The Liar, The Bitch and the Wardrobe Page 22

  Bella half shook Zee Zee’s hand, then introduced us. “Well, you should meet Lucy Butler. She’s an incredible photographer.”

  I offered Zee Zee my hand, congenially seeking information. “Nice to meet you. So tell us about this charity event—it’s called Kick It?”

  “Yes . . . We are bringing awareness to a nonprofit called Soles for Souls. They deliver donated shoes to third-world countries.”

  “That’s great! So, are you raising money tonight or . . . ?” I looked around, mentally calculating the cost of the liquor, elaborate sets and hired help.

  “Oh no. Tonight we are raising awareness,” she politely informed.

  “Raising awareness by . . .” I thought back to the press carpet. Nobody had pressed Bella about her vast knowledge of the Soles for Souls Foundation. Instead, they had only hounded her for gossip.

  “Kicking it!” Zee Zee half turned, plucking a cocktail from a neighboring waiter’s tray. “Have a great time, ladies!”

  I turned to Bella. “They’ve got to be kidding.”

  Two muscled arms embraced Bella from behind. She turned to see Danny Danson, heir to his grandfather’s oil fortune. “I got a room. We are getting the fuck out of this freak show. Room 3936, if you’re down.” He disappeared as fast as he had appeared, followed by five or six other unaware rich kids.

  “I don’t even know that guy. Let’s go find a real party. This is lame,” Bella said.

  On our way out of the lobby, I spotted Presley waiting for the elevator. “Pres!” The elevators opened and Presley stepped in, holding the door open.

  “What are you chicks doing? Come to a party with us!” “Us” referred to Sasha Hart and Marisa Daniels. Naturally, Bella and I were in.

  We stood in front of room 3936 and waited. Danny Danson threw open the door. He was wearing a robe and slippers. “I knew you’d come up! Come on in, bitches!” He kissed Presley, Sasha, Marisa and Bella, ignoring me—presumably because I wasn’t famous and therefore did not matter. Walking into the master suite, he made room for the celebrities by asking other nonfamous guests to make room for the guests that “mattered.” “Check this out.” Danny took a remote from the pocket of his robe and, with the touch of a few buttons, closed the drapes and dimmed the lights. “Bitches, want to smoke or what?”

  “Of course! DD, you always have the best shit,” Presley purred.

  Marisa got up from the bed. “No, thanks, I’m not into it tonight . . .” She walked out and closed the door behind her, leaving the room in total darkness.

  I hadn’t smoked weed since high school. It just made me lazy and stupid and I didn’t see the point. “I’m not into it tonight either . . .”

  “You won’t smoke? You do everything else,” Presley pointed out.

  “Come on, not everything . . . I’m going to sit this one out.”

  Bella snorted, which I interpreted as a scoff at me. I didn’t understand why she got so upset when I didn’t participate. The room lit up with the glow from a lighter as Danny took a hit from a pipe. He passed it to Sasha, who took an equally large hit. She passed it to Bella, then Bella to Presley, who skipped me and handed it off to Danny. As Danny took another hit, Presley put an arm around me and said, “Are you sure? Not even just this once? It’s amazing. How I feel right now . . . trust me, you want to feel like this.” I could feel the smoke from her mouth waver around my face.

  “Thanks, but I’m trying to chill on the partying.”

  Bella crawled through the group and sat on my other side. “Luce, it’s not that big a deal. Try it. You’ll like it!” It was like the cartoon where there was an angel and a devil on each shoulder, except both of mine were carrying pitchforks.

  “You guys . . . I’ve smoked weed before, I’m just not into it. But I have to say . . . your weed . . . it smells funny. Like . . . eggs.” Everyone howled in laughter. Danny clapped his hands and Presley fell over sideways, the pipe in her hand. “What? What’s so funny?”

  Covering her face with a pillow, Bella spoke into it. “It’s not weed!” They continued laughing as I felt progressively left out of the inner circle.

  “Well, what is it then?”

  “Crack!” Presley and Sasha cried out in unison.

