Say It Sexy (24 page)

I hadn’t prepared myself, and Garrick had not been prepared either.

“Are you hungry?” I asked him. “We should go to dinner. I know lots of nice, authentic places,” I smiled.

Straightening his jacket and smoothing out his tie, he nodded. “Lead the way. I’d love to see what delights this quaint place has to offer.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Erica purse her lips and force herself to stare into her purse. She rummaged through it, searching for something that was probably unnecessary, but her only distraction from the annoyance. A pang of guilt stung me for letting my father belittle the city she had come to love and gone to school in, but the last thing I could do was argue with him.

He had only just arrived. Surely he would change his mind after a little sightseeing!

Fortunately, I knew all the right roads to take him down by now, as well as the ones to avoid. Albuquerque shone a glorious, culture rich mecca in some places, and a graffiti coated dump in others. If the heavens were kind, my father would have missed the murder and crime statistics when he researched the area, as well as the gang warnings. That was probably the last thing I wanted to explain to him.

“I’ll drive. I parked just over there,” he added with an impatient smile, plucking me from my thoughts. “I rented a car from, what did you call it? The Sunport? The cab service here is atrocious.”

“Isn’t it?” And I knew that meant he had waited for a cab for a grand total of ten minutes before marching back inside and demanding a vehicle of his own. I sent a silent breath of thanks to my guardian angel that my father would be driving. That meant he couldn’t get drunk, which would significantly bolster my chances of making it through this ringer with my future unhampered.

All of my fears and paranoia came shooting back to me. Mind rambling off a list of suitable places, the restaurants most like home in contrast with the others, I took his arm and led him away from the filming stations. Plenty of diners sat hunkered down within walking distance, but I knew he wouldn’t find them as charming as I did.

My phone buzzed. I plucked it from my skirt pocket and checked my messages.

Holy shit, Gwen! Is that your dad?
Garrick had asked.
Can I meet him?

My heart plunged into my gut. Looking up, I saw Garrick and the boys standing over by Cornell parking garage, adjacent to Johnson soccer field. UNM was an impressive campus, sprawling for what was probably a mile. Shane had a soccer ball tucked under his arm. We had filmed on location since lunch. To my shame, I quickly averted my eyes, pretending not to have seen them, and shoved my phone back into my pocket. Carefully, I wheeled my father away from them.

* * *

Are you coming? As in now? I’m dying here!
Erica's text message read. Currently seated in the back of a yellow cab, I sighed. The driver cast occasional glances at me in the rear view mirror, as though trying to ascertain if he knew me or not.

Dinner with my father had been pleasant enough. We had driven up to the northeast heights to try the sushi bar and grill called Samurai—one of those upscale places with fountains, koi fish, and exceptional chefs who cook in front of you. That had been part of my scheme too, because the show distracted him from probing. He seemed pleased, which took an enormous load off of me.

I had tried not to think about Garrick through the meal, and how I had blatantly ignored him. How could I have been so cruel to him? I hoped he wouldn't hold it against me. My choices had been so limited on such short notice, and I couldn't be sure that my feelings for Garrick, my yearning to explore what we had and my desperate desire for my father to like and approve of him, wouldn’t have come pouring through my eyes.

And even in spite of all that, Dad had the unnaturally intuitive instinct to bring up
The Maze Boy
on the drive home… after we had exhausted every other subject imaginable.

I had just been lectured by my father for an hour, sitting in the parking lot of Nativo Lodge, about how I should be putting my career first. He had told me that, after watching the past few episodes of Garrick and me, he had noticed the way Garrick looked at me, and had to come make sure he wasn’t out to steal my virtue. Even when I assured him, more than likely falsely, that what he had seen was Payton's character and his feelings for Lacey, he scowled, shook his head, and saw right through it.

