Dial L for Loser Page 16

  Conner put his thumb under Claire’s chin and lifted her face.

  “Babygirl, can I ask you a question?”

  Claire nodded.

  “Where do you get your motivation? You know, to cry like that? Conner has a hard time with tears.” He stuck his finger through the Mercedes logo on his key chain and began twirling his keys. “What’s your secret?”

  Claire pointed at Massie and Alicia. “Them.”

  Alicia gasped.

  Massie’s heart rate shot up. She was short of breath and her lips were screaming for gloss. Everyone was staring at her, but not in a good way.

  Conner turned to face Massie. “Velvet, do you think you could help me?”

  Massie opened her mouth, but Abby’s voice came out.

  “Of course she can help you. All she has to do is ruin your life like she ruinified Claire’s and you’ll cry buckets.”

  “Puh-lease.” Massie used her best stop-being-so-dramatic voice. Maybe if she acted like this whole thing was no big deal they’d believe it. “There’s no such thing as bad press.”

  “No, just bad friends.” Claire glared, her blue eyes filled with a mix of hate and heartbreak.

  “No wonder you got this part.” Massie cleared her throat. “You’re a total drama queen.” She stormed off, grateful for the sound of Alicia’s Michael Kors cork wedges shuffling behind her.

  “Wait up,” she heard someone call.

  It was Conner.

  She quickly licked her lips before turning around, hoping her saliva would pass as gloss.

  “I would love you to show me how to tap into my emotions.” Conner pouted his Red Bull–colored lips.

  “Uh, okay.” Massie pretended to know exactly how to do that. “No prob.”

  “I can help too,” Alicia offered.

  “Of course you can, babygirl.” He half smiled. “How about you two come swimming at my place in Malibu this Saturday?”

  “Done,” Alicia answered a little too quickly.

  “Done,” Massie confirmed, the cells in her body bouncing like millions of little pearls on a marble floor.

  And to think she’d been worried about Claire ruining her social life.

  Impossible!

  CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

  INOUT

  Trash talk Straight talk

  Saturday afternoon pool parties Friday night sleepovers

  Conner Foley Derrington

  GELDING STUDIOS

  CONNER FOLEY’S TRAILER

  Friday, March 27th

  4:00 P.M.

  Abby snapped twice. “Lyons, you’re in!”

  “Huh?” Claire plopped down on Conner’s red velvet couch beside her. Never in a million years did she ever think she’d be plopping on Conner’s anything with Abby Boyd.

  “Remember the photographer who snapped our picture when we walked out of Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf?”

  “Yeah.” Claire’s heart started to race, like it knew what was coming before she did.

  “Well, his shot made it into US Weekly.” Abby beamed. “Look! I scored an advance layout copy. It’ll be on stands next week.”

  “Let Conner see.” He ripped the magazine out of Abby’s hands and pulled off his silver Dior wraparounds. “Man, that’s a good one!”

  Abby stuck her tongue out at him in a ha-ha-too-badyou’re-not-as-cool-as-me sort of way.

  “Let me see.” Claire reached for the magazine, but Conner pulled it even farther away.

  “I can’t believe it.” He was staring at the picture, dumb-founded. “All the bases are covered. Your coffees are in to-go cups, which says, ‘I’m very busy. No time to eat.’ You’re laughing, which says, ‘We are successful and happy.’ And you both look skinny, which says, ‘I’m skinny!’” He held up his palm. “Nice going!”

  The girls double-high-fived him.

  Claire grabbed the magazine. “Wow,” was all she could say. Conner was right. It was a great shot. She and Abby were wearing matching peach-colored Juicy sweat suits (a gift from the designers) and were cracking up outside the coffee shop. They looked like true BFFs.

  “You can thank me later.” Abby beamed.

  “What do you mean?” Claire didn’t want to sound rude or ungrateful but huh?

  “What do I mean?” she teased. “I asked one of my paparazzi contacts to take it. I knew it would piss off your loser friends.” She looked proud, almost heroic. Like she had just rescued a baby from the jaws of a hungry shark.

  Claire bit her thumbnail.

  “Don’tcha love press wars?” Abby opened her green ring, dipped her pinky inside, then dabbed behind her ears. The light floral aroma of lilies of the valley filled the room.

