Beautiful Stranger
Copyright © 2007 by Alloy Entertainment
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group USA
237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at
hachettebookgroupusa.com
First eBook Edition: September 2007
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-0-316-04160-7
Contents
Black Silk Christian Dior Gown
Thanks to Good Genes and Just the Right Amount of Silicone
Baguettes, Caviar, and Champagne
The Most Exclusive Ticket in Town
Sophisticated Laughter of the Upper Ten Percent
Vintage Red “Like a Virgin” Madonna T-shirt
Red Velvet Panels and Priceless Tapestries
Vermilion Dreadlocks and a Nose Stud
The Tallest, Coldest Mojito in History
An Ace Up the Sleeve of Her Chloé Baby Doll
When You Feel Your Worst, Always Look Your Best
it had to be you the gossip girl prequel
The Best Stories Begin with One Boy and Two Girls
Upper East Side Schoolgirl Uncovers Shocking Sex Scandal!
it had to be you the gossip girl prequel
If you have to ask, you’ll never be on …
THE A-LIST
Be sure to read all the novels in the
New York Times
bestselling A-LIST series
THE A-LIST
GIRLS ON FILM
BLONDE AMBITION
TALL COOL ONE
BACK IN BLACK
SOME LIKE IT HOT
AMERICAN BEAUTY
HEART OF GLASS
BEAUTIFUL STRANGER
And keep your eye out for the tenth novel, coming April 2008.
Be sure to read all the novels in the #1
New York Times
bestselling GOSSIP GIRL series
Gossip Girl
You Know You Love Me
All I Want is Everything
Because I’m Worth It
I Like It Like That
You’re The One That I Want
Nobody Does It Better
Nothing Can Keep Us Together
Only In Your Dreams
Would I Lie To You
Don’t You Forget About Me
And keep your eye out for the Gossip Girl hardcover prequel,
It Had To Be You
, coming October 2007, to find out how it all began. …
A-List novels by Zoey Dean:
THE A-LIST
GIRLS ON FILM
BLONDE AMBITION
TALL COOL ONE
BACK IN BLACK
SOME LIKE IT HOT
AMERICAN BEAUTY
HEART OF GLASS
BEAUTIFUL STRANGER
If you like
THE A-LIST
, you may also enjoy:
Bass Ackwards and Belly Up
by Elizabeth Craft and Sarah Fain
Secrets of My Hollywood Life
by Jen Calonita
Haters
by Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez
and keep your eye out for
Betwixt
by Tara Bray Smith, coming October 2007
To Dianne.
Loyalty is everything
.
New York was real and California was not
.
T’was ever thus
.
—Lauren Bacall
Black Silk Christian Dior Gown
T
here were many things that Anna Percy loved: classic novels written in the nineteenth century, the antique diamond stud earrings handed down from her grand-mother, the idea that a person could, if she really wanted to, reinvent herself. But at this moment, she wondered if the thing she loved most of all might not be slow dancing with Ben Birnbaum.
The orchestra was on a raised platform draped in white and gold, built for this very occasion. The music was smoky and jazzy—very retro. Anna had never heard the song before, but she didn’t care. It was the first slow number since she and Ben had arrived at the lavish wrap party for
Ben-Hur
, and the first time she’d been in his arms all night. Transnational Pictures—the studio behind the
Ben-Hur
remake—was hosting the affair at one of its soundstages in its studio complex in Culver City.
“Maybe we should blow this off and go somewhere else,” Ben murmured in her ear. His breath sent shivers up and down Anna’s spine. Said spine was quite visible, in a black silk Christian Dior gown that appeared modest in front but slid below the waist in back. If Anna had been the type of girl to give much thought to what clothes said about the girl underneath them, she would have mused that the dress was much like her on this particular August evening: modest on the surface, offering only a glimpse of the heat beneath. The reason she knew about that heat had everything to do with the boy with whom she was dancing.
“I can’t do that to Sam,” she whispered back, which was true. The star and director of
Ben-Hur
was Jackson Sharpe, America’s best-loved action hero, and his daughter, Samantha, was the closest friend Anna had made since she’d come to Los Angeles seven months before. Anna couldn’t very well duck out on her.
Besides, going somewhere more private with Ben was not in her game plan for the evening. She intended to take things slow. They had fallen for each other too hard and too fast, right after Anna arrived in Los Angeles from New York. In fact, it had happened on the plane from LaGuardia to LAX. She’d come to California to spend the second half of senior year of high school, to live with the father she’d barely seen since her parents’ divorce in middle school. She’d come here to try something new, to—here was that word again—
reinvent
herself.
