Nacho Figueras Presents (18 page)

L
et's go out somewhere fun,” said Camelia as she sat, her feet dangling in Kat's pool. “I'm leaving tomorrow. Let's party.”

Kat, who was lying on a chaise lounge and pretending to make notes on her script, shook her head. She was still in a terrible mood after seeing Sebastian and Liberty together. “I have a six a.m. call tomorrow morning,” she said. “I just want to get some pizza and go to bed early.”

Camelia made a sound of irritation and splashed some water at her with her foot. “Don't be such a loser,” she said. “I've never been to L.A. before, and so far the only thing I've seen is a view of Liberty Smith's bruised ass. Oh my God, by the way, did you see it?”

“The bruise? Yeah, it was bad.”

“No, her ass! I mean, I always thought I had a pretty nice keister but hers is like a national treasure. I've never seen anything so perfect.”

Kat threw down her script. “This is not making me feel any better, Camelia.”

Camelia laughed. “Oh, come on. You don't really think those two are up to anything, do you? Liberty is a married woman.”

“I doubt that would stop either of them, honestly.”

Camelia stopped laughing. “Hon, you're not really upset, are you? I thought you were over and done with Seb.”

Kat shook her head. “No. You're right. It's stupid. Come on, I've actually got tickets to this thing I forgot about. And you've only got one night in L.A.”

Kat watched Camelia happily ransack her closet looking for a dress that wouldn't drag on the floor when she put it on.

“Oh my God, Katy Ann! Look at these clothes! I mean, jeez, actually, look at your whole place. It's a long way from Wellington, right?”

“What are you talking about?” she said, amused by her friend's exuberance. “Wellington has way more fancy stuff than this.”

“Yeah, but
we
didn't, you know? We wore, like, dresses over jeans and lived in glorified trailers.”

“Everyone wore dresses over jeans back then, and maybe you lived in a glorified trailer, but I lived in a perfectly respectable ranch house.” Kat laughed. “You know how much my parents' place would go for in L.A.? Stick it in Eagle Rock and you'd get a couple million for it.”

Camelia pulled off her tank top and pulled on a dress to see how it fit.

“Dress over jeans,” pointed out Kat, smiling. “Doesn't look too bad that way, actually. Maybe we can reignite the trend.”

Camelia twisted to see herself in the mirror. “Do you ever get sick of it?” she asked. “I mean, being around all these rich people?”

Kat squirmed, wondering if Camelia had any idea how much money she was getting paid to make this movie. “Um. We grew up in Wellington. It's been that way our whole lives. And excuse me, but are you not currently dating one of the richest men in the world?”

“I know,” said Camelia, peeling off the dress, “and it feels very weird. When you're around people who take having money for granted, it's very easy to start feeling like you should just have it, too.” She laughed. “And it's Mark's money, not mine. I mean, I try to be careful about it. I don't want him to pay for everything, but sometimes I'll catch myself thinking something like, ‘Well, gee, my truck needs new brakes, and I am broke and he has more money than God, so why shouldn't he just buy me a new one?'”

“And he probably would.”

“I know! That's the thing! He totally would. He'd love to. But I don't want that. That's not how I was raised. I was raised to work for what I need.”

“But you were looking for a sponsor for your training.”

She went into the closet. “That's different,” she called back. “That's like you getting funding to make a movie. Plus, it's for Skye. I'll do whatever I need to for Skye.”

Kat flopped down on her bed. “You're so weird about that horse.”

Camelia stuck her head back out of the closet. “Hey, don't say anything about the horse. The horse is untouchable. Just because you don't understand horse love—”

“I might be getting there,” said Kat softly to herself. She raised her voice. “No, I get it. It's probably better that Sebastian and I didn't work out. I'm not sure I could ever really fit in with a family like the Del Campos. Eventually it would have been weird. He is actually much better off with someone like Liberty.”

Camelia made an exasperated sound. “He's not with Liberty.”

