Wrong About the Guy

  Aaron came over to say hi as soon as we walked into their house.

  “Aladdin!” Jacob said, pointing at him with delight.

  “Smart kid,” he said. “The trick-or-treating has started, if you guys want to bring him out back.” Mom and Luke thanked him and carried Jacob toward the yard, but Aaron grabbed my arm and said, “Stay with me. I need to know what you think of my vest.” He was wearing a small purple one over his naked chest. His body was as taut and muscled as I’d remembered from when we swam, but either he’d been tanning a lot lately or he’d sprayed some bronzer all over himself before the party, because he was a different shade than I remembered.

  I said, “It’s in a tie with the fez for my favorite part of your costume.” I flicked the tassel on his little cap.

  “Ah, we’re playing that game, are we?” he said, and flicked the feather on mine.

  We walked into the living room. There was soft sitar music playing from hidden speakers, the lights were slightly dimmed, and the walls and ceiling were draped with silk—it all felt very exotic and fantastical.

  “The palace at Agrabah?” I asked, gazing around in delight, and he nodded.

  “Crystal’s Jasmine and Mia’s wearing a little tiger costume.”

  “This totally leaves last year’s pirate theme in the dust. Why isn’t your dad Aladdin?”

  “He said he was too old. He wanted to be Jafar.”

  “But Jafar’s evil.”

  “He preferred age-appropriate to heroic.”

  I halted suddenly and glanced back. “Was that Lady Gaga we just passed a man?”

  “Yep. He’s a studio musician, and he already told me he remembers when I was three and visited the recording studio and ate four cookies and threw up. It’s going to be one of those nights—one of those ‘Oh, you’re Michael Marquand’s little boy!’ nights. And don’t get me started on the yold women here.”

  “Yold?”

  “Young/old. You know. They all have those smooth, unmoving foreheads and long hair and big breasts and tiny waists and dead eyes and bony necks.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “There are a lot of them here tonight and a couple of them are wearing very low-cut costumes and I can’t stop shuddering. And speaking of shuddering . . . look at Crystal.” He pulled on my sleeve to turn me in the right direction. “You understand why my father and I—and the house—all had to dress the way we did, right? It was all so she could look like that.”

  She was magnificent. There was no other word for it. Her perfectly chiseled abdomen and narrow waist were shown off by a tight aqua-colored bandeau and matching hip-hugging harem pants. Her shining black hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail that was decorated with aqua ribbons, which matched her aqua headband. Her eyes were outlined in black and her lips were bright red. “She does look pretty amazing,” I said, staring in open admiration. “You have to admit.”

  “Do I?” He considered her for a moment. She looked up while he was studying her and I saw their eyes meet. She pressed her lips together and quickly looked away. “Sorry,” he said, turning back to me and shaking his head. “I can’t. I just can’t. I mean, yes, I’m sure objectively she’s attractive. I just can’t get past the absolute Crystal-ness of her to appreciate it.”

  “Well, I think she’s beautiful.”

  “You are beautiful. She’s scary. Let’s see what’s on that tray. I’m hungry.”

  The server holding the hors d’oeuvres was talking to someone in a plaid shirt whose back was to us but seemed weirdly familiar for a back.

  We circled around.

  “George?” I said, totally surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “Pretty much the same as you,” he said. “Hey, Aaron.”

  “Welcome,” said Aaron before turning to the caterer. “What’ve you got there?”

  “Stuffed mushrooms.” She held out the tray so he could take one. “Finish what you were saying,” she said to George as Aaron considered his options.

  “Nah, it’s okay,” George said.

  “I wanted to hear the rest.”

  “The rest of what?” I said. “And who are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m staff,” she said.

  “Not you. Him.”

  “Me?” George said. “I’m a farmer.” He was wearing jeans and that plaid shirt.

  “That’s the laziest costume—you didn’t even get a hat!”

  “I’m not into dressing up.”