  I could barely think straight and I was sober. I had never in my wildest thoughts imagined myself in the same room as crack. I knew I should get out of there immediately, but I couldn’t leave Bella, especially in this state. Holy shit. Crack. Bella was smoking crack. The teen idols were smoking crack. I didn’t know what to expect. Would they all trip out and go crazy? Was it dangerous for me to stay there? I’d have to wait it out. I just couldn’t leave her there.

  An hour later, the group lay scattered about, their dilated pupils all transfixed by a candle in the center of the room. I sat erect in absolute shock. These people were admired and celebrated for their decadent lives and impeccable style, yet here they were acting like common street junkies.

  Presley mumbled, “What’s going on with you and Jax?” I was surprised Presley could even speak.

  “We’re spending New Year’s Eve in Vegas. You coming?”

  “Can’t. I’m hosting a party in Malibu.”

  Bella moaned. “Cancel?”

  “They already paid me two hundred grand. I’ll get sued.”

  “Bummer.” Bella reached up to her nose to scratch an itch but her motor skills failed. Instead her hand flopped across her face. “Lucy, you didn’t tell me Jax was coming with us.”

  I had been dreading telling Bella that my New Year’s plans included Jax. “He’s just meeting us there.”

  “Is Mot coming?”

  “Maybe.” I had asked Jax but he’d reacted oddly, so I decided not to push it.

  Sasha only managed to get a few words out. “Lucy . . . Jax . . . New Year’s . . . kiss.”

  Bella squashed the fantasy. “Yeah, if he even shows up.”

  Presley wiped at a drip of drool coming from the corner of her mouth before putting a hand on Bella’s ankle, teasing, “So bitter . . .” The wasted girls lay wilted around the room like worthless carrion, while I wondered what I was doing there in the first place.

  chapter twenty-eight

  . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Zero.

  “That thing makes me nervous.” I couldn’t step anywhere near the glass-encased pool that extended from our high-rise at the Palms Hotel. It dropped off the edge into space, dangling over all of Las Vegas.

  Bella smiled wickedly. “Really?” She swam to the very edge just to taunt me.

  “Does this make you nervous?” Bella jumped and splashed as I begged her to stop.

  There was a knock at the door. “Hopefully, this is the Nevada psych ward coming to take you away!” I opened the door. An enormous bouquet of white roses blocked my view. James—here? Could it be? How would he know where to find me?

  A British accent announced, “Special delivery for a special girl!”

  Shoving the flowers aside, I threw myself at Jax. “You’re here!”

  He carried me like a new bride into the suite toward the pool. “Of course I’m here. I said I would be!” He set me down and we held hands. “Happy New Year, Bella. Looking beautiful as always.” Bella swam up to us, standing on the steps. She tugged at the minuscule bikini and wrung her hair out over her breasts. If it had been any less desperate looking, I might have been jealous. “Hi, Jax. Is Mot coming in? Or . . . ?” She excitedly glanced into the foyer.

  Jax grinned, clenching his teeth together. “Yeah, Mot’s not going to make it. After his wife got wind of those Caribbean pictures, she put his ass under lock and key.”

  Bella and I glared at Jax. “Wife?” we both questioned in disbelief.

  Jax nodded his head. “You didn’t know?” He turned to me. “Well, no worries, darling. I definitely am not married.” Taking my face into his hands, he planted a kiss on my lips. “Although it is Vegas . . . and you never know, do you?” He winked at Bella. “I’m off to hit the tables with
the guys. I’ll meet up with you ladies tonight and we’ll all go out together.” I stared at him with adoration, nodding yes. Bella waved good-bye before falling backward into the pool.

  By ten o’clock, we were set to go. After spending nearly two hours getting ready, Bella and I were in full party mode. “I’ve had more hands on me this week than this dress will in a lifetime!” Bella boasted in regards to the impossibly tight and impossible to find Tom Ford for Gucci cutout dress. She snorted a line of cocaine from the bar before leaving the room. I picked up the straw and dipped down in a zebra-printed Giambattista Valli dress. I threw my hips from side to side and let the ostrich feathers on the skirt flutter back and forth. I was on cloud nine, feeling like I had it all—the budding career and the blossoming romance!

