Cherry Money Baby (30 page)

This thought was the unsteady cap on her boiling panic. When she spoke up, her voice squeaked like a whistling teakettle.

“How’s — ahem. How’s your ear?”

“Still pretty tender.”

She reached to touch it, and he flinched.

“Sorry.” Unsure what to do with her hands, she hugged herself. The afternoon’s humidity had started to break, and a cool breeze prickled the skin of her arms. Spanner, Ardelia, and Maxwell were a few rows ahead, talking loudly. Cherry cleared her throat. “What was Spanner saying back there?”

Lucas glanced sharply at her, then squinted at the sky. It had turned from blue to electric white. “That Maxwell was an asshole.”

“Oh.”

“And that I should watch out because he’s a player and probably has a thing for you.”

She laughed unsteadily, crazy with relief. “That’s dumb. That’s so stupid. Maxwell’s slept with movie stars. Right? Why would he want me?”

“Does he?”

“Does he what?”

Lucas stopped and turned to her. “Does he want you?”

Something cold kissed the tip of her nose.

“He’s not thinking about me,” Cherry said, and nodded up the orchard path where Maxwell was trying to place his arm around Ardelia’s bare shoulder. She dodged his touch, pointing out a bird on a high branch. Noticing Lucas and Cherry were missing, she turned and spotted them lagging behind. She waved cheerfully. “Hello! Have we lost you already?”

“Lovers’ quarrel,” Spanner mumbled, not too quietly. She peeled a flattened cherry blossom from the bottom of her shoe and flinched, glancing at the sky.

Maxwell winked at Ardelia. “Remember those?”

“We’re fine,” said Lucas, unsmiling. “It’s fine.”

The world flashed white.

“Oh, that looks like —” Ardelia started as thunder rumbled in the distance.

With a
crack
and a rush of breeze, it started to pour.

It was cool in the house, and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee drifted up from the kitchen. Lucas jogged ahead of Cherry on the stairs, not quite running away from her, but not waiting up, either. Ardelia called for Oliver to bring the coffee into the parlor. Cherry hesitated at the stairs, torn. Ardelia called for her to join them, and reluctantly she did.

Lucas probably wanted to be alone. It was probably a good idea not to go after him. Definitely probably.

“I’ll be in my room,” Spanner announced, and headed for the stairs.

A wild idea seized Cherry — to throw herself in front of Spanner’s path and block the way. She couldn’t bear another secret conference between her and Lucas, but Spanner was heading for the other staircase, away from the room Cherry and Lucas shared.

She looked Cherry up and down.

“Someone’s a little jumpy,” she said. Then, glancing into the parlor where Maxwell and Ardelia had gone, she lowered her voice and murmured, “And you
should
be.”

Cherry’s hands balled into fists, her nails biting into the flesh of her palm. “Stay away from my fiancé.”

Spanner smiled. She was getting to Cherry, and she knew it. With a flip of her ponytail, she turned and clipped up the stairs. Cherry had a decent throwing arm. She could probably take her out from here with that paperweight. . . .

“Cherry, come join us!” Ardelia called from the parlor.

She and Maxwell had arranged themselves on the high-backed couches, draped over the furniture like dirty laundry. It was a small, bright room with glass doors all around. Lightning flashed and turned the parlor into a film negative for an instant. Everything was rattling and popping with raindrops.

“We were talking in the orchard,” Ardelia said. “And I was thinking, what about a little get-together tonight?”

“I thought you called it a glamorous garden party,” said Maxwell.

Ardelia waved his comment away. “To-
may
-to, to-
mah
-to. Just some family friends and a few local lord and lady mucks. I always throw house parties when I come home from a project.”

“But not to fear.” Maxwell leaned toward Cherry with a grin. “That’s only part one of the evening. The mucks will be gone by midnight, and Ardelia’s agreed to bring in some
fun
people from London.”

“Yes, a two-part party,” Ardelia said. “Sophistication and . . . the other thing. Sound good to you?”

“Um . . .”