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said. He was so out of context, it was weird. The girl was still gazing at him expectantly like she was waiting to hear what he had been saying when we interrupted.

  “Jonathan brought me. He said it would be an amazing party. It is an amazing party,” he told Aaron, who shrugged.

  “I can’t take any credit for it.” He pointed at the mushrooms. “What are they stuffed with?”

  The server said, “Crab.”

  “Weird,” Aaron said.

  “They’re good. Try one.” She offered him the tray again, and Aaron selected a mushroom.

  “I’m dubious,” he said, eyeing it.

  “They’re delicious,” George said. “I ate like three, and I don’t like either mushrooms or crab.”

  The server beamed at him. She was pretty. If you liked blonds with lots of makeup.

  Aaron bit into the mushroom. “Ugh,” he said, and she held out the pile of napkins in her hand. He took one, wrapped the uneaten part in it, and carefully put the whole package on a side table. He turned to me. “Where to next, Ellie, my love?”

  Before I could answer . . .

  “Aaron!”

  We all turned toward the new voice. Crystal approached us, her hands on her hips. “I was looking for you both. Ellie, your mother could use some help with Jacob.”

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “No, but don’t you think you should give her a break so she can enjoy the party?” She seemed a little disgusted with me for not having thought of that on my own. “I saw them out back.”

  “Okay.”

  Both guys started to follow me toward the French doors that led to the yard, but Crystal put her hand out to stop Aaron. “Hold on. I want you to talk to some of our other guests.”

  “There’s only one person here I want to spend time with,” he said, which made me glance back. He caught my eye and winked at me.

  I couldn’t hear Crystal’s response because she leaned in close to him and lowered her voice, but I could guess the tone of it from the scowl on her face. He dropped his eyes to the floor; it was probably impossible for Aaron to look sincerely contrite, but he did look a little less self-assured.

  “Families,” I said to George as we walked away from them. “Am I right?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You’re right. I have no idea what your point is, but I know you can’t be wrong.”

  “It’s theoretically possible,” I said. “It’s just never happened.”

  nineteen

  We crept around the crowd, keeping to the edges of the room. I brushed my fingertips against the folds of silk lining the walls. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how long it must have taken to remove all of their paintings—they had a ton of art because Michael had once dated a very persuasive art curator—and cover the walls with all of this jewel-toned silk. Not to mention how much it must have cost.

  “Oh, wait.” I halted. “Hold on a sec.” I crouched down and snaked my hand into my right boot.

  “What are you doing?”

  I stood up, now clutching my phone. “This is why slouchy boots were invented,” I said. “To hold cell phones.” I sent Mom a text asking if she needed my help with Jakie—and, if so, where I could find them—then glanced back up at George. “So were you enjoying your conversation with the server girl? You both seemed very into it. Sorry if we were interrupting something. Were we? Interrupting something?”

  “Just a conversation,” he said. “
Nothing important.”

  “She was cute. You should totally get her number. Want me to get it for you? I could be very subtle about it.”

  “Thank you, but I’m capable of managing my own social life.”

  “Are you, though?” My phone buzzed and I glanced down at it. We’re fine. Enjoy yourself. “All’s well with Mom,” I said. I dropped the phone back into my boot. “Oh, look, there’s your brother and Izzy.”

  “I found where the trays come out,” Jonathan crowed as we came up to them. Like George, he and Izzy had pretty minimal costumes. Theirs matched: cowboy hats, leather vests over white shirts, bandannas, jeans, and boots. “This is the best place to stand—the food’s hot and we get to try everything.”

  “This is why I’m going to marry him,” Izzy told me. “He always figures this stuff out. I never go hungry at a party. Although I do go thirsty, because once he’s staked out a spot, he won’t let us leave it.”

  “I’ll make a bar run,” George said. “What does everyone want?”

