Chapter 29. Isabel, the Rising Star
Isabel, the Rising Star
TEN YEARS EARLIER, WESTWOOD
“Mallory Martin is a self-obsessed slut.” Emmy burst through the door to the women’s restroom, Dakota hot on her heels. “She thinks she’s God’s gift just because her parents are famous.”
Scout, Georgia, and I were perched atop the restroom counter, vigorously scrubbing the black X’s off the backs of our hands. Scout and I raised our eyebrows at each other. Great. The wonder twins were here.
“Mallory Martin, as in the daughter of Hardy and Marion Martin?” I squirted more soap on the stubborn Sharpie marks. “The next-generation Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman?”
“Who cares who her parents are?” Dakota blew her dark bangs off her forehead. It was an unprecedented display of emotion from Alden’s little sister, who normally tried to pretend she was supremely disinterested. “All the girls at Archer are bullies.”
High school drama, Georgia mouthed, and I coughed a laugh.
“Is Mallory the girl who wouldn’t let you into her VIP section?” Scout asked innocently. I rolled my eyes at her. What a shit-stirrer. “I thought you said she was your friend.”
Her missile hit its target. Emmy bristled. “We don’t want to sit at her stupid table anyway. She’s making out with Scott Tate just for the attention. Everyone’s knows he’s gay and won’t come out of the closet ’cause he thinks it’ll hurt his music career.”
“She has paparazzi waiting for her outside,” Dakota added bitterly. “You know she’s going to act all surprised, but her mom called them.” She sidled up to one of the sinks and examined her reflection. “My dad says her Q scores are terrible, but her parents are desperate to make her a star.”
Scout gave Georgia a weighted look. “You really had to drag Alden and Co. with you to the bar?” she whispered.
Georgia sighed. “He looked lonely.” She spoke under her breath, her words masked by running water from the sink. “I couldn’t leave him in the dorm.”
I glanced at Emmy and Dakota, who were now pursing their lips in the mirror. “And he insisted on bringing them?”
“He loves his sister,” Georgia said.
“Hard to imagine,” Scout muttered, then hopped off the sink. “Anyway,” she said, lifting her voice for Emmy and Dakota’s benefit. “What are high school kids even doing in a bar? I thought this place was supposed to be the new hot spot for industry people.”
We’d come out tonight to celebrate booking our first jobs—but if you toasted your TV gig with no out-of-work actors to overhear and feel jealous, did it really even count?
“It is the new hot spot.” Dakota snorted, still staring at the mirror. “The industry people in question just happen to be the offspring of the world’s biggest stars. No bar owner in the city cares that they’re in high school.”
“Are you serious?” Scout groaned. “I spent fifty dollars on a cab ride for this?”
Emmy pulled an antique-looking silver hairbrush out of her purse and began to run it through her hair.
“What the hell?” Dakota spun to her. “You stole my brush.”
Emmy shrugged. “You weren’t using it.” She held it up to the light. “This was Marilyn Monroe’s hairbrush. It was in her room the night she died. Dakota’s dad bought it for her off some website.”
Dakota lunged and snatched the brush. “I can’t believe you took it.”
Emmy leaned closer to the mirror. “You said owning celebrity memorabilia is stupid. How was I supposed to know you actually wanted it?”
“What website?” Georgia asked, shaking water off her hands.
“Some site that sells, like, stolen stuff from celebs.” Emmy giggled. “There’s a pair of Mallory’s mom’s underwear on there. Used.”
I wrinkled my nose. “That’s disgusting. How do people even get stuff like that?”
“Maids,” said Dakota, like I was stupid.
Scout walked over and plucked the brush from Dakota’s hand, examining the worn handle. “You’re saying Marilyn Monre once held this? Morbid.” She ran the brush through her sister’s long blond hair. “It’s all make-believe, isn’t it, darling?” she quoted in a breathy Marilyn voice.