Oliver toddled through the door with a tea tray of steaming mugs. He offered one to Cherry, and she took it, letting the heat work its way into her chilled fingers. She stared into the jet depths of the coffee and stalled. It was like a commercial:
Life getting way too complicated? Need a moment to think? Have a Folgers Moment!

It didn’t seem like a good time for a party. Two of the house’s members had just stomped to their rooms in a huff. All was not well at Liddell Manor. But then, maybe a party would be a good distraction. And Spanner might be too distracted to spill any secrets to Lucas.

“What the hell?” said Cherry. “Sophistication and the other thing.”

“Excellent!” said Ardelia. “Then it’s done.” She snapped her fingers, and Cherry half expected the party to materialize around them, with the aid of movie-star magic.

Revitalized with caffeine, jogging up the stairs to their room, Cherry was beginning to feel better, more in control. This was good. A party would be good. She and Lucas would have fun together, and she’d show him how the only person she wanted to talk to, dance with, get silly with, was him. He’d realize it was ridiculous to suspect her of anything (even though it wasn’t), and she wouldn’t feel so guilty (even though she did). She checked her reflection in the hall mirror, assembling her smile. This was good. They were good at rebooting after a fight.

Except this wasn’t a fight. This was something worse. This was a worry. This was a doubt.

Lucas was curled under the bay window with his sketch pad. He looked like a little kid. She wondered suddenly if their babies would be artistic. (Whoa, where had
that
thought come from?)

“You doing a new tag?” she said.

“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know.”

His hand made bold swoops across the page, followed by a series of angry squiggles. She wished she could see what he was drawing.

“They’re going to throw a party tonight,” she said. “Some of Ardelia’s neighbors and then some of her friends from London.”

“Right.”

“So.”

“So.”

He bit his pencil and considered his sketch pad, eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I’ll probably not do the party, if it’s okay with you.”

“Sure, of course,” she said quickly. “If you’re not in the mood.”

“I’ll just chill up here.”

“That’s totally fine,” she said. “I’m not really in the mood for a party, anyway.”

“No,” he said, meeting her eyes for the first time since she’d come up. “You should go. Ardelia’s throwing it for you.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “You should definitely go. And you’ll have fun.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” He put the pencil back in his mouth and squinted at his drawing again.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go to the party.”

“Okay,” said Lucas.

Then, with a small nod, he tore out the page he’d been working on, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it in the trash.

The guests began to arrive at nine. Neighbors drove in from the nearest estates, men and women Cherry did not recognize as celebrities. Ardelia introduced them one by one, but Cherry instantly forgot their names. There was an older couple, Lord and Lady Cardigan, and their younger counterparts, Mr. Silk Shirt and his fiancée, Ski Tan. There was a young Sir Overbite and his friend Mr. Scarf. They all seemed stately, rickety. These weren’t the Hollywood types of Maxwell’s parties. These were a different species entirely.

“Inbreeding,” whispered Maxwell. “Bones like vermicelli.”

Everyone gathered in the vaulted living room. Oliver stoked a fire, and Eve, recast as a caterer in black skirt and white top, served drinks. The scene looked like a page from an L.L. Bean catalog or, thought Cherry, the cheesy Murder Mystery Dinner Party Vi hosted on her twelfth birthday. Watching the guests, with their swirling snifters and stinky cheeses, Cherry felt as if she were looking into her future, or the next year of her life at least, as Ardelia’s Stay-at-Home Baby Carrier.

She kept thinking of Lucas, brooding in their room. She wanted to go upstairs and make it all better, but she didn’t know how. How do you apologize for something you haven’t admitted to? How do you reassure someone about something they have every right to be pissed off about?

And as a constant reminder that things were teetering on the edge of complete disaster: Spanner. At least at the party, Cherry could keep an eye on her. The demon girl moved like a chess piece through the room, precise and rod straight, always a formal distance between guests. She smiled coolly, sipped her drink, laughed at Ardelia’s jokes, and occasionally found Cherry’s eyes and glared.

