Bad to the Bone (14 page)

Flipper was murmuring into Lydia's ear. “I grew up in Hollywood. My dad is an agent at CAA. He reps some of the biggest people in the business,” he confided. “But I gotta tell you—this is freakin' unbelievable.”

Lydia leaned into his muscular shoulder and looked around Nate 'n' Al's, a landmark Beverly Hills deli. “If you're lyin', you're dyin',” she agreed.

It was the next day at lunchtime, just before the late-afternoon RMA rehearsal at the Kodak Theatre. The high school was out of session because of a teacher in-service day so Lydia didn't even have to skip school to go to rehearsal. After Kiley got Serenity Sid, and Bruce off to school, she was free, too. Esme had called and told them she'd meet them there later, that things with her parents were really bad; they might even have to return to Mexico. The whole thing, she said, would be resolved today. There was still a
chance that either Steven or Jorge's father could defuse the crisis, but Esme had to spend the day preparing for any and all eventualities.

When Lydia had left her aunt's estate, Audrey was still fast asleep—Lydia knew Audrey didn't have to rehearse until later that afternoon, so she didn't wake her. When Lydia had shown up at the Kodak, Kiley was already there. They spent two hours stuffing inserts into three thousand programs, put ting name cards on fifteen hundred seats in the bottom tiers in accordance with a seating chart Jocelyn handed them when they arrived, and personally e-mailing about a hundred seat-fillers, whose job was to fill the seats for any down-front attendees who needed to take a bathroom break. “Empty seats on TV are death,” Jocelyn told them. “If there are any, I'm holding you personally responsible.”

The work was tedious. That a trained monkey could do it was obvious to Lydia. However, the trained monkey would not appreciate the sound track—some of the best singers and bands in the world were onstage rehearsing while Lydia and Kiley went about their mundane tasks: Coldplay, Fergie, Usher, Justin Timberlake.

Audrey wandered in around one; she and Platinum weren't scheduled to rehearse until four o'clock. When the stage manager called a lunch break, Audrey told Lydia that she was going to lunch with some of her mates, and would Lydia like to join them? There was a famous delicatessen in Beverly Hills called Nate 'n' Al's,' right on Rodeo Drive. That was where they'd be, and if Lydia wanted to call a friend to meet them, that was fine too.

Lydia's first thought was to ask Kiley, but her friend had been commandeered to make another one of those food runs to the Grove for show personnel who wouldn't be leaving the theater. So Lydia had called Flipper, who was out surfing by Will Rogers Beach. Would he like to join Lydia, Audrey, and a bunch of rock stars for lunch? She didn't have to ask him twice. He said he'd meet her there in twenty minutes; he just had to load up his van with his surfboard and get out of his wet suit.

Flipper arrived in time for the main course. By then, Audrey and Lydia were at a table for ten. There was one older man who Lydia thought was Clive Davis, top record producer of all time—she'd seen him on
American Idol
. She also recognized John Mayer with some blonde, Adam Levine from Maroon 5, and Fergie, who was dressed down in pink sweats, a baseball cap, and huge sunglasses.

Flipper wore jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt. He slid into the seat Lydia had saved to her right. It turned out that he actually knew Mr. Davis because of his dad, and they chatted like old friends.

Evidently Clive Davis's assistant had ordered for the table before they arrived, and the food kept coming and coming—huge platters of fresh-baked bagels and trays of pastrami, corned beef, and even pickled tongue. Back in Amazonia, every part of a hunted animal was consumed by the tribesmen, so when most of the people at the table turned up their noses at the tongue, Lydia chowed down happily. There were also potato knishes, cheese and blueberry blintzes, a tureen of chicken noodle soup with matzoh balls, kasha, pickled green
tomatoes and cucumbers, and a dessert called halvah that was made from ground sesame seeds. Lydia thought it was the best thing she'd ever tasted.

The most fun of all, though, was the attention she and the rest of the table were getting from other diners. Nate 'n' Al's attracted a very mixed crowd: agents from William Morris, whose offices were just down the street, tourists checking out the stores on Rodeo Drive, musicians, performers, directors, and just ordinary ladies who lunched. All of them except for the tourists were used to seeing celebrities in bars and restaurants. It was normally no more noteworthy than spotting a squirrel. Lydia realized, however, that this table was an exception. It was so star-studded that patrons kept figuring out reasons to pass by on a roundabout trip to the deli counter or the bathroom. Many of them snapped photographs with their cell phones. Lydia liked that. A lot. It made her feel as if she was where she belonged.

