Tainted Love (27 page)

“Now that Kiley has arrived, let me announce that I have convened this meeting of the nanny brigade for a very special reason,” Lydia intoned gravely.

Just like Esme, Kiley had been summoned to Taste, the überhip restaurant just east of La Cienega on Melrose. She found her friends nursing iced cappuccinos at one of the square wooden tables on the small outdoor patio that faced the street. Though it was only six o'clock, the patio was already crowded with an eclectic mix of chic Eurotrash, grungy musician types, and talent agents in their designer suits meeting clients for dinner.

“Which is?” Esme asked. She dipped a forefinger into the cinnamon-scented whipped cream that topped her drink and touched it to her tongue. “By the way, Kiley, we ordered. Pizzettas, which are small pizzas. Good?”

“Good. So why the emergency meal? I had to promise the colonel overtime tonight.”

“Simple,” Lydia explained. “At approximately ten p.m. Pacific time last night, my life sunk to the sixth rung of hell.”

Kiley raised her eyebrows. “And yet under this horrific duress you still managed to put on three coats of mascara, lip gloss, and perhaps the shortest skirt I've ever seen.” There was a basket of homemade bread on the table, and she took one of the crusty rolls. It was absolutely delicious, redolent of butter and spices she couldn't place.

Lydia smoothed the tiny Stella McCartney flounce of citron silk she'd worn with Jimmy Choo silver-feathered sandals.

“Lydia's first law of life: When you feel your worst, it is important to look your best,” she decreed as a buff guy in sweat-pants and a muscle shirt jogged by on Melrose. He stopped, flashed an appreciative smile over his shoulder, then continued on his way.

Oh my God
. When Kiley was out with Lydia, it was Lydia who got the looks. Or sultry Esme, who was wearing tight black Bebe capris and an even tighter black sleeveless T-shirt. But unless Kiley's eyes were playing tricks, the hot jogger had looked right at her.

Esme's brow knit together. “Do you know him?”

“Never saw him before in my life,” Kiley admitted.

Huh. She was wearing a white embroidered off-the-shoulder peasant blouse that Platinum had bestowed upon her, along with tan jeans. Her hair was freshly washed, and for once she was wearing it down; it fell in graceful burnished waves over her shoulders. Around her neck was a silver chain
from which dangled two charms—a silver porpoise and a gold hot-air balloon. She wrapped her fingers around the charms and grinned without realizing it.

“New jewelry?” Esme asked as their waiter—an Italian guy with the build of a soccer player and curly black hair—put some extra pizza toppings on their table: small plates of diced garlic, fresh grated parmesan cheese, and minced red onion.

“Yep. From Tom.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes at Kiley. “That's why you look so happy. It went well last night.”

“More than that.” Kiley quickly relayed the story of the balloon ride and how good she'd felt up there. “When we came down to earth, he gave me this necklace.”

“Subtle symbolism,” Lydia cracked.

“Nope. Good guy,” Esme said softly. “Food's on me, Kiley, by the way. I'm flush.”

“Yeah,” Lydia chimed in. “Esme's now a tattoo entrepreneur. Hey … maybe we should start a tattoo business.”

“No!” Kiley and Esme declared simultaneously.

“Hey, how come you didn't bring Tarshea with you?” Kiley asked Esme. She took another of the spiced rolls, worried for a moment about the carb and calorie count, and then bit into it anyway.

“She's working.”

“She got the gig with Ann Marie?”

Esme nodded darkly. “Oh, she got it all right. But she didn't take it. Why? Diane made her a better offer. Guys, I now have a co-nanny.”

The Italian waiter brought two pizzettas and placed them on the riser-stand. Only eight inches across, one was covered
in cremini mushrooms, goat cheese, mozzarella, and slow-roasted tomatoes. The other featured an array of mouth-watering vegetables and parmesan cheese. Both smelled delicious. “Enjoy, ladies. The others will come soon. Can I bring anything else?”

“Two other friends who look like you?” Lydia joked.

“Ah,
bella.
” The waiter bowed. “You ask for the specialty of the house. I go and talk to the chef. Enjoy.”

He moved off; Kiley was the first to bite into a slice. It was superb. “Is it good to have help, Esme?”

“I sound like a small-minded bitch if I say no.”

