Faces of Fear (30 page)

Conrad thumped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Oh, for God's sake! How could I have forgotten?" Then his voice changed and he sounded almost like a little boy. "Maybe you could save the other one for another day? I found this one, and it seemed so perfect, and—"

"I guess I could," Alison broke in. "But what if it doesn't fit?" Conrad stared blankly at her, and she had the distinct feeling that the thought had never crossed his mind. "Maybe I should try it on."

"Great!" Conrad said, his expression suddenly clearing. "And if it doesn't fit, or you don't like it, you can wear the one you already have."

Alison put the box on the corner of her bed, then raised the lid.

When she peeled back the tissue paper, she gasped. A gorgeous black V-neck dress, made of the lightest fabric she'd ever seen, lay folded inside.

She stared at Conrad in stunned amazement.

"Go ahead," he urged. "Take it out."

She lifted the dress from the box. It couldn't have weighed more than a few ounces. The back was cut low and the flared skirt, cut on the bias, had a diagonal hem dropping away from right to left.

And a very discreet Valentino label.

"Oh, Conrad," she breathed. "This is beautiful."

"Try it on," he said.

She turned to look at him. "You're sure?" she asked. "It must have cost—"

"Just try it on," he broke in, lowering himself into the wing chair by the window. "If you hate it, I'll return it. If you like it, and it fits, you can either wear it tomorrow or it can stay in your closet until you need it." His right eyebrow lifted archly. "Trust me—my first wife taught me that you can't have too many dresses."

Alison was still torn, balancing the expense of the dress against the vision she had of herself wearing it. And she could see that Conrad truly did want her to have it. "Okay," she finally said, clutching the gown to her. "I'll be right back."

She went into the dressing room between her bedroom and bathroom, closed the door behind her, and quickly shucked her shorts and tank top. She no longer needed a bra, thanks to Conrad's gift of two weeks ago, so she slipped the dress over her head, letting it drop into place.

It fit perfectly.

A glance in the mirror told her the dress demanded upswept hair, so she rummaged in the bathroom for a clip and pulled her hair up into a semblance of a French twist. Then she slipped her feet into the pair of black high heels she was planning to dance in tomorrow and opened the door. "Ta da," she said, opening her arms and slowly twirling. "It's perfect."

"It's more than perfect," Conrad said, standing up. "It's like that dress was created for you."

Alison grinned happily at him. "Why don't I think Valentino's ever even heard of me?"

"Well, if he hasn't, he will," Conrad declared. "How about I take a picture of you for the album at the office? We don't have an ‘after' shot of you, and in that dress you'll sell my services to everyone who sees you."

Alison hesitated. "What about my hair? And shouldn't I be wearing makeup?"

"Not needed," Conrad declared. "Better to see you exactly the way you are."

"Can't I at least comb my hair?" she asked.

"Okay, comb your hair while I get my camera," he said. "But no makeup. I don't want anything distracting from your figure."

He left her room, and Alison returned to the dressing room, brushed her hair out, then swept it back up into a real twist, this time pinning it carefully in place. By the time she was finished and back in her bedroom, Conrad had returned, with a large digital single-lens-reflex camera.

"By the window," he said, motioning her over to a spot where sunlight was flooding into the room.

She moved close to the window and leaned against the wall as Conrad focused the camera and started taking one picture after another. Like Margot, she thought. This is just how Margot must have felt.

As the shutter kept clicking, Alison wondered if Margot Dunn had felt anywhere near as uncomfortable in front of Conrad's camera as she did right now.

In fact, the whole thing felt kind of creepy—posing for her stepfather in her own bedroom. But what could she say? Conrad had been so generous to her, done so much for her.

Besides, it would be over in a couple more minutes. What harm could there be in humoring him?

If he wanted to take her picture, who was she to say no?

ALISON BRUSHED A FINAL TOUCH OF GLOSS ONTO HER LIPS, THEN stood back, took a careful look at herself in the full-length mirror, and decided that Conrad's procedure had been worth it.

And that's all it had been, actually—just a simple procedure she recovered from so quickly that whatever discomfort she'd felt was already nothing more than a dim memory. Nothing like surgery at all. Surgery would have hurt a lot more, and would have taken a much longer time to heal. So why had she been such a baby about it? Especially now that she was seeing the results.

