Holly Hearts Hollywood (15 page)

I’m saved! I was watching
House
reruns and looking up stuff on WebMD to make sure I didn’t have some strange disease only a cranky fictional doctor could solve when Serena knocked on the door. I swear, that girl never calls ahead. She always just
knows
when I need her and appears like a genie.

I wonder if Serena is going to have one of those
My Super Sweet 16
kind of parties with acrobats hanging from the ceiling and a three-tier cake with 16 karat gold plating. I could totally go for a party like that. Whenever Amanda, Meredith, and I celebrated our birthdays, we just watched movies and ate an entire sheet of chocolate cake on our own.

Uh-oh. Serena is banging on the bathroom door. Time to go party! But not too hard, I hope.

Later, 7:00pm—Bathroom at Serena’s House

Apparently, Serena is more like Meredith and Amanda than I thought. Her idea of a birthday celebration is going to her house with only me and watching all four
Scream
movies in a row while making sarcastic comments at the actors on screen. She’s a girl after my own heart.

Keller hasn’t responded to any of my texts. I’m not sure how many texts is too many. I’m sure he’s too busy helping Molly at the studio. I’m a bad friend. But he can’t be
that
tired of me; we’ve only hung out a few times.

Serena’s screaming at me to come back. I think Matthew Lillard is about to go crazy.

Later, 9:30pm—Bathroom at Serena’s House

How does this happen to me? How do they always seem to follow me wherever I go? I didn’t tell her where I was, I didn’t invite her, and I know Serena didn’t invite her either. And yet, Grayson and Lacey walked through the door a few minutes ago. For some inexplicable reason, Lacey was wearing a Playboy bunny costume and Grayson was dressed as Elmer Fudd. Somehow, he still managed to look good in that stupid outfit.

“Y’all don’t mind if we join, do you?” Lacey shouted as they paraded in.

Serena looked at me as if asking permission, and like an idiot, I shrugged my shoulders instead of being assertive and telling Grayson to leave.

Lacey sighed. “Good, Katy’s costume party was so boring,” she groaned and flung herself onto the couch. “She started to fight with John, and I
cannot
be around angry people.”

Grayson sat beside her, awkwardly holding his deerstalker cap in his lap. “Lacey’s preferred emotional states are happy and uninterested,” he said dryly. “Anything else isn’t good.”

“Very funny,” Lacey pouted. She looked at the TV. “Oh, are you guys watching
Scream 2
? I love this movie!” She kicked off her heels and tucked her legs underneath her.

“You like these movies?” Grayson asked as he pulled his arm away from her.

She stuck her lower lip out. “Yeah, why?”

Grayson shrugged. “I don’t know. You seem more like a
Notebook
kind of girl.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, no, that movie’s too sad.”

Grayson shook his head. “You’re weird.”

Serena was shaking with laughter beside me, trying so hard to not lose it completely.

“Do you guys want chocolate milkshakes?” Serena asked. “I have everything for them in the kitchen.”

I was expecting Lacey to wrinkle her nose again and lecture us about the trans fat in milkshakes, but she surprised me by saying, “Yes, please, with whipped cream if you have it!” She giggled and nestled closer to Grayson. “Mom never lets me have milkshakes.”

Every time I hang around Lacey, I find different layers of her I didn’t know existed. She
is
a diva, but I guess she’s not
just
a diva.

When I was there, laughing at the movie and eating milkshakes, we all seemed like…friends. We acted like we’ve known each other for years. I’m pretty sure they’re actually pulling out board games as I write this. But, I can’t let go completely. No matter how many funny jokes Grayson tells, I can’t be friends with him. I can’t. If I let my guard down around him, who knows what’ll happen.

March 3
^rd
, 10:30am—Pink Palm Motel

I can’t believe it. My mom actually came through! Just when I thought we we’re going to be stuck in this motel forever, Mom bought a house!

I’m going to have my own room! I can have sleepovers with Serena! My mom won’t make us milkshakes or anything, and we probably won’t have a seventy-inch plasma TV like Serena’s, but we’ll still have fun. I’m so excited I can’t handle it.

