Somewhere in California Read online

  “Really? I am kind of sore.”

  He grabs me up and carries me to the bed. “I think you might enjoy this. Again.”

  Chapter 20

  Brandon

  We don’t sleep much that night and that’s the way we both want it. What is happening between us eclipses any other relationship I’ve ever had like a supernova. Turns out I never had any idea about any of it.

  I can’t get enough of her: her firm tight body, her silky secret places, the way she moves like poetry. Even her insecurity fascinates me, the way she shies away if I look at her too long, the way she lies on her back and counts the pattern on the ceiling, her lips moving in her silent mantra of thirteen—ah, thirteen. Thirteen is my new favorite number.

  I cut thirteen pieces of juicy room service steak for her. I pour thirteen splashes of wine into her glass. I rub her body with thirteen pumps of flower-scented hotel lotion.

  Jade loves it, but by the morning she’s laughing, begging me to stop with the thirteen business, she’s over it already.

  I hope that’s true, but even if it isn’t, I don’t care. She’s all I want, so damn perfect. Thirteen thousand times better than any woman I’ve ever been with.

  She’s finally sleeping when I wake at six a.m. per usual. I call down to her room, and Alex answers the phone.

  “Jade’s with me,” I say without preamble when he answers. “I need you to bring some of her clothes to my room.”

  Alex chortles. “I told her last night—‘you go, girl.’”

  “Well, if you encouraged her to make a move—thanks. I was on my way to see her too, so it worked out.” I rub the back of my neck and clear my throat. “So, can you please bring her something to wear? I have to get to work and I don’t want Jade wandering the hotel in her bathrobe.”

  It makes me feel good to think of ways to make her happy, to make things a little easier for her. I’m bummed that I have to work on the show while she and the other dancers get their first real day of rest before the filming of tonight’s results show.

  Not that we’d get any respite if I were in the room with her all day…

  I dress quickly and write Jade a note, and I’m just in time to bring in the flowers I ordered and set them up with the note, and an extra key to the room, beside the bed.

  Now I’m off to deal with the wrap-up show. Today’s prep is extra involved—it’s the climax of the whole season, and the show’s going to be an extravaganza.

  Extravaganzas don’t happen on their own.

  I’m getting ready to cross the road to the studio, coffee in hand, looking both ways this time—when I remember I never talked to Jade about that sleazy video producer, Jashon Mummings.

  That’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time to hash over what the next steps are for her career after tonight—because, whether she wins or not, it’s taking off.

  Jade

  I wake up to a far-off muffled pounding and the sound of my name being called. “Jade!”

  Alarm jangles through me. I sit up and toss back the covers.

  I’m stark naked.

  In Brandon’s bed.

  My cheeks get hot as I remember last night. Yeah, that tops the chart of my current life experiences.

  The pounding starts again. Someone’s at the door.

  I glance over at the bedside table, and my heart jumps. A giant bouquet of peach-colored roses, laced with baby’s breath and fern, is set beside a folded piece of paper. A room key weighs the note down.

  Brandon had to go to work today. He told me last night he was going to be eyeball-deep in the show.

  But he left me flowers. And a note. And a key.

  I don’t have time to investigate though. I have to find my robe and answer the door.

  My body is pleasantly achy and there’s an unfamiliar throb between my legs as I get out of bed, pick up my fallen robe, and put it on. Just walking across the expanse of creamy shag sets up tingles and twinges from various places unused to all the activities we got up to last night—but I’m certainly not complaining.

  I peek through the lens just as the pounding begins again. It’s Alex, holding something in his arms. I open the door. “Hey.”

  Alex rakes me with a glance. “You look—debauched.”

  I laugh. “I am. Come on in.”

  “Brandon called early this morning to ask me to bring you some clothes.” Alex pushes a pile of garments into my arms. “Here.”

  “That was incredibly thoughtful of him.” I hug the clothes against me. I can’t stop smiling.

  Alex looks around. “This is pretty much the same as our suite.”

