Sunset Boulevard (22 page)

"Sorry I kept you waiting." She planted a huge kiss on his mouth. Amelie's heart dove, lodging

itself firmly in the pit of her stomach.

Just as Kady ran her Russian Navy nails through Jake's curls, Amelie saw her mom's Jaguar

pull up in front of the school.

Amelie jumped from the bench. "Have fun tonight, guys," she said, speed-walking down the

main path to her mom's idling car before Kake even had the chance to say goodbye.

As they started to drive, Amelie could see that her mom was tired. Helen's short, alwaysperfect red bob was mussed in some places, flyaway hairs gleaming every time they passed

beneath one of the light posts lining the 405 freeway. With every lane change, she sipped from

her venti espresso. The fact she was having caffeine after 4 p.m. was a dead giveaway.

"Did you have a good day, Am?" she asked, touching beneath her eyes, as if the dark circles

might sprout into something grotesque.

Amelie nodded, looking out the window at cars whizzing by. For a week now, she'd been

itching to hear what her mom would think of sending her to BHH. She hadn't had an opening,

though. Some nights, it was hard to get Helen to go from momager to just Mom.

"I have to say, I'm having the worst time getting the Kidz Network people to schedule your

Christmas special so you can still do the voice-over for that Pixar short. It's like they're jealous

of you working with other companies."

Amelie leaned back in her leather seat, watching as the Getty Center came up ahead of them.

She realized there would never be a perfect moment for her to say, "Hey, Mom, I want to go to

high school." But after her conversation with Jake, she felt invigorated. She had to just do it.

"Maybe I don't have to do both," Amelie offered, testing the water. "I mean, Pixar is due for a

bomb. And maybe there's something else I could be doing."

Helen's eyes flicked sideways, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised with interest. "Did you

hear about something on set today? Are they still talking about a sequel? Because I don't know

if you should do another teen movie right away."

"Not exactly," she said, a little hurt that her mom's mind always jumped to business. "Shooting

at BHH made me realize something."

"Oh, really? And what's that?" Helen caught Amelie's eye in the rearview mirror.

"That I think that I should go to high school. To BHH."

Helen was silent for a moment, her eyes focused on the road. Her face was unreadable as she

said, "And why do you want to go to high school?"

Because I could have friends, and live a normal life. And maybe even have a boyfriend, if Jake

and Kady ever break up,
Amelie thought. "I just think it's important," she answered, trying to

paraphrase Jake's words. "I don't want to look back one day and not have had that experience."

Helen shook her head, her fingers kneading the skin beneath her eye. "So what you're telling

me is that, all over the world, other girls want to be like you, but you want to be like
them
?"

Amelie knew the question was rhetorical, and there was no point in answering, but she nodded

anyway. "Yeah," she said, a note of pleading in her voice. "Even for a little while, just to see

how it goes."

Helen reached for her coffee and gulped down a long sip, as if the cup contained a rebelliousdaughter elixir. "Honey, I wish it was so simple," she said, patting Amelie's knee. "But you

live in a different world, and you're doing great in that world. You should be proud of what

you have. Do you understand?"

Amelie felt so crestfallen that she was almost drinking her tears as she held them back. She

rolled down her window. The air, now turned cold, coursed over her face in angry waves, like

the whole world had officially turned against her.

Ahead of them, a driver flicked the still-orange tip of a cigarette out his window. As the butt hit

the asphalt, hundreds of glowing embers exploded against the black and then died out.

To Amelie, it looked like the detritus of her now-extinguished hope.

WHY DON'T YOU WINE ABOUT IT?

"I'm here to pick up Daisy Morton," Ash said to the bored-looking receptionist at the front

desk of the Beverly Hills Police Department. With its white pillars, columns, and floors so

shiny your shoes squeaked, it looked like the White House's West Coast cousin.

Gordon had called in the middle of Ash and Tucker's band practice--really an excuse to eat and

talk about girls--and told him he needed him, Daisy had been arrested and to pick her up at the

BHPD. Ash thought jail was the perfect place for his charge, but said nothing to Gordon, who

was already mad that Daisy had used her phone call on him, knowing Ash wouldn't answer.

The woman pressed a button and directed Ash inside. In a small, glass-windowed room Daisy

was pacing back and forth like a caged beast, soaked head to toe in something red. Holy shit-was that dried blood? Had she finally snapped and killed someone?

A grim-faced officer with a head too long for his squat body stepped into the corridor. "You

responsible for this one?" He gestured to Daisy, who was giving him the finger though the

glass.

"I guess," Ash said.

"Bail's been posted already, by Gordon Gilmour." The officer held out a clipboard. "Sign here

and here, and I'll let you take her home."

"What did she do?" Ash asked, afraid to hear the answer. "Is that... blood?"

"Charles Shaw, from Trader Joe's," the cop said, suppressing a laugh. Seeing Ash's puzzled

face, he clarified. "It's two-dollar wine, son. People call it Two-Buck Chuck. She was in line,

had no ID, and when they wouldn't let her buy it without proof of age, she started smashing

bottles into a case of frozen shrimp. No injuries, fortunately, but the store is pressing charges."

