（two years ago）
Los Angeles
T he crowd in the gallery had dissipated when I returned from the roof, and the band had finished. I found Summer swigging champagne in front of a picture of a burning house about to be crushed by an ocean wave. I shifted my gaze to the small white placard underneath. FIRE AND WATER, ERIC THOMAS. Eric Thomas. I tasted the name on my tongue.
“I don’t get it,” Summer whispered. “None of these pictures makes any sense.”
“It’s about opposites,” I explained. “Like yin and yang. A little bit of white in the black and black in the white.”
“Huh. Sorry I was late.” She sighed. “After I saw you at the pool, I had to drive all the way to Pomona to give Rhonda money for rent so she and Brittani don’t get evicted, then when I was finally ready Brian called and I had to pretend I was staying in.”
“Damn. Sorry.”
“Yeah, and it’s BS because I need to be saving my allowance or I’m never going to be able to move out of Brian’s, but I keep having to give it to her.”
“Your allowance?”
“He puts money in an account for me, for spending cash when he’s out of town or whatever.”
So that was how she had money. “I could get you a job at Heaven,” I suggested.
“No way.” She waved the idea away. “I just got out of that world, and I hated it as much as you do. Oh! There he is.”
She grabbed my hand and pulled me across the room, straight toward where Eric was midconversation with a good-looking guy in a suit.
Oh God. Please let it be the guy in the suit , I prayed.
“Eric,” Summer purred as we approached.
Shit. But then again: of course. I shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t the first time Summer had staked a claim on a guy I would’ve liked for myself, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. She invariably got her pick of the litter, regardless of whether she was already committed to someone else.
But I wasn’t being fair: this time at least, she had seen him first.
“Beautiful work,” she murmured, draping her arms around his neck and planting a sensuous kiss on his mouth. He tried to catch my eye over her shoulder, but I avoided his gaze. She turned to me. “This is my friend Belle.”
His eyes searched mine as we pretended to meet for the first time, but I kept my expression intentionally blank. What else could I do? Regardless of my petty grievances with Summer, it’s not like I was gonna choose some guy I just met over our friendship. I watched as he processed my reaction and matched it, finally extending his hand. “Eric.” I shook it politely, like the mannered Southern girl I was. “This is my brother, Dylan.”
Yep. Summer always got who she wanted, and I always got…the brother. I switched my focus to the brother, taking him in for the first time.
Oh. Perhaps I objected too soon.
They looked nothing, and yet everything, alike. Dylan’s hair and eyes were dark where Eric’s were light, and he was a little taller and more muscular, but they both had the same square jaw, the same aquiline nose and glint in their eyes. As I took Dylan’s hand, I felt as though I’d been struck twice by lightning in the same evening. “Nice to meet you, Belle,” he said.
“My brother’s only in town for the night,” Eric expounded. “And don’t be fooled; it’s a coincidence he’s here for my show.”
“Luck,” Dylan corrected.
“Where are you in from?” I inquired, ignoring Eric.
“I was in China, but I’m headed back to London tomorrow.”
“China, wow. What were you doing over there?”
“Trading his soul for gold,” Eric answered.
“That about sums it up,” Dylan agreed gamely.
Eric eyed Dylan’s dark-gray suit with a smirk. “Nice suit.”
“I just had a meeting with the LA arm of the Chinese company we’re working with. They’re into decorum,” Dylan explained.
“That what you’re wearing tonight?” Eric prodded.
“I don’t have much of a choice. All my stuff’s across town at Dad’s.”
“Let’s not call him that,” Eric snapped.
“What would you like me to call him, Eric?”
“That Asshole, Monster, Satan…I can think of lots of things.” Eric snatched his brother’s glass of champagne and knocked it back as Dylan looked on, bemused. “Let’s get outa here.”
“But it’s your party.” Summer cast a glance about the room, her gaze landing on a group of girls whispering together, eyeing her and Eric. Pleased, she slid her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. I bit my lip to contain a smile; the girl relished nothing more than a healthy dose of envy directed her way, but Eric was noncompliant.