Every time I turn the TV on, I see Lacey’s face. She appears everywhere I go. If I go to a restaurant, ads for the album are on the televisions over the bar. If I go out with Serena, Lacey happens to be in the same boutique. Lacey must be on planes all the time because she’s been interviewed on every talk show in America in one week alone. Lacey is seriously amazing on TV. She’s charming and funny, and she tells hilarious stories about growing up in Houston.

Oh, I have a text message. It’s from Lacey.

LACEY:
u comin to the BBQ tomorrow rite?

ME:
Um, yes?

As far as I know, I haven’t been invited to any barbeques, but I guess I’m going.

LACEY:
good. Mom said you wouldn’t want 2, but I told her to stop bein silly

ME:
Why wouldn’t she want me to come?

LACEY:
She said Grayson’s BBQ would make u uncomfortable.

Of course it’s Grayson’s barbeque. But now that Kimberly said I wouldn’t be comfortable, I have to prove her wrong, even though she’s technically right.

ME:
Don’t be ridiculous; it sounds like fun.

LACEY:
Yay! I’ll pick you up @ 11.

I kind of feel bad that I’m going out so much with friends instead of spending time with my family. Although, I hate the phrase “spending time with family.” What does that even mean? Are we supposed to spend a designated amount of time in the same room together? Regardless, I know I haven’t done anything with them in a while.

I’ve only been to Mom’s flower shop once, and Ivy hasn’t had any choir concerts recently. It’s been two days since I last saw Keller, and he hasn’t even
texted
me. Did I do something wrong? Maybe this is my punishment for being a horrible family member. Perhaps I should ask Ivy if she wants to go get coffee or something

Later, 11:00am—Pink Palm Motel

Actually, there’s a
Project Runway
marathon on Lifetime.

I didn’t really want coffee anyway.

March 4
^th
, 12:00pm—Grayson’s House

Grayson’s house is disgustingly beautiful. He’s only been in Los Angeles for a week, and he managed to move into the most beautiful mansion in town. His house is like Serena’s but squared by one McMansion. I guess when you’re the biggest country star in America, you can buy yourself whatever you want.

When Lacey came to pick me up, she chose to inform me that it was a
FAMILY
barbeque, and everyone could come. I was about to brush the invitation off, hop in the car, and flee for my life, but Ivy overheard Lacey. So, ten minutes later, after Ivy changed into her rhinestone-studded jeans and grabbed Mom, we were on our way.

When we arrived, Grayson’s mom greeted us like we were family. She was actually
GLOWING.
She hugged us and kissed us on the cheek. My mom is an extremely touchy-feely person, and I think Grayson’s mom is the one person who can out-hug her.

“Lacey! I’m so happy you came!” she squealed enthusiastically. Mrs. Frost was very well dressed, like she was on her way to a prep-school PTA meeting. Her light brown hair was in a shiny bob, and she wore an expensive-looking necklace. “You must be Holly!” She turned to me. “Grayson has told me so much about you,” she said, giving me a bone-crushing hug.

“He has?” I mumbled, my mouth pressed against her shoulder.

“Of course.” She grabbed my shoulders and held me out at arm’s length. “He talks about you and Lacey all the time.” She herded Lacey and me to the backyard, where the barbeque was already well under way.

Now, I’m hanging out in what I think is the library. There are so many rooms in Grayson’s house! Luckily, I haven’t had to socialize with him at all. He’s been glued to Lacey’s side. These Beverly Hills people know how to barbeque. It’s way different than how we did it back home.

We could never barbeque in March—it’d be too cold. We’d have to wait for the dead of summer, when the air gets sticky and warm with humidity and the fireflies come out in the still summer night. We didn’t care if we got barbeque sauce on our t-shirts or if we had to eat off paper plates. We’d tear the meat off the bones with our bare hands, and we’d toss a Frisbee around or play touch football after.