“Some of my favorite people are small-minded bitches,” Lydia said. “She's great with the twins but she's sharing your house and she's cramping your style. You don't want her around. Am I right?”

“More than,” Esme agreed. “I keep thinking …Well, if I can make a mint doing tattoos for all these rich Hollywood types, why be a nanny? But my mother told me to stay. So I'm staying.”

“If you quit, you'd have to go back to the Echo,” Kiley said.

“It's funny, really. When I first moved in, I couldn't stand the quiet. Now I love living someplace beautiful and serene, and so, so much more than I could ever afford.” Esme slumped back in her chair. “I'm not proud of that.”

Kiley downed the last of her cappuccino and edged her chair closer to the table as a pair of writer types—jeans, T-shirts, baseball caps, unshaven, glasses—sat down at the table behind her. “Don't be so hard on yourself.”

“Damn right,” Lydia said. “Keep your job, keep doing tattoos, and run to the bank.”

“At least I can help out my parents. I tried to give my mom most of what I made. She wouldn't take it. So I slipped two hundred bucks into her pocketbook this afternoon. I don't think she's found it yet.” Esme took a thoughtful bite of pizza.

Lydia put up a “hold on” hand. “Y'all, I hate to interrupt this joyfest, but while your lives are all peachy keen and everything, I believe I called this meeting to bring attention to the shithole I'm in. The least you could do is act curious.”

“It's just that you never get depressed, Lydia,” Kiley said.

“You always handle everything.”

“You think? How about this tidbit: I found out who Anya is doing. Guess who?”

“Ellen? Rosie? Anne Heche?” Esme guessed.

“Anne Heche isn't gay anymore, at least that's what she says,” Lydia corrected. “Anyway, none of them.”

“Some lipstick lesbian from the tennis circuit?” Kiley ventured.

“Nope. In fact, there will be no lipstick left on the Merry Matron of Moscow's collar. She's gone Heche. Way, way Heche.” She grinned mischievously. “Does ‘McCann! Shape up or ship out!’ ring a bell?”

No flipping way.
The colonel?

“Anya and the colonel? I thought all they played was golf and chess. How'd you find out?”

“Kiley dear. I saw them at the country club with his hand on her ass.”

“When? Why didn't you call me?”

“I did call you. Last night. You were in too big a hurry to hook up with Model Man.”

“How about Kat? Does she know?”

Lydia shook her head. “Still have to tell her. I'm dreading it.”

“Anya and the colonel … That's sick.”

Esme put down a half-eaten slice of pizza. “People cheat all the time, Kiley. I keep expecting to catch Jonathan with his ex.”

“But if you're in a relationship, you have to have trust.”

“Get over yourself, Kiley.” Esme scoffed. “You were wigging out about Tom because you thought he was with Marym or some other hot model. You weren't exactly so full of trust.”

Esme was right, and Kiley knew it. Maybe it was always true that someone had more power in any relationship, and the person who had less power would always feel a little insecure, a little frayed around the edges. For her, it was that Tom was objectively a much better-looking guy than she was a girl. For Esme, it was that she was poor and Latina, involved with a rich white guy. For Lydia … She had no idea.

“Okay,” Kiley acknowledged. “Esme has a point. But how is your life a—?”

“Billy isn't speaking to me.”

“What?” Kiley dabbed at a spot of tomato sauce she felt on her chin. “Why would he do that?”

“It's Luis's fault. First, he started following me. Then he started stalking me. Then he showed up at this hotel where Billy and I were spending the night and brought a little gift. The T-shirt I left at his house a few weeks ago. What a mess.”

“You're in trouble,” Esme said.

“No kidding.” Lydia pushed her plate away. “In my entire seventeen years on this planet, this is the first time I have ever hated myself.”

Kiley felt bad for her. This was not the time to point out yet
again how stupid the whole drunk-sex-with-a-near-stranger incident had been. Nor did she want to rub salt in a very open wound by reminding Lydia that she'd advised her to simply 'fess up to Billy in the first place.

“I
know
there is a way out,” Lydia said. “I just have to figure out the right angle.”

“How about honesty?” Kiley cut herself another slice of pizza.

Lydia gave Kiley a baleful look. “Highly overrated. You know that old saying, ‘The truth shall set you free'? Well, it would set me free, all right. Free from him. Forever.” She folded her arms. “Nope. The truth thing is so not an option here.”

