“I don't know, Cam—”
“Goddamn. My best friend's mother slept with my father, my father never says a word about it all these years, and I find out on prom night. I shit you not: John Hughes wouldn't make this movie. Freddie Prinze Jr. wouldn't be in it. Shit. Keira Knightly wouldn't be in it!”
Cammie got to her feet and started pacing in front of the fireplace. Meanwhile, Adam sat back on the couch looking visibly relieved, as if he'd emerged unscathed from a horrible storm. “Maybe … your dad didn't want you to know he was having an affair.”
Cammie's laugh sounded dark and bitter to her own ears. Her father always had affairs. He wouldn't have given a shit if the whole world had known he was doing Sam's mom. It wasn't like the man had a conscience. Nope. There could be only one reason he'd covered it up all these years. It was time to say it aloud.
“I think they killed my mom. My dad and Sam's mom.”
Adam paled. “Geez, Cammie, you don't know that—”
“Like hell I don't.” She strode over to him, grabbed the envelope, and headed back the way they'd come in.
Adam bounded after her. “Where are you going this time?”
“To do what needs to be done.”
T
he unofficial prom after party was at Shutters on the Beach in Santa Monica, but Anna and her friends were having their own private afterparty on the set of the new hit television show
Hermosa Beach
.
Clark Sheppard's talent agency had packaged the show, meaning that the writers, stars, and directors were all Apex clients—it meant the Apex agency got an even heftier chunk of the revenues than usual. Anna had briefly been an intern for Clark, but even her friendship with the show's wunderkind writer, Danny Bluestone, hadn't prevented her from walking away from the gig. She'd found Clark to be a venal man. Yet by permitting his daughter and her friends to have their after-prom party here, he'd proved that even the worst people in Hollywood occasionally came through for their children.
When the convoy of limousines had arrived at two-thirty in the morning, there was a bonfire already lit on the beach and a sound system set up on the patio of the hotel that was the main set for
Hermosa Beach
. The best restaurant in Hermosa Beach, the Blue Pacific, had set out a sumptuous buffet for twenty: cold cracked lobster; a marinated salad of octopus and baby shrimp; a fruit salad of fresh pineapple, coconut, apples, grapes, and almonds; a dozen different pates and cheeses, plus hot bread baked in a portable oven right on the beach Two older bartenders served lemonade mojitos—mint leaves with sugar syrup, club soda, lemon juice, and vodka. For those not in a lethal-lemonade mood or who preferred to make an attempt to sober up, there was espresso that could be laced with Kahlua.
Fifteen minutes after they'd arrived, Anna and Ben were walking hand-in-hand in the moonlight along the ragged surf line where the surf washed up and then went back out to sea. They were both barefoot, having left their shoes up by the patio. Ben casually two-fingered his tuxe do jacket over his shoulder. Suddenly, Anna giggled.
“What's so funny?” Ben wondered.
“I'm still thinking about Maddy and Jack,” Anna admitted. “What you told me.”
“That it was all a plot for her to get Mr. T?” Ben stepped out of the gentle splash of an approaching wave. “That's not the worst of it. That teacher was into her. I made her promise that she wouldn't hook up with him.”
“I hope not.” The sea breeze ruffled some hair onto her cheek and she pushed it back. “But you can't control what she does.”
“Yeah, I guess. …” He didn't sound convinced.
“You could climb down from the horse, Ben,” she ventured. “Not everyone needs you to be a white knight.”
“I don't do that.”
She bumped into him playfully with her hip. “Yes, you do. You've done it ever since the day I met you, when you saved me from that jerk on the airplane.”
“Well, he was messed up.”
“So are a lot of people in this world. You come through for everyone. But sometimes …”
She hesitated, unsure if she had any right to continue. Who was she to tell him what he should or shouldn't do?
“Go ahead,” he urged ruefully. “Hit me with your best shot.”
Right. Honesty.
She stopped and took his arm. “Not everyone needs to be rescued, Ben. I don't.”
“Only when you're stuck in the window seat on a long flight next to an asshole, huh?” There was a subtle but noticeable edge to his voice.
She turned toward the dark ocean. “The reason I understand is because that was always my role with my sister, Susan.” She thought about all the times she'd held Susan's head over the toilet while her sister puked up whatever illegal substance she'd ingested, all the times she'd been at parties and spent the whole evening as Susan's watchdog. “Maybe taking care of everyone else is just a kind of protection.”
