Dollhouse (3 page)

Chapter Four

Kamille

“I
’m telling you, he’s a jerk. You need to break up!” Simone declared.

“What?” Kamille glanced up from her phone and regarded her friend. Simone seemed to be really, really worked up about something. Of course, this wasn’t unusual. Simone was a raging drama queen, which was one of the reasons Kamille liked having her around, because it made her feel calm and sane in comparison.

“Carlos and I were at Voyeur last night, and—”

“Carlos? What happened to Lars?”

“Lars? Ohmigod, we broke up like a week ago. He’s ancient history. Anyway, I saw Finn at Voyeur, but he totally didn’t see me. He was making out with another girl. They were practically dry-humping in their booth!”

“I don’t think so. Finn told me he was working last night.”

“Well, he lied. Besides, didn’t you see the picture I texted you?”

“What picture?”

Simone shook her head and grabbed Kamille’s phone from her. As she scrolled, Kamille peered around the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, which was uncharacteristically empty for a Friday morning. It was just Kamille and Simone, half a dozen tourists, a lone nun, and a couple who was way overdoing it with the PDA. Really, in front of a nun?

There was also a guy in the corner who had been checking out Kamille for the last half hour. Of course, she got checked out by all sorts of guys all the time. Still, this one was older than usual—forties?—and way better dressed, in a dreamy gray Armani suit she had seen on that hot Spanish model in
Vogue.

The guy had arrived in a silver Rolls, chauffeured. It was still parked out front, presumably waiting for him to finish his latte. Was he a rich businessman? Kamille had to admit she was a little curious, even though he absolutely wasn’t her type.

Besides, she already had a boyfriend. Didn’t she?

“Here!” Simone thrust Kamille’s phone back at her. “This is your proof right here.”

Kamille stared at the screen. The picture was kind of grainy and out of focus. But upon closer inspection, it
did
look like Finn kissing some skanky redhead who was wearing a—wait, was she wearing anything? Were those her boobs?

“The beeyotch flashed him, and that’s when he decided that he couldn’t resist her charms anymore,” Simone explained, as though reading Kamille’s mind. “Okay, so, can we please dump his pathetic ass and move on already? I could
tell
he was a cheater the first time I met him. I have a sixth sense about these things.”

Kamille felt heat rush to her cheeks. “There’s got to be some explanation.”

“Yeah, sweetie, there’s an explanation. The explanation is, your soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend is a sorry piece of shit who can’t keep it in his pants.”

“No, I mean . . . look, maybe he was drunk. Or maybe she threw herself at him and he was trying to push her away.”

Simone rolled her eyes. “Girlfriend. Honestly? We need to organize a man intervention for you. You’re cutting him way too much slack.”

“You don’t know Finn as well as I do. He’s not like that. Besides, I’m seeing him tonight. I’ll ask him what happened, and I’m sure he’ll tell me everything.”

“You are
way
too trusting,” Simone said irritably. She peered at her watch. “Listen, I gotta bail. Seriously, though . . . is the sex
that
good? Because I don’t know why you bother with an a-hole like him when you could have any guy on the planet.” She rose to her feet.

Kamille blushed and turned away. The truth was, the sex
wasn’t
that good. Although maybe it was her fault, not Finn’s? He was the twelfth guy she’d gone to bed with, and she hadn’t been able to enjoy herself with any of them. Was there something wrong with her? Did she need to see a shrink? Or was she a lesbian deep down and just didn’t know it? There
was
that time she and her friend Marlena drank too many margaritas at that house party in Bel Air and made out, which was kind of fun. But . . . for the most part, she liked guys. She just didn’t like having sex with any of the ones she’d been with.

Of course, her first experience—with Jeremy Weinstein, freshman year—hadn’t been an auspicious start. They’d done it at his house while his parents were in Aspen, and when she went to the bathroom afterward, to pee, she realized in horror that his condom was stuck inside of her.
Deep
inside. She extracted it with a pair of tweezers from her makeup bag, flushed it down the toilet, and washed her hands with an entire bottle of antibacterial soap plus the hottest water she could bear. Back in the living room, Jeremy was freaking out because he couldn’t find the condom anywhere, and she was too mortified to tell him what had happened to it. Yeah, romantic.

