Authors: and Khloé Kardashian Kim Kourtney
Dollhouse (12 page)
Kass
K
ass squinted at the blinding white light that was burning up her retinas. When had her room gotten so . . .
bright
? And why did her head feel as though it was filled with thick, gooey cement?
She groaned and turned over. The clock on her nightstand blinked: 2:30. Two-thirty, as in the middle of the afternoon? Had she really slept that late? She always woke up at 7
A.M.
sharp, alarm or no alarm.
There was only one explanation. She must be sick. She almost never got sick, as a result of her daily regimen of vitamins and herbal teas, plus her fastidious use of hand sanitizer. But obviously, these things had not been an adequate firewall. She knew that a bad flu was going around, and she
had
been feeling run-down lately. Finals week was coming up soon, and she had so much on her plate . . .
A loud, whirring noise came from somewhere in the house. Kass sat up abruptly—and immediately felt a wave of nausea unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She took a deep breath and tried to focus. What was that sound? Was there a burglar in the house?
The whirring noise stopped. Kass clutched her stomach and slithered out of bed, trying to be as silent as possible . . .
. . . whereupon her legs buckled out from under her, and she landed unceremoniously on the floor, ass first.
“Hey, doll! You up?” a voice called out.
Oh.
Kass smiled, relieved, despite the fact that her body seemed to be falling apart. Not to mention naked. Where were her pajamas?
It wasn’t a burglar; it was just Kamille.
Just Kamille.
KAMILLE!
It all came flooding back to her. Last night. The fight with Eduardo. The tequila-thon with Kyle.
(Damn
that little bitch!) Coming home. Running into Chase, alone.
And doing other things with Chase, alone.
Several times, in fact.
“I am so screwed,” Kass muttered to herself. “I. Am. So. Screwed.”
There was a knock, and the door opened, and Kamille walked in.
Kass braced herself for the barrage of swearwords. Or maybe the barrage of something else, like bullets.
“Hey, sleepyhead! Are you talking to yourself again?” Kamille said cheerfully.
“What?”
“I made mango smoothies, you want one?”
Kass blinked. Kamille was not coming after her with a gun or even yelling at her. She was offering her a mango smoothie.
In fact, she looked downright happy. Dressed in pink sweats and a matching tank top, and her face free of makeup, she was sunny, radiant. How did she manage to do this first thing in the morning? Oh, yeah, it wasn’t first thing in the morning. And she was Kamille Romero. She was
always
beautiful, 24/7.
“Kam, I’m sick,” Kass groaned, although she now realized that she wasn’t sick from any flu. “My head, and my stomach . . .”
“Poor baby! Is that why you’re all pasty white? And why you’re sitting on the floor naked? Do you have a fever?” Kamille reached down to touch Kass’s forehead with the back of her hand.
“Stop that!”
“I’m just trying to help; you don’t need to be such a bitch about it!”
Kass winced. “Sorry, it’s just that—”
“Just what?”
“I—”
Kass stared at the floor. What was she going to say?
I got really, really drunk last night and hooked up with your boyfriend! So sorry! It won’t happen again! He’s a sleazebag, anyway, and you’re better off without him!
Unfortunately, Chase wasn’t the only sleazebag in this situation. Kass could only go so far, blaming her hideous lack of judgment on the tequila. If she confessed what she’d done to Kamille . . . well, Kamille would disown her. No question about it. In fact, the entire family would disown her. Kass would end up totally alone in the world, spending the rest of her life without the people she loved most.
She began to cry.
“Ohmigod, Kassie! Is it that bad? Where does it hurt? I’m calling 911!” Kamille insisted.
Kass shook her head. Which made it hurt even worse. “No, no, I’m fine. I was just, um, thinking about Valentino, that’s all,” she said, sniffling.
“What? Why?”
“I miss him.”
“Doll, he’s been gone for like seven years. But yeah, I miss him, too. Seriously, Kass, I think you should go back to bed. I can run out to the drugstore and get you some meds. I’m not meeting up with Chase till later, anyway. I can even cancel, if you need me.”
“Wait, what? You’re . . . meeting up with Chase?”
“Yeah. He and I had this humongous fight last night. In fact, I kinda broke our martini pitcher. Sorry. Not that you care about martinis, but still.”
“You had a fight?”
“Yeah. I walked out on him and went out with Simone and these randoms till like three in the morning. I figured I’d ignore him and let him feel really, really bad about hurting me like that. Well, it worked, because when I finally texted him, he texted me back right away and told me how much he loved me and how he wanted to make it up to me. So I went over to his place, and we had like
the
most incredible sex, ever. Ohmigod.”