“Ew.” Georgia pushed her away. “Dead woman DNA.”
Dakota grabbed the brush back, unzipped her sleek Prada purse, and shoved it inside. “It’s a gift from my dad, not a toy, you assholes.” She pulled out a small orange prescription bottle and made a show of twisting off the cap.
Emmy’s eyes lit up. She spun from the mirror and thrust out her hand. “Give me one.”
“What are those?” I asked.
“Something to help me relax.” Dakota shook out two pills and handed one to Emmy. “Which I need now, thanks to all of you.”
“Like sedatives?” I pressed. “Where’d you get them?”
“From home, Nancy Drew. Relax.”
Georgia slid off the sink. “Alden doesn’t have those, does he?”
“Jesus. You’re all a bunch of narcs. I found them in the pool house, okay?” Dakota swallowed her pill dry. “They’re obviously my mom’s.”
“Someone’s worried Alden’s a creep with a stash of roofies,” said Scout, tickling Georgia’s back. Georgia swatted her away.
Dakota’s face turned bright red. “He is not.”
I rolled out a strip of paper towels and dried my hands. “He’s literally waiting for Georgia right outside the bathroom. Is that not a little creepy?”
“He’s just a little awkward,” Dakota said. “It’s not his fault.”
“Oh my god, I just got the best idea.” Emmy held up her white pill. “We should put this in Mallory’s drink.”
Georgia crossed her arms. “Don’t be gross, Emmy.”
But a smile spread over Dakota’s pale face. “She deserves it.”
“Someone will have to carry her out of the bar,” Emmy cackled. “All the paparazzi will get pictures of her passed out like a drunk fool. We have to do it.”
Dakota and Emmy were still giggling by the time we left the bathroom. Sure enough, Alden was waiting for us in the hall, hands stuck deep in his pockets. Scout and I tried not to laugh at his hangdog expression. Georgia and her lovesick puppy.
At the bar, we ordered a round of Pabst Blue Ribbons because they were on sale for two dollars a can, then leaned back and surveyed the scene.
The club had just opened in Westwood, and the owners had spent a ton of money touting it as the next big thing in LA nightlife, a scam that had clearly worked on us.
The place was crawling with fresh-faced kids who looked well under eighteen.
“We’ve been lied to,” Scout declared, taking a long pull of beer.
“How were we supposed to know?” Being new to LA and an actor was humiliatingly like being back in high school, on the outskirts of the cool clique, trying to figure out how to show up at the same parties. That was not who Scout and I had ever been—it felt unnatural.
Speaking of high school. I watched Emmy and Dakota make their way to the roped-off VIP section, where they’d been cruelly rebuffed earlier.
A beautiful brunette who was the spitting image of her famous mother danced on a sunken velvet couch, the clear princess of the VIP.
That had to be Mallory Martin, uberslut.
“Should we intervene?” I asked Scout, as Emmy snuck under the velvet rope.
She gave me a dramatic eye roll. “In Fast Times at Archer High? Gag me.”
We’d just finished our first round and moved on to our second when strong arms suddenly lifted and spun me, and then I was staring at my boyfriend’s broad, beaming smile. “You made it! I thought you were studying?”
Brooks buried his face in my hair. “I missed you.”
“You just stopped studying at midnight?” Georgia asked, Pbr close to her mouth. “Remind me never to go to law school.”
Brooks dropped me onto my toes and tucked his hair behind his ears.
In an old flannel and his boxy reading glasses, he was dressed for the library, not the club.
“Yeah, I seem to have this crazy work ethic lately.” He grinned at me.
“The urge to graduate top of my class and make a good living to support a family.” He drew me into his side. “Don’t know where that came from.”
“I know you’re being cheesy for Iz, but you have a point about making money.” Scout frowned at her Pbr. “Cheap beer that tastes like nickels is not it.”
“Scout’s bitter the bar’s a bust,” I told Brooks, as he lifted a finger to beckon the bartender.