Simone checked her watch again. “Okay, I’m now officially fifteen minutes late for work,” she said. “Oh, hey, are you still interested in that part-time receptionist thing? Because you need to send me your résumé, like, yesterday. I think my boss’s niece might be applying.”

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. I think I might pass.” The more Kamille thought about it, the less exciting the job sounded, answering phones and greeting clients. Even if some of the clients
were
celebrities. For one thing, it meant that she would actually have to wake up early and go into an office. It was bad enough, having to show up at Café Romero for her shifts and answering to her mother the tyrant. But having a
real
boss who could legit-order her around? And fire her if she didn’t comply?

Besides, professionally speaking, Kamille wanted more glamour and less manual labor. And she wanted to make a ton of money, too, so she could stop being poor and go back to the lifestyle she used to have, when her father was alive. Surely, there had to be something out there that met those simple requirements?

“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind,” Simone said. “Hey, you wanna do something this weekend? How about Hyde?”

Kamille hesitated. The last time she’d been at Hyde with Simone, her friend had gotten so wasted that she’d done something truly unimaginable. At one point late in the evening, Simone asked Kamille to hand her a bottle of gin that was on the table. Kamille did, at the same time noticing that Simone seemed to be sitting in a weird position, sort of half slipping off the booth. To Kamille’s shock, Simone then proceeded to tip the gin bottle upside-down between her legs, letting the liquor gush out. It turned out that she was in the process of peeing on the floor—she wasn’t wearing panties, and her minidress was hiked up around her hips—and was covering up the smell with the gin so no one would notice. She explained that she hadn’t wanted to bother with the crazy-long ladies’ room line.

“Maybe the Roxbury would be better,” Kamille said delicately.

“Whatever. Text me, okay? And don’t forget. Break. Up. With. Him.” Simone blew a kiss and took off.

Kamille made a face and turned her attention back to the picture of Finn and the red-haired skank. Was Simone right? Was she too trusting when it came to men? Jeremy Weinstein was secretly hooking up with Sarah what’s-her-name for three months before Kamille found out, even though everyone tried to tell her, and even though she’d come across a slutty black lace thong in his locker. Jeremy claimed that the thong was a Valentine’s Day present for
her,
which was beyond lame, since it was so obviously
used.
She’d had similar experiences with other boyfriends.

“Excuse me.”

Kamille looked up. Mr. Gray Armani Suit was standing near her table. He had a British accent—or was it Irish or Scottish or Australian? Kamille had a hard time telling the difference. Close up, she saw that his ice-blue dress shirt matched the color of his eyes exactly.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” he went on. “But—”

“Look, I’m flattered, but I have a boyfriend,” Kamille cut in.

The man chuckled. “I’m sure you do. Lucky bloke. But that’s not why I wanted to meet you. Are you by any chance in the entertainment industry?”

“Am I what? You mean, am I an actress or a singer or whatever? Um, no.”

“Have you ever modeled, then?”

“No. Why are you asking me all these questions? I told you, I don’t want to go out with you.”

“Rest assured, this isn’t a pickup.” The man reached into his breast pocket and handed her a dove-gray business card.

Kamille took it from him and studied it. It said:

GILES SINCLAIR

SINCLAIR MODELING MANAGEMENT

Below that was an address in Century City, a phone number, and an e-mail address.

Kamille regarded him curiously. “You . . . own a modeling agency?”

“Precisely. And I’d love to talk to you about doing some modeling. That is, if you’re interested.”

“Modeling for who?”

“You have the perfect look for fashion, cosmetics, you name it. But of course, we’d need to do a test shoot first.”

A test shoot? Kamille felt a frisson of excitement. The guy sounded like he knew what he was talking about. And he sounded like he was serious, about her.

Was this the opportunity she’d been waiting for? The one that would help her achieve the fame and fortune she was meant to reach? She pictured herself living in a penthouse apartment, partying at exclusive clubs, wearing to-die-for clothes straight off the runway.

And maybe, finally, certain people (like, say,
her mother)
would see that Kass wasn’t the only star in the family?

But she was getting ahead of herself. Besides, she didn’t want to pursue this conversation further without checking out Mr. Giles Sinclair. Simone had just told her that she was too trusting. For all she knew, he was a perv, or a serial killer, or both.