Kass couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You . . . did?”
“Sorry, TMI, right?”
“But I thought he was
here
.”
Kamille frowned. “He
was.
I mean, he was here in the beginning, when we had our fight. But he left after that, obviously,
duh,
because we met up at his apartment. Like four, four-thirty this morning. Kassie, why are you getting all OCD on me with these weird little details?”
Kass tried to think, which wasn’t easy through the toxic haze of her hangover. When had she fallen asleep last night? Or, more likely, passed out? She tried to remember Chase getting dressed and leaving the house.
But all she could recall were the blurry images of his naked body pounding against her naked body . . .
“Sorry. Go on,” she mumbled, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks.
“With what? That’s all. The point is, Chase and I are back together, and we’re better than ever! He had this work thing he had to go to this afternoon. But he’s taking me out tonight, to celebrate. I’ve gotta skip Sunday Night Dinner . . . you don’t think Mommy and Beau’ll mind, do you?”
“What? You
can’t
miss Sunday Night Dinner!” Kass told her.
And you can’t get back together with Chase,
she added silently.
He’s a jerk. And I’m a jerk, too.
“Just this once. It’s really important to Chase. I’ll tell Mommy I’m sick! You’re sick, too, so she’ll believe me! It can just be her, Beau, Kyle, Benjy, and Bree tonight—and whatever freaks she decides to invite.”
“I don’t think that’s a good—”
“Oh, hey! Didn’t you have a date with Eduardo last night?” Kamille interrupted. “How’d it go? Did you finally hook up, or are you waiting for a sign from God?” Her blue eyes sparkled merrily.
Kass turned away. “I think you’re right, I need to rest. I’m gonna take a nap now,” she mumbled.
“Oh! I’m sorry, sweetie! I’ll leave you alone. Just call me if you need me, okay?” Kamille bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “Feel better! Love you, doll!”
“Love you, too.”
Kamille breezed away. Crawling back into bed, Kass laid her head on the pillow and tried to think.
She
had
to tell Kamille.
But she
couldn’t
tell Kamille.
What in the hell was she going to do?
Christmas
Kamille
S
ipping a flute of Veuve Clicquot champagne, Kamille gazed out at the gently sloping green and the sand-colored mountains beyond. It was a warm, dry December afternoon, perfect for a celebrity golf tournament in Palm Desert. Behind her, guests spilled out of the elegant Spanish-style clubhouse—more like a club
mansion
—and gathered on the stone terrace. Occasionally, the
thunk
of a golf ball or someone yelling “fore!” cut through the sounds of laughter and conversation and clinking glasses.
“Well? What do you think?” Simone came up to Kamille and tucked her arm through hers. “Do I know how to throw a sick party, or what?”
“Yeah, that’s a nice way to describe an event to raise money for cancer awareness,” Kamille said wryly. “Besides, you’re just the assistant. Didn’t your boss do all this?” She waved her hand at the elegant bistro tables, the tuxedo-clad servers, the outdoor raw bar, the jazz trio, the flowers, everything.
“
Just the assistant?
Bite your tongue, bitch! Don’t you know that the assistant always does everything? No, you wouldn’t know that, since you’ve never had a real job.”
“Fuck you!”
“Mmm, girl fight. Can I watch? Or better yet, can I get between the two of you?”
Kamille smiled as Chase walked up to her and Simone, a wide grin on his face. He was dressed in pink-and-yellow plaid pants and a white polo that set off his deep tan—the tan he’d gotten during his and Kamille’s recent getaway in Cabo, to celebrate his twenty-third birthday. He was carrying a club—no,
iron
—and swinging it lightly, as though practicing his driving—or was it
putting
? Kamille wasn’t a golfer, but she’d tried to learn the terms, just to keep up with her boyfriend, who loved the sport almost as much as baseball.
“So how are you lovely ladies?” Chase said, draping his arms around Kamille and Simone’s shoulders. Chase knew Simone from several double dates the four of them had been on (i.e., Chase, Kamille, Simone, and Simone’s hookup du jour). Simone, unlike Kass and Kat, actually
liked
Chase and got along well with him.
“If you want a threesome, asshole, hire a hooker,” Simone joked. “So how much money did you raise for us today? Forty thousand? Fifty?”
“Wrong. A
hundred,
” Chase replied smugly. “Do I rock or what?”
“Wow, you definitely rock,” Simone told him. “If Kamille wasn’t here, I’d give you a blow job right this second.”
