd straightened the narrow belt that encircled her size four jeans. "See ya!" she had called, and sauntered out of the bathroom.

Now, watching skinny Sarah Lovett walk con- fidently down the hall, Carrie thought about what Sarah had told her. Sarah certainly didn't look sick, and she certainly didn't look out of control.

Maybe it isn't such a horrible thing to do, as long as you don't do it very often. Carrie felt a surge of confidence.

Maybe there was a way out after all.

"I must be crazy," sighed Sam as the warm Florida sun bathed her bikini-clad body. "Going north for vacation at this time of year."

"That you're crazy has been well established,"

answered Danny from his nearby spot on the sand. "In fact, traveling north in April might be a sign that the Sunshine State hasn't warped your brain. There's a world outside of sun, surf, and sand, you know."

"Name one thing Florida doesn't have," chal- lenged Sam.

"Ski season, which I hope I'm not too late to enjoy by the time I get to Vermont. Ever tried skiing?"

"It's not a major pastime back in flat ole Kansas."

"Listen, don't knock it," said Danny, propping himself on one elbow and dribbling a handful of sand on Sam's exposed midriff. "For one thing, you'd make a great-looking ski bunny."

He's flirting with me, thought Sam, and quickly groped for something funny to say. "Somehow I've never pictured myself looking all that hot in traction."

She turned over onto her stomach so she wouldn't have to look at him looking at her. It was weird. Not that she wasn't attracted to Danny, because she was. In fact, in the beginning she'd been crazy for him to make a move on her, but he'd been way too shy.

He was, after all, seriously cute. His auburn- streaked brown hair and sea-green eyes made for a stunning combination. When he smiled, which in Sam's company was often, he had that Tom Cruise magnetism that made his good looks seem boyish and unintimidating. Add to this his natural shyness, and Danny presented a challenge that few girls could resist. Actually, Sam was flattered that he'd chosen to become her Mend.

And right now, as Charlie Brown would say, I need all the friends I can get, thought Sam. Now that Danny was finally hinting that he might be interested in more than just friendship, Sam was too afraid to risk what she already had. / mean, it's a well-doc.u.mented fact that once a guy is your boyfriend, he can't possibly be your friend anymore, Sam reasoned.

So far so good, though. Danny didn't show any signs of major disappointment at her sidestep- ping of his tentative advances. Well, thought Sam, maybe that's because all he really wants to be is my friend, anyway. The whole thing seemed too complicated.

That day the two of them had made an excur- sion to Cocoa Beach, a spit of sh.o.r.e just off the east coast of the Florida peninsula, and an easy day trip from Orlando. Danny had the day off from playing Goofy at Disney World, and Sam's waitress shift didn't begin until six o'clock that evening. They'd packed bathing suits and a picnic lunch, had taken the season's first dip in the ocean, and were now enjoying a siesta in the sun before the drive back to Orlando.

"So what's your plan?" Danny queried as he settled back down on the blanket.

"I figure we can stay another half-hour and still make it back on time," Sam said brightly.

"You know that's not what I meant. I meant, what is your plan about your waitress job? You know Big Al isn't going to let you off for two weeks to go on vacation when you just started working there."

"So I'll quit," Sam announced blithely. "Restau- rant jobs are a dime a dozen in Orlando."

"Maybe," Danny said, sounding skeptical.

"Listen, Carrie and Emma and I have been planning this trip ever since our Christmas re- union was almost spoiled," Sam said, raising herself up on one elbow. "I'm not giving it up to stay here in a job where I wear ugly shoes and smell like a deep-fat fryer."

"So how are you going to afford this trip?"

Danny challenged. "Or, for that matter, your rent when you come back? You are coming back, aren't you?"

Sam noted a twinge of apprehension in his voice, and reached out to pat his arm rea.s.sur- ingly. "Yes, Goofy, I'm coming back," she said softly. "As I already told you, Emma's picking me up, so I can stop combing the cla.s.sifieds for airline tickets. That saving alone should leave a little stash for my return."

"I wish you'd change your mind about lying to your friends," said Danny.

"It's my call," Sam said in a tight voice.