“I’ve stayed long enough. My dealer can handle it from here.” He dismissed the party with a wave of his hand and strode out the door, Summer trailing behind.
Outside, the wind had kicked up and the sky was losing color. Summer leaned into Eric as we waited for the car. “I’m glad I finally got to see your work,” she murmured. “I love the way you play with opposites. It’s like yin and yang.”
“Thanks,” he said. I pretended not to see the look he cast in my direction. “That’s exactly it, the play of opposites. Most people don’t get it.”
I wondered how many girls he’d used that line on. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for it—almost fallen for him. Summer could have him. He was exactly what I had initially assumed: a total player, obviously. At least my instincts hadn’t failed me. Next time I would listen to my gut. I just hoped he wouldn’t say anything about our encounter to Summer.
A black Suburban pulled up to the curb, and the driver opened the door.
“A cab would have been fine,” Eric commented as we climbed into the car.
“There are four of us,” Dylan replied evenly. “And it’s free.”
“Nothing in life is free, bro,” Eric returned.
Their manner was easygoing, but the barbs were sharp. I was glad Summer was the one who’d get to deal with the dark cloud that had settled over Eric.
In the car, Dylan shed his jacket and tie, loosened his collar, and rolled up his sleeves. “Better?” he asked me with a sly smile.
“Truth be told, I kinda love a man in a suit,” I confided.
His laugh was easy, as was our conversation as the Suburban raced down the 10, only to stall on the 405.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“A party in Bel Air,” Dylan replied. “It’s hosted by a guy I grew up with—well, I grew up with his little brother, but he would buy us booze and nudie mags when we were in junior high. Now he’s some studio bigwig and throws these crazy midsummer’s eve parties every year. I’ve never been able to go, so I wanted to check it out.”
“Did you know him, too?” Summer asked Eric.
“No,” Eric said. “We didn’t exactly grow up together.”
“Different moms, same dad,” Dylan explained.
“There’s that word again,” Eric said.
“Who’s older?” Summer asked.
Dylan raised his hand.
“By four months.” Eric snorted. “Our sperm donor was a stellar guy.”
The Suburban rolled through the gates of Bel Air and up the winding streets, coming to a stop in front of an estate hidden by a conflation of trees, shrubbery, and walls. A line of exotic cars waiting for valet service snaked down the long driveway and spilled into the street.
“Probably easier to walk from here if you girls don’t mind,” Dylan recommended.
“That’s fine,” I agreed, glad my heels were short. I glanced down at Summer’s glitter-covered four-inch stilettos, sparklingin the dark. She wouldn’t be happy, but she wouldn’t complain, either.
I could hear the music thumping the moment we stepped out of the car. Dylan offered his arm, and I took it as we made our way up the driveway in the glow of the purple lights that illuminated the trees. Around a bend, the house came into view—though “house” was the wrong word. It was a Spanish hacienda the size of a hotel, perched on a hill with a view of all of Los Angeles.
At the gate, a girl dressed in black with a clipboard and headset stood sentry. “Dylan Ross,” Dylan said. “Plus three.”
The girl checked his name off, then ushered us through a gate made of flowers. “Welcome to Fairyland.”
We threaded our way through an enchanted garden lit with twinkling lights and huge animatronic flowers, past a fairy in a swing and nymphs splashing in a fountain that changed colors with the beat of the otherworldly music. Under a rose-covered canopy, a sprite handed us each some kind of glowing purple drink decorated with orchid blooms and tapped our heads with a wand before opening a door in an oversize glimmering tree trunk.
The tree door opened onto the main lawn, where a couple hundred pixies, fairies, and sprites swilled champagne and danced to throbbing house music. China balls made to look like flowers swung from strands of flickering colored lights, fairies in body paint grooved on glowing mushrooms the size of cars, and naked women performed some kind of synchronized swimming in the pool. A number of tents made of patterned and textured fabrics dotted the lawn, each with a different theme.
I stared in wonder at the spectacle. “This is incredible.”
“Wish I’d worn my Tinker Bell costume,” Summer added.