  When we got to the club, the party was in full swing. The place was so ridiculously packed that I couldn’t even imagine going there if one was not VIP, which luckily—obviously—we were. We were escorted to a private area overlooking everyone else. We even had our own bar. Security was extremely tight. I observed a man offer a bouncer five hundred-dollar bills to have access. Even so, the guy and his buddy were soon escorted back down to floor level. Jax handed each of us a flute of champagne and we all three toasted each other a happy new year.

  “Let’s go to Britney’s table!” Bella yelled over the music.

  “Cheers!” I shouted into Bella’s ear while holding up my drink.

  “Yeah, Spears!” Bella shouted back, leaving me with my drink in the air.

  We approached Britney’s table, clinking our glasses to hers. “Happy New Year’s!” she yelled from atop the table. Paris Hilton joined Britney on the table. Usher stuffed a couple hundred-dollar bills into Paris’s corset and we all laughed. Bella jumped onto the table and I followed suit. A cocktail waitress handed everyone sparklers. The countdown began. I made my way to my man, who was at an adjacent table with his band.

  We leaned into each other, my arms around his neck and his around my waist. The crowd of thousands began to shout out the countdown. “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . six . . .” We touched lips. “Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . One.” The crowd exploded, “Happy New Year!” Heaps of confetti rained down. Sparklers fizzed and flickered all around. The spectacle was pure magic. The kiss was spectacular. Jax bit into a tiny something and chased it with a drink. He then popped the other half into his mouth, resumed kissing me and pushed it past my lips with his tongue. I accepted it but did not swallow. “Ecstasy,” he explained as he took my hand and tipped my flute to my lips. Out of my control, the pill washed down with the bubbly. I had never done Ecstasy before. I was nervous, not knowing what to expect. It’s supposed to be a sexy drug—would I be more inclined to have sex with Jax? Am I ready to have sex with Jax? I felt safe being with him and knew that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me. He kissed my neck. With each passing minute, I gained interest in the hypnotizing display of flames from the sparklers and glitter falling from above. In time, all of my senses were hypersensitive. It felt like I was floating and swimming in euphoria.

  We all returned to the hotel. Many of the celebrities had suites near Bella’s. The entire floor quickly became a rowdy, chaotic party. Everything was a blur. I remember spinning up and down the hallway, in and out of rooms. Unsure of my whereabouts and all alone, I recall resting against a wall in hopes that I would stop spinning. My body slid down the wall. I faded in and out . . . in . . . and then . . . out.

  chapter twenty-nine

  Fantasy Suite, Not So Sweet

  Hours before, the halls of the top floor became silent as the partygoers filed back to their own rooms or, of course, the rooms of others. Since then, I remained in the hallway. I had passed out up against the textured wallpaper. I slowly awoke, opening my eyes before sitting upright. I was so groggy. I picked off long curls of ribbon and pieces of confetti from my dress. I looked up and down the sunlit hallway, realizing it was already New Year’s Day. But, where was I? I was too groggy to be frightened. It felt like a dream. Gazing up at the door behind me, I read Penthouse Fantasy Suite. With a sigh of relief, I pulled myself to my feet and took the key card from the top of my dress. A green light granted me entrance.

  The living room and bar area were silent and empty. The hotel phone rang and I heard Bella talking from the master bedroom. I quietly picked up the phone to eavesdrop. “Hello, Miss Flintstone. The kitchen is running slightly behind schedule. Your breakfast will arrive in approximately twenty minutes. We appreciate your patience.” Okay, I had twenty minutes to shower and tidy the suite before breakfast arrived. I collected at least ten empty bottles of Cristal and equal amounts of Dom Perignon and put them in the foyer. I tossed the pillows back onto the oversized couch and flushed away countless cigarette butts left in the ashtrays. Done tidying, I took a much-needed shower and got dressed.

  Breakfast was delivered by an eager hotel employee. Hopeful to see someone famous, he looked past me, his eyes darting around the room. “She’s asleep. Sorry, it’s just me.” The employee blushed and smiled, handing over the bill. I signed it and returned it to him. When I turned around, I knew that the employee wasn’t looking for Bella—he was checking out the devastated hotel room. I don’t know how I’d overlooked the broken furniture, sideways paintings and F-5 tornado–status damage. There was no way to describe the catastrophic mess that was made, which I figured one day I would try to do. So, naturally, I took pictures.