Brooks glanced around. “Yeah, I probably could’ve told you that. You guys should hang around USC. There’s a bunch of chill places.”
“And meet students?” Scout looked aghast.
“You know where I’ve heard is cool?” Georgia twisted the tab on her can. “The Serpent Room on Highland.”
“Hold on.” Brooks straightened beside me. “What’s going on over there?”
Behind the VIP ropes, Mallory Martin swayed unnaturally, then toppled face-first onto a velvet couch. Her lush brown hair spilled everywhere, skirt hiking dangerously high. Everyone around her at the VIP table started cracking up.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Scout said. “Emmy Nolan got her revenge.”
“That’s not all she’s getting.” Georgia tipped her chin toward the back corner, where Emmy was making out with a tall, slender boy with foppish hair. “Twenty bucks says that’s the guy she swore was in the closet.”
I shook my head. “Girl-on-girl warfare is savage.”
“That’s just Emmy. She’d do anything for attention.”
I startled at the unfamiliar voice, and I wasn’t the only one—beside me, Scout jumped. The words had come from Alden, at the end of the bar. I’d honestly forgotten he was there.
“I warned my sister not to trust her.” He stood the way he always did, a little hunched, hands in his pockets, like he was uncomfortable in his own skin. A Pbr sat unopened beside him. “But she doesn’t make friends easily. Family trait, I guess.”
Georgia nudged his shoulder. “Your sister looks like she’s having fun to me.”
I searched the bar—and when I found her, I let out a loud peal of laughter. Dakota was alone in the middle of the dance floor, weaving to the music with her eyes closed, clearly feeling the effects of whatever pill she’d taken.
“Alden,” I said, wiping my eyes. “You have to get a picture for blackmail.”
It was, quite possibly, the first time I’d ever seen him smile.
“She got like that at my dad’s Christmas party last year,” he admitted. “I spent the whole night chasing behind her in case she fell over.”
“Your dad’s Christmas party is legendary.” Scout dropped her empty can on the bar. “The way Izzy and I used to study pictures from it, you’d think Us Weekly was a history book.”
Alden glanced shyly at Georgia. “I could get you invites, if you want. My dad’s always saying I should”—he made air quotes—“‘invite friends, for god’s sake.’”
I could feel the excitement radiating off Scout. “Are you serious?”
Brooks and I exchanged private smiles. A patented Scout Sage show in three, two, one …
But Georgia’s phone pinged, interrupting, and as soon as she checked it, she said, “I’m heading out.”
“What?” Scout screeched. “Why?”
“We just got here,” Alden protested. I couldn’t tell who was more surprised, him or Scout.
“You said yourself the bar is dead.” Georgia zipped her purse. “Will you buy my beer? I’ll pay you back.” She made little prayer hands, then beelined for the exit.
“I guess I’ll head out, too,” said Alden, abandoning his unopened beer on the bar, his eyes locked on Georgia.
I rolled my eyes. If this was the two of them inventing some excuse to get away, it wasn’t very subtle. And Alden—what was Georgia thinking? I made a mental note to talk to her about having some standards.
“Where are you going?” Scout sputtered. “Everyone you know is here.”
“Let a girl have her secrets,” Georgia called, turning over shoulder. She stopped in her tracks, hand on the door, laughing at us. “Don’t give me those faces. I’ll tell you soon, I swear!”
“You’re just letting her go?” Brooks asked as Georgia disappeared, followed a few beats later by Alden. “To who knows where? Some mysterious place?”
Scout turned back to the bar. For a second, worry marred her face. But then she smoothed it away, picking up her empty beer can and rolling her eyes. “Georgia’s in college now. She’s a big girl. She doesn’t need me playing big sister.”
I nodded. “She can take care of herself.”
“Woof.” Scout exhaled, waving her hand around at the bar. “God knows I’m trying to be a feminist, but these bitches make it so hard.”