“Sorry,” Dylan said. “Didn’t know it was a costume party. At least you’re not in a suit.”
Eric set his empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and squatted down next to a rosebush, looking up at me with the first smile I’d seen since we left the roof. “Osiria roses.”
“They’re beautiful,” Summer said, leaning between us to smell the blooms.
“White on the inside with colored tips,” he explained. “Very rare.” He shifted his gaze back to me. “I grow red ones on the roof, but I’ve never seen purple.”
Straightening up, Summer looked from him to me with a flicker of a frown, then took his hand. “Shall we explore?”
“I wanna hit the smoking lounge,” Eric said. “I forgot my weed.” Again he looked at me. “Anyone wanna come?”
“I’m gonna try to find our host,” Dylan said.
I jumped at the opportunity to escape Eric and Summer. “I’ll come with you. I wanna check the place out.”
As soon as we were out of earshot, Dylan turned to me. “Sorry about my brother. He kinda has a chip on his shoulder about our dad.”
“You don’t say.”
“I try to stay out of it, but he’s pissed at me because I just started working for him. Thinks I sold out.”
“Ah. Did you?”
“Yes.” He thought for a minute. “I just don’t have the same need for the world to be a perfect place that Eric does. I’m more of a pragmatist.”
“And he’s an idealist.”
“Yeah.”
“Belle!” A high voice cut through the noise of the party, and fingernails lightly scratched my arm.
I turned to see Wendy in full iridescent fairy regalia, her dark skin shimmering with purple glitter. So this must be the party she’d mentioned her old boss was throwing. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were going to that art show with Summer.”
“It’s over,” I said.
“Hi. I’m Wendy.” She extended her hand to Dylan. “Who are you?”
He took her hand with a smile. “Dylan.”
“Just when I thought I knew everyone in LA…”
“I’m only in for the night. My brother’s with a friend of hers,” Dylan explained.
“Summer,” I clarified.
She looked confused for a minute, then widened her eyes in recognition. “Ooooh. You’re the brother that’s in town for the night.”
Dylan laughed. “Yep, that’s me.”
“Welcome. Come dance,” she said. “The DJ’s amazing.”
“So is your outfit,” I complimented her. “You’re, like, glowing.”
“Literally—watch…” She pressed what must have been a switch hidden in her bodice, and her entire outfit lit up with twinkling violet lights. I finished my drink as the three of us threaded our way through the crowd toward the dance floor. “He’s hot,” Wendy whispered in my ear. “I figured he’d be a troll. Now I’m pissed I couldn’t be his date. Get it, girl.”
I laughed and swatted at her as Dylan took my hand and led me onto the pulsating dance floor. Interlocking tiles glowed, emitting colored ripples with every step as the DJ controlled the flow, bringing it up and down deftly while he seamlessly combined songs. The beat was infectious, and before long Dylan and I were moving in sync, dancing like we were part of the music, our bodies an expression of every nuance in the rhythm. Wendy gave me a wink and a thumbs-up over Dylan’s shoulder before we lost sight of her.
We danced under the stars until our brows glistened, then hit the bar for another drink before making our way through the crowd, past the pool, and under a tunnel of twinkling lights, emerging at the edge of the lawn, where a series of fountains were lit different colors. A few people were doing key bumps of cocaine around one of the fountains; perched on another was a couple making out. Upon closer inspection, we could see the couple was Summer and Eric.
Dylan took my hand and pulled me toward a path lit with glowing purple tulips that led into what appeared to be a manicured garden forest. A sign nailed to a tree read ENCHANTED FOREST, ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK . We started down a trail that followed a gurgling brook I suspected was man-made. Tiny lights gleamed in the branches of the trees; the sweet smell of jasmine hung in the air.
“So, what do you do for your dad?” I asked.
“I do mostly future site research and development—figuring out where to build what and the best way to do it.”
I nodded as if I understood what that meant. “And what did you do before you started working for your dad?”
“I was a journalist. Spent three years in the Middle East, trying to change the world.”