The difference the procedure had made was more than simply an augmentation of her breasts. It seemed as if her whole figure had changed from that of an adolescent into one of a young woman. All her curves seemed to have been accentuated by the procedure, and with her hair swept up, some of Danielle DeLorian's incredibly expensive makeup lightly applied, and the spectacular Mandalay dress, she looked more like a sophisticated eighteen-year-old than the barely sixteen she actually was. Even more important, she looked like the kind of girl who could play hostess to the kind of party her mother and Conrad had arranged, rather than the pizza-and-games-or-a-movie birthday parties she'd had as long as she could remember. If this was how she looked with just the one procedure—

Her mother's voice on the intercom shattered her reverie. "Alison, your guests are arriving."

"Be right down," she answered, then put away her cosmetics, and took one last look around her suite to make certain everything was neat and ready for inspection—every one of her friends from Santa Monica was going to want to see it.

She opened her bedroom door and started down the stairs, seeing her mother and stepfather waiting for her in the foyer as she came around the turn at the staircase's landing.

"Alison," Risa whispered, her eyes widening as she gazed up at her daughter. "You look beautiful—just beautiful."

As she came to the bottom of the stairs, twinkling lights in the garden caught Alison's eye. "But not as pretty as the garden," she said, smiling happily.

"Nobody's going to look at the garden once they take a look at you," Conrad said. "You look spectacular."

Alison felt the color rising in her cheeks. "Thank you, Conrad," she murmured. "Thanks for all of this."

"Happy sweet sixteen," Conrad said, and raised the wineglass he was holding.

Before Alison could respond, the doorbell rang, and Ruffles came tumbling down the stairs, barking as loud as he could.

"And that's our cue to vanish," Risa said, bending down to scoop Ruffles up before he could launch himself at whoever was at the door. "We'll be in the media room if you need us."

"Have fun," Conrad told her with a wink, then followed his wife down the hall.

Alison opened the front door to find Cindy Kearns, along with Lisa Hess, Anton Hoyer, and Tommy Kline, holding brightly wrapped presents while they watched one of the parking valets Conrad had hired move Tommy's ten-year-old Honda to a nearly invisible spot next to the garage.

"Wow!" Lisa said. "Look at you!"

Alison grinned happily and hugged Lisa and Anton, but when she turned to Cindy, the girl who had always been her best friend stiffened, and Alison knew why.

Cindy Kearns still didn't approve of what she'd had done to herself.

A little of her happiness drained away, and the lights in the garden didn't seem quite as bright as they had a moment ago.

"Where did you get that dress?" Lisa asked.

Alison hesitated a moment too long. "Neiman's," she finally admitted.

"Neiman's," Cindy echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Alison felt her face burning now as she remembered the fun she and Cindy used to make of the girls their age who bought whatever they wanted in the store.
Wait'll they have to spend their own money,
Cindy had said only a few months ago.
Then we'll see how much of this stuff they buy.
And now Cindy thought she had become one of those people.

But she wasn't, was she? This was different—this was a special occasion.
Her birthday party!
Couldn't Cindy understand that?

Doing her best not to let Cindy spoil her happiness, Alison ushered the group into the house. "Jesus," Anton Hoyer breathed as he looked around the foyer, then through to the living room and the garden beyond. "What a place."

"I want a tour!" Lisa Hess said. "Show us your room."

Another car door slammed outside.

"In a while," Alison said, "after everybody's here. Come on out back."

She led them through the house to the French doors opening onto the terrace. Spread below them were the swimming pool, which had been covered over with a dance floor, and the perfectly manicured gardens. Tommy Kline uttered a low whistle. "This isn't like any party I've ever been to," he said. "It looks more like a wedding, only not white."

Even Alison tried not to stare at the enormous bunches of colored balloons hovering over a dozen small tables, with each tablecloth matching the color of the balloons overhead, and each table displaying an elaborate bouquet of flowers in the same color. A buffet table laden with chafing dishes sat next to a bar stocked with sodas and fruit juices; a second buffet table featured an ice sculpture of a dolphin that seemed to be launching himself out of a sea of shrimp, crab, and chilled lobster.

