How to Date a Millionaire (12 page)

It all happens even faster than I thought it would. I run back into our apartment, grab Alexa and get her to start packing, hurl Nat out of the spa and throw some clothes at her, pack my own stuff, do a once-over of the apartment to check we haven’t forgotten anything and then the three of us run over next door to help Dad pack up his and Holly’s stuff.

When we get there, Dad has called the front desk to let them know we’re leaving four days early and Dr Reid is just finishing up taking Holly’s blood pressure. Apparently it’s gone back down again to something close to normal and he agrees that it’s probably time to go home before this happens again. He calls Dr Meyers to let him know what’s going on and tells him that he’s discussed it with Holly and
my dad and that he and a nurse will travel with us.

‘Creamy!’ Nat pipes up on hearing this (she thinks Dr Reid is pretty scrummy, which he is, of course, but really, this isn’t the time for movie quotes, is it?).

By this stage, Holly is dressed, her wet hair slicked back in a pony-tail and she actually looks something close to okay rather than all foal-legged like before. We make our way down to the lobby and, within five minutes, two town cars have picked us up and we’re whisked away to the airport.

‘Bye.’ Nat waves out the back window to our apartment block. ‘Bye Waikiki, bye apartment, bye spa, bye pool, bye Seth and Jason and Connor.’

‘Good riddance, more like it,’ I mumble under my breath, not looking back. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish.’ Beside me, Alexa shoots me a look and I wave my hand – later. No way am I going into all my Seth business in front of Nat. Or Dad and Holly. It’ll all have to wait until we get back to NYC.

Home.

After this so-called ‘relaxing Hawaiian break’ I can hardly wait.

We make it to the airport in good time and the plane’s waiting for us on the tarmac, as is the nurse, Monica, who Dr Reid has arranged to meet us there and travel back home with us. After we board, Dr Reid has one last check of Holly’s blood pressure (still okay) and we’re off. Bang. Just like that. I don’t think I’ve ever travelled so fast in my life. It’s been just on an hour and a half from finding out Holly’s blood pressure had gone back up again to the plane taking off. But now … well, now we have the long, ten-hour flight home.

Ten hours of waiting. Something tells me it’s going to feel like an eternity.

And it seems like it already does, at least to Holly.

‘Will everyone stop staring at me!’ she says about an hour into the flight. ‘I’m fine!’

‘Sorry,’ Nat, Alexa, me, Dr Reid, Monica and even the stewardess say sheepishly.

‘I’m going to keep staring,’ my dad says, sitting next to her.

‘Well … all right then,’ Holly sighs. ‘But I’m going to watch a DVD.’ And she settles herself back into her beige leather seat.

‘Me too,’ says Nat, a couple of seats behind Holly. ‘Watch a DVD, I mean, not keep staring. You know, from now on, I think the Gulfstream III is the only way to travel.’ She holds up the jet’s information card. ‘I’m particularly taken with the enclosed lavatory.’

Everybody turns around to look at her. And even Holly, despite her ‘stop staring at me, I’m okay!’ funk, laughs.

Alexa, across the aisle from me, leans over. ‘You know, I mean to keep reminding her of that line of Loco’s in
How to Marry a Millionaire
.’

‘Really?’ I look at her, surprised. ‘Which one?’

‘The one where Loco says she “likes not to talk”.’

‘I know she liked Loco the best, but, um, good luck with the not talking thing.’

Alexa sighs. ‘I think I’ll need it. So, what about you? You DVDing as well?’

I think about it for a second before I shake my head. I need something even more distracting if I’m not going to think about Seth. Like reading.

‘I wish I’d brought a book. Or something to read. Anything, really.’

‘I’ve got something!’ Nat fishes around in her backpack
and passes me over a pile of paper from behind. ‘Here you go.’

‘What is it?’ I take it from her. It could be anything, knowing Nat. It could be the entire specs of the Gulfstream III for all I know, enclosed lavatory and all.

‘It’s the boys’ screenplay. You know, the one they kept going on about.’

‘Nat!’ Alexa stands up and goes to take it off her.

‘What?! What’s wrong with that? Jason gave it to me. He said he thought I, or someone else, might want to read it.’

I snort. Yeah. ‘Someone else’ like Holly, he meant. That scumbag. Now I eye the screenplay on my lap dubiously. I’m curious, of course, but should I read it or not? I guess there’s no good answer to that question. Standing in front of me, Alexa gives me a ‘are you sure you want to do this?’ look and I shrug. May as well, I suppose. I wanted something to read, after all, and this is … well, something to read, right?

Sure, just like picking up the
NY Times
.

Anyway, okay, here goes nothing.

An hour later, I turn the last page of the screenplay and replace the pile of paper in my lap. Well. That was awful. Awfully, awfully …

Brilliant.

And funny. Really, really funny. A part Holly would kill to play and people would love to see her in.

Damn. Why couldn’t Seth’s stupid screenplay have just been plain old awful? That would’ve made my life so much easier. Because now what do I do? Of course I don’t want to give Seth, Jason and Connor the satisfaction of showing Holly the screenplay, but what if Holly would want to play this role (and I know she would)? Damn.

I sit, screenplay in lap, and think about my dilemma for a good ten minutes. And what I keep coming back to is this – I have to forget about whose screenplay it is and do the right thing by Holly. Do what would be best for
her
career. Because even if there would be other roles (and of course there would be) this could be a big one. And I can’t let something like that slide by her.

