In Too Deep (14 page)

H
ere’s the thing about living in the entertainment capital of the world: if you’re going to run a con, you have to do it right. That means production values, full costumes, down-to-the-second choreography. There’s no show business without the show, after all, which is how I found myself in the elegant lavatory of Jessica Rebstock’s Gulfstream jet on Friday after school, changing out of a flight attendant’s uniform.

The skirt was navy blue and knee-length, with a matching suit jacket. The blouse was white and wide-collared, and the costume lady Gracia knew at Universal had topped off the whole ensemble with a red, white, and blue silk scarf tied around the neck like a cravat. She’d even offered little short-brimmed caps, but I had to draw the line somewhere.

When I emerged from the bathroom, now fully changed into simple shorts and a T-shirt, Gracia was waiting for me in one of the reclining leather chairs facing away from the cockpit, drinking an ice-cold Diet Coke, which the actual flight attendant had provided her.

“If all else fails,” Gracia said, still in full uniform herself, “you can always go into air hostessing. Navy’s a good color on you.”

“You look like you should be filming something out in Van Nuys,” I said, motioning to the leather, the varnished mahogany, the gold-plated seat-belt buckles, and Gracia’s cleavage spilling out of a uniform that must have been sized for a prepubescent.

“I’ll call it
Adventures in the Mile-High Club.
”

The interior of the jet was like a narrow suite. Rich leather seats, two facing each other on either side of the plane, plus a bench-type seat on the right side across from another recliner. Plush carpet, varnished wood panels at the front and back. “There’s definitely room for that,” I said, “even in the bathroom. It’s huge. Obnoxiously huge.”

Gracia rolled her eyes at me. “Please tell me you’re not worried about the carbon footprint of the most awesome trip either one of us has ever taken.”

With all the other things on my mind, I hadn’t thought of it, but now that she mentioned—

“Mother Nature is going to forgive you on this one,” Gracia said. “No, I take that back. She
wants
you to go. When she invented carbon emissions, this is exactly what she had in mind. She’s ordered up clear blue skies, gentle breeze, sunsets that will blow your—”

“I get it. I get it.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Thanks for doing this,” I said.

“I want you to know something,” she said. “I understand. I understand that you told the boy about the break-in before you told me—”

“Gracia—”

“I would have come straight over. You know that, right?”

I nodded. Of course I knew that. I refolded each piece of the uniform and handed her the bundle, which she stuffed into her massive purse. Then I collapsed into the seat across from her. Our windows looked out to the tarmac, and beyond it the ever-growing bank of paparazzi across the street.

By the time Gracia’s driver had deposited us at the airport an hour earlier, three cars were already parked along the street opposite the tarmac entrance. A guy in jean shorts and a brown hoodie stood on the roof of a red 4Runner, setting up a camera with an enormous telephoto lens on top of a tripod. He’d spun toward our car, camera at the ready, but he’d lost interest when Gracia and I had emerged from the car in our uniforms. We were only flight attendants, after all; we weren’t somebody.

“Not that I don’t enjoy a little dress-up from time to time,” she said, smoothing the front of her skirt. “But one of these days you’re going to tell me why we did it. And don’t give me the ‘I want to protect my privacy’ nonsense. That may have worked with Josh’s mom and Mimi, but give me a little credit.”

My hand dropped to the top of my backpack on reflex. Everything we knew about the Golden Jaguar was inside, including my pictures of the disk. How easy it would have been to show her. I’d tell her about Cozumel and the Devil’s Throat, and all the crap she’d ever given me about being interested in lost treasure would disappear. I wasn’t a cute little idiot; I was audacious, independent, my own woman.

But I needed a friend, not a fight, so I had to wait. Even though I knew the longer I waited, the more furious she’d be when I finally told her the truth.

“Besides, I had nothing else to do,” she said after a pause. “And Mimi wants to hit the Grove after this.”

“Why do I feel so nervous?” I said. “I’m getting claustrophobic in here.”