Maxwell, to Cherry’s surprise, avoided the other guests and clung to the edges of the room, pretending to admire Ardelia’s bookshelves. He circled around to Cherry and winked.

“I know what’ll turn that frown upside down.” He tried to refill her drink, but Cherry covered her glass.

“You in a bear trap?” she asked.

“Okay, I can tell you’re not very happy with me.” He refilled his own glass instead. Making sure the other guests couldn’t hear, he leaned in and said in a nervous whisper, “Though honestly, I’m not sure why. You certainly seemed to know what you were doing. And for what it’s worth, I rather thought you
liked
me. I was a little hurt when you told me to piss off.”

Cherry rolled her eyes.
“You told Spanner.”

“She guessed, actually,” said Maxwell. “You know how she is. She’s like Sherlock in stilettos.”

“Well, that’s . . . good to know, I guess.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to . . . well.”

She glanced at him. Maxwell wasn’t in his element here. For some reason, Ardelia’s fancy friends weren’t
his
kind of fancy. Examining the little circle, she saw Spanner wasn’t entirely comfortable, either. She wasn’t really participating so much as standing sentry while Ardelia had fun and was charming. Cherry pictured herself round with Ardelia’s baby, carted around to parties on a Hannibal Lecter handcart.

“Look how natural she is,” Maxwell said, meaning Ardelia. “You see? Old money knows old money. These chumps won’t talk to you unless you’ve got a title. Or your ancestors played squash with Oliver Cromwell.”

“What do you mean?” said Cherry. “You’re rich and famous.”

He looked at her sideways. “There’s rich and then there’s
rich.
No one had heard of me before
Heavy Metal Pirates.
I was doing dentifrice commercials in Cardiff. If this period Oscar bait doesn’t win me an award . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Back to Cardiff, I guess. Good luck getting laid, then, Maxwell.”

Ardelia looked up from her conversation and gestured for Cherry to join them.

“You’d better head over there,” Maxwell said.

“I really don’t want to.”

“This party’s all for you, you know. Ardelia’s making sure you have their approval.”

“Theirs?”
said Cherry. “The James Bond villain society? Why?”

“These people’s opinions matter a lot more to her than box-office receipts,” said Maxwell. “These are the
family friends
”— he added a posh lilt to his already polished accent —“don’t you know.”

“Cherry, come join us,” Ardelia called, gesturing with a little more force this time.

The window was open. She could always make a run for it. “Wish me luck,” she said.

“God speed, pilgrim,” said Maxwell.

She ventured into the circle of guests. The only free seat was next to Lord Cardigan’s wife, Lady Frosted Hair, whose skirt suit seemed like an elaborate system of trusses and heavy buttons designed to keep her upright.

“Everyone, this is my new friend Cherry,” said Ardelia. “She’ll be staying at Liddell Manor next year.”

“Possibly staying,” said Spanner. Her normally plaster-pale cheeks had the slightest hint of pink. Cherry couldn’t tell if she was drunk or . . . nervous? No, that was impossible.

Lady Frosted Hair’s gaze lingered over Cherry’s cowboy boots. “Do you ride? We’d love to have you down to see our Arabians.”

An image: Lady Frosted Hair playing piggyback with a guy in a head scarf.

Horses,
Ardelia mouthed.

“Oh!” said Cherry. “I don’t know if I can ride a horse when I’m —”

“Cherry’s not much of an equestrian,” Ardelia put in quickly. “But I’m sure we’d love to come watch when you have your next showing.”

“Uh, right,” said Cherry. She raised her eyebrows at Ardelia, who cleared her throat.

“Who’s having brandy?” Ardelia said. Spanner rose, but Ardelia stopped her. “Cherry and I will fetch it.”

She went to the dry bar, and Cherry followed.

“They don’t know why I’m here,” said Cherry.

Ardelia shushed her and replied in a whisper, “They’re very old school. They don’t talk about unpleasant subjects.” She began to decant brown stuff into glasses. “Frankly, the fact that I’m an actress is a big disappointment to them. The Deens are a bit of a local curiosity. The
entertainers,
” she added with mock condescension.