“Stop.” Alexa held up one hand, her eyes sparkling. “I almost forgot. Wait right here.” Walking on her heels so as not to mess up her toes, she hurried out of the golf course room while Holly watched her go with growing curiosity. When Alexa returned, her face was glowing as she held a white Fred Segal bag out to Holly. Inside the bag was something wrapped in white tissue paper.
“What is this?” Holly asked, handing off her bulky envelope to Alexa to hold and hesitantly accepting the bag.
Alexa gave Holly a mysterious smile. “Something that I decided you need to make your trip complete.”
Holly pushed back the layers of tissue paper. When she saw a sliver of papaya-colored fabric, she felt warm, then cold, then dizzy.
I don’t believe it.
“Alexa—no,” Holly whispered numbly, letting the tissue paper fall so she was left holding the toobeautiful-for-words Catherine Malandrino dress in her hands. Returning it yesterday, she hadn’t thought for a second that she’d ever see it again. Which hadn’t seemed like such a tragedy then, especially in the midst of all the UCLA and Tyler drama. But gazing at the dress now, Holly realized how much she’d missed it.
“I know you had to return it to have a clear conscience,” Alexa was explaining with a smile in her voice. “Because that’s just what Holly Jacobson does. But I felt like you were betraying the cardinal rule of clothes—never deny yourself something that makes you feel fabulous. So I stopped by Fred Segal today to correct your faux pas.”
Glancing up at her friend, Holly smiled, too, even as a lump formed in her throat. “Because that’s just what Alexa St. Laurent does.”
Alexa bit her lip, feeling a tremor of worry. Had she been overstepping? “Uh-oh. Am I working the Little Miss Bossy thing too much?”
Holly laughed. “No…it’s not that.” She met Alexa’s gaze again. “But I can’t accept this, Alexa. I know how much it cost. And I can’t repay you any time soon…”
“Hol, it’s a present,” Alexa insisted, taking a step closer. “My graduation gift to you. It’s high time I got you something to thank you for…” Putting up with me, Alexa thought. Saving my ass so many times. And being a better friend to me than I ever was to you. Alexa knew it was true; she remembered how cruelly she’d cast off Holly in junior high when Alexa had begun traveling in popular, fashion-y circles and Holly had remained steadfastly sporty. Maybe Holly was the strong one, Alexa realized. Maybe she’d been stronger all along.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Holly murmured, her eyes smarting. What with Tyler last night, and now this, she felt like a tear generator. “Whatever happened between us in the past, Alexa…that was then. Our friendship’s so much better in the present tense, don’t you think?” She gave Alexa a small smile, and then flung her arms around her friend once more.
“I do,” Alexa agreed, giving Holly a quick squeeze. “That is,” she added, stepping back and raising one eyebrow. “If you agree to keep the dress this time around.”
Holly held the dress against her figure, loving the way it shone a paler pink in the late afternoon light. Really, wearing her prom dress now would just be insulting to Alexa, Holly assured herself. And she’d be saving time on ironing if she could just slip this number on after the shower. In some ways, she had no other choice…
“Of course I’m keeping it,” Holly finally replied, beaming up at Alexa. “If you admit that you got this for me because you wanted your wedding date to look presentable.”
“Presentable?” Alexa snorted, rolling her eyes. “Please. By the time you and I are both dressed and ready, I think we’ll be in serious danger of looking hotter than the bride.”
“Isn’t that really bad form?” Holly teased, slipping the dress back into the tissue paper and carrying it out of the room, close to her heart. “Oh, hang on,” she added, remembering another detail of wedding etiquette. “What did you end up getting for Margaux? And Jonah?”
“It was so obvious when I thought about it,” Alexa replied, feeling a flash of pride. “I’d just gotten my pictures developed, and there’s this little store in Malibu that sells funky frames…”
“You framed two of your photos?” Holly asked, feeling a smile spread across her face as Alexa nodded, her cheeks flushing. “That’s perfect, Alexa. I bet those will be the most unique gifts the Eklundstroms ever got.”
