Beautiful Disaster (8 page)

Dante stood up and pumped Max’s hand with a firm shake that came close to disconnecting his shoulder. “That was awesome, dude! Somebody bring this bitch a beer!”

A perky waitress was already there with a Michelob Lite. “Great set, Max.”

“Thanks, Gigi.”

Her stare lingered for a moment too long. Finally, she moved on, and Dante watched her disappear. “She seems especially attentive. Did you nail her?”

Max shot a backward glance to Gigi, who had stopped to glare at them. Now he felt like an asshole, and for once he wasn’t guilty of the charge. “Keep your voice down, man. She’s a good girl.”

Dante’s eyebrows shot up.

“How good?”

Vanity reached for the growth on Dante’s goatee and yanked hard.

“Ouch!” Then Dante gave her a smoldering look. “Hurt me, baby, hurt me.”

Vanity rolled her eyes. “Max is growing up, and you’re regressing. I didn’t sign up for this crap.”

Everybody laughed.

Max turned to Pippa. “What’s up, mystery girl? Thanks for coming. I’m glad you made it.”

She managed a weak smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You were nang.”

In response, Max puffed out his chest and assumed a cocky stance. “Did you hear that, Sho? I’m ‘nang.’ ”

His sister jumped up to wrap her arms around him and kiss his cheek. “Congratulations. I thought you’d completely suck, but you were actually kind of funny.” One beat. “Now can I please have a real drink? I’m sick of Diet Coke.”

Max turned up his beer and guzzled almost half of it. “You’re underage.”

Shoshanna fumed defiantly. “So are you!”

Max shrugged. “Well, try to go one month without slipping into a coma. Then we’ll see about you.”

Shoshanna made a minidrama out of fishing for her cellular. “I’m calling Yummy. She’ll come get me and take me somewhere that’s not so lame.”

Max shook his head. “Easy, party girl. The only place you’re going is home to bed.
Alone
.”

Dante hooked an arm around Vanity and pulled her close. “We’ll take her. We’re getting ready to bolt anyway. You deserve to hang out and celebrate.”

Vanity nodded her agreement.

Max regarded them with a mixture of gratitude and annoyance. Dante and Vanity were at that self-absorbed stage in a couple’s first blush of togetherness, when they only needed and wanted to be around each other.

“God, this sucks!” Shoshanna grumbled.

“Come on,” Dante said easily. “It’s not so bad. We’ll stop for ice cream.”

Shoshanna rolled her eyes to heaven. “Ooh, and maybe after that you can take me for a pony ride.”

Vanity collected her metallic pewter Chloe bag and moved in to kiss Max lightly on the lips, smelling sweetly of Jo Malone’s Nectarine Blossom and Honey cologne. “You did great up there tonight. But I want to talk to you about something. It’s important. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

Max nodded, intrigued. As Dante, Vanity, and Shoshanna filed out, he slipped into a chair next to Pippa.

She feigned a yawn. “I should probably go, too.”

Max glanced down at his Rolex. “Why? It’s still early.”

“I’m tired,” Pippa said. “Besides, I’m sure you have loads of chirping to do. I’ll just be in the way.”

Max looked at her. In Pippa Keith parlance, “chirping” meant chatting up girls. “I’d rather spend some time with you.”

She stood up to leave. “I think you’d have much more fun with Gigi the waitress.”

“We used to have fun.”

As Pippa fell silent, a certain sadness skated across her face. “We did, didn’t we?”

Max grinned. “You used to call begging me to take you out, because you were
bored rigid
.” He did his best Pippa impression on the last bit.

She smiled. “I don’t think I ever quite begged exactly.”

“Oh, it was begging,” Max insisted lightly.

Pippa refused to give in. “Maybe a pretty please.”

Max reached out for her hand. “Come on. How long has it been since—”

Pippa pulled fast and firm from his grasp. Instantly, she appeared to regret the hostile move. “Sorry…I—”

But Max was already offended. “Don’t worry about it.”