  “Yeah.” I go back to the bedroom and retrieve the note, key, and flowers.

  “Sweet baby.” Alex puts his hands on his hips, grinning. “Now that’s a bouquet.”

  “He left a note, too.” I open the folded paper. His handwriting is bold and slanting, a mix of block letters and cursive as unique as he is.

  “Dear Jade,

  It’s actually physically painful to leave you right now, and if it weren’t for the show I’d spend the day with you in bed... but alas. I wanted to tell you in writing how amazing you are, how incredible it was to be with you last night. I will miss you every minute until I see you again. Peach reminds me of you—and don’t forget to count the roses. ~Love, Brandon.”

  The huge, orangey-pink buds are just beginning to open. I count the blooms, and my eyes fill with tears. I cover my mouth with a hand.

  “What?” Alex asks.

  “Thirteen. There are thirteen roses here.” I burst into tears. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

  Alex hugs me, strong and reassuring, smelling of lemony aftershave. “Whatever he did, I’ll try to kick his ass for you.”

  “No! It’s just that—this is all too good to be true. I’m the unlucky sister, always have been, and now...” I can’t put into words how overwhelmed I am by incredible feelings, by what’s happened on the show, by how my tiny little life is expanding. “I don’t know how I can handle all of this—and I think I’m in love with him.”

  “Well, duh. And it seems to be mutual.” Alex plucks the note from my fingers. “Mind if I read?”

  I shake my head and he scans the note. “He doesn’t say ‘I love you,’ but he pretty much does. And whether or not we win, with him in your corner, your career is going to take off. Did you sign with his agency yesterday when the girl with the contracts came around?”

  “No. I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep having to deal with how painful it was to be around him.” I hang my head. “Did you talk to that video producer, Jashon Mummings, too?”

  A big black guy in a pinstripe suit with a shiny bald head approached me as I was leaving the cafeteria yesterday. He complimented my dancing and told me he had a contract ready for me. I’d left with his card in my hand, and an appointment to meet with him after the results show.

  “No. But why wouldn’t you want to sign with Forbes, regardless? Brandon and Melissa are the names to be associated with in this town.” Alex is frowning. “I bet that stung when Brandon heard you turned his contract down.”

  “Well, I was just—that was before.” I snatch the note back. “We’ll work it out. I didn’t meet with Mummings yet.”

  “Fine. Well, today’s our day off. What do you want to do?”

  “Go to Disneyland.” My face breaks into a smile as I run back into the bedroom. “Let me get changed, then I’ll see what the family is up to.”

  Ruby, Rafe, Peter, Alex and I spend a blissful day at Disneyland as Pearl, Mom and Magnus opt for a quiet day in Los Angeles doing art museums. Shrieking through the dark on the newly opened Space Mountain rollercoaster, holding my nephew Peter’s hand, I decide that the only thing better than this moment would be to have Brandon with me, too.

  A sense of unreality, of being in a bubble of happiness too good to be true, persists through the day.

  Back at the hotel, I say goodbye to the family until after the show, feeling wor
ry niggle at me that I haven’t resolved things with Pearl since that ill-fated evening with Ruby. And I still need to straighten out that contract thing with Brandon.

  I’ll take care of all of that after the show. After we find out who won.

  It feels weird to get all painted up in our glowing paint and sequins and not dance, and glancing over at Alex, I can see he’s feeling the same thing.

  Walking behind Ernesto and Selina toward the main stage, I lean over to my partner. “Are you okay? With Ernesto?”

  He shrugs. “Not everybody gets a happy ending. He’s banging anyone that will hop in the sack with him, and I’m just not okay with that.”

  I put my hand in his and squeeze as we follow the other couple.

  We wait backstage and finally they signal Ernesto and Selina to go out in front. The crowd goes wild, the show plays highlights from each of their dancing, and finally they take their seats in the empty bleachers that held twenty contestants when we started.

  It’s our turn.