Alexa returned Holly’s smile, pleased by her friend’s reaction. But the presents were more than unique; each carried a special meaning. She was giving Margaux the photo she’d taken of the Las Vegas strip during the daytime. The rawness of the colors, and the wildness of the desert, reminded Alexa of Margaux’s own free spirit. And for Jonah she’d framed her close-up of the seashell, the one she’d taken yesterday morning in Malibu. She felt like that image captured the true Alexa—the photographer, the artist—that Jonah, sweet and earnest as he was, had never really gotten. Maybe this would be his chance to finally understand.
Before she headed out to go shower, Holly had another thought. “Alexa,” she ventured. “Do you think you and Jonah might…make up? You know what they say about weddings,” she added with a sly smile. “All that romance, and those boys in suits…” Holly, for her part, was realizing that it would be her first night in so long as a girl without a boyfriend. The thought was at once unsettling and freeing. As melancholy as she still felt about Tyler, there was a part of her that was a little excited to twirl around the dance floor in her new dress and meet the gazes of cute boys.
And even if she didn’t end up doing that, she could always live vicariously through Alexa.
“No romance for me,” Alexa murmured to herself, returning to her nails after Holly had departed. Yes, the possibility of seeing hot celeb guys gave her a tickle of anticipation, as did the notion of Jonah in a three-piece suit. But tonight would be all about dancing and eating and star-spotting: indulging in the Hollywood magic. And no boys—and the drama they inevitably brought—were going to spoil any of that.
She hoped.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fairy Tales
An hour, a shower, several swipes of lip gloss, a few smudged toenails, and two zipped-up dresses later, Alexa and Holly were stepping out of the guesthouse into the sultry Malibu evening.
Alexa was feeling similarly sultry in her teeny aquamarine dress, diamond studs, and silver teardrop necklace, but she was still a little self-conscious—a first for her—about her new hair. As Holly started down the steps of the sundeck, swinging her gold-studded black clutch (the one prom relic Alexa had allowed her), Alexa paused and leaned down to adjust the strap on one of her silver, pencil-heeled peeptoes. She realized she was stalling, as if trying to decide whether or not to go forward and face the evening. Maybe it wasn’t about her hair, which she had to admit did look pretty nice with the dress on. It was more that she sensed, in her gut, that something at the wedding was going to change her life.
Which was just silly.
“Alexa? You coming?” Holly paused at the bottom of the steps and turned, struggling to stay upright in her skinny black heels. It was almost as if the friends had switched roles; usually, Holly was the one lingering back, questioning her hair and clothing choices. But now, the ruffled hem of her delicious new dress lifting in the breeze, her nails polished by Alexa, and her hair knotted in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, Holly felt more than ready to hop into the Hybrid and zoom up into the Hills.
Which was why, when Alexa finally tucked her silver clutch under her arm and began walking forward again, Holly made her suggestion.
“Want me to drive?”
Alexa blinked at Holly, astonished. Whenever the two of them drove anywhere, it was always Alexa at the wheel, steering their course and controlling the music—and Holly, never the world’s most confident driver, had preferred it that way. But now, looking at her friend’s determined face—her eyes smoky with shadow, her lips shiny with gloss, and her bangs full and straight with the rest of her hair pulled back—-Alexa understood that Holly
no longer needed to remain in the passenger’s seat.
And, suddenly, Alexa didn’t mind trading places. She smiled, some of her nervousness dissipating. “Well,” she pretended to deliberate, holding the car keys up between her thumb and forefinger as a grinning Holly came forward and snatched them. “You are moving out here, so you could probably use the practice. Just go slow when we’re in the Hills.”
“Isn’t there some line from an old movie?” Holly asked, closing the trunk, where she’d placed Margaux’s gift bag earlier, and unlocking the driver’s-side door. “Something like, ‘Fasten your seat belts, it’s going to be a bumpy night’?”
“Bette Davis,” Alexa laughed, sliding in beside Holly and obediently buckling up. “All About Eve. How fitting.”
As Holly pulled away from El Sueño, the sky overhead changed from a dusky, heavy blue to a white-gray, and there was a distinct crack of thunder in the distance. “Oh, no,” Holly groaned, guiding the car down the rocky path that led to PCH. “What if the wedding gets rained out?”
