Sunset Boulevard Part 9

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" she said, embarra.s.sed.

Turning to look at her, his eyes dark serious, Jake shook his head. "No, I get it," he said. A smile crossed his face. "I guess I've spent so much time dreaming of the day I'll get out of this place that I never thought about what I'd do if I didn't have it. Don't get me wrong, being in the movie has been fun and all, but I don't think I'd want to look back and not have had the experience of going to high school. It's one of those things you need, but for reasons beyond what they tell you in the brochure."

"Do you really mean that?" Amelie asked. Hunter had literally laughed at her when she'd said she wanted to go to a real school. And here Jake was, reading her mind.

Jake nodded. "Yeah," he said, sounding like he'd surprised even himself with his answer. "Really. As much as BHH has beaten me up over the years, and I mean beaten up literally..." He laughed, the sound emanating from deep inside him. As it filled the air between them, Amelie found herself laughing too, her eyes closed and her body soaking up the warm feeling of being really, truly understood.

"Hey, guys. I hope you weren't talking about me." Kady threw herself down on the bench, halfway on Jake's lap. She grinned h.e.l.lo at Amelie, then leaned back into Jake and cooed, "Sorry I kept you waiting." She planted a huge kiss on his mouth. Amelie's heart dove, lodging itself firmly in the pit of her stomach.

Just as Kady ran her Russian Navy nails through Jake's curls, Amelie saw her mom's Jaguar pull up in front of the school.

Amelie jumped from the bench. "Have fun tonight, guys," she said, speed-walking down the main path to her mom's idling car before Kake even had the chance to say goodbye.

As they started to drive, Amelie could see that her mom was tired. Helen's short, always-perfect red bob was mussed in some places, flyaway hairs gleaming every time they pa.s.sed beneath one of the light posts lining the 405 freeway. With every lane change, she sipped from her venti espresso. The fact she was having caffeine after 4 p.m. was a dead giveaway.

"Did you have a good day, Am?" she asked, touching beneath her eyes, as if the dark circles might sprout into something grotesque.

Amelie nodded, looking out the window at cars whizzing by. For a week now, she'd been itching to hear what her mom would think of sending her to BHH. She hadn't had an opening, though. Some nights, it was hard to get Helen to go from momager to just Mom.

"I have to say, I'm having the worst time getting the Kidz Network people to schedule your Christmas special so you can still do the voice-over for that Pixar short. It's like they're jealous of you working with other companies."

Amelie leaned back in her leather seat, watching as the Getty Center came up ahead of them. She realized there would never be a perfect moment for her to say, "Hey, Mom, I want to go to high school." But after her conversation with Jake, she felt invigorated. She had to just do it.

"Maybe I don't have to do both," Amelie offered, testing the water. "I mean, Pixar is due for a bomb. And maybe there's something else I could be doing."

Helen's eyes flicked sideways, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised with interest. "Did you hear about something on set today? Are they still talking about a sequel? Because I don't know if you should do another teen movie right away."

"Not exactly," she said, a little hurt that her mom's mind always jumped to business. "Shooting at BHH made me realize something."

"Oh, really? And what's that?" Helen caught Amelie's eye in the rearview mirror.

"That I think that I should go to high school. To BHH."

Helen was silent for a moment, her eyes focused on the road. Her face was unreadable as she said, "And why do you want to go to high school?"

Because I could have friends, and live a normal life. And maybe even have a boyfriend, if Jake and Kady ever break up, Amelie thought. "I just think it's important," she answered, trying to paraphrase Jake's words. "I don't want to look back one day and not have had that experience."

Helen shook her head, her fingers kneading the skin beneath her eye. "So what you're telling me is that, all over the world, other girls want to be like you, but you want to be like them?"

Amelie knew the question was rhetorical, and there was no point in answering, but she nodded anyway. "Yeah," she said, a note of pleading in her voice. "Even for a little while, just to see how it goes."