  Claire knit her blond brows.

  “Everyone out here does it, right, Conner?” Abby seemed annoyed that Conner was reading the ingredients on the back of his protein shake instead of listening to her.

  “Right, babygirl,” he said to a can of cookies-and-cream-flavored Muscle Milk.

  “We fight using photographs,” she explained. “Like, if I want to get a guy jealous, I’ll have one of my contacts take a shot of me with some hot newcomer. And if he wants to get me back, he’ll have a shot taken of him with two hot newcomers.”

  “Kind of like that shot of you hugging that skinny model dude from 8th & Ocean.”

  Abby kicked the stack of boxes by the door marked HUGO BOSS and CF JEANS.

  “Or that picture of you draped all over that redheaded snowboarder?”

  “Gabor doesn’t have red hair!”

  “The other one, you know, the Flying Tomato guy.”

  Abby turned away again.

  “Seriously?” Claire wondered how many of the countless celebrity photos she and Massie had pored over were staged. Then she flashed back to the shots of her, Conner, and Abby outside Boi.

  A wave of terror washed over her. Was she the only “real” person on the planet? The only one who played by the rules? The only one who believed in honesty and truth? Maybe it would have been better if she had been born evil. At least then duplicitous behavior wouldn’t come as such a shock.

  “So, Abby, you were pretending to be my friend?” Claire knew she sounded pathetic but was too disappointed to care. “And Conner, you were pretending to date us?”

  Abby snapped once. “Of course not. That’s crazyotic. We are friends. Best friends.” She hugged Claire.

  “And Conner is dating both of you.” He winked, then cracked open his Muscle Milk and stuffed it in a brown paper bag. “Hey, Claire, I think they’re taping an episode of Emotionally Unstable Girl next door. Maybe you should audition.”

  She burst out laughing. “Maybe you should watch.” She threw a pillow at him. “It might help you tap into your tears and emotions.”

  Abby burst out laughing. “Yeah, what was up with that?”

  “What?” He couldn’t help smiling at himself. “Those Daily Grind girls were cute.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. For once couldn’t someone think they were ugly?

  “I invited them to my house on Saturday.” Conner tilted his head back and took a long swig from the bag. “We’re having a pool party.”

  Abby’s expression hardened. “Which one do you like?”

  “Yeah, which one?” Claire’s stomach lurched. No matter what he said, it would be the wrong answer. Conner was hers.

  “Dunno yet.” He crushed the tin can in his hands and tossed it in the trash. “Depends on which one looks hotter in a bathing suit.”

  “Ew!” Claire heard herself say.

  “Perv!” Abby knocked the back of his head.

  “What?” Conner widened his olive-green eyes. “I have a reputation to uphold.” He grabbed the crumpled US Weekly off the couch and turned to the front of the magazine. “Look.”

  Abby grabbed it out of his hands and read the caption aloud: ‘Conner Foley with sexy middle-school dropouts Alice and Moosie.’ She turned to Claire. “Aren’t these your ex-friends?”

  “What?
”

  She handed her the magazine.

  When Claire saw the picture of Massie and Alicia cruising the Gelding lot in a golf cart driven by Conner, she almost barfed.

  “How great is that shot?” He punched the air. “They look like models. And the fact that they’re dropouts? Perfect for my bad-boy image.”

  Claire’s first instinct was to speed dial the girls and tell them they were being taken advantage of. What if Derrington and Josh saw this? Or Principal Burns? She’d never let them back into OCD. If Claire took the limo, she could be back at the hotel in twenty minutes. They could meet up at the restaurant, talk about how pathetic Conner was, then come up with a revenge plan.

  Claire sat back down on the couch. After all, there was no such thing as bad press. Right, Moosie?

  MALIBU, CALIFORNIA

  CONNER FOLEY’S BEACH HOUSE

  Saturday, March 28th

  12:11 P.M.

  “Thank Gawd for spray tans.” Massie beamed after checking her reflection in the brass knocker on Conner’s front door. “Rate me?”

  “Nine-eight.” Alicia licked her lips. “Me?”

