Wrong About the Guy

  “Tahiti? We were leaning toward Hawaii.”

  “But I’ve always wanted to go to Tahiti. Plus . . . you know . . . Gauguin.”

  My mother laughed. With no makeup on and her hair a little rumpled, she looked the way I liked her best: like my mom. When she was all glammed up for going out with lots of eye makeup and curled hair, she looked Hollywood-wife generic. “So it would be educational? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Totally. I’d read up on Gauguin before we went and become a total expert on him, I swear.”

  “How can I say no to that?”

  “Cool.” I slid off the bed and stood up. “I’ll tell George.”

  I may have sounded a tiny bit smug when I told George that he should start looking at resorts in Tahiti.

  His eyes narrowed. “Just because you want to go there?”

  “I convinced Mom. I always get my way, you know.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I see that. Kind of like Veruca Salt.”

  “Don’t be a bad loser.”

  Except he didn’t lose. Somehow, once he had done the research and presented all the options to my mother and Luke, and the final decision was made, they went with Hawaii after all.

  I complained, but Mom said it just made more sense, because we only had four days, and Hawaii was a lot closer. “Only four days?” I repeated. I’d been picturing a real end-of-summer blowout, days and days of beaches and walks and lazy meals and long naps in hammocks before having to get back to fall semester and college applications and all that stuff. But now Mom said the show was taping and Luke couldn’t take more time off than that.

  Luke’s schedule ruled our household and was the one thing impervious to my coaxing and begging, so there wasn’t much I could do about it except whine to George later that we’d be spending more time flying than actually lying on a beach.

  “Yeah, it’s rough,” he said. “You don’t get to go on a tropical vacation for as long as you’d hoped. Complain about it to everyone you meet and bask in the sympathy.”

  He was coming with us—my mother told him they’d pay for his airfare so long as he shared a hotel room with his brother, who was already coming as Luke’s guest. She claimed she needed George to deal with the logistics once we were there, which seemed more kind than true. When I pressed her about it, she admitted she just wanted to give him a vacation. “I felt bad that he was spending all this time looking at pictures of Hawaii and not getting to go. He’s never been. A trip like that would have meant so much to me at his age.”

  “You know, Heather’s never been to Hawaii either—”

  “Forget it,” she said. “I have reached the limits of my generosity.”

  Jonathan’s fiancée was coming as his plus one, and Luke was flying my grandmother out, which would be a big help with Jacob. Luke didn’t talk to his own family anymore; they’d ignored and ostracized him when he was struggling, and then came running with their hands out when he got rich and famous. He sent them money but never saw them.

  We saw my grandmother a ton, though. She came to visit whenever she had time off from work. Mom had tried to convince her to move out to LA to live with us (or at least near us), but she said she didn’t want to be dependent on anyone, which was also why she wouldn’t let them buy her a nicer apartment in Philadelphia. Mom sent her a lot of gifts and bought her first-class airplane tickets, but other than that, Grandma took care of herself.

  Luke had also invited a couple of his closest friends to join us. Carl Miller used to be his business manager and was now CFO of his production company. And of course Michael Marquand was coming—he and Luke were like brothers.

  Mom said she didn’t need to invite any friends because Grandma and I were her best friends, which was probably true. Most of the people she’d met in Hollywood saw her more as Luke Weston’s wife than a person in her own right, and she’d been too busy working and taking care of me to make a lot of friends back in Philadelphia.

  Luke got first-class tickets for the family. Jonathan, George, and Jonathan’s fiancée, Izzy, were on our flight, but in coach. Luke and Mom sat together on the flight out, and so did Grandma and Jacob, who happily watched movies the entire way—I’m not convinced he even knew we had left the house.

  I was across the aisle from Grandma and next to a businessman who never once made eye contact with me and who quickly popped two pills, drank three cocktails, donned headphones and an eye mask, and fell asleep. I guess he didn’t want the fancy lunch with the real silverware and all.