“It's only a matter of time.”

“Yeah, okay, let's call the paparazzi and inform them.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “Come on, pick something and let's go. We're going to be late.”

“This is amazing,” said Camelia happily as they settled on the bleachers in the Hollywood Bowl.

The Bowl was one of Kat's favorite things about L.A. A huge, open-air amphitheater, the band shell was actually carved into the rocky hillside behind it. And because the crowds were allowed to bring their own wine and picnics, there was always a festive quality to the concerts—like a giant dinner party with entertainment added in.

Kat passed Camelia a cashmere throw, popped open their takeout containers of Korean barbecue, and poured the rosé.

“Heaven,” said Camelia, “wine and dinner and a movie and the Philharmonic playing the soundtrack live, all under the stars?”

“Not just any movie,” Kat reminded her. “It's
Doctor Zhivago
. This will be amazing.”

Camelia looked at her. “I remember you being more of a
Breakfast Club
kind of girl.”

Kat shrugged. “Film school got to me, I guess.”

That was a lie. She had, of course, bought the tickets thinking of Sebastian but she couldn't bring herself to tell Camelia this. It had been before he had even arrived in town, but after the disastrous way she had scolded him about being a producer. She'd seen the event listed online and clicked on “Buy” before she had time to think twice.

At first, she'd just intended on giving him the tickets as sort of a peace offering—and assumed he'd take someone else. But then, after things seemed to warm up between them again, she had started thinking they could go together as friends. And if his definition of “friends” just happened to include sitting very, very close together, sharing a blanket, watching a romantic movie, sipping wine, and eventually giving in to the irresistible alchemy between them and fondling her under the stars, she would not have complained a bit.

“Refill,” said Camelia, thrusting her cup under Kat's nose.

Kat refilled the glass as the orchestra struck up the score. Camelia grinned and dug her elbow into Kat's side. “Isn't this better than pizza and an early night?” she whispered.

Kat laughed. “I guess.”

Camelia gave her a quick hug. “Thank you for bringing me. I'm so glad we're back in touch again.”

Kat smiled as she settled back to watch the movie, but couldn't help feeling a small pang of loss as the opening sequence began, imagining what might have been.

Despite Sebastian's worries about the paparazzi, especially after the all the blind items about the strip club that had bubbled up in the last couple of days, Liberty insisted that he drive her back to the hotel that night. She claimed that her butt still hurt and that his car was more comfortable than hers, plus she couldn't take another hour listening to her driver clumsily hint around about the screenplay he was writing.

So instead, Sebastian had to listen to a never-ending monologue about the faults and defects of Liberty's marriage.

“I mean, it was good at first, you know? Okay, I'll admit it wasn't burning hot like it was with Otto. But how can anyone compete with a rock star, right? When he wasn't drunk or stoned, at least. Anyway, with David, I thought I was getting security. I figured there were no groupies in high finance. Ha! That's how stupid I was.”

Sebastian rolled down his window and tried to block her out with the warm night air and the smell of jacarandas.

“Oh, babe, can you roll that back up? It's going to ruin my blowout.”

He rolled it back up.

“Anyway, at first he couldn't get enough of me. It's all we did. Screwed like bunnies day and night. And I know he doesn't look like much when you first meet him, but you should see the guy naked. He's hung like—”

“
¡Mira!
” interrupted Sebastian. “Isn't that the food truck that Charlie was telling us about? Are you hungry?”

Liberty looked at him, amused. “I could eat.”

Sebastian pulled into a spot on the street. “What do you want?” he asked. “Charlie said the sandwiches are the best.”

“Oh,” said Liberty casually, “a sandwich sounds good. I'll get out and take a look.”

Sebastian looked at her sharply. “Here? There is quite a crowd, Liberty. And you left your bodyguard at home. Again.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “That's because I know you can handle it.”