“You're going to Cerebral Annaland on me.”
“Yeah,” she laughed. “I guess I am. I just want you to know, Ben, that you don't need to save me. I can save myself.”
The words made her feel stronger; and hearing herself say them, she knew they were true. She loved Ben. But she didn't need him to make her life okay.
Ben stroked her hair. “Don't you get it? One of the reasons I love you is because I know you
don't
need saving.”
She raised her lips to his and they shared a kiss. Ben had jumped to the wrong conclusions about Maddy and Jack, and she'd jumped to the wrong conclusions about Ben.
Just as they were about to kiss again, a tall, skinny figure hollered for them to wait up. It was Marshall, Dee's escort from Ojai. His tux jacket and tie were gone, his shirt rumpled and half untucked from his pants. He had a tall lemonade mojito in hand—from the way he was walking, it clearly was not his first.
“Please tell me you've seen Dee-ee.” He made the name Dee into two syllables.
“The answer's the same as it was the last two times you asked me, buddy,” Ben replied. “No.”
Marshall had lost track of Dee at prom. Anna wasn't worried, because Dee had called Sam to say she was fine and with Jack—they'd be at Hermosa Beach by 3
A.M.
Anna glanced at the luminous hands of her watch. Two forty-five. Anna suspected that Dee was learning how to save herself too.
“Marshall, may I make a suggestion?” she queried.
“What?”
“Relax. Have some fun. Dee won't let you down.”
“I'm fucked,” Marshall moaned, then sucked a quarter of his mojito noisily through his straw. “How did this happen? How? I should call the hospital, but I'll lose my job.” He wandered away up the beach—Anna saw him stop to question Skye, whose silver mesh dress seemed to dance in the reflected bonfire. His elongated silhouette looked forlorn in the night.
They were getting some espresso minus the Kahlua a few minutes later back up at the patio when Ben and Anna spotted Sam and Parker on a blanket not far from the bonfire. Parker motioned that they should join them, so they strode through the sand and plopped down on their blanket.
“How's it going, Miss Prom Queen?” Ben teased. He picked up a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers.
“Oh, bite me,” Sam grumbled as she cradled a lemonade mojito. “I did all this work to make a great documentary, and it turns out it's all for nothing.”
“How do you figure?” Ben asked.
Sam raised her eyebrows. “If the prom queen makes a movie about prom, it's not called a documentary. It's called a fucking
home movie
.”
“I don't think royalty is allowed to say ‘fuck,’ your highness,” Parker offered. “Not even when she's had three power mojitos. Speaking of which, I'm due for another.”
“Whatever,” Sam sighed. “What's done is done. And my documentary is really, really done. My father always says that no good deed goes unpunished. I think he's right.”
Anna stretched out and dug her toes into the cool sand. “Actually, you gave people an amazing prom that they'll remember forever.”
Sam propped herself up on her elbows and took a sip of her drink. “Good. Nominate me for sainthood.”
“No, seriously, Sam. You're turned a near disaster into something really amazing.”
“Coffee, this time. More Kahlua, less caffeine.” Sam slurped the last of her mojito and handed Parker the glass.
“Your wish is my command, your prom queen royal highness.” He rose, bowed to her, and padded off across the sand toward the bar table.
Sam's gaze followed him. “You're right, Anna, I'm a total magician.” She closed her left eye, made a fist with her right hand, then spread her fingers. “Poof! Did you see that? I just magically turned Parker into Eduardo.”
Anna smiled. “It's too bad that Eduardo couldn't have seen—”
“Hi, you guys!” It was Dee, skittering across the sand toward them. “I'm so happy!”
“Better be careful. Marshall's on the prowl for you,” Ben warned. “Of course, last time I saw him he was down there getting loaded.” He pointed toward the surf.
“Thanks for the heads up,” Dee said. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I will remember this night
forever
. Prom night. The night Jack and I met.”
“Where is he?” Anna asked.
“In front of the hotel,” Dee replied. “I just didn't want you guys to worry.”
“Well, I'm worried anyway,” Ben said. “Jack's a player.”
“Not with me,” Dee insisted, eyes shining.
Dee really did look happy. And sane. Anna smiled at her.
“Do you think there is such a thing as soul mates?” Dee asked.