He started to take off.

“Max, wait!” Pippa pleaded.

He halted and spun around to face her. “For what?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Forget it.” His tone was like acid.

“But I don’t want—”

“You don’t want
me
, Pippa,” Max cut in. “I get that loud and clear. When you needed someone to pick up all the tabs, and you needed to get from point A to point B in a Porsche, I was good enough company. But you’ve got your own ride now.” He swept a hand up and down to point out her expensive Roberto Cavalli halter dress. “And you obviously don’t have money troubles. Although sometimes I wonder how you earn it.”

Pippa glared at him. “Oh, we’re back to that again, are we?” She grabbed her Alexander McQueen satchel, holding it up as faux evidence. “Pippa has a nice handbag, so she must be a hooker.”

“Who is this ‘entertainment promoter’ that you work for?” Max challenged.

“That’s confidential.” Pippa sniffed.

Max lifted his brow and snarled. “Yeah, usually those kind of arrangements are.”

Pippa’s eyes blazed with fury, and when she spoke, it was in a cold, almost sinister voice. “Trust me, Max. You
don’t
want to know where my money comes from. I’m protecting you, because you couldn’t handle it. You’re much better off in the dark with your point money and your rich-kid toys and your third-rate comedy act.”

“I didn’t realize whores could be such harsh critics,” Max shot back. “I considered my act at least second rate.”

“Go to hell,” Pippa said. And then she stalked out of the Improv.

He watched her leave, knowing that what had been on life support was now officially dead. They were over. Done. Finished for good. But the last thing Max intended to do was sulk about it like a little bitch.

Sweeping a gaze around the club, he noticed the same pretty blonde from before. A few more beers, a willing girl…not the worst way to end a night.

Max boldly slipped past the gay best friend to make his approach. “Do we know each other?”

The grin on her face was playful. “I don’t know, do we?”

Max always enjoyed the game. “I would remember if I saw you naked.”

She laughed at him. “Has that line ever worked?”

“Is it working now?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Okay, how about this one: I’m good-looking, funny, my Porsche is parked out front, and you can order anything you want from room service.”

The blonde’s eyes sparkled.

“How’s that line working?”

“Much better.”

“I’m Max.”

“I’m Strawberry.”

He nodded, loving her name. “
Sweet
.”

She gave him a sexy look. “You have no idea.”

Max excused himself to say his good-byes to Lucien, then returned to claim his fruit of the night. Together they tumbled into his ride and zipped out of the Shoppes of Mayfair parking lot on a highly charged erotic mission.

Sanctuary was one of Miami’s newest boutique hotels, an exclusive thirty-room oasis that provided necessary relief from the wild decadence of South Beach.

He drove like a speed demon, rocking “Dani California” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers at maximum decibels, the altercation with Pippa a distant memory.

The hotel was tucked away on James Avenue, a quiet residential side street between Seventeenth and Eighteenth, just off Collins Avenue and a mere block from the ocean and the city’s rabid club scene.

Max surrendered the Porsche to the valet and rushed Strawberry up to his “ultra-luxury” suite. Clothing disappeared. And that’s when the real fun began. A steamy collision of hungry, pleasure-seeking bodies.

Max lost himself in Strawberry’s juicy sweetness. When it was over, he rolled onto his stomach and sighed out his satisfaction. “That was awesome.” For a moment, he basked in the afterglow, the intense orgasm still tingling his nerve endings.

“I want pancakes,” Strawberry announced. “Do you think room service has pancakes?”

The sexual thrill evaporated. Just like that. Max’s mind took him right back to the Improv, right back to his fight with Pippa. God, he missed that girl like crazy. And all the Strawberries in the world would never help him forget her.

He got up and slipped on the complimentary robe hanging in the bathroom. “Order anything you want. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Where are you going?” Strawberry whined.

Max didn’t answer. He just took in a breath, exhaling slowly as he closed the door and made his way to the rooftop pool, suddenly desperate to be alone. The melt-down with Pippa had his mind in overdrive.