Sebastian swore to himself as he got out of the car. He could already see people starting to stare as Liberty opened her door. It didn't help that she was wearing the tiniest pair of cutoffs and a tank top with no bra, or that she did a slow and leisurely stretch on the sidewalk after she got out of the car.

“Oh, for God's sake,” he muttered, following her to the truck. “Here we go again.”

The long line at the counter simply parted as she walked up. People took one glance at her and got a glazed look on their faces as if they were staring into the face of the sun.

Liberty looked up into the truck and batted her eyes.

The guy behind the counter gaped. “Oh my God,” he said. “Oh my fucking God.”

Liberty smiled a slow, slinky grin. “Hmm,” she said, “so what's good here?”

The crowd around her stirred. It was as if, by hearing her voice, it suddenly became real.

“That's Liberty Smith,” hissed someone behind Sebastian. “That's Liberty frigging Smith!”

“Who's the guy?” wondered someone else. “That's not her husband.”

Phones were being taken out; pictures were being taken. Sebastian tried to distance himself.

The first person who got up the nerve to approach her was a muscle-bound man twice Sebastian's size. “Hey Libby,” he said, “you all alone tonight?”

Liberty raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I'm alone?” she said warmly, waving a hand at Sebastian.

The guy barely looked Sebastian's way. “Close enough.”

Sebastian sighed. This was only going to get worse.

“Hey, Libby,” said a woman this time, “I loved you in
She Never Sleeps
. Can I get an autograph?”

Another woman excitedly pushed her baby toward Liberty. “Oh my gosh, Liberty, you're not going to believe this, but I named my daughter after you!”

“That's nothing, Libby!” said the food truck guy. “I named a sandwich after you!”

Suddenly the crowd was surging forward, grabbing at her, and the look on Liberty's face quickly went from delighted to terrified.

“Sebastian?” she said. Her voice wavered.

He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then plunged in. “Okay,
basta ya
,” he barked as he flung his elbows left and right. “Out of the way! Back off!”

But this time, the crowd pressed around him. He could barely move.

“Sebastian!” cried out Liberty. He could no longer see her through the crush of people.

He fought harder, pushing his way toward her. “Liberty?” he yelled. She didn't answer. He struggled desperately, tearing at the bodies in his way.

There was a scream. He hurled himself forward, panicked, trying to reach her. “Liberty! Liberty!”

People pressed in from all sides. He felt himself losing his balance, being lifted off his feet. He grabbed at the shoulder of the person in front of him. The enormous man who had first approached Liberty turned, snarling. “I saw her first,” he growled.

He looked like some savage junkyard dog, guarding his turf.

“For God's sake,
hombre
, she's a woman, not a bone.” Sebastian shoved at the man's massive chest. “Let me help her.”

And a giant fist coming at his face was the last thing Sebastian saw.

K
at sat next to the hospital bed, holding Sebastian's hand. She never would have dared to touch him if he'd been conscious, but she couldn't help herself when she saw him, his black eye reminding her so poignantly of their first date and their time on the beach.

He had a “light concussion” was how the doctor had put it. Once Sebastian woke up, he could go home as long as he had someone wake him up every two hours and check to make sure it wasn't getting any worse.

He groaned and opened his eyes a slit. She squeezed his hand and felt her heart beat faster. “Sebastian?” she said.

“Liberty?” he croaked.

She dropped his hand like it burned. “No,” she said. “It's Kat.”

The ghost of a smile drifted over his face. “Kat,” he breathed. Then he bolted upright, grabbing at her arm. “Kat!” he said. “
¿Kat, a donde está Liberty? ¿Que pasó?
”

“
Shh, shh
,” she said, trying to gently push him back down. “She's fine. The food truck driver pulled her up over the counter and then locked up the truck. He called the police, and they got her out of there.”

He dropped back like a stone. “Oh, thank God.”

She itched to brush the hair back from his eyes, but stilled her hand. “Liberty said she could see you fighting your way through, but you couldn't hear her say she was okay. She said you were very brave.”