So, even though I know it’s going to kill me that Holly’s going to love this screenplay and that Seth,
Jason and Connor’s movie will probably get made, I also know I have to show it to her.

Double, triple, quadruple damn.

Blah. I stick my tongue out childishly at the screenplay and then, before I can back out, I get up, tuck it under my arm and make my way back two seats to the four-seater Holly, Dad, Monica and Dr Reid were sitting in. Luckily, Dad’s made his way over to one of the long sofas and has stretched out with a fascinatingly freaky professorly-like sociology sex tome, so there’s room to sit down beside Holly.

‘Hey,’ I say to her, sitting down. ‘You mind pausing the DVD for a second?’

‘Of course not, sweetie.’ Holly pauses her DVD. ‘What’s up? You look worried. I’m fine, you know.’

Oops. I’d actually kind of forgotten about B and G for a bit. Bad sister. Bad stepdaughter. Bad screenplay.

Holly leans in closer to me and whispers, ‘I’ve got a secret for you. As soon as we hit home, I’m having these babies. I just know it. You’ll be a big sister in less than forty-eight hours.’

I frown. ‘How do you know that?’

Holly shrugs. ‘I just know it. And, yes, they’ll be small
at just on eight months, but you already know what they’re like. They’re fighters. They’ll be fine. I’m doubting they’ll even need to go to neonatal ICU. And they’ll be home and destroying your room in no time.’

I look into Holly’s eyes as she says this and, it’s strange, but I know everything she’s saying is true. I mean, anyone else would think she’s mad, right? But why shouldn’t she be right? It’s her body. They’re her babies.

‘I guess the sooner they’re out of you, the sooner they can start sourcing their own supply of Peanut Butter & Co. And Lindt.’

Beside me, Holly laughs. ‘And stop adding it onto my thighs in the process. Which would be nice.’

‘Well, I can’t wait. It’s going to be great.’

Holly’s eyes tear up and she leans over and gives me a kiss on my cheek. ‘Oh, Nessa. That’s such a nice thing to say. I can’t wait either. You’ll be a wonderful big sister. Just you wait and see.’

As Holly leans back again, I remember something. The screenplay. ‘You may not still think that after I give you this.’

She looks down into my hand. ‘What’s that? A
screenplay?’ She glances back up at me. ‘Who foisted that upon you? Not the pilot?’

I laugh. ‘No. It doesn’t matter – a nobody. And I wouldn’t have given it to you, but I read it and it’s good. Really good. And it’s funny. You’d like it a lot.’

Holly eyes the screenplay as if she doesn’t quite believe me. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Well, if you say so. That’s all the recommendation I need.’ As I get up, she switches her DVD off.

‘Wait,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to read it now.’

Holly looks up. ‘I may not have a chance later. And the DVD’s terrible. Something funny sounds good right about now. In fact, something funny sounds like just the kind of thing I need.’

‘Nessa! Nessa Joanne Mulholland, you come right back here!’ Holly calls out, about an hour later.

I hear her even over the loud blasting of her own iPod.

Gulp.

I jump up in my seat and race back to Holly’s.

‘Whose is this?’ She holds the screenplay up.

‘Um … I’m sorry. I thought it was good and …’

‘Good! It’s not good! It’s amazing! The best thing I’ve read in ages. Now you sit right down here and tell me who gave this to you. And it’s okay. If it was the pilot, you can tell me. I’ll forgive you. I’m sure he pulled some “we’re not taking off unless you get your stepmother to read this” thing.’

Phew. For a moment there I’d thought … but wait. Oh no. Holly really, really likes this screenplay. Which means Seth and Jason and Connor are going to get everything they wanted, just like I thought. Everything they’d plotted and planned for.

But then I see Holly’s face. All lit up from reading a great script. With a great part that’s perfect for her. And I don’t really care any more. All that matters is that it’ll work out for Holly and that she’s happy. Seth and Jason and Connor will get what’s coming to them eventually. What’s it called? Karma. That’s it. And Hollywood karma is probably even stronger. Everything is in Hollywood. They’ll probably be one-screenplay wonders. After all, I don’t think they’ll be working together as some kind of fantastic
team for years and years. Not judging by the fights Alexa, Nat and I heard coming from upstairs.

I sigh. ‘The screenplay. It’s Seth’s.’

Holly frowns. ‘The boy you went on the date with? The one who had the heart transplant?’

I sigh again. ‘Well, yes. And no.’ I really, really don’t want to go into that. So, over the next five minutes, I tell her what she needs to know. And, within half an hour, Holly has already called her agent. Who, as soon as she gets off the phone, will call Seth, Jason and Connor and option the screenplay. Which will then, because of Holly’s Hollywood clout, be made into a movie and make squillions of dollars and, on the first day of production, Seth, Jason and Connor will probably be millionaires.

Quintuple damn.

I take a few deep breaths and repeat the word ‘karma’ in my mind. Karma, karma, karma. While my dad, realising what’s going on, bolts over from the sofa and tries to wrestle the plane’s phone out of Holly’s hand.

Poor dad. Pjs are bad enough. But using a phone on a plane to call one’s agent?

It’s all a bit rock star for his liking.