Chapter Four
The moment we got to the party, Alexia ditched us.
The party was being held at a beautiful home deep in Benedict Canyon on a plot of land about the size of a football field. You could have easily fit my home, Alan’s, and Conner’s on the lot that held the palatial mansion.
The girl throwing the party didn’t live there. Her parents had rented the sprawling home so their daughter could have an end of summer bash before heading back to Switzerland for her senior year in high school. A rich kid’s party.
I didn’t know the girl, although Alan and I knew many of the party people. They went to school with us, kids from north of the boulevard who drove to school in Beemers, Mustangs and Mini Coopers; kids who didn’t have to take out the trash or walk the three family dogs unless they wanted to—the entitled youth of Beverly Hills.
Kids from our side rarely mixed with the rich kids. It’s not that we or they discriminated, but when the rich kids took off for their spring breaks in New York, or their post-Christmas ski trips to Aspen, us Southies couldn’t tag along. Both groups knew it, although no one ever said anything, instead, we just kept to our own.
When we arrived at the party, we spotted the typical blend of former and current child actors who’d been on Disney Channel and Nickelodeon shows, mingling with the average Beverly Hills high school kid. The TV stars weren’t celebrities at parties in Beverly Hills. Every kid felt they were a celebrity in this part of town.
Alexia made a beeline for Gary Shanks, a senior on the Lacrosse team. He wasn’t a rich kid, although he acted like one. He was tall, and handsome, and athletic—things we were not.
“That freakin’ Gary Shanks thinks he’s so hot,” Alan groused. “Stealing our girl right from under our noses.”
I started to tell Alan that we’d obviously been played by Alexia. To her, all we were good for was a ride. But I knew he’d figure it out soon enough. Besides, I had other things on my mind.
“She said Lara would be here.”
“What’s with you and Lara?” Alan asked, annoyed. “You’ve been talking about her all night.”
“No, I haven’t. I just want to apologize for the way I acted yesterday.”
“Let it go, Dude. Let it go, and clear your head. We need to come up with a plan to get Alexia away from jerkface over there,” he said, gesturing toward Alexia who was standing in a crowd by the waterfall pool, looking at Gary Shanks as if she were interested in more than just conversation with him.
The truth is, I wanted to let it go. I’d been wanting to let it go ever since I insulted Lara in Alan’s backyard. I couldn’t explain why I was suddenly so obsessed with her—a stranger.
“You hatch a plan,” I said. “I’m going to mingle.” It was my excuse to go looking for her. I started away.
“You’re walking away from a shot at Alexia Dupree?” Alan called after me, making his voice sound incredulous, as if I were walking away from a sure thing shot at a million bucks.
“Yep,” I replied without turning around.
“You do realize that you’re giving up all claim to her?” he called. I could hear the desperation creeping in.
“She’s all yours, bro,” I responded. We both knew he didn’t have enough game to lure Alexia away from Gary Shanks. To accomplish that, he’d need to be able to form full cohesive paragraphs in her presence. Doubtful.
Alan didn’t want to be left alone.
We were at the kind of party we’d never been invited to. Leaving him alone would be a reminder to Alan that maybe he didn’t belong there, and that maybe he never would. I thought of my father, and that old lady who’d made him feel inferior at the town hall meeting.
A part of me didn’t want to leave my friend standing all alone; a part of me wanted to go back and join him so he didn’t come away with the same feelings my father came away with all those years ago. But a song had begun to play, not through the studio grade sound system that was pumping some serious club music, but in my head. I’d heard the song before, just prior to laying eyes on Lara for the first time. I knew if I followed the sound of that haunting tune, it would lead me to her.
I started walking toward the house, and as I did, the music began to fade, so I did an about face, moving toward the rear of the large backyard, if that’s what you want to call it. Nothing that large and grandiose should ever be called a backyard.
The crowd was thinner as I moved toward the rear of the property, but the music was louder, so I knew I was headed in the right direction.
What is that song? I asked myself. I’d only heard it once the day before, and yet it was so familiar to me.