“Really, Simone?” Kamille said, disgusted.
“Just kidding! Excuse me, guys, I’ve gotta go see if my favorite L.A. Raider needs something. Like a drink. Or an excuse to leave his wife. Poor guy, he looks so lonely!” She wriggled her eyebrows and drifted off in the direction of a tall, cute guy standing near the hors d’oeuvres table.
“She is so gross, I’m sorry,” Kamille murmured to Chase. “Don’t get me wrong, I love her like a sister. But still.”
“Enough about Simone, let’s talk about us,” Chase said, pulling her in close and kissing her.
Kamille leaned into the kiss, sighing with pleasure. Things had been so good between them lately: no fights, no drama, no mystery phone calls from mystery skanks, nothing. Even the tabloids seemed to have eased up on them. And because the baseball season was over, he had tons of free time to just be with her.
Actually, Kamille was spending most of her nights at Chase’s house in Holmby Hills lately. He’d told her right after Thanksgiving that he wanted to have her to himself, i.e., no roommate, i.e., no Kass. Which was fine with Kamille, since they no longer had to worry about privacy or being inhibited about making love on the living room rug, the kitchen counter, the dining room table, wherever . . .
Still, it meant that Kamille saw less of Kass than ever before. Plus, Kass was in the middle of final exams, so she was hardly ever at Café Romero these days. She’d even missed a couple of Sunday Night Dinners, to study, which was kind of unheard of. Kamille made a mental note to pin Kass down for a girls’ night soon, just the two of them, to catch up. Kamille missed Kass, and she felt weird not knowing what was going on with her—like was she still going out with Eduardo? Did they ever hook up? Or had she found someone new through Lovematch? Basic, important stuff.
Chase’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Hey, babe? Did I tell you, my mom invited us for Christmas dinner?”
“Yeah, about that.” Kamille made a face and tugged at the front of his shirt. “I don’t know what to do,” she said quietly. “I’ve never missed Christmas dinner with my family, ever. But I don’t want to disappoint your parents either. Especially not before I’ve even met them.”
She and Chase had been trying to get down to Laguna Beach to see his parents for a while now. But between Kamille’s shooting schedule—Giles had lined up two new ads for her, with Belladonna Cosmetics and some trendy new fashion designer with an unpronounceable name—and Mr. Goodall’s numerous business trips (he was a lawyer for some big-deal firm), they hadn’t been able to find a free day. She and Chase had spent Thanksgiving apart: he with his family in San Francisco, visiting with his elderly grandparents in their retirement home, and she in L.A. with her family. She’d hated not being with him for that holiday. She wanted to spend every holiday with him, now and forever.
“Do you think we might be able to see them for Christmas Eve instead?” Kamille said, pouting. “Or maybe go down the day after?”
“Um . . . not Christmas Eve.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have special plans for us.”
“You do? What kind of plans?”
“Sorry, I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
Kamille punched Chase in the arm playfully. “You jerk! Tell me!”
“Can’t. This is, like, classified stuff. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Chase plucked a glass of champagne from a passing server and gulped it down. “Anyway, how’s this? Why don’t we have Christmas dinner with your folks? I’ll talk to my mom and see if she’d be okay with us coming down the day after. I’m sure she’ll be cool about it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s a huge relief, thank you! You’re the best!”
“Yeah, you can thank me later. At home.”
“Mmm.”
Chase kissed her again, more passionately this time. His lips tasted yummy, like champagne. As Kamille kissed him back, she was vaguely aware of a photographer nearby, taking their picture; she could hear the familiar, steady
click, click, click
of a professional camera.
But it was fine with her. She was getting more and more used to having her picture taken, and she didn’t mind as long as the pictures were
nice
ones. Besides, Chase had mentioned just recently that his publicist, Zoe, wanted lots of PDA when they were out together, to reinforce their image as a superhappy, supertogether couple. If making out with Chase in public kept the media vultures from spinning lies about him, then Kamille was more than willing to oblige.
She felt Chase’s hand sliding down her back, caressing softly. “Hey, are you wearing panties under that dress?” he whispered in her ear.
“Chase!” Kamille cried out, blushing furiously.
Chase hugged her, laughing. Kamille laughed, too. The photographer continued shooting:
click, click, click
. Feeling intoxicated from the champagne and the sunshine and the sheer, giddy joy of being with her amazing boyfriend, Kamille imagined the headline that would accompany these pictures on tomorrow’s blogs:
CHASE AND KAMILLE MORE IN LOVE THAN EVER!
This time, it would actually be the truth.