As a last ditch effort to make it out of the car before morning, I ended up having to tell him that the cast party was mandatory, and it was for team bonding. It turned out to be the only excuse that could stand up against his questions and concerns. He bid me goodnight and let me go. Dad had booked a room at the Hyatt Regency Hotel, Sandia Resort and Casino, ten miles from Nativo Lodge, just off the same highway.

After showering, I spent half an hour getting ready, feeling rushed and sick to my stomach. My hair wouldn't do. I looked bloated in my royal blue dress. My face and eyes appeared puffy, as though I had been crying.

Knowing Erica would be happy when I arrived had made the hassle almost worthwhile, and I forced myself through the ceremony of applying makeup. A short time later, I arrived at Double Tree, the location of the party. I paid the cab his fare, put my strappy blue heels on the cement, and crossed the paved entry to the crystal glass doors. A man dressed in a stiff black collared suit and white gloves opened it for me. I nodded my appreciation.

Following the signs, and other courteous concierges, I took the elevator to the top floor. The elevator opened to reveal coarse gray carpet, the landing bracketed by the glass balcony, leading to what looked to be a room for conventions, or some other sort of assembly.

Feeling more like I was attending a high school prom than a Hollywood cast party, I breezed toward the doors. Stepping inside, I noticed the pretty decorations, flower bouquets, edible arrangements, and buffet table. As though she had a sixth sense, Erica’s head popped up from the bar.

“Oh my God,” I heard her breathe in unbridled exasperation. Hopping out of her seat, she hurried to me. She didn’t even bother to say goodbye to the scrawny guy standing much too close to her. “Thank you, savior.”

“That bad, huh?” I giggled.

“You don’t understand,” she insisted, eyes widening. “I’ve been here for two hours.”

“Two hours! Why?”

“Because I promised I’d help Alice set up,” she whined, slouching forward and dropping her head on my shoulder. With another glance around the room, I noticed that most of the attendees were over forty. Frank Sinatra played in the background.

“You’re right. This
is
a nightmare,” I murmured.

“Tell me about it,” Shane’s voice said as he came up behind me with Garrick and Tyler flanking him. “I was going to spike the punch bowl… but it’s covered.” And he looked quite upset about this too.

I chanced a glance and a smile at Garrick. His eyebrows jumped up, lips only moving to continue to chew his gum, and looked away. I deflated and guilt washed through me. Of course he was mad at me. How could I expect him not to be?

“Damn, Gwen,” Shane suddenly announced.

“What?” I blinked.

“You look—” He could only shake his head, stare, and exhale a whistle. I even caught Tyler staring.

Straightening, Erica agreed. “Right?”

Glancing down, I realized that my cleavage had come up a bit during the cab ride. I also realized that the cabbie hadn’t recognized me at all…

Quickly, I adjusted myself.

“Why don’t you wear sexy clothes more often?” Shane teased. I swatted him with my clutch.

Erica pulled us into a huddle, wearing one of her famous smirks. “So. Now that we have the gang together… you guys wanna go to a real party?”

Garrick

“You’re sure your friend is going to be cool?” I muttered dubiously as we piled out of the cab. The guy had been nice enough to take all five of us, even though the car only seated four passengers. We tipped him well. As the taxi pulled away, we all lined up on the curb, staring at the one story squat adobe house with a rickety porch and a sagging wooded fence around the property. The windows had been blacked out. Muffled bass boomed from inside.

“Well. This isn’t sketchy as fuck at all,” Tyler observed, deadpan.

“Yeah, Garrick,” Erica said. “I’m sure. I’ve already told him.”

“Right,” Shane added, looking more nervous than skeptical. “But sometimes, people lie.”

Erica snorted. “Logan’s cool. So is his housemate. Her name is Stephanie, by the way.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Gwen chimed in, wringing her hands and then clutching her elbow, eyeing the house as though it might lurch forward and bite her. “Isn’t this the wrong side of Central? Aren’t we all… overdressed?”

Still pissed at her, I didn’t answer. She had blown me off just hours ago, despite what I’d told her about wanting to prove myself to her, the world, and her dad. How was I supposed to prove myself if she never gave me the chance?