“Can I think about it and call you?” Kamille said casually, tucking his business card into her bag. “I have to run. I have an appointment.”

“I’m sure you do. And yes, please do think about it and ring me. Anytime. Have a good day.” Giles turned to go. “Oh, so stupid of me. I didn’t catch your name.”

Kamille hesitated for a moment. “Kamille. Kamille Romero.”

“Right, then. I look forward to hearing from you, Kamille Romero.”

Kamille waited until Giles had gotten into his silver Rolls-Royce and disappeared down the street. Then she picked up her phone and Googled “Sinclair Modeling Management.”

There was his photo. Okay, so maybe he
wasn’t
a serial killer.

Then she saw his client list, and her jaw dropped. The list included Svetlana Sergeyev, who was Kamille’s number one favorite supermodel, ever . . . plus the hot Spanish model who had worn Giles’s Armani suit in
Vogue . . .
plus a dozen other names she recognized.

“Holy . . . fucking . . . shit,” she said out loud.

The nun glanced up from her Bible and Earl Grey tea and stared sharply at her.

Kamille stifled a giggle. She didn’t care. She was going to become a famous supermodel!

Chapter Five

Kass

K
ass slipped on her Ray-Bans as she walked out of the Marshall School of Business and reread her econ notes. The professor had sprung a pop quiz on them, on antitrust laws, and she was worried that she might have gotten one of the answers wrong. She knew she had an almost perfect average in that class, from the previous two quizzes. But still. Almost perfect was not the same as perfect, and besides, the fall semester had just begun. A lot could go wrong between now and December.

The palm-tree-lined walk outside the building was swarming with students rushing off to their next class. It was a hot, sultry day, typical for late August in SoCal. On the lawn, a group of girls was sunbathing in bikinis and bobbing their heads, connected by a complex network of white earbuds. She recognized a few faces from her class. She couldn’t imagine cutting, especially with a teacher like Professor Mueller, who took no prisoners when it came to attendance. Kass herself had not missed a single class in her three years at USC, except once when she had a temperature of 103. And even then, her mother had to force her to stay home, because James Cameron was guest-lecturing in her film class that day.

Kamille had been right when she made that (bitchy) comment several Sunday Night Dinners ago. Kass
did
have her whole life planned out, or at least the career part of it, and it involved both stellar attendance and stellar grades. She was going to graduate summa cum laude—with highest honors—with a double major in business administration and film and television production.

Eventually, she would use her degree to follow in her father’s footsteps and become a producer. In the meantime, her USC education was helping her with her job at the restaurant, which was badly in need of careful management. Her mother’s forte was creating menus, not spreadsheets.

Her cell buzzed. It was a call from Kamille.

“KASSIE!”
Kass had to hold her phone away from her ear because her sister was screaming.
“GUESS WHAAAAAT?”

“I can hear you, doll. What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“I’m better than all right. Guess who I just met?”

“Taylor Lautner?”

“Better! Giles Sinclair!”

“I’m sorry—who?”

“He’s a modeling agent, and he represents Svetlana Sergeyev, can you believe it? He came up to me at a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, it was so random, and he wanted to talk to me about modeling. I was, like, ‘Get lost’ at first, but then I realized he was legit. And guess what, Kass? He wants me to do a test shoot! You know what that is, right? It’s a professional photo shoot so he can get sample pictures of me to send to, like, advertising agencies. Advertising agencies that work for fashion designers and makeup companies and stuff. I’m gonna be a model!”

Kass’s head was spinning. “Wait.
Who
is this guy? And I know what a test shoot is.”

“I just told you. He’s a modeling agent. He’s one of the biggest in the business.”

“How do you spell his name? Let me check him out.”

“I already did. He’s got the coolest website ever.”

“Spell it for me, anyway.”

Kass could hear the heavy sigh on the other end of the line as Kamille spelled the name. Hmm. Giles Sinclair. It sounded faux British and pretentious.

“I’ve gotta get new clothes for the test shoot, and get my hair and makeup done, too,” Kamille was prattling on. “Do you think Mom’ll lend me the money? Or I could just put it on my credit cards. I think? Models get paid a ton, right? I should be able to pay off the balance in like a month or two, tops. Or maybe I should—”

“Kam!”
Kass pressed her fingers against her temple. “Sweetie, slow down. Look, I have to run to the library. Can we talk later? What are you doing tonight?”