  “Same,” Massie lied. Her purple eyelet Betsey Johnson halter dress, white ankle socks, and BCBG wedges were way more eye-catching than Alicia’s white, toga-inspired sarong and gold lace-up sandals.

  “Rate Bean.” Massie adjusted the pug’s pink frilly bikini.

  “Ten.” Alicia giggled. “Now ring the bell.” She squirmed like she was holding in a pee.

  Of course Alicia had gotten a spray tan too. And of course she’d used her diffuser that morning. So her black hair was perfectly wavy and frizz-free, despite the unforgiving salt air. Hopefully, Conner would be so taken by Massie’s charm and confidence that he wouldn’t notice Alicia and the whole beautiful Greek goddess thing she was working.

  “Ring it!” Alicia looked over her shoulder. “He probably has a ton of security cameras, and if he sees us standing here like—”

  Massie rang the bell. Twice.

  Suddenly, she felt guilty about Derrington. What if he knew she had gone shopping and tanning for another guy?

  “Who is it?” a woman asked over the intercom.

  Bean barked once. Massie leaned in to the white box at the side of the door and pushed the button. “Massie Block. Conner invited me.”

  “And Alicia Rivera.” Alicia rolled her eyes. “He invited me too.”

  “Oops. Sorry ’bout that.”

  “Welcome. I’m Estelle.” A short, gray-haired lady with a rolling pin and a kind smile invited them in. “Conner is expecting you. He’s out by the pool.”

  “Thanks.” Massie tried not to look impressed by the high ceilings, the skylights, or the back wall that rolled up like a garage door and opened onto the pool. Her eyes grazed past the ginormous flat-screen TV that was mounted above the stone fireplace. And she did her best not to stare at the gray cashmere couch that hung from chains like a swing. It was best to let Estelle think she saw that sort of thing all the time.

  “I just made a fresh batch of protein-enriched quinoa muffins. Would you like me to bring some outside once they’ve cooled?”

  “Um, no thanks,” Alicia smirked.

  Massie bit her bottom lip to avoid laughing in the maid’s face. “We’ll just head out back, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” Estelle smoothed her black uniform. “Refreshments are on the bar. If you need something special, just give me a ring.” She shook an imaginary bell, then returned to the kitchen.

  The girls followed the haunting sound of James Blunt’s old hit, “You’re Beautiful,” through the heavily air-conditioned living room and out to the pool. Massie imagined Conner singing that song to her during an impromptu night of celebrity karaoke and felt that tiny tingle again behind her belly button.

  “Over here, babygirls.” Conner wiggled his fingers as he drifted by on a silver raft. His oil-slicked six-pack glistened in the afternoon sun, and Massie thought of a thousand reasons why she should feel guilty about Derrington. Nine hundred and ninety-nine had to do with Conner’s deep red board shorts and how ah-mazing they looked on him.

  “Hey,” Massie and Alicia said at the same time. “Apple-C!” they shouted, a little louder than usual.

  Conner chuckled as he brought a bottle of root beer to his lips.

  Massie lowered herself as gracefully as she could and un-fastened Bean’s black-and-gold Chanel leash. The puppy shot toward the pool like a hairy cannonball and jumped in. Conner scooped her up and held her against his chiseled stomach.

  After another sip of root beer, he placed the brown bottle in the raft’s cup holder and sat up. Bean was still in his tanned arms. “Why don’t you go change into your bathing suits. The cuh-ban-ya is all yours.”

  “Ehmagawd, are you Spanish?” Alicia beamed.

  Here we go, Massie thought. Did she honestly think Conner would be impressed just because her mother had a different passport?

  “No one in America ever pronounces cabaña properly. It’s so ah-nnoying,” Alicia continued.

  “I’m not Spanish per se, but I was in Barcelona for two nights doing a press junket.” Conner removed his Dior wraparounds. “Why, are you?” He lifted Bean off his lap and plopped her back in the water. “It would explain your—dare I say exotic—charms.”

  “Let’s go change.” Massie grabbed Alicia’s arm and they ran past the edge of the pool.

  A stinging blast of air-conditioning welcomed the girls to the cabaña.

  “Not bad.” Massie stood in front of the mirrored wall.