Ash sighed, glad her crime wasn't serious but still dreading alone time with Crazy Daisy. The

cop nodded, saying, "I'm gonna get a few more guys. I'm not going in there alone."

Great,
Ash thought, watching as Daisy pressed her face against the glass like a blowfish.

Four cops emerged from a back room and somberly entered the holding cell.

"Well, if it isn't the fuckety fucks of Fuckville," Daisy screeched. "You need four of you big,

strapping babies for little ol' me? You touch me in one wrong place, and I'll go all Catholic

Church sex scandal on your out-of-shape asses."

Ash couldn't help chuckling at the horrified faces of four of Beverly Hills' finest. They gingerly

took each of Daisy's arms, two to a side, and she dragged her feet along the tile floor, the cops

practically lifting her off the ground.

Seeing Ash, she sprang back onto her feet, shook off the cops, and bounced over to him, like a

girl chasing a butterfly. Her rainbow tutu fluttered with each skipping step. "Hi, you," she said,

planting a wet kiss on his cheek. "Let's get the fuck out of this shithole. Toodles, wussyboys!"

They left the police station behind them, and Ash drove. But Daisy refused to get out of the car

when he pulled up to the W. "No, the photogs know I'm staying here and they got enough for

one night. See? I'm on TMZ already."

She reached over, taking Ash's iPhone from his pocket and pulling up the site.
Crazy Daisy

Two-Buck Chucked,
read the headline. Accompanying it was camera phone video of her

wailing like a banshee as she smashed individual bottles into a freezer drawer.

Ash glanced sideways at his passenger. She looked as bad as ever. Mascara dripped down

from her eyes in points, her hair a multicolored snarl, like something two Muppets would leave

behind after a battle to the death. Her T-shirt--which featured a gnome in the grass and read
Sod

Off!
--was so wine-soaked he could feel the fumes making their way up his nostrils. Where

could he take her? He didn't want to go back to Tucker's--Tucker's dad, the famous singer Dell

Pearl, had outfitted the garage so it was
too
professional, with its state-of-the-art recording

equipment and pristine lounge area. It was kind of embarrassing, actually, and for some reason

he couldn't tolerate the idea of Daisy seeing how sleek, how
not
rock 'n' roll their practice space

was. Besides, he wasn't confident she wouldn't destroy anything there. Unfortunately, he also

couldn't imagine another hotel letting Daisy check in. "Fine, we'll go to my house." He

resignedly pulled a U-turn and headed toward his neighborhood.

Daisy closed her eyes, leaning deeply into the bucket seat. "Sounds perfect."

Looking at her almost peaceful face, Ash wondered if he was like the lead in a horror movie-just naive enough to invite the killer inside.

Daisy was... cooperating. So far, she'd agreed to take a shower and change into some of

Tessa's old clothing. She'd even unhooked a menu for a new deli from the front door and

deposited it neatly on the kitchen counter. She was upstairs showering now, as Ash waited

fearfully downstairs. Would Daisy come out high and in full psycho mode again? He debated

checking on her, but decided the longer she stayed in Tessa's room, the better. While he waited

he called the new deli and ordered several sandwiches and mac and cheese.

Ash sank into one of the burgundy chaise lounges in the front room. He hadn't even walked

into the room--dubbed "Fancy Land" by him and Tessa when they were kids--in months. As

he glanced at the row of their class photos on the mantel of the double-size gas fireplace, he

missed his sister. He reclined on the chaise, his eyes running over the keys of the baby grand

piano where he used to take lessons. He'd never been that great at keyed instruments, and his

dad had let him drop piano and double up on guitar when he was ten. He heard soft footfalls

upstairs, and then a padding of feet down the steps.

Daisy softly entered with a barely audible "Hi." But she wasn't Daisy anymore. Or at least not

Crazy Daisy. Her hair, still slightly wet, curled at her neck, but all the red and purple streaks

were gone, leaving shiny walnut-colored locks behind. Her face was free of makeup, and her

skin was like porcelain, a healthy glow visible now that she wasn't wearing caked-on powder.

She was still thin, but wrapped in one of Tessa's old cream cardigans, she just looked petite,

not painfully malnourished. Her light gray eyes caught the light, dancing happily over the

piano.

Ash couldn't stop staring, unsure what to say. She didn't just look normal. She looked...

beautiful.

The doorbell rang, startling Ash almost as much as Daisy's complete 180. "I ordered food," he

said almost to himself.

"I can get it," Daisy offered.

"No," Ash said, leaping up and crossing in front of her. "I have to sign." The delivery guy, a

pudgy kid in a torn UCLA sweatshirt, handed over several bags, and accepted Ash's signature

and tip with an appreciative grunt, his eyes never leaving Daisy.

Ash brought the bags to the kitchen, splitting the sandwiches onto two plates. He put them

down on the kitchen table. The first occasion he'd had in months to use more than one table

setting, and it involved Daisy Morton? That would go first on the list of things he'd never

thought could happen but had.

He gestured for Daisy to sit and she thanked him, sitting down. Ash tentatively bit into a roast

beef sandwich, trying not to stare. But he couldn't help it. Fortunately, she broke the silence

first.

"So, thanks for coming to get me, and for, you know, everything." She gestured to the food

and then to herself, as if Ash was responsible for her makeover.