  The lights are blinding, the applause overwhelming. My hands are instantly sweaty and I let go of Alex’s hand, needing to use my sanitizer and unable to, paralyzed with stage fright for the first time on the show.

  Alex grabs me and raises both of our hands above our heads.

  The clapping sounds like a thunderstorm breaking over a rainforest, but the spell is broken and I can smile. We head to the bleachers as they play clips of us on the show.

  Once seated, the spotlights off us, I scan everywhere for Brandon. High above, in the glassed-in observation booth in the center of the ceiling, I spot a white piece of paper with a heart drawn on it in Sharpie.

  That heart is for me. He’s up there in the booth.

  I let my breath out with a whoosh and wave at him.

  The lights go down, and a troupe of Russian ballet dancers takes the stage as the director prolongs the agony of the winners’ reveal for maximum effect. A couple more performances, including the “All-Stars” of the last seasons’ shows doing a mixed piece, and then it’s the moment of truth.

  The lights come up. Kate, wearing a tiny red dress, invites the four of us down to the front.

  I can hear my blood roaring in my ears, and I clutch the lifeline of Alex’s hand on one side, and Selina’s on the other. I’m aware, so aware, of Brandon up in the booth, watching.

  I wish it were his hand I’m holding.

  Whatever happens, I’ll be with him again tonight. Everything will be okay once I’m in his arms.

  “It’s time,” Kate says. She holds the large white envelope with its gold seal aloft. The sound of the seal breaking sounds like a pistol shot in the waiting silence.

  “And the winners are... Selina and Ernesto!”

  The roar of the crowd is surf in the background. I’m frozen as a pillar of salt, unable to move or breathe. Balloons and confetti rain down on us. Ernest and Selina swirl through the falling debris in an impromptu tango, kicking balloons out of the way.

  Alex is still holding my hand. He gives it a tug, pulling me into his arms. I’m jerky as a marionette as he moves me around the stage.

  Alex murmurs in my ear. “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. We’re still winners. The world is our oyster, girl, we’re winners. What a way to kick off our dance careers, we’re the top two contestants after them…”

  My good luck was too good to be true.

  Ernesto and Selina, radiant and glittering, embrace us. Making the best of it, happy for them, we all dance around as a foursome. But I start counting my steps. “One, two three, four...”

  I’m numb and distant from my feet.

  Things to count are all around me. Balloons. Spirals of confetti. Stage lights. The steps of our dance. My family, ascending the stage, along with Alex’s, Ernesto’s and Selina’s, just interrupts the flow of soothing numbers.

  Chapter 21

  Brandon

  Jade looks like a possum just before road kill as the results announcement is read. My stomach churns at the sight of her stricken, pale face.

  Thank God for Alex, taking her in his arms, talking to her, getting her moving... I can’t wait to hold her, soothe her, take her mind off the loss as I tell her the truth—the big money is in the contracts that follow the show, not the contest purse or the temporary glow of the stage lights.

  I’ll have to tell her that in person, which won’t be for an hour at least, as we wrap the filming and deal with all the myriad details of putting a major production show to bed at last.

  But finally I can tear myself away, handing off my clipboard and producer chair to Clay. I check around the backstage area, hoping she’s there, but the place is empty as a plague ship. I peek into the cafeteria and spot her family, but she’s not with them. Maybe Jade’s already back at my room, waiting for me.

  I’m glad I left her the extra key by the flower arrangement. My heart speeds up in anticipation of seeing her. All day I’ve been thinking about her: flashbacks of her scent, the feel of her hands on me, the heft of her in my arms.

  No one’s in my room, but the note and flowers are gone. I hop in the shower to clean the sweat of the day off and wrap up in a towel.

  There’s a rap at the door. I’ll have to remind Jade that she has a key. I pull open the door.

  “Pearl,” I say dumbly, looking at her sister. “What’re you doing here?”

  Pearl looks pale, but there’s a determined set to that mouth I’m so familiar with—that mouth they share. She keeps her eyes on mine, not so much as glancing at the whole lot of nothing I’m wearing but a towel. “Can I speak to you a moment?”