Helen reached for her coffee and gulped down a long sip, as if the cup contained a rebellious-daughter elixir. "Honey, I wish it was so simple," she said, patting Amelie's knee. "But you live in a different world, and you're doing great in that world. You should be proud of what you have. Do you understand?"

Amelie felt so crestfallen that she was almost drinking her tears as she held them back. She rolled down her window. The air, now turned cold, coursed over her face in angry waves, like the whole world had officially turned against her.

Ahead of them, a driver flicked the still-orange tip of a cigarette out his window. As the b.u.t.t hit the asphalt, hundreds of glowing embers exploded against the black and then died out.

To Amelie, it looked like the detritus of her now-extinguished hope.

WHY DON'T YOU WINE ABOUT IT?

"I'm here to pick up Daisy Morton," Ash said to the bored-looking receptionist at the front desk of the Beverly Hills Police Department. With its white pillars, columns, and floors so shiny your shoes squeaked, it looked like the White House's West Coast cousin.

Gordon had called in the middle of Ash and Tucker's band practice-really an excuse to eat and talk about girls-and told him he needed him, Daisy had been arrested and to pick her up at the BHPD. Ash thought jail was the perfect place for his charge, but said nothing to Gordon, who was already mad that Daisy had used her phone call on him, knowing Ash wouldn't answer.

The woman pressed a b.u.t.ton and directed Ash inside. In a small, gla.s.s-windowed room Daisy was pacing back and forth like a caged beast, soaked head to toe in something red. Holy s.h.i.t-was that dried blood? Had she finally snapped and killed someone?

A grim-faced officer with a head too long for his squat body stepped into the corridor. "You responsible for this one?" He gestured to Daisy, who was giving him the finger though the gla.s.s.

"I guess," Ash said.

"Bail's been posted already, by Gordon Gilmour." The officer held out a clipboard. "Sign here and here, and I'll let you take her home."

"What did she do?" Ash asked, afraid to hear the answer. "Is that... blood?"

"Charles Shaw, from Trader Joe's," the cop said, suppressing a laugh. Seeing Ash's puzzled face, he clarified. "It's two-dollar wine, son. People call it Two-Buck Chuck. She was in line, had no ID, and when they wouldn't let her buy it without proof of age, she started smashing bottles into a case of frozen shrimp. No injuries, fortunately, but the store is pressing charges."

Ash sighed, glad her crime wasn't serious but still dreading alone time with Crazy Daisy. The cop nodded, saying, "I'm gonna get a few more guys. I'm not going in there alone."

Great, Ash thought, watching as Daisy pressed her face against the gla.s.s like a blowfish.

Four cops emerged from a back room and somberly entered the holding cell.

"Well, if it isn't the f.u.c.kety f.u.c.ks of f.u.c.kville," Daisy screeched. "You need four of you big, strapping babies for little ol' me? You touch me in one wrong place, and I'll go all Catholic Church s.e.x scandal on your out-of-shape a.s.ses."

Ash couldn't help chuckling at the horrified faces of four of Beverly Hills' finest. They gingerly took each of Daisy's arms, two to a side, and she dragged her feet along the tile floor, the cops practically lifting her off the ground.

Seeing Ash, she sprang back onto her feet, shook off the cops, and bounced over to him, like a girl chasing a b.u.t.terfly. Her rainbow tutu fluttered with each skipping step. "Hi, you," she said, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. "Let's get the f.u.c.k out of this s.h.i.thole. Toodles, wussyboys!"

They left the police station behind them, and Ash drove. But Daisy refused to get out of the car when he pulled up to the W. "No, the photogs know I'm staying here and they got enough for one night. See? I'm on TMZ already."

She reached over, taking Ash's iPhone from his pocket and pulling up the site. Crazy Daisy Two-Buck Chucked, read the headline. Accompanying it was camera phone video of her wailing like a banshee as she smashed individual bottles into a freezer drawer.