Erica turned to us, gave us all a pointed once-over, and shook her head. “I think you guys seriously overestimate how much being famous means to real people.” She strolled up the drive, hopped up the steps of the porch, and opened the door. Pulsing base roared out from the house, enough to rattle the station wagon parked in the side yard.

With a look of impatience, Erica waved us to join her. “Come on! I didn’t fall in love with Albuquerque, the place. I fell in love with Albuquerque, the people!” She grinned. “Vamos!”

Shane and Tyler broke from the line first, shuffling up the steps to sink into what awaited us inside.

Gwen and I exchanged glances. I pulled my hands out of my pockets, opened my arms, and gave her a hapless shrug. Together, we ascended the driveway.

I’d been to countless parties like the rager at Wes’s mansion weeks ago. Still, I couldn’t believe what I walked into.

The bulb in the kitchen was on but had been replaced with a black light that made outfits glow like fireworks in the night. The air smelled of flavored hookah and booze, intermingled with a hint of weed and sweat. People of all body types—not the cookie cutter types abounding in Hollywood—created an eccentric and exotic mélange, like a decoupage coating a girl’s nightstand.

Dudes in guyliner and hoodies stood over a cooler, shot-gunning beers with guys in Polo shirts. The Latinas who spoke clique-Spanglish had teamed up with two girls with more piercings than I had fingers and toes to take on a group of frat guys in beer pong. Sporty chicks in sweats swayed near the couch, giving lap dances to Star Trek shirts, and the guys were giving them right back. A guy with, admittedly, killer assets, stood near the wall, teaching a girl with the figure of a very effeminate boy, dressed in furry boots and a strip of a skirt, how to twerk. On the floor, to the right, seven or eight people sat in a circle around an empty glass, no doubt rallying for King’s Cup. And everyone, in one way or another, was smeared with glow-paint.

“Where… the fuck… are we?” I managed, stunned, and mildly horrified. Gwen and I slowly met eyes. And I legitimately considered snatching her up and high tailing it out of there.

“Shots, newbies!” someone called above the music from the kitchen.

“Come on!” said a brunette with deep olive skin who popped up from seemingly nowhere. Flashing the most bizarrely unassuming smile I had ever seen, she seized Gwen’s hand. “You have to catch up!” And with that, she tugged her off to the kitchen. Gwen followed her, flashing me a helpless, but oddly excited expression. I couldn’t help but turn a smile back at her.

For the second time, my eyes swept the scene.

No one recognized us, and if they did, it didn’t matter. No one started screaming. No one started pointing.

Erica appeared, clasping the hand of a built guy in a collared shirt. His hair, in tight ringlets that suggested a mixed heritage, stuck out an inch or so from his head. It took me a moment to recognize him from the front as the twerk teacher.

“This is Logan,” Erica introduced. “Logan, this is Garrick!”

“Hey, man,” Logan greeted, jutting his open hand forward.

Still a bit blindsided, a measure of lag time passed before I mustered the sense to shake his hand and nod. But somewhere in my shock, an epiphany dawned on me. I had forgotten what it was like to be a regular person, to enter a room and not be swamped with attention. And damn, did it hit me like a kick in the gut—how desperately I missed that normalcy. Another rush of thoughts followed, the sort that painted a miraculous picture of what Gwen and I could be… had we not been pieces of the celebrity chessboard.

From the group beside us, a guy yelled, “Bottoms up!”

“That’s two games you’ve lost, and two cups you’ve drank!” another girl squealed.

Logan laughed at my silence, clapped his hand on my shoulder, and wheeled me inside. A minute later, Gwen joined me.

Stephanie, the one who had taken charge of Gwen when we first walked in, had given her a change of clothes, insisting that she would never be comfortable dressed as she was. She now wore a relaxed Reese’s t-shirt and rolled running shorts, long hair down and disheveled. She giggled and gave me a twirl. She had never looked more stunning to me.