You don’t want to know where my money comes from. I’m protecting you, because you couldn’t handle it
.

Max wondered what the hell she had meant by that. And he would never stop wondering until he found out.

A male couple frolicked in the pool—a paunchy, older executive type and his chiseled boy toy.

Max did a double take, suddenly recognizing the younger guy.

It was Carb Duffy, Christina’s Chippendales friend from New York.

“More champagne!” the old man sang, giggling indulgently as he exited the pool and waddled toward one of the oversize teak cabanas, leaving Carb alone to wade in the water.

Max approached the pool’s edge.

Carb glanced up. His face registered real surprise. “Small world.”

Max gave him a smug look. “Yeah, too small.”

There was a long stretch of silence as Carb thought of something else to say. “How’s Christina? I programmed my number into her cell, but she never called. Maybe she hasn’t noticed it yet.”

Max shrugged. “She’s off on some mysterious family retreat.”

“So her mother did make her go,” Carb remarked knowingly. “That’s sad. I think those programs are sick.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“She told me her mother was making her go to some center in Mississippi that promises to de-gay teenagers.”

Max shook his head, refusing to believe it. “You’ve got to be bullshitting me.”

But Carb’s expression was sincere. “No, that’s exactly what she said.”

“Jesus Christ,” Max muttered. Suddenly, he felt a seething resentment toward Carb. Yes, this was the guy who had saved Jap, but he was also the guy she had chosen to confide in. “Why would she tell you this instead of me?”

Carb shrugged. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t read too much into it, though. Sometimes people find it easier to confess things to total strangers.”

“Oh, a psychiatrist
and
a rent boy,” Max snapped. “I didn’t realize you were such a multitalent.” He stormed back to the suite, dressed quickly, and left Strawberry alone to wait for her stupid pancakes.

Max drove like a maniac all the way to Star Island, his mind locked on a single track. Where had Paulina Perez sent Christina?

He would
definitely
find out.

From: Max

Jap, if you get this, PLEASE text back. Paulina, if you happen to be reading, let me go on record as saying that you’re a smelly cunt with the maternal instincts of a piranha.

11:19 pm 4/22/06

M
ississippi was beautiful, tranquil…and suffocating to the point of being almost deadly.

The view from Christina’s window revealed a sea of tall pines. She sat on the twin bed inside her small private room at Salvation Pointe and gazed out, marveling at nature’s handiwork, imagining ways to kill herself.

But Christina planned to wait until she returned home, because the end game was to have Paulina find her body and live miserably with the horror and guilt. Being told that her daughter had committed suicide at Salvation Pointe would be too easy on her bitch of a mother.

Thoughts about how to do it consumed her. She wanted the discovery to be particular grisly. The importance of creating an indelible image of death was key. Perhaps that’s why the option of slitting her wrists seemed to be the enduring method of choice. The blood flow alone would make the scene unforgettable.

Three fast knocks rapped the open door.

Christina turned around to see Zack Webber.

“Time for afternoon therapy,” he sang. “Wait. That sounded gay.” He tried to imitate the voice of Darth Vader. “
Time for afternoon therapy
.” One beat. “Is that butch enough?”

Christina laughed.

Zack was her favorite resident/patient/inmate at Salvation Pointe. He had been dispatched here from Granite, Utah, by order of his father, a syndicated talk radio personality.

Zack wanted to be a ballet dancer, he loved
Gilmore Girls
, and he lacked any interest or acumen in team sports. For the fifteen-year-old son of a conservative who hosted a show called
Man to Man with Dick Webber
, those telltale signs of potential homosexuality were apparently grounds for aggressive intervention. So here Zack was.

He stepped over to Christina’s desk and inspected a beaded bracelet she had made in one of her craft classes. “This is cute.”

“Boys shouldn’t wear jewelry,” Christina scolded him jokingly.