“I had the same thought earlier, when it was so gross and muggy,” Alexa said, crossing her long, tanned legs and peering worriedly out the windshield. “Naturally the weather’s flawless every day we’re here, and now tonight…” Alexa shook her head, dismayed at the thought of the girls’ outfits getting wet. “How could Margaux do this to us?”
Holly sighed, checking the rearview mirror as she expertly changed lanes. “I guess there is something movie stars can’t control.”
A misty drizzle began to fall as the girls drove by the brightly colored mural of celebrities on the side of Hollywood High School (“Could you imagine graduating from here?” Alexa asked wistfully). But once they were climbing high into the Hills, joining the line of gleaming cars snaking their up way up toward Margaux’s light-blue mansion, the sky turned a breathtaking rose-pink. It was still drizzling, but Holly dared to open her window a crack and breathe in the scent of lemon trees on the cool air. The Hills were all winding roads, thick-leaved trees, and quaint little nooks containing cottages that probably cost more than Holly’s college tuition. Holly would never admit the childish thought to Alexa, but she felt as if they were driving through a fairy tale.
This sensation only intensified when the girls reached the circular driveway in front of the mansion, and a blue-jacketed attendant appeared to take their car. The marble columns lining the walkway of the mansion were twined with sparkling lights, and another path, leading behind the mansion, was strewn with black rose petals. As Alexa retrieved Margaux’s present from the trunk, Holly shielded her hair from the drizzle with her clutch. Maybe it was because the talk with Tyler, and the UCLA interview, were both behind her, but suddenly Holly was feeling fairly chill about being at such a glamorous celebrity event.
Alexa sauntered over to join Holly, and for a second, both girls stood still to take in their surroundings. Slender legs ending in diamond-encrusted stilettos were emerging from white Hummer limos, and men in sleek black tuxedos opened umbrellas over the shiny heads of young women in silky-sheer gowns. Police cars, camera crews, and news vans were gathering outside the mansion, and security personnel ran by, barking into walkie-talkies as if, Holly mused, this were some international spy mission. Both girls spotted Jessica Alba, pouting prettily and murmuring into her cell phone. Brandon Routh was leaning against one of the columns, wearing sunglasses in spite of the rain, and was that Adrian Grenier stepping out of a Jaguar convertible?
Alexa sighed. It was Hollywood-stalker heaven.
“No, Alejandro, I told you, don’t let the swans out of the pond—at least not until after the ceremony—well, of course they’re trying to eat people’s spinach puffs—but if that old bat in furs gives you trouble again, send her to me.”
Alexa spun around to see Vikram, Margaux’s beloved wedding planner. He was wearing a pink linen suit and barking into an earpiece.
Clearly through with Alejandro, Vikram glanced up and shot a don’t-mess-with-me-honeys smile at Alexa and Holly. “I’m sorry, girls. I need to ask that you step right this way”—he gestured to a line of people that was forming before a burly guy dressed in a security uniform—“and give your names to Tucker. Then, you can follow the black rose petals to the garden.” He paused and put a hand to his earpiece. “What, Alejandro? Did you say we’re out of miniature quiches? That’s it. I’m calling Wolfgang!”
“There’s a bouncer?” Holly whispered incredulously as she and Alexa hurried away from Vikram and took their place in line behind an impatient-looking, Prada-clad Anne Hathaway. Seeing the willowy, fashion-diva actress, Holly felt some of her old shy-ness wash over her; maybe she hadn’t changed entirely from that starstruck girl she’d been at The Standard.
“Hottest ticket in town.” Alexa grinned at Holly, feeling herself ease back into her element. What had she been stressing about? She felt a rush of gratitude toward Margaux for inviting them into this enchanted world.
The bouncer—who had a tattoo of a bald eagle on his bald head and a permanent sneer—was finally crossing Anne Hathaway’s name off the list and letting the actress pass through. Then he narrowed his eyes as Alexa and Holly stepped forward.
“Alexandria St. Laurent,” Alexa announced confidently. “And one guest.” She tried to toss her hair, but then remembered it didn’t have the same effect with its new length.
Holly felt the tiniest morsel of dread as the bouncer’s beady eyes scanned the list. She remembered how impulsively Margaux had invited Alexa to the wedding. Maybe the carefree actress had somehow forgotten…?