He closed his eyes. “It was crazy.”

“You've got a mild concussion. And a black eye.”

He touched his eye and flinched. “This is getting embarrassing. You must think I can't ever win a fight.”

She laughed. “Well, the odds were hardly in your favor. What in the world possessed you two to go out without her bodyguards anyway?”

He smiled grimly. “She wanted a sandwich, and she wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Kat sighed. “Sounds familiar,” she said. “Anyway, I called your mom, and she and Alejandro and his family are flying out first thing tomorrow. I told them that the hospital said you'd probably be fine by then, but she insisted.”

He chuckled. “I don't imagine you could keep her away.”

“The doctor said you can go back to the hotel now, though, if you feel up to it. But you need someone to wake you up every two hours and make sure your concussion isn't getting any worse. I thought maybe Liberty—”

He grabbed her arm. “No way,” he said. “I'll be dead by morning.”

Kat snorted. “So then maybe someone at the hotel could—”

He looked into her eyes. “Can you do it,
linda
? I mean, I know it's a lot to ask but—”

“Of course I can,” she said quickly, “I just need to call Camelia and let her know I won't be home tonight. I didn't know if you'd want me to—”

His voice was soft. “I want you to.”

His head was killing him, but it was worth it, he thought, to get Kat into the bungalow. She had guided him into her car and strapped him in, even though he assured her that he was not that helpless. Then she had rolled down the windows, turned on some soft music, and driven him carefully back to the hotel. They hadn't talked much at all, and he'd been content to lean his head back and rest, but every so often, he caught her looking at him out of the corner of her eye with a worried expression that made him smile.

She was fussing over him now, getting him a glass of water and making sure he took his pain meds. Asking him if he wanted anything to eat.

“Just sleep, I think,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. “You must be exhausted. Do you need help getting undressed?”

For a moment he considered saying yes, just to see what she'd do, but then he regretfully shook his head. “No, I can do it. But I only have the one bed here, Katarina, so perhaps I will sleep on the couch and you can—”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she said. “I'll sleep on the couch. You need the bed.”

He sighed. “Katarina,” he said. “I would very much like to be a gentleman and argue with you until I got my way, but I am so tired. And my head hurts so much, and I promise you, there is virtually no possibility of anything untoward happening between us if you'd just—”

“Fine,” she said quickly. “It's fine. It's a big bed.”

“
Bueno
,” he said with relief.

He loaned her the top part of his pajamas to sleep in, and while she modestly went into his bathroom to change, he slipped into the bottoms and climbed into the bed.

When she emerged from the bathroom, her hair down and her long legs bare, he felt a leap in his groin that made him squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, his headache forgotten.

She rushed over to him, concerned, and laid a hand on his forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he croaked, afraid to open his eyes. Her warm, gentle hand on his face was not helping. It didn't matter where she touched him; he felt it all through his body like a fire. “I'm fine.”

She peered at him worriedly and then went around to her side of the bed and slipped under the covers. “I've set my phone to go off every two hours so I can check on you,” she said.

He nodded, keeping himself very still. He could smell her burnt-sugar smell, feel the heat coming off her body, and it was driving him wild. She snuggled down into the bed. “Wow,” she said happily, “this bed is amazing.”

Now it is
, he thought.

She turned on her side facing him. “Okay if I turn out the light?” she asked.

He nodded, though he wished he could watch her face all night.

She turned out the light, and they were immersed in darkness. He could hear her breathe.

He couldn't help himself. He reached for her hand among the shadows of the bed and brought it to his lips. “
Muchas gracias, linda
,” he said as he kissed the tips of her fingers. “Thank you for everything.”

She was silent for a moment, and he wondered if she had already slipped into sleep, but then she gently pulled her hand from his and said, “It was nothing, really, Seb. I would do it for anyone.”

And he sighed into the darkness and hoped that it wasn't true.