“
Sorry
, I forgot,” Zack replied with snide alarm, dropping the delicate piece immediately. “A bracelet could mean that I’m gay.” He sighed. “Do you want to know the most ironic thing? My macho dad sent me to this awful place, and he hosts a show called
Man to Man with Dick Webber
, which is the
gayest
sounding title I’ve ever heard!”

Christina cackled.

Zack rolled his eyes. “Oh, well. We’ve only got one more week, right?”

She gave him an upbeat nod, even though the time left loomed like an eternal torture sentence.

“It seems like we were just in group,” Zack grumbled.

“That’s because we were,” Christina said. “And there’s still evening group after this.”

He groaned. “Did I tell you that I got assigned to private counseling, too?”

Christina shook her head.

“Apparently, the ‘pace of my progress’ is troubling, so Chet Hobbs is working with me one-on-one.”

“In addition to group?”

Zack nodded.

The news made Christina wonder if she might be targeted for private sessions, as well. Of course, the more important question was this: When would they fit it in?

The Salvation Pointe staff operated the facility’s schedule with military precision. There was a six o’clock wake-up call, breakfast, fifteen minutes to shower, morning group therapy, Bible study, a walk around the lake, lunch, cards and board games, private reflection time, afternoon group therapy, more Bible study, crafts for girls and football for boys, dinner, a bike ride, evening group therapy, another Bible study, and, finally, lights out at nine o’clock sharp. Day in, day out. No changes whatsoever.

Zack let out a bored sigh. “If we don’t hurry, we’re going to be late, and you know what that means—cleanup detail after dinner.”

But Christina lingered, her body practically refusing to move. She regarded her funny young friend with his tall frame, gangly limbs, and delicate facial features that crossed the border of handsome and ventured into the land of pretty. “Zack, is any of this working for you?”

He considered the question. “Is that a polite way of asking me if I suddenly want to play wide receiver and make out with a cheerleader?”

Christina grinned at him.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know why I’m here. People have been calling me a sissy or a faggot since kindergarten, but I’ve never so much as kissed a boy. They want to
un
gay me, but I’m not even sure if I
am
gay. I think guys are cute. I think girls are cute. But I’ve never really felt overtly sexual urges for anybody. I guess that makes me a freak.”

“Don’t think that way,” Christina told him. “You’re not a freak.”

Zack’s face darkened with sadness. “Tell that to my dad.” He slumped down into the cheap desk chair. “I just want to be left alone, you know? All I want to do is dance and watch
Gilmore Girls
. Who does that hurt exactly?”

“Nobody,” Christina answered quietly.

Zack shook his head wearily. “I’ve been fighting the same fight since I was five, and each year it only seems to get worse. The week before I came here some guys at school took all the foil from their hot dogs, molded it into the shape of a penis, and shoved it in my mouth in front of the entire cafeteria.”

Christina’s heart suddenly felt heavy. “Oh, Zack,” she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm as tears formed in his eyes.

“That was the tipping point for my dad. Later that night I heard him telling my mom that he didn’t want a queer son. He said that I was going to Salvation Pointe and that he’d send me back here as many times as it took to make the program stick.”

Christina gave him a quizzical look.

“Most kids go through the program at least three times,” Zack explained. “I don’t want to come back, but I’m sure I’ll get stuck here again during the summer.”

Christina was absolutely stunned.

“It’s true. I mean, take Jordan. I know for a fact that this is his
fifth
residency.”

Christina had no idea. And she routinely walked around the lake in a small group that included him. Jordan Thiessen was a sweet, overweight, sixteen-year-old from Georgia who loved musicals. “That’s insane.”

Zack shrugged helplessly. “The salespeople do a great job of preparing parents for that. Personally, I think it’s a revenue scam.”

“It
is
a scam!” Christina raged. “And the therapies are bogus. Is anybody here licensed? I haven’t seen any credentials. We spend hours in so-called ‘treatment,’ but none of the counselors have any formal education or training! I don’t care if Chet Hobbs presides over the largest church in the state. Does he have the clinical background to deal with adolescents on complicated issues of sexuality?”