“Because you’re playing on the varsity now. You have to get used to it. If you’re going to be involved with him—”

“We’re not involved—”

“Right. He’s taking you to Hawaii because he wants to ace some stupid report.”

The pilot ascended the short stairway and introduced himself. He was young and well built, and his hair was cropped extremely close, like he’d just left the military. “We’re about ready,” he said before closing the cockpit door behind him.

“Rebstock Air,” Gracia said with a wink. “Our pilots are hot.”

“Best slogan ever.”

Gracia reached into her purse and pulled out a small package wrapped in pink tissue paper. “Don’t open it until you get there.”

“You didn’t need to do this.”

“Yes, I did,” she said. “Trust me.”

I tucked the gift into the front pocket of my backpack and zipped it up tight. I looked out the window to see six or seven paparazzi now set up across the street. “One little phone call from his mom’s agent, and they all come running.”

Gracia nodded. “My dad told me Larry Schuster’s a bulldog.”

Josh and I realized that we had to go over the top. We had to make it clear that Josh was going with his mother on a trip—and more to the point, if Wayo happened to be paying attention—that there was no indication that Josh and I were involved in anything together. We had to separate the
Josh
from the
me
. That meant making sure the paparazzi knew about the flight. And it also meant persuading Mimi to agree to a cameo role.

That part didn’t turn out to be too hard.

The town car pulled onto the tarmac, which led to a frenzy from the paparazzi. Those who weren’t standing on their roofs ran across the street with their cameras and stopped right at the edge of the airport property, snapping away.

Violet emerged from the front passenger side first. The rear door opened, and Josh’s mom stepped out, then Josh. And finally Mimi.

“Here we go,” I said. Gracia’s face was only inches from the window, but I peeked just around the side.

Mimi reached for Josh’s hand and held it close. She wore a red-and-black floral-print sundress, sleeveless and pleated, with a wide black belt that gave her virtually no torso; her legs seemed to sprout from beneath her chest. Her hair was vintage Mimi: blown straight, parted in the middle. There were even some new highlights, I noticed.

The sun was dipping down into the smog layer, giving everything a slightly golden hue; the pictures would look magical.

“This was your idea?” Gracia said.

I averted my eyes long enough to notice the driver unloading bags from the trunk. Mine was slightly more worn than the others, but still in good-enough shape to handle all my dive gear, plus some things I’d picked up from the shop.

Suddenly Mimi stopped Josh, spun him around, and leaned in. He ran his fingers through the back of her hair, cupped her head in his hands, and pulled her lips to his. To say their kiss was intense was like saying nuclear war would be unfortunate. Her hands massaged his entire back as they basically licked each other’s faces off. If they didn’t stop soon, I was worried they might asphyxiate each other.

Gracia whistled through her teeth. “Whatever your reason for doing it this way, I hope it was worth having to see that.”

“Josh and I are looking for Hernán Cortés’s Golden Jaguar,” I blurted in a whisper, still looking out the window at Mimi and Josh. “And we think it’s somewhere near an ancient Polynesian sculpture garden off the coast of Molokai, but there’s a guy named Wayo who tried to kill me in Cozumel, and we’re worried that he might be watching us. So we had to throw him off the scent. That’s why we couldn’t risk my being seen getting on the plane with Josh. That’s why you’re wearing a porn star’s flight attendant uniform.”

Gracia stared at me. Then she cleared her throat. “Forget it. Tell me, don’t tell me, I don’t care anymore.”

Before I could say anything else, Violet climbed the stairs. She walked right past us and tossed her purse onto the bench seat, collapsing next to it.

“Hi, Violet,” I said. There was no response. Gracia raised her eyebrows and gave me the
sheesh
face.

Josh’s mom was next. She gave me a little hello squeeze, but when she saw Gracia, she did a double take.

“I know, I know,” Gracia said. “They got the sizing wrong.”

“You look very nice,” Jessica said, recovering.

“That’s pretty good,” Gracia said with a smile. “Your Oscar was well deserved.”