As I started up a moonlit path toward the guest bungalows, I saw her. Lara. She was standing beneath a weeping willow tree bathed in the shadow of its drooping branches. Her green eyes were on me, the moonlight glinting off of them, giving them a cat’s eye gleam that made her seem otherworldly. I got the feeling she’d been watching me the entire time. She was wearing cutoff shorts and a loose fitting tank top—simple, yet so darn sexy.
“Umm… hi,” I said,” as I neared. The grip on my heart tightened, like a hand squeezing juice from a lemon.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, annoyance rampant in her voice. “Are you some kind of stalker dude?”
“No, no,” I said. I tried to laugh it off, but it came out all wrong, sounding like the soft bray of a Billie goat. “I’ve been looking for you. I sincerely want to—”
A drunken, laughing couple pushed out of the greenery that lined the path, stopping right in front of me.
“How much have you had to drink?” the girl slurred to the guy. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
“Not as much as you,” the guy slurred back.
Amidst waves of laughter, the couple stumbled off the trail and into the darkness on the other side. When they cleared my sight line, Lara was no longer standing under the tree.
“Lara?” I called softly. “Lara!”
The music in my head had once again ceased to play. She was gone.
I searched for her for fifteen minutes before giving up.
I found Alan stewing by the punch bowl. I suspected the punch had been spiked, and that Alan had had more than his share.
“She went in the house with that idiot,” Alan groused, and took a slug from his plastic cup. “She smiled and waved at me as she went in. Said she wouldn’t be needing a ride home,” he said glumly.
“Oh,” I said. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Alan said, his voice rising.
“Dude, how much of that punch have you had?” I asked. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“What I’ve had enough of is being stepped on by creeps like Gary Shanks.” I’d never heard him use that tone before. His voice was laced with anger and jealousy.
“Alan, it’s not Gary Shanks who played us, it’s Alexia. She just wanted a ride to this party, can’t you see that?”
“So, you’re just going to let him steal our girl?” He was looking at me with accusing eyes.
I guess he couldn’t see it.
“Alan, Alexia Dupree is not our girl. We’ve barely said more than three sentences to her.”
“Okay, cool. As of today, you are no longer in the running.”
“Great. She’s all yours, Alan. Now, let’s go home and sleep it off.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Oh wait, yes, I am. I’m going in the house to get Alexia away from that claim jumper.”
“Claim jumper? Dude, back away from the punch bowl.” I reached for Alan’s cup and he yanked it back, sloshing punch down the front of his shirt.
“Look what you did!” he shrieked.
Whatever was in the punch was making him crazy. Or was it something else?
Some of the party goers in the area were pointing and laughing. It was always fun to watch a classmate make a fool of himself.
I moved in closer, threw my arm around his shoulder. “Al
an, buddy, we need to get out of here. I’m sure Alexia will be just fine.”
He looked around, into the faces of our classmates. His expression changed, softened. It was as if he’d emerged from a trance.
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. We don’t belong here. Let’s go.”
He finished his punch, crumpled his cup, and threw it into the crowd.
When we arrived outside, we were greeted by the distant roar of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that lit up the night sky. Rain was rare this time of year, thunderstorms were even more unusual.
“That’s odd,” I said at the sound of the second thunder clap. This one was closer. “If we get out of here now, maybe we can beat the storm. I’ve never driven in the rain, and I don’t want my first time to be in a borrowed car with a learners permit.”
I climbed in behind the wheel. Alan moved around to the passenger side, but he didn’t get in.
“I can’t leave her,” he said.
“What?” I rolled down the passenger window. “What are you talking about?”
“I can’t leave her up here with that guy. You go, get the car back home safely. I’ll see you in the morning.” He shot me a distant smile, a smile that indicated he was compelled to do this. He started back for the house.
A few scattered raindrops spattered onto the windshield.
“Alan, I have to go. I don’t want to drive in the rain,” I called after him, my voice beseeching him to turn around and come back. If he heard me, he didn’t respond. He disappeared in a swarm of kids.
I pulled out of the driveway, and drove down the winding road back toward Beverly Drive. As I headed down, the wind kicked up, a sure sign it was going to storm. Hopefully, not before I got home.
Five minutes later, the sky opened up and rain fell in buckets.
Just my luck, I thought. Just my rotten luck.