Ash glanced sideways at his pa.s.senger. She looked as bad as ever. Mascara dripped down from her eyes in points, her hair a multicolored snarl, like something two Muppets would leave behind after a battle to the death. Her T-shirt-which featured a gnome in the gra.s.s and read Sod Off!-was so wine-soaked he could feel the fumes making their way up his nostrils. Where could he take her? He didn't want to go back to Tucker's-Tucker's dad, the famous singer Dell Pearl, had outfitted the garage so it was too professional, with its state-of-the-art recording equipment and pristine lounge area. It was kind of embarra.s.sing, actually, and for some reason he couldn't tolerate the idea of Daisy seeing how sleek, how not rock 'n' roll their practice s.p.a.ce was. Besides, he wasn't confident she wouldn't destroy anything there. Unfortunately, he also couldn't imagine another hotel letting Daisy check in. "Fine, we'll go to my house." He resignedly pulled a U-turn and headed toward his neighborhood.

Daisy closed her eyes, leaning deeply into the bucket seat. "Sounds perfect."

Looking at her almost peaceful face, Ash wondered if he was like the lead in a horror movie-just naive enough to invite the killer inside.

Daisy was... cooperating. So far, she'd agreed to take a shower and change into some of Tessa's old clothing. She'd even unhooked a menu for a new deli from the front door and deposited it neatly on the kitchen counter. She was upstairs showering now, as Ash waited fearfully downstairs. Would Daisy come out high and in full psycho mode again? He debated checking on her, but decided the longer she stayed in Tessa's room, the better. While he waited he called the new deli and ordered several sandwiches and mac and cheese.

Ash sank into one of the burgundy chaise lounges in the front room. He hadn't even walked into the room-dubbed "Fancy Land" by him and Tessa when they were kids-in months. As he glanced at the row of their cla.s.s photos on the mantel of the double-size gas fireplace, he missed his sister. He reclined on the chaise, his eyes running over the keys of the baby grand piano where he used to take lessons. He'd never been that great at keyed instruments, and his dad had let him drop piano and double up on guitar when he was ten. He heard soft footfalls upstairs, and then a padding of feet down the steps.

Daisy softly entered with a barely audible "Hi." But she wasn't Daisy anymore. Or at least not Crazy Daisy. Her hair, still slightly wet, curled at her neck, but all the red and purple streaks were gone, leaving shiny walnut-colored locks behind. Her face was free of makeup, and her skin was like porcelain, a healthy glow visible now that she wasn't wearing caked-on powder. She was still thin, but wrapped in one of Tessa's old cream cardigans, she just looked pet.i.te, not painfully malnourished. Her light gray eyes caught the light, dancing happily over the piano.

Ash couldn't stop staring, unsure what to say. She didn't just look normal. She looked... beautiful.

The doorbell rang, startling Ash almost as much as Daisy's complete 180. "I ordered food," he said almost to himself.

"I can get it," Daisy offered.

"No," Ash said, leaping up and crossing in front of her. "I have to sign." The delivery guy, a pudgy kid in a torn UCLA sweatshirt, handed over several bags, and accepted Ash's signature and tip with an appreciative grunt, his eyes never leaving Daisy.

Ash brought the bags to the kitchen, splitting the sandwiches onto two plates. He put them down on the kitchen table. The first occasion he'd had in months to use more than one table setting, and it involved Daisy Morton? That would go first on the list of things he'd never thought could happen but had.

He gestured for Daisy to sit and she thanked him, sitting down. Ash tentatively bit into a roast beef sandwich, trying not to stare. But he couldn't help it. Fortunately, she broke the silence first.

"So, thanks for coming to get me, and for, you know, everything." She gestured to the food and then to herself, as if Ash was responsible for her makeover.

Ash smirked. "Well, I'm not going to leave a girl at the Beverly Hills jail," he said, finding himself unable to look away from her. "Even if it is fancier than the W."

Daisy c.o.c.ked her head to one side, her shiny hair tumbling in front of her silvery eyes. "Just admit it, Ash Gilmour. You're a nice guy."

Ash took a bite of his sandwich and chewed, sort of teasing her as he mulled it over. "Not to everyone, I'm not," he finally said. It was true. He'd had no intention of being nice to Daisy until that night at the Powerhouse. Watching all those guys act like they had the right to ogle her had really upset him.

