Bad to the Bone (22 page)

Esme was embarrassed. “Very funny.” This was so weird. She
never
felt embarrassed with Jorge.

She lifted her glass and clinked it against his. “Here's to my parents.”

“To your parents,” Jorge echoed, and took a sip. He asked if Esme was hungry, and she realized she was starving. Hector's specialized in Cuban food, so they ordered a few different octopus appetizers from a beautiful waitress with skin the color of burnished copper, her hair slicked back in a long ponytail, a Cuban flag pin on her lapel. Esme wondered idly if a waitress in Havana could get away with an American flag pin on her uniform. Probably not, she decided.

When the waitress moved off, Esme ran her forefinger around the rim of her glass. “The last thing my mother said to me was ‘make good choices.’ That's code.”

Jorge nodded. “For finishing school and going to college.”

“But I still don't see the point,” Esme insisted. It was easy to remember the faces of those mean, privileged girls who had shown her and Kiley and Lydia around Bel Air High on the first day. As if they were so superior. So much better than her.

“I've got a business that's making good money. More than I could even with a college degree. So no way am I going to torture myself at Bel Air High School. And I'm not finishing high school in Echo Park, either,” she added vehemently. “I've had enough of that place, too.”

That was true. Yes, the Echo would always be part of her. But the idea of surrounding herself again with her past was too much to swallow.

Jorge raised his eyebrows. “Fair enough. Okay, so you find another way. You want to get somewhere and you reach a roadblock, you find a way to go around it. Because I know you. You think roadblocks are for other people.” He put an
arm around the back of the love seat, close to her shoulder. “I need to ask you something.”

“What?”

“You and Jonathan,” Jorge said. “What's up with that?”

She shrugged.

“That's not an answer.”

Jorge sounded annoyed and, Esme realized, he looked it too. He leaned toward her, his dark eyes holding hers, and withdrew his arm from where he'd draped it. “If you're still seeing him, even maybe seeing him, then you aren't seeing me, and this is not a date.”

Esme was saved from having to answer that question quickly when the waitress came back with their appetizers. There was coconut octopus with a dipping sauce, fried octopus, and a cold octopus ceviche. She reached for a piece of the fried octopus and snared it with two fingers. It was her turn to be annoyed. What difference did it make, really, if she decided she still wanted to see Jonathan?

“You don't hear me asking you who you're seeing at UCLA.” She popped the octopus into her mouth and chewed. Pretty good. In fact, really good.

“I'm not playing that game,” Jorge said flatly. “And if you don't know the answer to my question, then this is not a date.” He folded his arms. Esme put her hand on one of them.

“Come on, don't be like that.”

“Like what? I'm not playing games with you. If I'm seeing you now, that should answer your question about UCLA. I'm not seeing anyone there, and it's not for lack of opportunity, either. If you're seeing Jonathan—”

“I'm not! Happy?”

He ate a piece of octopus himself before commenting with a soft smile, “Why was it so hard for you to say that?”

Good question. Jonathan had hurt her in some profound way. She never wanted to hurt like that again, or to feel that needy.

“Love shouldn't hurt,” she finally told him. “But with him, it hurt. I tried so hard to be what he wanted. And then I hated myself for it.”

For the second time that night, she felt hot tears coming to her eyes. This time, she brushed them away angrily. She did
not
cry in public, dammit. Ever.

Jorge stood and held a hand out to her.
“Quieres bailar conmigo?”

Esme looked at the small dance floor in front of the stage. It was empty. “No one else is dancing,” she protested.

“Since when do you care what everyone else does?” His hand was still extended toward her.

She took his hand. They moved to the dance floor and she went into Jorge's arms. He wasn't nearly as tall as Jonathan, or as muscular. He didn't exude money and power. Every girl in the place was not watching him and lusting after him. And yet … his arms felt strong and sure around her.