  I asked for a Diet Coke, Izzy wanted wine, and Jonathan said he’d take a beer. I was happy to hang out with them, but Luke spotted me from across the room and beckoned, so he could introduce me to some guy in thick black glasses and a buzz cut—no costume—whose name I didn’t catch, but who asked me so many questions about school and my hopes for college that I felt like I was being given an oral exam.

  The worst part was that someone else pulled Luke away, so I was stuck talking to the guy one-on-one, which made it hard to extricate myself. Fortunately Aaron suddenly appeared at my side.

  “There you are!” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.” He slid his arm under mine. “You can’t monopolize her all night long, Samson,” he said, and my examiner held his hands up and said, “Wouldn’t dream of it—she’s all yours,” with an annoyingly insinuating smile.

  “Samson?” I hissed as Aaron led me away. “Was that Samson Cardoza?”

  “You didn’t know that?”

  “He’s like my favorite movie director ever. Rats.” I glanced back regretfully. “I would have enjoyed that conversation so much more if I’d known who I was talking to!”

  “You do realize that’s a ridiculous thing to say, right? You want to go back?”

  “Nah, he was still pretty boring. Where are we going?”

  He’d steered me out of the living room and back into the foyer, but now he stopped. “I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure I had you all to myself again. Sorry about abandoning you before, by the way.”

  “It’s fine. Was something wrong?”

  “Crystal just likes to be pissed off at me. Makes her feel all maternal. Apparently I wasn’t being a good host because I was spending so much time with you.”

  “Well, now I feel guilty.”

  “You should,” he said. “It’s all your fault. Fluttering those big brown eyes at me, making me forget that I’m supposed to be talking to old people who can’t keep their food in their mouths and spew it all over everyone who stands near them—”

  “There’s no one like that here!” I said, laughing. “And I know this is a weird segue from that, but I’m hungry.”

  “The dining room’s wall-to-wall food. Come on.”

  The statement might not have been literally true, but it was pretty close, since their banquet-hall-sized table took up most of the room and was covered with platters of roasted meats, small biscuits, salads, and pasta. There were surprisingly few people in there—I didn’t know whether it was because most of the guests hadn’t discovered it or because no one in Hollywood eats real food.

  Aaron found us a quiet spot in a little area off the dining room that was lined with glass-fronted cabinets filled with china. He dragged two chairs in and we sat together and ate, our plates on our laps, wiping our faces with the backs of our hands because we’d forgotten to get napkins.

  We talked about the food for a while, but then Aaron fell silent. I looked up after a moment. He was studying my face seriously.

  “What?” I said.

  He put his plate on the counter and leaned toward me. “Ellie,” he said, and glanced around like he wanted to make sure we were alone. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. There’s so much that I—” He stopped. Then he said, “I just want to get everything out in the open.” He stopped again and rubbed his head, like he was a little unsure of what to say next. Or whether he should talk at all.

  Suddenly the last bite I’d taken felt all bunched up in my throat and I had to swallow hard to get it to go down. I already knew what Aaron was going to say. It was obvious. He was going to tell me that he liked me. And not just as a friend.

  All of the attention he’d been paying me—even against Crystal’s orders—and the way he kept tucking my hand against his side and keeping me near him . . .

  Aaron liked me. A lot.

  And I liked him a lot.

  But did I like him as much as he liked me? Or the way that he liked me?

  My stomach lurched.

  I just wasn’t ready for things to change between us. Not yet. I needed more time to figure out my own feelings. I had thought all of our flirting was friendship flirting. Like the jokes I made about our future marriage—I had always assumed he knew I was just being silly when I said stuff like that. But maybe he didn’t. Maybe he thought I felt the way he did.

  And maybe I did but just didn’t know it. Could that happen? I didn’t feel shaky and excited when he was around, just happy to enjoy his company. Shouldn’t I be less comfortable with him? More starry-eyed? Or was that just in movies and books? I’d never felt that way about anyone. But maybe I wasn’t the kind of person who got that way—I never had crushes and most of my friends had them all the time.