There was a long silence. “
Wellll . . .
I was supposed to have dinner with Finn. But he just texted me and said he had to reschedule ’cause something came up, blah, blah, blah.” Kamille didn’t sound happy.

Kass sensed that there was more to this story than what Kamille was telling her. She’d have to get the scoop later. “Okay, well, great! So you’re free? You wanna meet back at the house? We can order in pizza and talk about what this Giles person is proposing, and make a pros and cons list for you.”

“A pros and cons list? What for?”

“Just trust me. You need to think these things through carefully. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Um, okay.”

“Love you, doll!”

“Love you, too, doll!”

Hanging up, Kass Googled “Giles Sinclair” and went through his website, twice. Okay, so he was for real.

She continued down the walk, suddenly in a foul mood. But why? She should be happy for Kamille, who had been
discovered,
for God’s sake. It was like something out of Hollywood legend, like actress Lana Turner being discovered at the Top Hat Café while skipping class and drinking a Coke. (So maybe skipping class
did
pay off sometimes?)

The problem was, amazing stuff
always
happened to Kamille, and she never had to lift a finger. Like in high school, when the drama teacher gave her a lead in
Peter Pan,
and she didn’t even have to audition. Kass, on the other hand, had to work like a dog—not just going to college but putting in long hours at the restaurant—and so far, she hadn’t hit the jackpot.

Of course, her efforts would surely pay off someday, and she would be wildly successful. And rich. She didn’t particularly care about the “rich” part, except that she had another, top-secret dream that she had never shared with anyone, not even Kamille, with whom she shared pretty much everything.

Her top-secret dream was to buy back their old house in Beverly Hills, if and when it went on the market again. Her father had bought it for the family when Kass was a baby. Her mother had to sell it after he died because she needed the money, plus she couldn’t afford the maintenance.

But someday, Kass was going to honor her father’s memory by taking it back. Plus, she missed that house desperately. Not because it was a big, fancy mansion—she was a practical person and not particularly interested in luxuries. But that house on Mulholland Drive was the Romero home. It was meant to be in the Romero family, now and forever.

Kass felt someone tapping her shoulder. She turned and saw a familiar-looking guy. A familiar-looking, very
cute
guy.

“Um, hey,” the guy said, smiling shyly. “You dropped this.”

“Dropped what?”

The guy held out her econ notebook.

Kass was momentarily rattled. She never lost track of anything, ever. How did she manage to drop her incredibly important econ notes?

“Thanks,” she said, flustered. “Where did you—”

“Oh, just outside Marshall. You were on the phone. Quiz was a bitch, wasn’t it?”

“What quiz?”

The guy looked amused. “Econ. I sit a couple of rows over from you. Professor Mueller was wearing his Elvis Costello glasses today.”

Kass laughed. “Yeah, I think he thinks they make him look really cool. Or something.”

The guy held out his hand. “I’m Eduardo, by the way.”

“Kassidy. Everyone calls me Kass.”

“Nice to meet you, Kass. Hey, you wanna grab a coffee? We could go over those Supreme Court decisions he mentioned. I’m sensing another pop quiz on Monday.”

Kass regarded Eduardo. He seemed nice. And smart. And definitely cute. But she really did have to get to the library to . . . what was she doing there, again? Oh, yeah, checking out some books on globalization. Which could wait. But her day was so jam-packed already. If she postponed the library errand, when would she be able to squeeze it in? She had her Spanish class in an hour, then her small-business management study group, then a private screening of a new Kathryn Bigelow movie at the film school, then a brief stop at the restaurant to go over some paperwork, then her girls’ night in with Kamille . . .

Eduardo was staring at her with his really adorable dark brown eyes.
Why the hell not?
Kass thought, and was about to say yes to the coffee when she changed her mind. Again.

“I’d love to, but I have like a million things to do,” she said finally.

“No problem. Maybe another time. See you in class on Monday.” He smiled and walked away.

As Kass watched him go, she felt a pang of regret. But the feeling was temporary. A second later, she was already thinking about those globalization books.