Still, this was dangerous. What if she lost his friendship? Esme didn't think she could bear that. It was nearly enough for her to go sit back down and make jokes and push him away.

She was just about to do it when he whispered her name into her thick, lustrous hair. “Esme.”

“Yes?”

“Just Esme.”

Was she willing to risk everything? Was she willing to trust him?

As if her body knew the answer better than her heart, Esme's eyes closed, and she moved closer into his embrace. It felt like coming home.

“Y'all, how cool is this, our own dressing room!” Lydia exclaimed to Esme and Kiley as she slicked a wand of baby pink lip gloss over her full lips. “We really should have our names on the door, though.”

It was Saturday afternoon, and the Rock Music Awards would start in an hour. Lydia was so excited she felt as if she could fly. At the final run-through, Steven Goldhagen told them they would be the ones who escorted the winners from the stage after they made their thank-you speeches. It had merited them their own small dressing room under the Kodak Theatre.

Lydia already had an amazing gown, thanks to Audrey. The stylist for the awards had found gowns for Esme and Kiley, too, although they had to be returned the next day. Esme's was a red satin Escada, while Kiley had been fitted in a green silk chiffon by Marianne Lanting. Their hair and makeup had been done by one of the army of makeup artists ensconced in
the theater's sub-basement. Now, they were just waiting for the signal from Jocelyn to come upstairs and take their places in the wings.

It did feel a little strange to be preparing for the awards at four in the afternoon—the show itself would start at five—but it all had to do with the vagaries of television. There would be a live broadcast to the rest of the country, and the producers didn't want to begin later than eight o'clock New York time. Viewers in the Eastern and Central time zones would be watching live; those in Mountain and Pacific would watch on tape delay. Awards shows were difficult enough to sell to viewers, because all a person had to do was log on from anywhere during the original broadcast to find out who won. There was lots of illegal streaming, too. Who would bother to watch on tape?

There was a video monitor in their dressing room showing a live feed from the red carpet area outside the theater. Huge crowds on both sides of the carpet cheered, snapped photos, and begged for autographs as the stars arrived for the show. Lydia had watched as Platinum and Audrey emerged arm in arm from a white limousine, Platinum in a white gown, Audrey in black. It seemed to Lydia that Audrey was weaving a bit as she and Platinum worked their way down the red carpet—probably too much champagne in the limo, she figured. Well, what the hell. This was the Rock Music Awards, not the Oscars. People expected the unexpected to happen.

This was great; in fact, everything was great. Things were even great with Esme's parents, who had safely arrived in Mexico. There was only one thing. Lydia hadn't yet informed Esme and Kiley that she was planning to stay in Los Angeles
for only another couple of weeks, before she'd hook up with Audrey and travel with her on the world tour. She hadn't exactly informed her aunt Kat yet, either. Well, she for sure planned to find her aunt another nanny before she left, so that should take some of the sting out. She'd poach someone at the country club.

Of course, Audrey's tour would end eventually. What if Kat liked the sub nanny better than she liked Lydia? What if she decided to punish Lydia by not giving her the gig back?

Lydia waved a hand through the air as if to dismiss all the questions. No girl in her right mind would turn down touring with Audrey Birnbaum. So why was she still hesitating?

Maybe it had to do with her friends. She, Kiley, and Esme had stuck by each other all summer. They were like each other's families. Now, with Esme's mother and father back in Mexico, it would be even more so. It would be hard to tell them—very hard. And the longer she waited, the harder it would be.

“Esme? Kiley?” Lydia felt her heart beat faster. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Shit on a shrub—she'd said it. Now she had to follow through.

“Sure. What's up?” Kiley asked.

“You and Billy are back together?” Esme guessed.

“You know, I really, really care about that boy” Lydia said. “The problem is, if we were together, he wouldn't want me to be with anyone else.”

Lydia saw Kiley and Esme exchange a look. “You are definitely not ready for a relationship,” Kiley pronounced.