  My mind raced, while the smile on my face froze.

  I didn’t want to be mean, but I desperately didn’t want Aaron to say something that would change things between us. Not yet. I needed to hold him off for a while, buy myself some time, and figure out how I felt.

  I said, “What’s up?” as lightly as I could.

  “We’ve gotten so close,” he said. “We basically think the same way about everything—”

  “Well, not everything.” I cut him off with a forced laugh. “There’s that whole putting-fruit-on-frozen-yogurt thing that I still haven’t accepted about you.”

  “Right,” he said. “I put fruit on mine and you put gummy worms on yours, and I’m the crazy one. Anyway—”

  “Gummy worms are so much better. Just ask any eight-year-old you see. Well, any eight-year-old girl. Do little boys like sugar as much as little girls do? This is where not having a brother affects my knowledge. I mean, I do have a brother—duh—but he’s way too little. He doesn’t count. Plus he’s really weird about food. And doesn’t really talk.” I was chattering as fast as I could to keep him from saying more. His face kind of fell while I was talking; it was probably pretty obvious that I was trying to avoid having a serious conversation. “I’m really thirsty,” I said abruptly, and rose to my feet. “I told George to get me a Coke and then totally forgot about it. I’d better go back to the living room and make sure he’s not looking for me.”

  “Okay,” Aaron said, and got up, too.

  We abandoned our plates and moved back through the dining room. I threaded my arm in his, glancing up at him uncertainly. I couldn’t really acknowledge what had just happened because I hadn’t let him get far enough for us to talk about it openly. But I hoped the pressure of my arm told him that I understood what he had been trying to say, and that I did care about him—I just wasn’t ready for that kind of a talk yet.

  It was a lot to try to squeeze into, well, a squeeze, but he smiled down at me without any noticeable resentment. Maybe he was relieved, too.

  The Nussbaum brothers and Izzy were right where we had left them, but they had been joined by a tall, muscular guy dressed like Khal Drogo from Game of Thrones. He had the body for it, I’d give him that. Huge biceps.

  “Hey!” I
said to George. “You never brought me my drink!”

  “I did bring you your drink,” he said irritably. “But you disappeared.”

  “I’m still thirsty. Hint, hint.”

  “Yeah, no,” he said.

  “I’ll get it.” Aaron disentangled our arms and gave my hand a good-bye squeeze. I saw Jonathan and Izzy exchange a look and knew they were misreading the situation. “Diet Coke, right?”

  “You might want to tie her down first,” George said. “She disappears.”

  “I always want to tie her down,” Aaron said with a gallant leer, and left.

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” George said to no one in particular.

  “I’m Ricky,” said the artist formerly known as Khal Drogo, holding his hand out to me.

  “Ellie.” I shook it.

  “How do you know the Marquands?”

  “My stepfather’s friends with them.”

  “And who is your stepfather?”

  It was a perfectly reasonable question; he had no way of knowing that it made my whole body tighten. “Luke Weston,” I said, and his eyes got suddenly wide, so I quickly said, “How do you know the Marquands?”

  “I’m Crystal’s trainer.”

  “You must be good. Her abs are incredible.”

  “I am good. So . . .” Ultra-casual tone. “Any chance you could introduce me to your stepdad? I have an idea for a show that would combine getting in shape with a singing contest. I wouldn’t bother him—just two minutes is all I need, and I know he’d love it.”

  “Actually,” Jonathan intervened smoothly, “I’m the president of Luke’s production company. Why don’t you talk to me about it?” He glanced at George with a little head jerk that seemed to send a message, because George instantly said, “Come on, Ellie. We can’t be here when Aaron comes back with your drink, or you’ll make it too easy for him.”

  I was happy to say good-bye and slip away with him.

  “That was annoying,” George said as we found an empty spot across the room from them.

  “Yeah. I hate stuff like that.”