Zack responded with a defeated shrug. “He’s clergy, and the program is Christian-based. Everything they do here is protected under the First Amendment.”

Christina balled up her fists and hammered them down on the mattress. “This has to be exposed! There should be state regulations! There should be federal sanctions!”

But Zack appeared neither moved nor motivated by her fury. “Who’s going to fight for a bunch of gay teenagers?”

It was phrased as a rhetorical question. But Christina instantly knew the answer. Keiko would fight for them. QUAN! would fight for them. Queers Unite for Action Now! was precisely the sort of extreme advocacy group to infiltrate and wage war on Salvation Pointe. If Keiko knew about this place, then she would be foaming at the mouth to cause trouble. Anything rooted in the establishment stirred the Japanese girl’s most militant impulses.

Forgiving Keiko for all of the deceptions came easily; Christina had already made peace with that. And now, in a strange way, she understood the activist’s take-no-prisoners mentality of conviction more clearly than ever.

Pretending to be seventeen when in fact she was twenty-seven. Befriending a Senate hopeful’s closeted lesbian daughter. Using the personal as political in a media fight to expose hypocrisy. Shaming Paulina Perez’s campaign to shut down school-sponsored gay/straight alliance clubs.

Yes, Christina had been a pawn in all of it, but the cause had been for the greater good. In Keiko’s eyes, she had used and exploited one young person on a quest to improve the lives of maybe thousands more. And the truth was, Christina stood ready to be used again.

If it served to expose the reality about Salvation Pointe and to help innocent souls like Zack and Jordan, then so be it. Besides, her mother would get dragged through the muck of embarrassing headlines. And the cold bitch deserved to be forced off-message again.

Finally, Christina spoke. “I know who will fight for us.” She felt her heartbeat pick up speed. “I just need to get to a phone or to a computer with Internet access.”

“Easier said than done,” Zack pointed out. “This place is like a prison.”

Christina’s mind raced, searching for an answer. At first, it seemed hopeless. After all, criminals doing hard time had more freedoms. Salvation Pointe forbade its residents everything from the outside world.

No closed doors (with the exception of fifteen minutes each day for showering).

No contact with friends or family.

No external news sources.

No music (unless preapproved Christian CDs or preloaded MP3-players provided by Salvation Pointe staff).

No television.

No Internet use.

No cellular phones.

No diary or journal writing.

Oh God! The straitjacket atmosphere infuriated Christina all over again as she mentally checked off the demoralizing prohibitions.

They wouldn’t even let her draw. Not having that outlet had been excruciating. Sometimes just making rough sketches of a
Harmony Girl
story could transport Christina to a wonderful place. But Salvation Pointe considered such pursuits “subversive.”

Every aspect of residents’ lives here was so tightly bound. Still, somewhere there had to be an opening.

Suddenly, Zack’s eyes brightened. “Maybe there’s a way.”

“What?” Christina demanded.

“My first private session with Chet Hobbs happened after bed check. We talked in a parlor room connected to his office, so his desk was unattended. He’s got a Mac. He’s got a phone.” Zack raised his brow.

Christina considered the situation. “I just have to get past the night monitors.”

“That’s easy,” Zack said. “Talk Richie into faking a panic attack. He’ll do it. He’s a drama queen. Just tell him it’s the role of a lifetime. It’ll make him feel like Scarlett Johansson.”

Christina giggled. “When do you see Hobbs again?”

“Tomorrow night.”

She nodded thoughtfully. Staring out at the impossibly green pines once more, she silently cursed herself for keeping this banishment to Salvation Pointe a secret. Paulina had laid out a perfect game plan of shame and manipulation, and Christina had played it exactly as her mother had intended.

Now she was trapped in this horrible place and nobody knew where she was. Never before had she felt so isolated, so marginalized, so helpless.

“Do you think this plan will work?”

Christina fixed a serious gaze on her new friend. “It has to, Zack. The people here are doing all of us more harm than good.”