Anna Percy, of the old-money, Upper East Side Manhattan intelligentsia, had wanted something more.
She’d gotten something more. She’d gotten Ben Birnbaum. Ben was the first and only guy with whom she’d ever made love. From the very beginning, the experience had been whatever was two steps higher than fantastic on the Bliss-o-Meter. In fact, it defied every scale of measurement Anna had ever known or even imagined.
For one, Ben was knockdown, drag-out, take-your-breath-away handsome. Every feature seemed at once chiseled and effortlessly boyish, adding up to nothing short of a six-foot, blue-eyed, tousle-haired Adonis. She still remembered how her stomach had flip-flopped the first time she saw him, in the first-class cabin of that same NYC-L.A. flight, when he’d stood to take off his Princeton sweatshirt. For another, he radiated confidence unlike any other guy Anna had met: he was comfortable in his own skin—or whatever his skin was in. Tonight, that was a vintage Armani tuxedo with purple-tinted cummerbund and breast handkerchief. Anna found his looks, and pretty much everything about him, devastating.
Yet their relationship had been plagued by secrets, and at the end of July, Anna had made a momentous decision. She’d taken a step—five steps—backward, and told Ben she wanted to roll back to “dating.” She wanted them to really get to know each other, without sex getting in the way. Ben had been her first, and being with him was so good she feared the constant flood of endorphins in her cardiovascular system was clouding her judgment.
To be honest, there was another guy involved too. During the latest off-again patch of the on-again/off-again cycle of Anna-and-Ben, she had met Caine Manning, who worked at her father’s international investment firm. Anna had boldly told Ben and Caine that she wanted to date both of them at the same time. Somewhat to her shock, they’d agreed to her plan. She was proud of her decision—it wasn’t the kind of decision she would have made back in New York. It made her feel much more in control of her love life than she had in a long time. In theory, at least. When she was within a few feet of Ben, the idea of being in control was just that: an idea.
Anna tore her eyes away from Ben’s perfectly chiseled jawline and looked around her. Transnational had transformed the soundstage, a cavernous building only slightly smaller than an aircraft hangar, into a huge, 1940s-era speakeasy. This had nothing to do with
Ben-Hur
and everything to do with what the studio hoped would be Jackson Sharpe’s next project for them, a remake of the 1940s Humphrey Bogart classic
Casablanca
, about an expatriate speakeasy owner in Nazi-occupied Morocco, considered by many to be the best motion picture of all time.
Only a movie star with the clout and box-office appeal of Jackson Sharpe would consider remaking
Casablanca
and taking the starring role.
In keeping with the speakeasy theme, there were small tabletops, banquettes lining the walls, and cigar and cigarette girls circulating. The orchestra played Gershwin on its risers, and most everyone was dressed formally. A number of people had affected 1940s couture in honor of Jackson’s next project. It was supposed to be “top secret,” as was breathlessly noted on every entertainment TV talk show and industry rag and mag. In Hollywood, Anna had learned, there were no secrets.
Sam was dancing nearby with her handsome Peruvian boyfriend, Eduardo Munoz. He wore a black Ralph Lauren three-button tuxedo; she’d chosen Chloé black chiffon and lace trousers with a fitted white silk Dolce & Gabbana plumed jacket that flattered her pear-shaped figure. Anna knew how Sam worried constantly about her size ten or twelve (depending on the day, and often depending on the hour) figure, which by Beverly Hills standards was considered massive. Anna found this ridiculous, and she’d told her friend so. Sam’s smiling response was that since Anna was naturally lithe and slender, with more than a passing resemblance to a younger Gwyneth Paltrow or a taller Sienna Miller, she needed to shut the fuck up.
Sam caught Anna’s eye and waved one arm as she and Eduardo danced. Anna waved back, thinking she’d never seen her friend look so radiant. Eduardo was good for her—and for her self-confidence.
The song ended and some people applauded. Marty Martinsen, the head of Transnational Pictures, stepped to the tall, forties-style microphone in front of the orchestra. Martinsen was a barrel-chested bear of a man, with bushy eyebrows and a trim goatee. He wore a standard Hollywood I’m-sorta-dressing-up uniform of black jeans, black T-shirt, and well-tailored black jacket. He didn’t bother to introduce himself, seemingly announcing that if you didn’t know who he was, you didn’t belong on this party’s guest list of the thousand or more people who had something to do with
Ben-Hur
.