“So, what is it?” Esme pressed. “You going back to the Amazon?”

She just had to say it. Flat out. If her friends were really her friends, they'd want what was best for her.

“Well, see, Audrey's leaving on her world tour in like two weeks? She asked me to go with her. All expenses paid, as her friend. I said yes.”

Dead silence, except for the voices of the producers in the booth filtering through the monitor.

Then, Kiley spoke. “Wow.”

“You gotta be kidding.” Esme was, as usual, blunter. “What about your life?”

“What about it?” Lydia responded. “Audrey and I have gotten really close, and she made me this incredible offer. Y'all, I may never get another chance like this in my entire life.”

She continued making her case. She hated school. She'd be back in eight or nine months. She wouldn't have to spend a dime—Audrey would pay for everything. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Wow,” Kiley said again. “How can you not go?”

“Excuse me?” That was not the reaction Lydia had expected, especially from Kiley. “I thought you would give me a big ol' lecture about school and responsibility. If you were in my Manolos, would you go?”

“You already know,” Esme said before Kiley could respond. “She wouldn't leave Tom.”

“Well, see, that does not make sense, because Tom just left her to go to Russia,” Lydia pointed out. “What's good for the goose and all that. Right, Kiley?”

Lydia thought she saw something sad flit across Kiley's face, Then it was gone.

Esme stood and moved some magazines off the vanity. “If you've given your heart away it's not that easy. Where did I put my purse?”

Lydia found it under the chair and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Esme said. “Listen, I'm the last person to step on someone else's dreams, Lydia. But you might want to think about what it would be like to be completely dependent on Audrey. What if you have a fight? What if you don't feel like doing what she feels like doing?”

“It'll work out,” Lydia insisted.

Kiley smiled at her. “We'll miss you.”

“But we'll survive,” Esme added. “Compared to what my parents just went through, our lives are cushy.”

“I'll miss you guys, too.” Lydia blinked back her sadness. It was one thing to talk about going on this trip in theory, and quite another to talk about it in practice. She felt homesick for her friends already.

Esme smiled. “It's not how it used to be. I can even talk to my folks in Mexico by Skype. You'll have a laptop. We won't forget you.”

“And I won't forget you guys, either. I promise.”

“There's something I need to tell you guys, too,” Kiley said softly.

“You're going on tour with Platinum?” Lydia kidded. “Can you imagine what her bus was like back in the day? Man,” she said, shaking her head. “I only hope Audrey and I can live up to that legacy.”

Kiley licked her lips nervously. “What I wanted to tell you
guys is that I think Tom and I are over. He's back from Russia. They ran out of money on his movie.”

Lydia sighed. Kiley had already mentioned the photographs she'd seen of Tom and Marym together in Russia, but she hadn't said that those pictures had led to her and Tom splitting up. If Kiley only had Lydia's attitude toward relationships, she wouldn't have that sad face right now.

“What happened?” Esme asked her.

They listened to Kiley explain what had happened with her new friend Matt. Tom and Marym had apparently hooked up in Moscow. On the one hand, Lydia wanted to tell her friend to buck up. That was Russia, this is America, and what happened during a movie shoot—even an aborted movie shoot—in Russia could well stay in Russia. The Amas in Brazil tended to take a more liberal point of view toward monogamy than Americans. Not that Kiley would care. Growing up in Wisconsin and growing up in the Amazon were two different things.

“Have you talked to him?” Lydia asked.

“On Thursday. But there wasn't much to say. It was … awkward. Those photographs didn't lie.” Kiley was emphatic.

Esme nodded. “You need a guy who's there for you even when you're apart.”

“Yeah,” Kiley agreed. “I guess Tom isn't that guy.”

Lydia saw a tear track down Kiley's cheek. “Oh, sweet pea, don't cry over him.” She gave her a hug. “If he doesn't appreciate how fabulous you are, then he's over.”