“Ah, so you used to be an idealist,” I said.
“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth turned down. “Let’s just say I learned my lesson.” He shrugged it off. “What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m an actress,” I admitted. “Just like half the other girls at this party.”
“Oh. Am I an idiot for not knowing who you are?”
I laughed. “Not unless you watch the Family Channel or have a knack for remembering one-liners and girls who get killed on TV. I’m currently slinging drinks at a pool bar in Hollywood, if you must know.”
“Sounds glamorous. So what’s your favorite role that you’ve played?”
“Hmmm…that’s a hard one. I’ve done a couple of guest-star roles on TV that were great experiences. I mean, those sets run so smoothly, they pay well, and you’re working with seasoned actors.…But I think my favorite thing is a web series I’m working on right now, playing a medical school student who gets into heroin and is trying to overcome her addiction while going to school.”
“Heavy.”
“It’s not a big-budget project or anything,” I conceded, “but it’s my first real lead role, and it’s a good one. I can’t tell you how sick I am of playing the sidekick, trying to make my handful of expository lines interesting.”
“I admire you,” he said. “It takes a lot of bravery to put yourself out there like that.”
“I love it.” I laughed. “When I was a kid I used to make up these extremely complicated and long plays where I would be every character, then perform them in the living room for my poor parents.”
“It’s funny.” He smiles. “I guess when you have a talent for something, you just know. Eric and I used to spend summers with our grandmother in France, and at the end of the summer he’d put on an elaborate art show with all the art he’d made that summer. Had the staff serve canapés and sparkling apple cider in champagne glasses and everything.”
“You had a staff?”
“He’d always try to get me to participate, but I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”
I couldn’t tell if he didn’t hear my question or he was ignoring it. Either way, I didn’t press. “But you were a journalist. Writing is artistic,” I pointed out.
“It’s not the same.” He shrugged it off. “Anyway, that was a long time ago.”
I wanted to know more, but we were interrupted by a loud moan coming from the forest. I quickly spotted the source: a couple in flagrante against a tree just off the path. They were hard not to spot, with the lights of her fairy wings twinkling in the dark and her legs wrapped around him while he plowed her, his pants around his ankles. Dylan noticed them at the same time as me, and the couple clearly saw us but didn’t seem to care. If anything, they were only encouraged by our presence, turning the volume on their moans up a notch. Dylan and I hurried down the trail giggling.
“Enchanted Forest—try Fornication Forest,” I whispered.
“Show-offs,” he agreed with a laugh.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me up an offshoot of the path that led past a view of the shimmering lights of the city into a grotto lit only with floating candles. It was covered in flowering jasmine, and surprisingly deserted.
His hand lingered on my back as we walked along the water’s edge in the flickering darkness. “So I’ve met a girl who’s beautiful and smart,” he said. “Not to mention a great dancer. And I’m leaving for Europe tomorrow. How’s that for luck?”
“Now you’re just trying to get in my pants,” I teased.
He caught and held my gaze. “Would that be such a bad thing?” His fingertips lightly touched my thigh, lifting my skirt ever so slightly. I looked down at his hand resting on my leg and without warning I was in the elevator again, Eric’s breath on my neck.
No, no, no, not Eric. Dylan. Just as hot and not involved with Summer. I looked up to meet his dark eyes, unflinching as his fingers traveled farther up my skirt. What the hell, I figured. He was leaving tomorrow. This was the only chance we’d get. I let him kiss me.
His kiss was surprisingly fervent, his scruff rough against my skin. It was sexy, but I was a little caught off guard by the intensity of his ardor, my heel catching on a stone as he backed me toward the wall, leaving me off balance. He caught me without missing a beat, his biceps hard beneath his shirt, and cradled the back of my head with his hand as he pressed me into the stone. It was the kind of scene that would play as steamy in a movie, but this wasn’t a movie, and all of a sudden I was sixteen again, pushed into the corner of a dirty couch by an overgrown frat boy.
Come on, Belle, get it together! You like this guy. Just enjoy it!