  I did. I loved first class. We never flew at all when I was a kid; we had nowhere to go and we couldn’t have afforded it anyway. The first time I got on a plane was the summer that Mom and Luke got married, and even though it was fun to go up into the sky, I didn’t like much else about flying coach. Then Luke got rich and we all started flying first class together, and it was totally different—you could watch your own movies on a personal screen and the food was good and the flight attendants waited on you hand and foot. It felt like vacation.

  Like me, Grandma hadn’t flown until Luke came into our lives, but she wasn’t a convert the way I was. “It’s a necessary evil,” she said to me, leaning across the aisle at one point. “I do it because I have to, but I don’t trust it. There’s gravity. Things fall down.”

  “People fly all the time,” I said. “It’s pretty reliable.”

  “I don’t want to scare you,” she said, “so I won’t argue. Even though I could. What was that noise?”

  “Nothing. Oh, look.” I handed her the menu card. “Wine. You should have some.”

  “Maybe,” she said primly.

  She had some. And soon after dozed off in her seat, leaving me to enjoy the rest of the flight in peace.

  six

  The hotel manager came in a limo to pick us up; she handed out our room key cards during the ride, which is when I found out that I was supposed to share a room with Grandma and Jacob.

  I didn’t say anything until we had pulled up at the resort, which was spectacularly beautiful: palm trees and fountains everywhere you looked. But I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it. As soon as we’d gotten out of the limo, I grabbed my mother’s arm.

  “It’s not fair!” I hissed. “Grandma gets up at like five in the morning. And she drives me crazy. I want my own room.”

  “I’m not letting you sleep by yourself in a place where a lot of strangers have passkeys,” she said. “And if you think you can talk me into it, you’re wrong, so save your breath.”

  I let go of her and drifted over to George. “I blame you,” I said. “You booked the rooms. You should have gotten me my own.”

  “First of all,” he said, “I was following your mother’s instructions. And second of all, I’m sharing a room with Jonathan and Izzy, which is a lot more awkward than sharing a room with your grandmother, so don’t complain to me.”

  “You and I could get a room together!” I said. “That would solve both our problems.”

  “Yeah, I think that might be awkward in a whole different way,” he said, and walked away.

  Mom and Luke went up to their suite, saying they just wanted to have a quiet dinner alone there. I wanted to eat in one of the hotel restaurants, but Jacob was in a whiny mood, so we ordered room service and turned the TV on to the Sprout Channel to keep him happy.

  When the food came, Grandma criticized me for ordering a pizza. She said that everyone knew wheat was bad for you and that it was no wonder I was so short.

  I told her to stop blaming my diet for the fact I was short—hadn’t she ever heard of genetics? Mom was even shorter than I was, and she wasn’t exactly a giant herself.

  She said she was sorry she cared about my health, and she guessed she should just mind her own business from now on, go away, and not bother anyone ever again.

  I told her to stop being such a drama queen, and then Jacob suddenly let out a wail. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t answer, just sat there, his mouth open in a roar so wi
de you could see bits of french fries caked around his teeth. Grandma said, “It’s because you let him try the pizza,” and I said, “No, it’s not,” and Jacob kept bawling, and the noise was unbearable, and I was losing my temper with them both, so I said I was going down to the lobby and stomped out.

  I punched the down button as hard as I could. It didn’t bring the elevator any faster but it felt good.

  Once I was in the lobby, I wasn’t sure what to do. I heard distant music so I followed the sound across a breezy walkway to what looked like the entrance to a dance club. I peered in, but I was wearing sweatpants and a cotton tank top and everyone inside was dressed up. Plus they probably didn’t let in anyone under the drinking age. Plus it looked kind of lame—everyone there was middle-aged. Plus I would never go to a dance club by myself.

  Still, it was fun to watch for a while. Most of the women were wearing flowery sundresses and the men had on Hawaiian shirts—it was all so tacky it was kind of endearing.

  I turned away just as two youngish guys in suits reached for the door.