Beverly Hills barbeques make me feel like I’m playing Jenga. Everyone seems to be wearing their nicest clothes. When Lacey told me it was a barbeque, I threw on some old pants and my Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt. Now I’m wearing ratty old jeans in a sea of designer skinny jeans and Chanel boots. At least I didn’t put on hemp sandals and an oversized tie-dye shirt like mom. Did I mention she isn’t wearing
pants
?

All everyone talks about here is Grayson’s music, Lacey’s music, hosting
Saturday Night Live
, other musical artists, and stocks. They’re serving the food on china.
China!
Even the forks and knives are silver—I mean the real stuff, not silver-plated. Lucille, Grayson’s mom, hired some hotshot chef to come and “grill” our food for us. How can this be a proper barbeque without all the men standing around the grill giving barbeque tips to one another? The food is
really
good though; I hate to admit it.

That’s why I came up here to write. It felt so stuffy down there, and I’m sure my mom hates me for leaving her down there alone. She put on her anarchy earrings today, and I’m sure she’s already started a lively political debate with someone. She needs constant supervision, or at least someone standing beside her and constantly apologizing to all of the people she’s offending.

It figures: the moment I steal away to get some privacy, someone interrupts me! I can hear them walking up the stairs. It’s probably Serena. She knows this is the kind of place I’d hide, but you’d think she’d know better than to interrupt me. Why can’t people leave me alone? If I was—

Later, 2:30pm—Grayson’s guest bathroom

Oh my God. My hands are shaking so badly I can hardly write. Is this what an anxiety attack feels like? I think I might be having one. I can’t breathe. I’m pretty sure I’m having heart palpitations.

Of all the people to interrupt me while I’m writing, I didn’t expect it to be
Grayson
. Yeah, you read that right. He came strolling in the library wearing a white linen shirt and looking weirdly tan. He saw me huddled up in the corner of his library, scribbling away in my journal, most likely looking a little unstable.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He actually asked me in a normal voice, with no sarcasm whatsoever. It was totally conversational.

“I’m writing,” I said, not wanting to elaborate.

“I can see that, but why are you up here?”

“I needed some space.”

Grayson nodded, a lock of his chestnut hair falling into his hazel eyes. I never actually noticed it before, but he has these really cool-looking golden undertones in his hair that match his eyes perfectly. The man is genetically color-coordinated.

He put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, I feel you there. I have this one place I always go whenever I am feeling overwhelmed.”

I was feeling pretty overwhelmed myself by this point. Was Grayson telling me about his feelings? What was I supposed to say?

“Oh, really? Where’s that?” I thought he’d say something like
driving around in my new Lamborghini
or
riding the waves, dude!

Instead, he said, “Here, come with me. I’ll show you.”

Of course, I was like:
WHAT?
I remembered all those
Criminal Minds
episodes I’d watched recently. My mind filled with memories of unsuspecting girls being lured to their doom by a charming and seemingly cool dude. It’d be easy for Grayson to be a serial killer! He could lure any girl he wanted into his tan clutches. He’s famous, isn’t he? Oh God, he’d be unstoppable. Let’s hope he’s mentally stable and doesn’t have a history of harming small animals.

He motioned for me to come over to him. “Let me show you this; I think you’ll like it.”

What was I supposed to do? Say no? I didn’t want to be rude, despite the fact that I can’t stand him. So, I got up from my position in the corner of the room and quickly stowed my journal in my bag. I didn’t want him seeing the leather-bound cover and start asking questions.

I followed him down the hallway and toward the back of the house. My heart began to pound, and my palms were sweating. This was the boy who
tormented
me, and here I was, bold as brass, following him through the labyrinth of his Beverly Hills mansion.

We went down some stairs and out one of the side doors into his backyard. I could hear the party from the other side of the tall, square hedges. It was then I saw something I didn’t expect to see at Grayson’s house: stables. They immediately reminded me of Iowa with their tall wooden red walls and the distinctive smell of hay and horse manure. I’m surprised I didn’t smell it earlier, but I guess it was disguised under the canopy of Chanel No. 5 all the female guests seemed to be wearing.