I forced the memory back down deep into my psyche, doing my damnedest to stay in the moment. A rock pressed into my spine. I tried to move over, but he was too heavy against me. I gently pushed him back with my hands, and he stopped abruptly. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve just got a rock in my back.”
He moved us over, feeling the wall for any rogue stones, then went in again for the kiss. His stubble was like sandpaper against my already raw chin. He must’ve felt me slightly backing away as I tried to reposition my face, because he stopped again, holding my gaze. “You sure you’re good?”
“Yes!” I laughed. “It’s just your stubble.”
“I’m sorry. I’m like a Chia Pet. I swear I shaved this morning.”
“Let’s just take it a little slower,” I suggested.
I leaned in and kissed him slowly, determined not to let my mind get in the way of this lovely evening with an ideal guy. My phone vibrated in my purse, but I ignored it, enjoying the feel of his lips on mine, more relaxed now that he was letting me lead. Before long our bodies were pressed together, our breathing heavy. I could feel him getting hard against my pelvis, but he kept his hands respectfully above my waist and didn’t push. I wasn’t a sixteen-year-old on a couch. I was twenty-four and turned on. I liked the feeling of being in control, thrilled my mind was finally keeping up with my body.
My phone buzzed again.
“Do you need to get that?” he asked.
“It can wait.”
The buzzing stopped as I moved his hand to my thigh and up my dress.
My phone buzzed again.
The sound of laughter and chattering as a group of partiers tripped down the path. Dylan and I froze, waiting for them to pass.
“Look, it’s a grotto,” one of them called.
“Shit,” Dylan muttered.
Footsteps on the path. We quickly readjusted our clothes and leaned against the stone as casually as possible as the group that had been doing cocaine by the fountains stumbled into the cave.
“Wow, this is so cool,” a scantily clad chick cooed, her voice echoing.
“Dude, I heard this property was listed at seventy-five million,” one of the guys added.
“Is it on the market?” asked another one.
“Properties like this are traded off market, fucktard.” The first guy laughed.
Their eyes lit on us. “Hi, guys!” one of the girls said. “Isn’t this beautiful? What a beautiful night. It’s just magical.”
She grabbed another one of the girls by the hand, and they spun around dangerously close to the water’s edge until one of them lost her balance and crashed into Dylan. He helped her to her feet and she snuggled up to him, rubbing against him like a cat. “Oh, hey, handsome.”
He gave her a perfunctory smile and leaned her against her friend. “We were just headed out. Enjoy.”
“No, don’t go!” she whined behind us.
As we emerged onto the path, my phone began to buzz again. I took it out of my purse. Wendy.
“Hey,” I answered.
She sounded like she was crying. “I’ve been…trying…to call…” Her words slurred together.
Immediately I was worried: Wendy was never a mess. “Are you okay?”
“No. I feel…My drink, I think it…”
“Where are you?”
“A tree,” she managed. “Behind…hookah tent…” Her voice trailed off.
“Wendy?”
But she seemed to have dropped the phone.
The party had thinned out as Dylan and I hurried across the lawn in the direction of the hookah tent. We found Wendy slumped against a tree with her eyes closed, her fairy wings twisted beneath her. I gently slapped her cheeks.
“Wendy!”
“Belle.” She blinked open her eyes for just a moment and then shut them again.
“Somebody must’ve spiked her drink,” I said. “She never gets this drunk.”
“Should I call an ambulance?” Dylan asked.
“No!” Wendy moaned. “No ambu…Home.”
“If she can talk, we’re probably okay to take her home.” I jostled her to keep her awake. “I’ll just have to stay with her to make sure she doesn’t get any worse.”
Her chest started to heave. Dylan lifted her and positioned her on her knees, and I held her hair back while she vomited purple liquid into the bushes. Sorry , I mouthed to him, patting her back. “That’s good…You’re gonna be okay,” I soothed her.
“Let’s get her home,” he said.
“Not out the front,” I insisted. “She’d be mortified.”
He nodded, thinking. “I saw a gate at the base of the garden, past the gazebo. We can exit there. I’ll have the car meet us.”