  “Hey there,” one of them said, sidestepping right into my path, blocking my way. “Thinking about coming in?”

  “Not really.” I flashed a tight smile.

  “Come on,” the other one said. He had slicked-back hair and his suit was a little shiny. “The night’s young and you look like you’re a dancer. Don’t sit this one out.”

  “We need you in there,” the other added. His hair was thinning, triangles of bare skin making wings at his temples. “Never enough cute girls.”

  “Wrong shoes,” I said, pointing down at my flip-flops.

  “Kick ’em off,” the other guy said.

  “Take off whatever you want,” his friend agreed, and giggled.

  The first one said, “Don’t mind him. We’re harmless. Would you rather grab a drink at the bar?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said, and turned.

  Slicked-back hair grabbed my arm. “Come on,” he said. “Don’t leave so fast.”

  I pushed his arm away and said, “Really, no.” I was starting to feel uncomfortable, so it was a huge relief to see someone familiar emerge from the restaurant near the lobby. “Oh, there’s my friend,” I said, then dodged around them while they were still absorbing that and ran toward George, calling him. He turned around.

  “Keep going,” I said as I caught up to him. “Don’t look back at those guys.”

  He immediately looked over his shoulder. “What guys?”

  “I told you not to look!” I glanced back. They had disappeared. “They must have gone into the club. It’s fine. I’m just glad I saw you.” We headed back into the lobby.

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Nothing really.” We reached the elevator and I hit the up button. “They just wanted me to go dancing with them and were kind of bugging me about it.”

  The elevator arrived, but George hesitated, holding it open with his hand instead of following me inside. “Should I be doing something heroic like finding them and telling them to leave young girls alone? Maybe slugging them? How big were they?”

  “Let’s just go up.” I tugged him inside the elevator.

  “You’re on seven, right?” He punched the button. “Why are you wandering around the lobby at night in a camisole anyway?”

  I crossed my arms, slightly embarrassed but defiant. “What are you, slut shaming me? Blaming the victim?”

  He flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. But you look like you’re wearing pajamas.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because they are my pajamas. I was so desperate to get out of my room I didn’t bother changing. My grandmother is driving me crazy, just like I predicted.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened onto my floor. “Where are Jonathan and Izzy?” I asked as we headed down the hallway.

  “They’re still at dinner. The restaurant’s really beautiful—it looks out over the beach and there are torches everywhere and the sound of the waves and soft music. . . .” He smiled ruefully. “It was incredibly romantic. And there they were, gazing into each other’s eyes . . . and there I was . . . totally in the way.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said. “Mom and Luke were so in love when they first met—I ruined a lot of romantic evenings for them.”

  “They probably didn’t mind. They both adore you.”

  “And I’m sure your brother is very fond of you.”

  “Yeah, okay, good point.”

  I glanced over at him as I waved my key card in front of the sensor to unlock the door. He was wearing his usual khakis with a dark blue jacket over a jarringly different shade of blue button-down shirt. “Is there a dress code at the restaurant?”

  “Yeah.” He looked down at himself. “This is my suit jacket—it’s the only one I packed. Does it look stupid with these pants?”

  “Not with the pants. With the shirt.” I opened the door to a scene of chaos: Jacob standing naked on the sofa screaming and Grandma scuttling around on the floor below him, picking up food that was scattered everywhere as she scolded him for throwing it. Neither of them noticed us standing there, so I quickly slammed the door shut again before we were spotted. “See?” I said to George. “See what I’m dealing with?”

  “Yeah. That’s just . . .” He shook his head. “You can’t go in there right now. You want to go back down and check out the beach? Wait for things to calm down?”

  “I so do.”

  We took the elevator back down to the lobby. As we were crossing through to the ocean side of the hotel, someone called my name and I turned.