“Any word on what you'll be doing during the awards Saturday night?” Flipper asked as he bit into a sesame bagel slathered with cream cheese.

“Not a clue,” Lydia said. “If it's something glamorous I'm shit out of luck. I don't have a gown to wear.”

“I thought you stole stuff from your aunt,” Audrey said.

“I borrow,” Lydia corrected, “I don't steal. And my aunt doesn't do gowns. When she has to get dressed up she goes for a tuxedo.”

Flipper grinned. “You'd look cute in a tuxedo.”

Lydia shook her head. The girl with John Mayer snuggled under his heavily tattooed arm and moved in for a very public
display of affection.
Desperate for attention
, Lydia thought.
Of course, I wouldn't mind kissing him myself….

“So, you gonna go for the tux, sweets?” Audrey asked Lydia.

“Not really my style. And I don't have money for a dress.”

“You shouldn't let money stop you,” the rock star told her, lighting a cigarette until Clive told her that even though she was who she was, they were not going to let her smoke in any restaurant in Los Angeles.

“Bloody uptight Americans,” she groused, stubbing the cigarette out on the edge of her plate. She put her hands on her stomach. “I ate my bloody weight just now. Balls.”

This struck Lydia as hilarious. Audrey was teeny-tiny with a stomach that was practically concave.

“I need some bloody exercise after that feed,” Audrey said. She slid out of her chair. “Lydia?”

“You want me to come with you?” Lydia asked.

“Your friend Phil won't mind,” Audrey said. “Right, Phil?”

“Flipper,” he corrected easily. “Not a problem. I'm fine.”

“I agree,” said a flirtatious girl whose name Lydia had never caught. She had great red hair, huge green eyes, even huger fake boobs popping out of her low-cut T-shirt, and a serious case of lips overstuffed with collagen, also known as trout pout.

Flipper smiled at her. “Thanks.”

Flipper was
such
a flirt. Which bothered Lydia not at all. She gave him a quick kiss goodbye and took off with Audrey.

“Where are we going?” Lydia asked as they hit the bright daylight and the blast of hot air on the street.

“Mystery trip, ducks,” Audrey replied.

Fair enough. A mystery trip with one of the biggest rock stars in the world, whom she could now call her friend and who was living at her place for a week. What could be bad? Nothing. What could be good? All she had to do was go along and find out.

They never even had to get into a car to reach their destination. The Valentino boutique was at 360 Rodeo Drive, an easy walk from the restaurant. It had a white storefront with two huge picture windows, and the name of the store etched into the stone above in big block letters. Audrey had called ahead as they walked. Not only did a personal saleswoman meet them at the door, but the boutique was also closed for an hour so that Audrey could shop without getting harassed.

The saleswoman introduced herself as Lily. She had a deep Lauren Bacall kind of voice, curly red hair, and porcelain skin. She wore a perfect black pencil skirt and a pale lavender silk blouse with a dozen strands of pearls gracing her swanlike neck. If she was impressed by being with the great Audrey Birnbaum, she didn't let it show.

“Hello, Ms. Birnbaum,” Lily said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Call me Audrey or I'll look around for me old lady,” Audrey groused. “This is my friend Lydia.”

“Hey,” Lydia said. She was not easily intimidated.

“Treat her like she's my family, Lily,” Audrey ordered.

“My pleasure,” Lily said smoothly. “What are you looking for, Lydia?”

“I'm not,” Lydia said, because now she was quite confused. She was happy to accompany Audrey on a shopping trip; it was exciting to see that Audrey had the kind of clout
where they'd close the shop for her, but Lydia was definitely not looking to shop for herself. She reckoned there was nothing in this boutique with a price tag that didn't go at least four digits.

“I'm buying you a gown,” Audrey explained. Before Lydia could protest, Audrey launched into an explanation for Lily: Lydia would be attending the Rock Music Awards and she needed a killer gown. Money was irrelevant; the only criterion was that it should make Lydia look hotter than she'd ever looked in her life.