“I should find Summer,” I said.
“Eric texted me a while ago. They left.”
Summer always did favor a French exit, especially when there was a man involved. Though I couldn’t help but feel a prickle of irritation. What if Dylan had turned out to be a weirdo? Or had taken off and what had happened to Wendy had happened to me? I disentangled Wendy’s wings and gathered her shoes and purse while Dylan called the car, then easily lifted her limp form. No one gave us so much as a second glance as he carried her around the edge of the garden and into the woods. We found the gate in no time, the Suburban idling right outside.
In the cocoon of the car, the driver handed us one of those puke bags you normally find on airplanes. “Thanks,” I said, impressed.
“Not the first time,” he said. “Where to?”
“My dad’s place is close if you want to go there,” Dylan offered. “It’s where I’m staying. He’s not there.”
Spending the night with Dylan was certainly tempting, but it wasn’t in the cards tonight. “I think I better take her back to my place,” I said, giving the driver my address.
I rested my head on Dylan’sshoulder while Wendy retched into the bag. When she was finished, I folded up the top of the bag and she lay her head in my lap. “Feeling a little better?” I asked.
She grunted.
“What happened?”
“Dunno,” she slurred. “I’s with Summer and that blond guy; then they lef’ and I din’ feel good, so I call you.”
“Did anyone give you anything? A pill or a mint? Or did you leave your drink unattended?” Dylan asked.
She waggled her finger. “Nope. I’s with Summer, on a tuffet like lil’ Miss Muffet.”
“Was anyone else around? Could someone have passed by and dropped something in your drink?” I pressed.
Again she waggled her finger. “I got up to dance with that guy real quick. Summer din wanna dance.”
“With Eric?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She closed her eyes.
Dylan and I exchanged glances over her head. Could Summer…? Dylan mouthed.
No way , I mouthed back, horrified he’d even suggest it. They’re friends.
He shrugged. “Sorry. Just a thought.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to dislodge the idea he’d planted in my brain. Summer would never.
Surely not.
When we reached my little hillside fourplex, he helped me carry Wendy inside and get her set up on the couch with towels and a bucket while the Suburban idled outside.
I kicked off my heels and gave him a quick tour of my worn but comfortable prewar space, pretending to be a real estate agent. “Built in 1936, this one-bedroom features a living room at the front with French doors leading to a balcony that overlooks the street,” I announced with a flourish. He laughed, trailing behind as I led him down the hallway toward my bedroom. “Off of the hallway you’ll find a lovely original black-and-white-tiled bathroom on one side and an eat-in kitchen on the other, and here at the end of the hall we have the master.”
“I like it,” he said. “It’s bohemian.”
I cast my eyes at the white Christmas lights twinkling in glass jars on either side of the iron bed, the brass Buddha staring down peacefully from atop the dresser, wedged between photos of Bette Davis and Katharine Hepburn.
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I wonder how many starlets have lived here, in the shade of the Hollywood sign,” he mused.
He was looking at me like he wanted to kiss me again. I turned my face up to his and let him pull me to him. His lips met mine just as the sound of vomit hitting the bucket erupted from the living room.
“Right on cue.” I sighed. “Sorry. I gotta see about her.”
“I should go anyway,” he said. “I have to leave for the airport in two hours.”
I left him adjusting himself as I padded into the living room, where I found Wendy leaning over the side of the couch, the bucket beneath her. She groaned. “I feel like crap.”
“I know.” I wiped her mouth with a towel. “But you’re gonna be okay.”
Dylan appeared in the doorway, his hard-on still visible through his suit pants. “Wanna come to London tomorrow?”
“I wish.” I smiled, averting my eyes from his protruding pants. But I had a job and was trying to have a career, and I wasn’t about to pin all my hopes and dreams on some guy I met a few hours ago, regardless of how sweet he seemed. “Wanna stay in LA a few days?”
“I wish.”
I walked him to the door, where he kissed me one last time and promised to call next time he was in town. I watched the Suburban drive into the dawn, certain I’d never see him again.