  It was Michael Marquand, Luke’s best friend and also his music and TV producer—the guy we all owed our lifestyle to. He was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and a Red Sox baseball cap, and was holding his six-month-old daughter in his arms. I exclaimed in delight and instantly reached for her. Mia eyed me with suspicion; it had been a couple of weeks since I’d last held her and she was ready to stranger-zone me. But once she was in my arms, I cooed at her and bounced her gently, and she relaxed.

  “Where’s Crystal?” I asked. Crystal was Michael’s wife and Mia’s mother.

  “She’s checking us in.” He gestured toward the front desk. “She always has a lot of specific demands, so I let her take charge.” He yawned. “I’m exhausted. Long flight. Someone didn’t stop screaming the entire trip, and for once it wasn’t me.” Michael was a tall, thin, wiry guy, who normally looked very handsome and a lot younger than his fifty-five years but tonight looked a little ragged.

  “She’s being a very good girl now,” I said. Mia was the cutest baby in the world—big dark eyes and a fuzzy brown tuft of hair on top of her head.

  “She’s just too worn-out from crying for six straight hours to cry any more.” He turned to George. “Hey, Jonathan! How’s it going?”

  “Fine?” George said uncertainly.

  I came to his aid. “He’s not Jonathan.”

  “I’m his brother,” George added. “People get us confused all the time.”

  “Thank you for pretending I’m not an idiot,” Michael said. “Hey, Ellie, I’ve got some good news.”

  “Do you?” I said, blowing gently down at the baby, who batted her long eyelashes against the slight breeze. “Does your daddy have good news? Does he? Does he? What’shisgoodnews? What is it?”

  “I really don’t think she’s going to answer you,” George said to me. “No matter how many times you ask her.”

  Michael said a little impatiently, “Aaron’s coming to live with me!”

  I looked up. “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. His mother’s husband got a job in Vermont, and Aaron said he’s not about to move to the middle of nowhere for his last year before college. He thinks LA will be a lot more fun. Crystal and I are thrilled.”

  “Yay! Does he know which school yet?”

  “Fenwick.”

  I pouted. “I was hoping he’d go to Coral Tree with me.”

  “Don’t worry, you two will still see pl
enty of each other. Do we have a room?”

  This last was to his approaching wife, who joined us and kissed me on the cheek. “The baby looks so happy with you, Ellie. Would you minding holding her for the next fifteen or sixteen years?” She nodded at George. “Hello, Jonathan.” She turned back to Michael. “Megan’s still in the bathroom.”

  “Megan?” I said.

  “Our nanny.”

  “What happened to Tiana?”

  “She quit,” Michael said with a brief dark glance at his wife, who didn’t seem to notice. She was wearing skintight yoga pants, high soft leather boots, and a long cardigan over a low-cut top—I guess in theory it was all comfortable traveling clothing, but she looked pretty incredible. She was a beautiful young woman with long, straight dark hair and large black eyes.

  Mia reached her arms out toward her mother. Crystal heaved a sigh, handed Michael her purse and the key cards, then took the baby and propped her up on her hip. “Megan doesn’t know which room we’re in, so someone has to wait for her.” Mia waved her arms and made some complaining sounds. Crystal rolled her eyes and thumped her on the back. “And here we go again. You’d think she’d be all cried out after that horrendous performance on the plane. I’ll take her on up. Michael, you wait for Megan. You know you want to. She’s very beautiful,” she explained to George.

  “Not as beautiful as you,” Michael said wearily. “And she’s standing right over there, near the elevators. Let’s go to bed. We’re all overtired. Good night, Ellie. And good night—” He stopped. “I’ve forgotten your name,” he said to George.

  “Are you serious?” Crystal said. “How could you forget Jonathan?”

  “Because he’s not Jonathan,” Michael said. “This is his brother.”

  “Oh.” She studied George. “Identical twins?”

  “He’s eight years older than me, actually,” George said apologetically.

  She pressed her lips together, then said, “Huh. Well, good night.” They left.

  “You know what the easiest thing would be?” I said to George. “For you just to be Jonathan for the rest of the weekend. Especially since you don’t seem to like correcting people.”