  “I know,” Alicia agreed. “I love the whole mirrors-instead-of-wallpaper thing.”

  “No, I meant my outfit.” Massie admired herself. “But the decorating is pretty cool too.”

  A freshly vacuumed rug gave the glorified dressing room a touch of elegance, while the nautical blue couches and conch lamps were charming reminders that the beach was a few feet away.

  “How many gossip points do I get for finding these?” Alicia waved a pair of Conner’s CF jeans like a flag.

  “Ehmagawd, where—”

  “They were hanging over the sauna door.”

  “Ew, do you think they smell like butt?” Massie crinkled her perfect ski-slope nose.

  Alicia sniffed them.

  “Ew!” Massie shouted.

  “Aahhhhhhh!” Alicia squirmed, then whipped the jeans onto the carpet.

  “Ew! They smell?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so.” Alicia’s expression was somewhere between laughing and crying. “But they could have.”

  “In that case…” Massie opened her metallic Juicy Couture tote and stuffed the jeans inside.

  “What are you doing?” Alicia was practically bug-eyed.

  “Proving that we were here.” She made it sound like the most logical thing ever.

  “Point!” Alicia lifted her finger. “But wait.” She lowered it. “What if he catches you?”

  “Puh-lease, he probably has a million pairs. He won’t even notice they’re gone.”

  “Point!”

  The girls spent the next eleven minutes trying on different bathing suits and rating each other. Finally, Massie decided on her zebra-print bikini, while Alicia settled for a plain black one-piece. It wasn’t her favorite, but it didn’t make her boobs look quite as heaving as the others. And Massie wasn’t about to argue. The more Alicia covered up, the less Conner would notice her.

  “So, are you gonna go for him?” She turned to the side and examined her cleavage profile. “Because if not, I will. Josh and I haven’t even kissed yet, so—”

  Massie tied the string on her barely-there bottoms. “I think we should let Conner go for us. You know, let him decide. The last thing I want to do is compete with you. Ah-greed?”

  “Ah-greed.”

  After a quick application of vanilla-cupcake-flavored Glossip Girl, Massie side-braided her long hair and led the way back out to the pool.

  “Mercy.” The actor
ran a wet hand through his glistening black hair. “Conner likes what he sees.”

  Massie sucked in her already flat stomach, turned ever-so-slightly to the side, and lightly joined her index fingers to her thumbs. It was a pose she secretly referred to as the Red Carpet.

  Yap-yap-yap…

  Yap-yap-yap…

  She made a move for her phone but then realized the barking was coming from Bean. Conner had deposited her on the edge of the pool, and she was racing toward the rustling bushes that separated the property from the beach.

  “Does Estelle do gardening too?” Massie tried to imagine her own maid, Inez, trimming the hedges. But it was impossible. Inez was never more than twenty feet away from the kitchen.

  “No, why?” Conner lifted himself out of the pool and dried his hair with a black CF towel, leaving the sun to take care of the beading water droplets on the rest of his body.

  “Looks like there’s someone in your bushes.”

  “Probably a couple of tourists with a star map.” Conner scratched the back of his head and gazed pensively toward the horizon. He might as well have been shooting another Hugo Boss ad. “It’s the price of fame, Velvet.”

  Massie felt like a soaring balloon every time Conner called her that. Poor Alicia. She didn’t have a chance.

  “Would one of you babygirls like to be Conner’s date for the wrap party next Friday night?”

  “I would!”

  “Apple-C!”

  “I would!”

  “Double apple-C!”

  “I would!”

  “Triple apple-C!”

  “Hold on,” he snickered. “Let’s have a race! The first one to the end of the pool and back wins.”

  “Done!” Massie couldn’t believe her luck. Alicia was genetically incapable of speed.

  Hmmmm, what does one wear to a wrap party?

  “Okay, then.” Conner motioned for them to join him by the edge of the pool. “On your marks, get se—”

  Splash!

  Alicia did a stride jump into the water and took off. Her aversion to quickness must have been restricted to land sports, because she was hauling butt.

  “Cheater!” Massie jumped in. Her zebra-striped top was sliding off and her bottoms were heading due north but she kept going. There was no way Alicia was going to beat her.