Josh climbed the stairs and stopped at the open doorway to wave good-bye to Mimi.

“That’s my cue,” Gracia said, shouldering the bag that held my uniform as Jessica settled into the recliner across from Violet. “Mrs. Rebstock, it was lovely to see you.”

“Hey, Gracia,” Josh said.

Gracia snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Eyes up here, chief.” She turned to me and said, “Good luck on your report.”

Mimi climbed back into the town car, following the plan to perfection, not acknowledging Gracia as she walked past the car and into the terminal. The two of them would meet up a couple of blocks away, well out of the prying eyes of the paparazzi.

And then we were moving. The flight attendant brought me a water and Josh a Coke, no ice. He and I sat in recliners facing each other on the same side of the plane. The grin on his face seemed a little too self-satisfied for my taste.

“You want me to get you some floss?” I said.

“Huh?”

“You might have some pieces of her tongue stuck between your teeth.”

For a moment there, I thought I saw a flash of regret or even embarrassment, but Josh quickly replaced it with his patented I’m-awesome-and-everybody-knows-it face. “I’m no expert at acting, but I figured we had to sell it.”

Even if that’s all it was—which I’m not sure Mimi would agree with—he had to have known that I was watching. And he didn’t seem to care what I saw.

I knew in my head that doing it this way was worth seeing him and Mimi suck face, and my head also knew that he was right about having to sell it, but that didn’t mean that my heart had to be on the same page.

My heart wanted to punch him in the face.

Take-off was almost unnoticeable, and soon we were at our cruising altitude, chasing the sun west, and whatever Molokai had in store for us was only hours away.

A
fleet of polished black Jeeps awaited us at the airport, which was more a landing strip in the middle of a tropical jungle than an actual complex. We were greeted with fresh leis, live music, the whole deal. After a half-hour trip through the jungle in our luxury Jeeps—who knew there was such a thing—we passed through the gates of the five-star Hanauma Serenity Resort.

There are only around eight thousand people on Molokai, and according to Josh’s mom, only one resort on the island is worth visiting. Lucky for us, it is on the northern shore, only a thirty-minute boat ride from the sculpture garden. I couldn’t decide which I was more excited about: staying at a five-star tropical resort, having my own room in said resort, hanging out with Josh in said resort, or using said resort as the launching point in our search for the Jaguar.

The lobby was open to the breeze, providing a combination of exquisitely polished marble and billowing linen curtains. I expected that we might check in at the front desk, but there was no front desk. Instead, four bellmen were lined up beside a flower vase the size of a Smart Car. They wore cream-colored sport coats over yellow-and-blue Hawaiian shirts, and the moment we walked through the doorway, each of them approached one of us.

“If you’ll follow me, Miss Fleet,” one said.

I leaned in to Josh and whispered, “How does he know my name?”

“That’s all Violet,” Josh said. “She e-mails our pictures to the staff before we go anywhere. It’s a nice touch, isn’t it?”

Josh’s mom put her hand on my shoulder like a politician. “Why don’t we all get settled. We can meet back down here for dinner in an hour?”

I nodded, my mind coming to grips with the concept of individual bellmen who knew our names. I noticed our luggage being hustled on a cart behind us and through a set of doors, probably to a service elevator so the process was hidden. My bellman—Kenny—offered to take my backpack for me, but I politely declined.

“She’s a little particular about her stuff,” Josh said.

I blushed. I felt out of place enough as it was. I didn’t need him making me look like a moron in front of everyone.

We each paired up with our designated servants, and while the others went down the hall one way, I followed Kenny in the opposite direction to an elevator. As we rode the short trip to the second floor, he apologized profusely for not having enough beachfront rooms available on such short notice. I said I was pretty sure I’d be okay.

When he unlocked the door for me and held it open, I realized with some amazement that I didn’t have my own room after all.

I had my own suite!