Anna was touched. “It's definitely possible, Dee.”
Ben kept his eyes on Anna. “Even a player can decide to quit the game when the right girl comes along.”
“I love you guys so much,” Dee breathed. She hugged them each in turn. “Where are Cammie and Adam?”
“They left prom early,” Sam told her with a wink. “They'll either show up or not.”
Dee grinned. “I'm going to Jack's guesthouse with him. I'll call Marshall so he won't worry anymore.”
“What about the Ojai Institute?” Anna asked.
“I don't know. Whatever happens, it's worth it. I love you guys!”
“That's the most sane I've ever seen her,” Ben remarked as Dee trotted away.
“No kidding,” Sam agreed. “It's kind of scary.”
Parker arrived with Sam's drink. “I saw Dee. Where's she going?”
“Off with Jack. They're soul mates,” Sam filled in. She sipped her laced coffee. “Much better.”
Ben nuzzled Anna and whispered in her ear. “Dee and Jack are inspiring me. How about we find a more private spot?”
He was reading her mind.
“L
ast one to make a ring shot has to go skinny-dipping,” Sam told Parker as they stood on the patio about twenty feet from an upended buffet table. She'd tucked the bottom of her gown into the waist of her boy-cut black lace La Perla panties. Her prom crown was in one hand, yet another mojito—she'd switched back again—was in the other. As the night had gone on, she'd found herself more and more depressed, both over her ruined documentary and at being with Parker instead of Eduardo. Her boyfriend would have found a way to make everything okay. But he was in Mexico, probably with that hot Pilar bitch—
Stop, she ordered herself. Just stop.
She bent her wrist and curled the rhinestone tiara toward her, then flung it like a Frisbee, trying to ring it on one the table legs. No dice. She overshot by five feet, losing her balance in the process.
“Steady there, your promness,” Parker advised, then went to retrieve the now-battered crown.
Sam stared into the night. She and Parker were alone. Ben and Anna had taken off down the beach. Cammie and Adam hadn't shown up—she knew exactly what they had to be doing. Krishna and Damian had come back for drinks about fifteen minutes ago and then had decided to take a walk into town with Ashleigh so that they could buy a razor and give Damian an impromptu Mohawk. For some ungodly reason, Skye had joined up with Marshall in the search for Dee—a search that Sam knew would be completely futile. Maybe Dee had called Marshall by now. Maybe not. As for Pilar—
Geez
. She really
was
wrecked. The imaginary Spanish chick didn't really exist, except in Sam's paranoid imagination.
That doesn't mean Eduardo isn't with some other, equally bodacious babe, the demon voice in her head whispered. Some version of Parker's earlier words to her came roaring back.
Not enough to skip some stupid party in Mexico. “If I really wanted to be with you …”
“Does your worshipfulness wish to take another shot?” Parker knelt in the sand and handed her back her crown, plus a drink he'd made.
“Since we're such good buds, you may call me simply ‘your royalness,’” Sam decreed. “Because
I
am prom queen.
Me
.” She took a sip of what Parker had poured for her. “Jameson. Good choice.”
Parker patted the crown on her head. “Enjoy it.”
“Screw it.” Sam tossed her tiara away. “I'm abdicating. What good is a queen if her king doesn't attend the coronation?” She pointed at the night sky. “I hereby command you to make Eduardo appear!”
No shocker. Nothing happened.
“His loss,” Parker declared.
“Whose?”
“God or Eduardo, your heavenliness. Take your pick.”
Sam giggled. Had Parker always been this funny? Or did she just think he was funny because she was so fucked up?
She put her face two inches from his, “When I do this, it looks like you have one giant eye in the middle of your forehead.”
“I
do
have one giant eye in the middle of my forehead. Excuse me.” Parker strode out onto the beach, retrieved Sam's crown, and then deposited it around one of the upturned table legs. “Tada! I win! You pick who skinny-dips.”
Skinny-dipping. She'd felt so free in Mexico that she'd swum bareass in the Pacific with Anna. It wasn't until the next day that she found out Eduardo had seen her from a boat, and that he'd loved what he'd seen. She looked around. No Eduardo. So she boomed at Parker: “I command you to partake of the sacred waters of the Pacific!”
“Absolutely, your wastedness.” Parker started to fumble with the buttons on his tux shirt.