  “Sure.” I hold the door open and she enters. The door drifts shut behind us. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

  “You could say that.” The seventh most beautiful woman in the world is wearing a form-fitting black tunic top over leggings and boots, with a fat pearl on a long snake chain that dangles between her breasts. I remember when she got that gift for her nineteenth birthday. “Why haven’t you signed Jade with Forbes Talent?”

  “My assistant took the contract around to Jade yesterday and she refused to sign it.” I run a hand through my wet hair. “I was planning to talk to her personally about it now that the show’s over.”

  “Well, please move fast. I saw that sleazy porn video producer talking to her in the hall. I’m worried about him getting his hooks into her. Jade still thinks…” For the first time, a little color comes back into Pearl’s cheeks. “Jade still thinks there’s something going on between us, and she won’t listen to anything I say.”

  “What? Between you and me?” I can’t even calculate this, it’s so over. “Oh no. Not after last night, she doesn’t think that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I start to answer, but we both turn our heads at the sound of a key in the door. It opens, a slow-motion train wreck that I can’t seem to stop.

  “Pearl?” Jade’s scrubbed clean, all the performance paint gone, but she goes white as she stares at us, green eyes wide. “I guess I interrupted something.”

  I glance down at my towel and bare feet. The bottom of my stomach does an elevator drop.

  “No, no, I was just here for a second and now I’m leaving.” Pearl’s hands lift in a ‘surrender’ gesture.

  Jade pulls the room’s door shut.

  I lunge forward and yank it open, darting after her. “Jade!” She’s sprinting and somehow reached the elevators already. “Jade! No! It’s not what you think!”

  She looks at me wildly, stabbing the elevator button. I’ll never forget the devastation in her eyes as long as I live. I run down the hall toward her, but she’s faster, hitting the stairwell and disappearing.

  I clutch my towel with both hands and curse like a truck driver.

  Jade

  I knew it.

  Nothing ever works out for me, and no matter how many ways I invoke thirteen, I’m cursed. Clattering down the stairs at top speed, I still manage to count, getting to thirteen
and starting over again.

  Thirteen. My lucky number.

  Thirteen bites of steak. Thirteen splashes of wine. Thirteen pumps of lotion. Thirteen kisses on my nose. Thirteen peach-colored roses.

  Thirteen ways to blow it all to hell.

  It’s imperative that I get far away from Brandon, and that he not catch up with me. I can’t handle it. I just can’t handle it.

  Brandon, wearing nothing but a towel and wet hair. Brandon, with his gorgeous, ripped body still sporting bruises, alone with my sister, his first love, in the hotel room where he took my virginity.

  The pain feels like I’m being murdered—stabbed maybe, or strangled—but somehow I’m still breathing and moving.

  I end my headlong flight when there are no more stairs to go down.

  I’m in the hotel basement, in the laundry room. Giant machines whir and gurgle. Startled-looking employees turn to stare as I run, dodging around obstacles, through the room, seeking an exit. I know I’m acting like a looney tune but am unable to process how to get out—until finally, one old woman lifts a gnarled finger to point at a lit red Exit sign.

  I hit the door bar and the steel door dumps me into a cement well in an alley at the back side of the hotel. A short flight of stairs leads up to the street. The alley is dark, lit by yellow pools of light, and the air smells like the dumpsters clustered around a service entrance.

  I slow to a walk and head for the brightly lit street. I’m wearing a pair of athletic shoes, jeans, and the Dance, Dance, Dance T-shirt that Patty gave me in a swag bag from sponsors. Perhaps it’s the shirt, a neon aqua and purple with gold lettering, that catches the eye of a reporter, talking to a cameraman next to a TV van parked at the corner.

  The tailored-looking brunette swivels on an alligator heel and hobbles toward me as fast as her pencil skirt will allow, holding out a mic, the cameraman trailing in pursuit. “Jade! Jade Michaels! Give us a statement!”