Esme rubbed her forehead. “Well then,
chica
. You need one hell of a kick-ass cover story. Something like … you were … at Luis's house because he was loaning you his car. He has a cat. You held his cat. The cat barfed on your shirt. Luis offered to wash it. Then he started acting like an asshole, so you didn't even want it—”

“Back!” Lydia finished for her. “Which means Luis lied to Billy and said he had sex with me because I bruised his manly Latin ego! Esme, that's
brilliant
.”

“Hold on, you guys,” Kiley said. “Lies and then more lies … How can that end any way except badly?”

“Well, honey. I don't have Billy right now. So I'd say it's already ending badly,” Lydia said.

“Let's deal with the Anya thing first,” Esme advised, practical as usual. “You need to find a way to talk to your aunt. But I think Kiley should keep her mouth shut.”

Kiley put a hand to her forehead. She felt as if she was in a
completely different universe from the one in which her friends were operating. “Wait. I like Susan. Now that I know, how can I not tell her?”

“Easy,” Lydia answered. “You didn't see Anya and the colonel yourself. You'd just be gossiping.”

“I don't know if that's fair.” Kiley pursed her lips.

“I don't think the world is fair,” Esme said, her voice gentle. “In fact, I know it isn't. But that's Kat's decision to make. Not yours.”

“But what about loyalty. What about love?”

Esme opened her hands face-up. “People make mistakes, Kiley. Kat and Anya, the colonel and Susan—let them work that out on their own. Okay?”

Kiley nodded.

“As for Billy,” Esme went on, “Lydia knows she screwed things up. But Luis screwed things up even worse. Why should she lose Billy forever over it?”

Why, indeed? Kiley really didn't have an answer. Except that maybe both of her friends were dead wrong.

“If Billy really, truly cares about you, Lydia, maybe he'd understand.”

“Oh, please,” Esme scoffed. “You are like the last of the innocents. Say Tom has drunken sex with some hot model. He tells you about it afterward and says oops, sorry. What would you do?”

“Cry,” Kiley admitted.

“And you'd never trust him again,” Lydia added. “Not that I'm judging you.”

The Italian waiter appeared again. “Sorry. The chef was very
busy. No other waiters are in the oven. Anything else?” He looked at the half-eaten pizzettas on the table. “I can wrap those to go.”

“That would be great,” Esme told him. “And I'll take the check.”

“I'll be right back.” The waiter headed back inside.

“So, what are you going to do?” Kiley asked Lydia when he was out of earshot.

Lydia pushed her choppy bangs out of her eyes. “Okay, ladies, here's the game plan.” She held up a forefinger. “One: About Anya and the colonel? I'll bite the bullet and tell my aunt what I saw. But Kiley, I am asking you: Don't say a word. Okay?” She gave Kiley a questioning look.

Kiley hesitated. Could she keep her mouth shut, at least for the time being? It was true that she had no evidence herself. But if she ever saw something between Anya and the colonel with her own two eyes—well, that would be completely different. Finally, she nodded.

“And two,” Lydia counted off. “I use Esme's brilliant cover story with Billy.”

“How does that work? He won't talk to you,” Kiley reminded her.

“I'll work on X. X will get to Billy. But you two have to help me.”

“How?”

“Call Billy and back me up.”

Kiley balked. “I don't know, Lydia.”

“Kiley. You know I'd do it for you.”

This was true. She thought about the time Lydia was there for Esme when some gang members were threatening her.
When it came to supporting her friends, Lydia's loyalty knew no limits. Could Kiley be less loyal?

To Kiley's shock and amazement, there were tears in Lydia's eyes. “I'm not claiming to be a saint. But what pisses me off above everything else is this disgusting, weak, and mealy-mouthed truth: I'm in love with Billy, and an asshole of a guy went and ruined it. So I'm asking y'all—both of you. Don't let a stupid mistake and a stupider asshole ruin everything. Help me get Billy back.”

Esme nodded firmly. “Of course.”

As her friends looked at her expectantly, Kiley knew in her heart that on some moral level, this was wrong. But maybe the kind of friendship she had with Esme and Lydia was a bigger right than the wrong of backing up Lydia's lie.

“Okay,” she told them. “I'm in.”

Raised in Bel Air, Melody Mayer is the oldest daughter of a fourth-generation Hollywood family and has outlasted countless nannies.