"Sure, but it makes me feel crummy," Danny said. "I'd like to see your friend while she's here, and now I'll have to lie to her, too."

"It isn't really a lie," Sam rationalized. "It's more like withholding unpleasant information. I'll level with them once we get to the island." She stood and stretched.

"I don't know-" Danny began doubtfully.

"But I do!" Sam interrupted. She pulled him up from the blanket. "Come on, worrywart. Let's take a stroll and talk about something fun, like our acting careers making us rich and famous someday soon."

Danny agreed-what else could you do with Sam? They started up the beach. The ocean breeze had picked up, forecasting cooler temper- atures as evening arrived.

Sam walked into the wind with her arms extended and her head high, shaking her mane of red hair as if the moving air could clear her conscience. Please get me through this week and on the road before I can tell any more lies, she prayed. She could think of three she'd told in the last five minutes.

There was no extra money to pay the rent after she returned to Orlando. She wasn't at all sure she was even coming back. And she had no intention of letting on to Carrie and Emma how screwed up her life really was.

FOUR.

Brent Cresswell reached over the door of the shiny red Sunbird convertible and placed a finger under his daughter's chin. "Sure I can't buy you breakfast before you get on the road?" he asked for the second time that morning.

"Really, Daddy, you've bought me more than enough," Emma answered, tapping the steering wheel for emphasis. "And I really do need to get started. I never dreamed Orlando was such a long drive from Palm Beach. I guess I've done most of my stateside traveling on planes."

Emma was babbling and she knew it. This was an awkward good-bye, and she couldn't fool her father any more than she could fool herself. Still, some sense of propriety drove both of them to try to salvage, here at the eleventh hour, what had been a relentlessly uncomfortable visit.

If he says one word about how upset Valerie will be that she couldn't drag her sorry self out of bed to see me off, I will vomit right here on this sparkling white upholstery, thought Emma.

"Listen, princess," her father began, "I meant what I said about us becoming a real family again."

Again? thought Emma. We were never a real family.

"I don't want to lose track of you," he contin- ued.

Emma thought of all the birthdays and holi- days when her father had had no idea where she was. A little late for that, isn't it? she wanted to tell him. I'm eighteen years old!

"Stay in touch, Emma. Maybe we can spend some real time together next time I'm up north."

Though she knew he had ulterior motives, Emma realized her father was making a genuine try at affection, and she felt a lump rise in her throat.

He certainly hadn't been the best father in the world, but he was hers.

"Sounds good," she managed. "See you." For a split second she wished she had the kind of family that said, "I love you," but she took her foot off the brake, letting the car glide slowly forward toward the street.

Emma glanced back once in the rearview mirror, and it occurred to her that her father looked a little forlorn standing in the driveway. He gave a subdued wave. She honked the horn as the car accelerated, and he disappeared from view.

Born and raised a lady, Emma drove in silence until she had gotten on Interstate 95 and was certain pa.s.sing traffic would drown out her voice.

Then she let fly with every foul word she'd ever even thought of using. "Valerie Johnson," she concluded, gritting her teeth.

Valerie Johnson was her father's-she could barely form the word, even in her mind-fiancee.

She was even more awful than Emma's worst imaginings. Emma had given herself a pep talk on the plane to Florida and convinced herself that she owed it to her father to give Valerie the benefit of the doubt.

But after five minutes in Valerie's company, Emma had known she would have to throw in the towel.

Standing beside her father in the gate area had been a slightly chubby young woman dressed in a style that fell somewhere between Shirley Temple and Minnie Mouse. While everyone in sight had been in typical Florida casual attire, Valerie had dressed for the occasion in a black flared miniskirt with a white lace hem, a black-and- white polka-dot puffy-sleeved top, and a yellow bolero jacket. Black granny heels, ruffled white party socks, and a polka-dot hairband with an oversized bow completed the ensemble. Her hair fell in bright yellow curls to her shoulders, framing a round face with too much makeup and a constant expression of surprise.

Emma had felt her stomach drop.

"And this, of course, is Valerie," her father had announced with pride after a warm embrace for Emma.