"Well, since you've been so nice to me, don't you think you deserve to know why I look so different?" Daisy took a healthy gulp of milk, eyeing him over the gla.s.s.

"A little, yeah," Ash said, scanning her silky hair. "Where are the red and purple streaks?"

"My mum would kill me if I dyed my hair with permanent stuff," she said. "I either use the wash-out stuff for all-over color or pin in dyed extensions."

"Okay..." Ash said slowly. "But, why do you care what your mom thinks? I mean, would you be going around destroying cheap wine bottles if you were her little angel?"

Daisy laughed. "I really thought you could see right through me. Guess I'm better than I thought. You can't say anything, not even to your dad...."

"Not much chance of him listening to me, so don't worry."

"It's an act," she continued, watching as the knowledge spread over Ash's face. "I'm not crazy. Okay, no more crazy than any other girl."

Ash spun a piece of macaroni around on his plate. Could it really be possible? Did Daisy have a split personality or something? Her crazy side had seemed so real. "But why?"

"It's a long story, and of course it involves a boy," she said.

"Really?" Ash had heard she'd met her boyfriend through a prison pen-pal program. "That guy in jail?"

Daisy shook her head. "No, that's another stunt. This guy, you've probably heard of him, Robbie Tartan, he's a rock star in London."

Ash nodded. Robbie Tartan and the Screeches were a punk band with a few okay songs, but they'd never made it stateside.

Daisy shrugged. "We used to date, when I was sixteen. But I wasn't a pop star then. I did mostly singer-songwriter stuff, on the piano. I had cla.s.sical training as a kid, so my music was kind of... mature. Not Billboard chart stuff, not stuff that gets you in the gossip columns. In England, the tabloids are even worse than they are here. There's no 'Stars... They're Just Like Us!' column. They want you to talk to pigeons and shoplift at Boots to take your picture. And Robbie, he liked attention, and he didn't get it with me. We would go to events and they'd pa.s.s right over us. So he dumped me."

Ash could see where this was going. "So Crazy Daisy was born out of a need for revenge?"

"More like out of insecurity." Daisy grimaced. "I wanted to show him that I could be bigger and better than anyone he'd ever date. And I wanted to show myself that I wasn't just some loser n.o.body. So far, so good. When I got the call from your dad, to record an American alb.u.m with More, Robbie called me wanting to hang out again. I told him to b.u.g.g.e.r off."

She smiled wanly, her dark red lips shining.

"That's good at least," Ash said. "But I'm sorry that a guy would treat you that way."

"It's okay. I mean, I'd be lying if I said there's not a side of me that sort of enjoys letting my crazies out. And getting rewarded for it," she said. "I tell myself that as long as I know I'm pulling a Crazy Daisy move, that I'm still okay. I'm not too far gone. The only bad part is, the music I play now, it's not how I'd do it if I were just regular old Daisy. There wouldn't be a dance club remix of 'Feather in Your Cap.' It's a ballad, actually sort of the way that redhead was playing it at Powerhouse. It's about Robbie."

Ash was intrigued. He'd always liked "Feather in Your Cap," out of all Daisy's songs. The lyrics were beautiful, and he knew she'd written them herself. "Can I hear it?" he asked, gesturing to the piano.

Daisy nodded. "Sure." She took a seat at the baby grand, and began to play a slow, angelic melody. Her voice seemed to come from somewhere outside herself as she sang.

"... I was just a notch upon your bedpost, Some guys' night talk, a drunken boast.

Just a scribble in your datebook, Someone you let off the hook.

You think I'm just a feather in your cap Just a pin upon your map That I'm just a number, in this urban jungle.

But when... will... you... realize...

I... will... cut... you... down... to... size..."

She ended the song with a flourish, the sigh of each key caressing Ash's eardrums. Lyrically, the song bore no resemblance to his and Myla's epic romance, but the sad weight of the music reminded him of how lonely he was without her.