  On the cart, the giant plates were covered with large silver lids but the pungent smell of eggs with cheese and bacon wafted through. It didn’t cross my mind to question who had ordered the food, given the fact that I had never seen Bella eat a proper meal. I pushed the door open with the cart. The bedroom was also a disaster. The curtains were drawn to conceal the daylight, so I could barely see the comforter and pillows in a crumpled mess in one corner. Clothes were scattered everywhere and a bra was hanging from the chandelier. Empty bottles of champagne lay about the floor. I pushed my way into the room, the cart acting like a sort of bulldozer, clearing the way. Bella was sitting on a bare mattress with her back to me, rocking back and forth and tipping a bottle to her mouth. Once my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I realized that Bella was in the midst of a sexual encounter! A man let out a moan as the star kept rocking back and forth, up and down. I attempted to walk backward in a discreet way, hoping I could retreat from the bedroom undetected. As I slowly crept backward, I grabbed the giant door. The hinge let out an alarming sound. I closed my eyes tight as if that would make me invisible. When I opened my eyes, I saw Isabella staring right at me from over her shoulder. Not as my friend, who I’d been spending time with, but as the movie star, who seemed larger than life. She said, “Lucy, don’t be shy. Come in!” Before I could respond, Bella’s partner put his hands around her tiny waist, pulling her to the side just enough to reveal his face. Jax looked straight into my eyes, flashing the grin that had previously melted me every time. Only this time, his smile instigated a terrible dropping feeling in my stomach—the kind you get during the descent on a roller coaster. Instead of acting guilty or shameful, Jax reached out his hand and invited me to come closer. I felt as though my world had crashed into a million filthy little pieces. A knot the size of my fist was forming in my throat. I was too shocked to cry and refused to let them see me get choked up.

  I somehow was able to say, “Actually, I’m not feeling so well . . . from last night and . . . um . . . yeah. I think I’m going to fly home early.” My face was toward the naked duo but my eyes focused on a faint blue flower print on the mattress. I knew that if I dared to look either in the eye, there was no way I could keep myself from losing it.

  “That’s cool. Pick me up Wednesday morning from the airport and we can catch up then.” She acted as if I walked in on them playing Scrabble.

  “Okay, well . . . have . . . fun.” I closed the door. My heart was overloaded with sadness. I picked up my small suitcase and walked around the room, sco
oping up my few belongings. I quickly gathered my things and left the suite. Once out in the hallway, I fell backward again into the same wall, slamming my head against it before sliding down. Folding my knees in and hugging them tightly, my mind raced. What was that? One thing I was certain of: I’m getting the hell out of here.

  Thankfully, my parents had not cancelled their “emergency only” credit card and I was able to charge a return flight to Los Angeles. I’d figure out a story to tell them later and eventually pay them back. Knowing that I planned on further lying to them and being further in debt to them financially made me feel even lower then I already was. At the airport, I stared into space, repeating in my mind every detail of what had just happened. I played and replayed alternative ways I could have handled the situation. I could have picked up a bottle and thrown it at them. I could have screamed and cried. I could have let them know that I quit both of them, then and there.

  I pulled the hood of my sweater as far as it would stretch over my face, which was shielded by dark sunglasses à la the Unabomber. The next available flight was at 7:15 and I had no choice but to wait out the five hours. Hundreds of people buzzed by but I took no notice to any of them, nor did they to me as I slouched miserably in a corner seat. When I arrived in LA, like a “normal” person, I waited in line for a taxi. It was a hard jolt back to reality. Climbing into the back of a cab, I leaned against my luggage as the car crawled into the city. A large billboard for an airline caught my attention. I stared at the slogan, Go to a place that makes you happy. I wondered where that place was. When was the last time that I felt totally comfortable, safe and . . . happy?

  “Driver, actually I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to that address. Please get off at the next exit.” The yellow cab pulled up to the tiny complex with the bean-shaped pool. I considered a few clever greetings I could use on my true friends. I tried to think of the best way to apologize for my behavior and for the fact that I hadn’t spoken to them in over three months.