“You’re not on the list, blondie,” the bouncer announced, looking back up at Alexa. “I can’t let you or your guest in.” He nodded at Holly. “Vikram will show you out.”
“I’m—what?” Alexa stammered, stunned as a raindrop landed on her nose. “Of course I’m on the list—Margaux personally invited me—you have to check again!” A horrible thought occured to Alexa then: Had Jonah, in some weird act of vengeance, demanded that her name be taken off?
“Alexa,” Holly urged as her friend’s face turned purple. “Margaux probably spaced on putting you on the list.” Holly began to take a few steps back, not wanting to cause a scene. She reached for Alexa’s arm, but her fiery friend jerked away. “Come on,” Holly added. “Let’s get out of here—we’ll go to the Chateau Marmont or something…get some drinks…” Holly heard murmurs from the other people in line, which only made her panic deepen. Alexa raised one eyebrow as she and Holly held a silent discussion with their eyes.
The girls were still facing each other, both wondering how to proceed, when an elderly woman’s voice suddenly emanated from behind Tucker, loud and imperious
“Where’s Vikram?” she was demanding. “I want to speak to him about some disruptive creatures running around the wedding site.”
“The guests aren’t allowed to complain to Vikram,” the bouncer replied, sounding pissed, and Alexa and Holly turned around slowly. “Who are you, anyway?” he added.
The woman—who wore her silver hair up in a bun, a diamond choker around her throat, and a mink stole over her black floor-length gown—put her hands on her wide hips. “How dare you? I am the aunt of the groom, Paul DeMille,” she thundered. “I am Henrietta von Malhoffer!”
Henrietta von Malhoffer.
Alexa and Holly looked back at each other, their eyes huge. They would have recognized their old nemesis even if she hadn’t spoken her name. They’d had dangerous run-ins with the volatile Henrietta in both South Beach and Paris.
Maybe she’s following us, Holly thought, biting back a giggle and sidestepping behind Alexa as Henrietta continued to rail at the bouncer. Holly wondered what the fastest escape route would be; she’d hate for Paul’s dear relative to recognize the girls who had once pretended she was their aunt.
Meanwhile, Alexa was having the opposite reaction. She was thrilled to see Henrietta. With the prissy grande dame screaming in his face, the bouncer was so distracted that he likely would
n’t notice if Alexa and Holly slipped right past him.
Which, after Alexa had grabbed Holly’s hand and signaled the plan to her, they did.
Cool drops of rain battering their shoulders, the girls ran at full tilt toward the mansion, whipping past starlets and news reporters, who looked at them curiously. Holly wasn’t remotely as fast as usual in her ridiculous heels, so she and Alexa kept pace with each other, hair flying and breaths catching. They staggered down the rose-strewn path, and then arrived, panting, in a sumptuous back garden.
With the drizzle letting up, the garden looked like a watercolor painting. In front of a glittering pond—on which downy-white swans floated serenely—stood a wedding canopy made of beech trees and gardenias. Rows and rows of white chairs with plush seats were set up before the canopy, and in the center of the garden was a grand white tent hung with small white lights. The sweet scent of roses mingled with Chanel perfume and peanut sauce wafting from waiters’ silver trays. Tuxedoed musicians seated in a circle were playing Bach on their violins, and guests milled about, nibbling on chicken satay and sipping from tall flutes filled with champagne and wild strawberries.
They’d made it.
Holly glanced over her shoulder, but it seemed Tucker had more important things to deal with than chasing down two wayward girls. “I can’t believe we got away with that,” she whispered as she and Alexa hurried deeper into the crowd, passing a gaggle of good-looking young guys—groomsmen—wearing charcoal-gray, three-piece suits with silver silk ties.
“Why not?” Alexa asked as she gratefully accepted a strawberry-and-champagne drink from a waiter and grinned at Holly. “We, my love, are masters of breaking the rules.”
Holly nodded and accepted her own champagne flute. Maybe that was what LA had been all about—breaking with the past, inventing rules of their own. Mulling this over—and trying to keep her heels from sinking into the wet grass—Holly followed Alexa past streams of shimmering, laughing guests over to the white-draped gift table, which was laden with giant boxes wrapped in gilt-and-cream paper.