Lydia liked that idea. But she could also hear her mother's voice in her head, saying she should refuse such an extravagant gift.

She mentally told her mother to hush and just said, “Thank you.”

Lily gave Lydia the once-over. “A size four, but busty,” she concluded. “Some of the designers don't make clothes for women with curves,” she confided. “So, let's get started. Color?”

“White, maybe?” Audrey suggested to Lydia. “Or silver?”

“Or red?” Lydia asked hopefully. “Or magenta?”

“Got it. I'll be right back. I've got just the thing.”

Lily didn't go to one of the clothing racks. Instead, she headed into a back room, while Audrey and Lydia were ushered by an assistant to a couple of comfortable padded chairs, and offered flutes of champagne.

“Is this how you always shop?” Lydia asked, enjoying the sensation of the champagne bubbles tickling her tongue.

“Either this or else I order online and skip the whole ordeal,” Audrey said. “Fame has its drawbacks.”

Lily returned with four gowns over her arm. “Shall we go back to the dressing room so that you can try them on?”

“Shall we see what we're dealing with first?” Audrey suggested.

Lily had an assistant hold up the gowns one by one. The first was a bias-cut silver silk with sequins around the navel and a low neckline. The second was lipstick red, a strapless chiffon. The third was white, with pin tucks and a draped back. And the fourth was a rich magenta silk, cinched under the bust and flowing to the floor with a slit up one leg.

“That one,” Lydia said, pointing to the magenta gown. “It's perfect.”

“Well then, go try it on, ducks,” Audrey urged. “I'll wait here and enjoy the bubbly.”

Lily led the way to the dressing room, which was as big as the guest cottage Lydia lived in. The walls were pink-and-white-striped wallpaper, the carpeting a thick cream color. Lydia was not at all shy about nudity. She whipped off her clothes while Lily stood there and helped her into the dress.

“You can't wear a bra with it,” Lily said. “But there's boning under the bust; you won't need one.”

Lydia took off her sheer black Chantilly bra and Lily dropped the dress over her head. The silk fell around her feet. Lydia lifted her girls above the boning, and when Lily zipped the gown, she had cleavage for days.

“Oh my,” Lily breathed.

“Dang, I could go gay for me,” Lydia joked to her own reflection. Lily didn't laugh. “Joking,” she explained.

Lily smiled on cue. It occurred to Lydia that when you were famous, people never really acted normal around you.

Lydia glanced down at the tiny price tag held to the dress with a minute gold pin. She couldn't help herself. She peeked. The dress was more than five thousand dollars.

“Of course, you still need shoes,” Lily said.

“Got 'em.” The door opened and Audrey walked in with a pair of deep purple satin pumps dangling from her fingers. “They were in the window,” she told Lydia. “Holy shit, you look bloody fantastic in that.”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Birnbaum, but those shoes are only for display—” Lily began.

“If they fit my friend here, they're no longer for display. You an eight?”

Lydia nodded. She stepped into the sky-high pumps. The open toe was surrounded by crystals.

“That's the dress and those are the shoes,” Audrey pronounced. “Weren't you easy to shop for.”

“I don't know how to begin to thank you,” Lydia said as Lily carefully unzipped her.

“We're friends, ducks,” Audrey said simply. “Share and share alike, I always say.” She plucked a credit card from her purse and handed it to Lily, then Lydia pulled on her jeans, bra, and T-shirt.

“Is there a reason you're being this nice to me?” Lydia asked. Maybe this was all a lead-up to hitting on her. But no, Audrey had talked about the mad affair she was having with her bass player, a tall, thin Jamaican guy.

“Not hitting on you, ducks.” Audrey slung an arm around Lydia's shoulder. “Here's how I see it. Guys come and go, but girlfriends are forever.”

Dang. One of the most famous rock singers in the world
just
liked
her, and was doing nice things for her because of that. Lydia thought that if she was in the same position, she'd do the same for Esme and Kiley. Still, it was awfully fun to be the recipient of this kind of largesse.

“Then I'll say thank you,” Lydia told her, giving her friend a hug. “Because for real? This is the greatest day of my life.”

“And it'll just keep getting better,” Audrey promised. “Got to get to the Kodak for rehearsal. But later tonight? Par-tay!”