Daisy drew out the last few notes on the piano, the last key like a cool breeze floating through the room. She looked at him hopefully over the top of the dark wood instrument. "Did you like it?"

Ash finally exhaled, and it felt like the first time he'd breathed in months. "I loved it. I was just thinking... I can relate."

"Tell me," Daisy said, rising from the piano bench and crossing the room to take a seat next to him on the couch.

He didn't know what came over him, but he started to tell Daisy the whole story. About Myla being gone this summer, their fight, the Lewis thing, all of it. She listened intently, her eyes filled with the sympathy of someone who had had their heart broken into a million pieces too.

"You never know," Daisy said, when he was done. "It might work out for the best."

"Yeah," Ash said, feeling slightly embarra.s.sed. Daisy was a great listener, just when he'd needed a great listener. Tucker and Geoff had never been in serious relationships, so he never thought they'd understand his Myla stuff. But it wasn't like Ash really knew Daisy, or like they were even friends. For all he knew, she was just being nice because he was Gordon's son. He wanted to change the subject. "So, if you're not really nuts, does that mean Amy Winehouse is an act too?"

Daisy giggled, shaking her head so that waves of her light hair spun around her face like sunbeams. "No way. Girl needs some major repairs. She's absolutely mental. And that's coming from someone who just attacked a case of frozen shrimp with cheap merlot."

Ash threw his head back and laughed like a madman. Daisy was right. It did feel good to let his crazies out.

TUCKER IN.

Jojo sat in the back of the Everharts' hybrid SUV on Sat.u.r.day, flipping through old photos on her new iPhone. There was one of her and Willa, each with an arm inside a triple-extra-large JFK soccer hoodie that had arrived by accident from the uniform company. One of Willa, Samantha, and Debs, all huddled under a canopy during a game they'd played in the rain last year. Willa's beaming face seemed to say, "Wish you were here."

"What are you doing?" Myla asked, craning her neck from the row of leather seats opposite Jojo.

"Nothing," Jojo said, flipping the screen back to its wallpaper, a shot of her and Myla taken a few days ago in Myla's room. They both wore sheer Dolce & Gabbana bow blouses, Myla's in royal blue, Jojo's a deep green. Both girls' hair had the same sleek sheen, and their identical matte-red half-smiles were straight out of Teen Vogue.

"Your swimsuit is coming untied," Myla said, sliding along the seat and yanking the halter straps of Jojo's Trina Turk orange leaf-print bikini tight against her neck. Jojo winced as a strand of her hair got caught in the knot. Myla freed it, not as delicately as Jojo would've liked. Satisfied, Myla smoothed her own Milly daisy-print cover-up over her Betsey Johnson Black Magic bikini, which was basically waterproof lingerie.

Charlie, their driver, turned off the PCH onto Malibu Road, high up above the Pacific Ocean. The water was an inky blue dappled in sunlight, and all along the bluffs on the opposite side were homes teetering on precipices above the sea. Some were enormous, castlelike estates that reminded Jojo of the Everhart mansion in Beverly Hills. Others were modern, three-story squares, whole sides made of windows that overlooked the ocean. Behind them stood mountains. To live here would mean walking out your front door to the Pacific, with your back door leading you right into the hills.

As they drove further, the SUV came closer to land, until they were driving down a small road lined with beachfront homes, each one gated. Some had tiered buildings like Chinese paG.o.das painted in reds and oranges. Others looked like Spanish missions unfolding along the rocks. Finally, they pulled into a narrow wraparound drive, on the back end of what Jojo could only describe as an impossible house. It swooped and curved, with rounded walls made entirely of gla.s.s that reflected yellow and blue, with the rays of the sun and the rippling of the water. Orange blossom bushes and star jasmine encircled a rooftop balcony. Jojo could already see most of her BHH cla.s.smates gathered there, on a patio with a pool and a mile-long thatched roof bar.

She felt her nerves activate, and her stomach began to whine from anxiety. She widened her eyes at perfectly poised Myla, as if to say, Should I really be here?