Two steps led to a sunken living room that spilled out onto a wide balcony overlooking the ocean. The entire floor was covered in a carpet so thick it might as well have been a beige cloud. A sitting area with a couch and matching chairs faced the balcony, and a gleaming wooden table took up much of the dining area behind the couch. Tucked around the side was a full kitchen—as if there were a grocery store within miles of this place—with a massive stove and copper pots hanging from a carved wooden rack on the wall.

White French doors opened to a bedroom dominated by a king-size bed. A fifty-inch television took up half the wall opposite the bed, but the notion that anyone would want to watch TV at a place like this seemed preposterous.

Kenny opened the closet door and pointed to a small steel box with a keypad on the door. “That’s the safe for your valuables.”

“It’s a little late for that,” I said.

“I’m sorry?”

Then I almost asked him how he knew I was planning on coming back with any valuables, but I was able to stop myself and cover it with a laugh. God, I was the worst at playing it cool in the history of playing it cool. I unzipped my backpack and searched for my wallet. “Do I…I mean, what’s the…?”

“It’s been taken care of, Miss Fleet,” Kenny said.

“Please, call me Annie.”

“Of course. If you need anything at all during your stay with us—day or night—please don’t hesitate to call.”

I felt a strange urge to act like this was no big deal, to pretend that I stayed at five-star resorts all the time. But as Kenny in his linen sport coat opened the door, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to tell somebody.

“This place is amazing!” I pointed out the windows to the ocean. And yes, I admit it: I squealed. “Have you ever seen anything as gorgeous in your entire life?”

Kenny smiled.

“Rhetorical question,” I said, clearing my throat. “Of course you have.”

Kenny backed through the door with another wide smile. “Enjoy your stay, Miss Fleet.”

“Thanks, Kenny.”

After he left, I locked my turtle pendant and all my research safely inside the private safe, which made me feel all stealthy and important. If only we’d had one of them at home.

I thought about going down to eat with everyone else, but I wasn’t quite ready for that. I needed to gawk at the view and gape at the flowers and roll around on the bed and laugh and marvel at the fact that I had just flown on a private jet. And I had to be free to do all of that without reservation.

“You sure?” Josh said when I called him. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“All the more reason to get some sleep.”

I was hungry, though. I lifted the phone and pressed the little button with a fork and knife on it. Immediately, a cheerful voice on the other end said, “Good evening, Miss Fleet.”

“It’s Annie, please,” I said. “I can’t find a menu.”

“That’s not a problem. What are you in the mood for?”

“What do you mean? Is there a menu?”

“We’d be happy to prepare whatever you’d like,” she said with a chuckle that was remarkably non-patronizing.

“You mean, if I wanted cornflakes and oysters with a side of goat cheese—”

“We would certainly make that happen, yes.”

I thought for a moment. “Do you have hamburgers?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How much are they?”

“It’s all been taken care of,” said Cheerful Room-Service Voice.

I was a hundred yards from the sea; by all rights I should have wanted a fish of some sort. Or lobster, and maybe caviar, considering that my stay had been taken care of. But I ordered a burger, medium rare, with a side of fruit and homemade sweet-potato chips anyway. The planet would have to forgive me, just this once.

I texted Gracia:
My burger = massive carbon footprint
:-( btw whats the most thread count of any sheets you’ve
ever slept in?

I stepped onto the balcony. It was dark out, with only a sliver of moon rising above the cliffs ahead. The wide beach was spread out in front of me; small waves broke against the sand with a rhythmic gurgle. Massive banana trees swayed in the breeze. The air tasted of salt water and something else, something sweet and tropical.

My phone buzzed with Gracia’s response:
u aren’t sup
posed to sleep in those sheets! go get him!

Before I knew it, Kenny was at the door with my food—a burger of fresh ground Kobe beef grilled over imported mesquite wood coals, as he informed me—which was literally served on a silver platter.

My dad might have thought that real people didn’t live this way, but real people didn’t dive for lost treasure, either. I took my burger onto the balcony and gazed out at the cove below, steeling myself for the task ahead. If Josh was right about the sculpture garden, our discovery of the Golden Jaguar was possibly—astonishingly—only hours away.