"You don't look anything like I thought you would!" Valerie had squeaked, her penciled eye- brows shooting up in amazement.

And you look just how you sound-it's amaz- ing! Emma had thought to herself. What she had actually said aloud was something more along the lines of "nice to meet you."

While her father was loading Emma's bag into the trunk, Valerie had turned and leaned over the back of the Lincoln's front seat, her overly mas- caraed eyes peering at Emma's hairline. "Your color's fabulous! Who does it?"

"Nature," Emma had answered truthfully.

Valerie had clapped her little hands together with glee. "Good for you! I've used that line myself for years," she'd added confidentially.

Brent had beamed at them both as he got in and started the car. "Well, I'm glad to see my two girls are getting along so well."

"Oh, we are, Brentsie!" Valerie had a.s.sured him breathlessly.

Brentsie?

"I thought we'd go straight to the showroom and get you started on picking out a car, Emma,"

her father had said over his shoulder. "If we get lucky, you'll be driving your new set of wheels by lunchtime. I have an afternoon appointment and thought you girls might like to get in some shopping."

"Glorious!" Valerie had chirped. "Emma can help me pick out a few more things for my trousseau!"

Trousseau? As in wedding? As in Brentsie and Valerie?

Of course, she'd known about it, but deep in her heart Emma had hoped it wasn't really true.

But sitting in the back seat, she hadn't been able to ignore the large diamond that the yellow- curled woman flashed on her left hand.

Car shopping had been quick. Trousseau shop- ping had taken forever. It seemed that Brentsie had put no limits on Valerie's charge card. It had been obvious to Emma that Valerie was a woman who lived for conspicuous consumption.

Now-was it only twenty-four hours later?- Emma was just thankful to be putting the whole hideous experience behind her. That her father was going to marry that moron was just too excruciating to believe.

Emma wheeled into the parking lot of a road- side diner where a giant orange the size of a hot- air balloon promised fresh-squeezed orange juice and home-style breakfasts.

Two young guys in an old station wagon with a couple of surfboards on the top were just pulling out, and as Emma got out of the car they honked appreciatively at her-or was it just the sporty red convertible? The guy in the pa.s.senger seat leaned out the window toward her. Emma smiled to herself as he pretended to wrench his heart from his chest and toss it to her.

He's cute too, she admitted. Then and there Emma resolved to forget about her neurotic parents and their horrid choice in mates. That was their problem. She was young, free, rich, and on vacation. It was time to leave yesterday's baggage behind and let the good times roll.

Sitting in one of the old-fashioned booths with a tableside jukebox, Emma thought of Sam, only a few hours away and awaiting her arrival. By that night they'd be at Stingray's dancing with all those cute guys.

For the first time in twenty-four hours, she had a real appet.i.te.

"And that's exactly why we can't go to Sting- ray's," Sam finished telling Danny. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave, eh?"

quipped Danny. "You may want to blow off your friends from Disney World, but how do you know Emma's not counting on going out tonight? You're the one who planned it."

"That was before I reorganized my brain cells,"

retorted Sam. "Obviously I can't take the chance that someone will tell her I'm not with the troupe anymore. Besides, I told her we should head on up to Daytona and cruise the scene there. I'll just convince her we should go right there and not spend any time here in Orlando."

"Let me get this straight," Danny began. "You're willing to deprive me of Emma's company, and a last night with you; you're willing to give up partying with a lot of people who like you a lot and are always asking how you're doing-and all to keep up appearances for someone who is, supposedly, one of your very best friends?" He shook his head. "Maybe you'd better rethink your priorities."

"Maybe you'd better loosen your ca.s.sock, pal,"

scoffed Sam. "If I need a priest, I'll go to confes- sion."

Danny's expression told her that her words had stung, and Sam felt a stab of regret. Haw can I hurt Danny like this? she thought. But another voice in her head countered, / have simply got to get out of this town!

Danny had picked her up an hour ago, and they were now relaxing on the balcony of his second- floor apartment after stashing a few of Sam's things in the storage area below. Sam's excuse was that her roommates always borrowed her clothes, and she didn't want to leave her stuff lying around to be picked over while she was out of town.