"I knew I shouldn't have worn jeans," Lisa said ruefully, and folded her arms over her pink tank top.

Cindy shook her head. "You're
fine,
" she said. "It's just a house!"

As soon as Alison appeared on the terrace, the three-piece band began to play and the fairy lights in the trees that she'd seen from inside the house began to brighten in the fading daylight. Then a stream of her new friends, led by Trip Atkinson and Cooper Ames, burst through the French doors and onto the terrace. Laden with gifts far more elaborately wrapped than those the Santa Monica group had brought, they piled the packages onto the table set out for that purpose, offered Alison greetings barely less pretentious than their gifts, then went directly to the food and the bar. Tommy Kline and Anton Hoyer followed them, wasting no time filling two plates.

Alison began to relax as she watched the party begin. Though the kids from Santa Monica had seemed overwhelmed by the house, with Tommy and Anton plunging right in, maybe it was going to be alright.

"Hi, birthday girl," Tasha Rudd called when she appeared on the terrace, Dawn Masin trailing along a half step behind. Alison could almost feel Cindy and Lisa stiffen as they watched the two Wilson girls stride confidently toward them, wearing tiny dresses that were mostly made of spandex and obviously cost several hundred dollars each. Tasha waved a tiny little gift bag at her, then added it to the table that was beginning to fill with presents. "Just something I found at Tiffany that had you written all over it," she said, kissing the air next to each of Alison's cheeks.

"That dress looks simply fa-
boo
on you," Dawn said to Alison as she repeated Tasha's air kisses. "And your new boobs are
perfect.
" Alison smiled, but her smile faded as she caught the look of scorn on Cindy Kearns's face. "Be sure to have Conrad do your chin next," Dawn went on.

"And that little bump on your nose," Tasha chimed in. "He could do that at the same time."

"Actually, I've been sort of thinking about that," Alison said, remembering the perfect cleft in Scott Lawrence's chin and how he'd gotten it.

"You're kidding," Cindy said, making no attempt to conceal her disdain for the idea.

"Well, I haven't decided anything," Alison said a little too quickly.

"Why would she be kidding?" Tasha asked, turning to look directly at Cindy for the first time. "It would improve her profile hugely."

"That's stupid," Cindy said. "There's nothing wrong with Alison's profile."

Tasha eyed Cindy. "And you are…?" As the question hung in the air, Tasha let her gaze wander appraisingly over Cindy's straight brown hair and casual clothes, and uttered a small but audible—and pointedly hopeless—sigh.

"I'm sorry," Alison said, too hurriedly. "These are Cindy Kearns and Lisa Hess, my friends from Santa Monica." She shifted her focus to Cindy and Lisa, pleading with them with her eyes. "This is Tasha Rudd and Dawn Masin. They go to Wilson."

The four gazed silently at each other.

"Why don't we all go get something to eat?" Alison asked, trying to steer the group toward the steps down to the lawn.

"I'm not eating," Tasha said. "It's almost swimsuit season."

Alison was about to laugh when she felt a hand close on her elbow, and as the rest of the girls started down the steps, she found Cindy Kearns holding her back.

"
Swimsuit
season?" Cindy repeated, her voice mimicking Tasha's almost perfectly. "I don't believe this, Alison. It's barely been a month, and you've already turned into—" She hesitated, then tilted her head pointedly toward Tasha and Dawn, who had paused on the steps and were now looking back up at them. "—one of
them,
" Cindy finished.

"One of
us,
" Dawn countered. "Well, it's certainly better than being one of you. Where on earth did you buy that outfit? Kmart?"

"I'm leaving," Cindy said, turning to Lisa Hess. "I knew we shouldn't have come." She struck a pose, again perfectly mimicking Tasha Rudd. "We're
so
not their class, darling. Let's go have a pizza."

Lisa hesitated. "Come on, Cindy, we just got here—"

Alison put a hand on Cindy's arm. "Don't go. Please?"

Cindy shook her head, her eyes suddenly glistening with tears. "I don't know who you are anymore," she said, the words choking in her constricted throat. Then she pulled herself together and drew her arm away from Alison. "You have a new life and new friends. What do you need me for? Go play with your new friends. Have a good time, and happy birthday."