Spoiled (24 page)

“Is that BCBG?” Brooke asked.

“No, it’s a Laurel and Molly Dix original.”

“That explains why the back looks like a tragic rope-climbing accident,” Brooke snorted.

“Well, the last time you told me you
liked
a dress, it earned me days of
Little House on the Prairie
cracks in the hallway,” Molly noted. “So I’m going to follow my gut.”

“Fine, but no one’s going to see the back if you’re sitting down,” Brooke noted.

Molly ducked back into the closet. Brooke had a point, which she hated to admit. She considered a lower-cut sundress that
was one of the few store-bought ones she possessed, but eventually dismissed it and slipped into the black one anyway. Giving
America something interesting (like her cleavage) to gawk at was a lot less important to her than having a piece of Laurel
with her.

When she popped out of the closet again, Brooke was
stretching over near the bookshelf, staring at a photo of Molly and Danny from the sophomore fall dance.

“My back hurts,” Brooke said, as if answering a question. “So is the Cornbread King here the guy you’re always calling from
the balcony?”

“Why do you care?” Molly asked.

“I’m just making conversation. I have to keep my vocal cords warm or I’ll never be able to project.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “That’s Danny. My boyfriend.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” Brooke said.

“Why do you even care?” Molly asked again.

“I told you. I’m bored.”

Molly sighed. “We’ve been on and off basically since we were kids,” she explained as she tried on a couple different pairs
of shoes. “And he’s great. But I guess I’ve been wondering lately if it’s really going to work out in the long run, or if
we’re just fooling ourselves, you know, with the distance and everything. It’s hard to connect sometimes.”

“You should wear my Manolos. They’re fabulous with anything,” was Brooke’s response.

“Remind me again why I should believe anything you say?”

Brooke shot her a withering look. “I would never lie about shoes. I have morals.”

It was interesting to know Brooke lived by
some
kind of code, even if it only involved footwear. Molly picked up the towering Manolos and crossed to the bed. They
were
amazing, albeit a half size or so too big for her. It was a miracle that someone as tall as Brooke didn’t have Paris Hilton–like
canoes for feet, but even more incredible that the Manolos seemed to forgive Molly’s minor size difference and embrace her
anyway.
Maybe they could teach Brooke a thing or two
.

“So, why haven’t you cut the kid loose, then?” Brooke pressed.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on. You’re in Los Angeles and he’s in a barn or something. You just said yourself it was a problem.”

“It’s creepy that you suddenly have an interest in any of this,” Molly said, fastening the ankle strap on her left shoe.

“It’s either you or homework,” Brooke retorted.

“Fine,” Molly said. “If you must know, it’s tough because… well, it’s not like Danny’s done anything wrong. It’s just the
mileage. He was so awesome when my mother got sick.”

“What, did he milk the cows for you?”

“He brought me a sunflower every day that she was sick, right up through her funeral,” Molly said hotly. “Sometimes he hid
them so that they’d surprise me, like in my car or along my road-race routes. He visited my mom at the hospital. He made sure
I didn’t flunk out, he didn’t treat me like an egg that was about to break, and he made it so that I wasn’t angry and bitter
all the time. It’s hard to dump a guy like that even if you’re growing apart. Or living apart. Or both. Is that enough information
for you?”

Brooke cocked her head, deep in thought. Molly wondered if they were having a Moment.

“Yeah, you know what? I’m more bored now than I was before,” Brooke said.

She skipped back to the computer and started typing with great verve, if not any increase in speed. Molly blew out her cheeks.
Obviously, Brooke had just wanted to get under her skin in an attempt to ruin her evening with Brick. The girl was more transparent
than a window.

It hadn’t worked: Molly was jazzed. With no offense to Danny, this date was one of the most important she’d ever been on in
her life. She took one last look at herself in the mirror and then checked her watch. Six fifteen. She’d be right on time.

I hope this goes well. I hope he likes me.

It felt like a ridiculous thought to have after weeks under Brick’s roof, but somehow, Molly still felt like she was auditioning
for a role she hadn’t nabbed yet. Everything else faded into the background as Molly gazed at herself and saw Brick’s dimple
in her nervously smiling face and hoped he would see it, too.

Please,
please
like me, Dad.

SOUND BOUNCED SO ENTHUSIASTICALLY
off the rustic stone walls of Campanile’s high-ceilinged dining room, Molly was surprised Brick even noticed his phone had
rung. She was beginning to suspect that his brain worked on a special BlackBerry frequency that would allow him to hear it
even if he were sitting on an exploding hydrogen bomb.

“Ryan Gosling? Are you crazy? The part is written for a woman, Caroline,” Brick boomed into the phone.

Brick had sworn he had to take this call in order to meet some production deadline or other, so Molly let her gaze wander
around the funky setting. Campanile was a refurbished late-twenties-era building set back a bit from the surrounding storefronts
on La Brea, complete with what
looked like a bell tower poking up at the sky and a dining area divided by beautiful old archways. The crowd was an interesting
mix: She spied a few of the usual way-underdressed and crazy-overdressed types she was getting used to seeing out and about
in Los Angeles, but mostly it was a refreshingly regular assortment of girls in jeans and guys in cargo pants, most of whom
seemed like they were washing away a hectic workday by tucking into the restaurant’s famous gourmet grilled-cheese sandwiches.
Or, in the case of the couple seated to their right under one of the mosaics—where the woman looked dazed as the guy flicked
through photos of his cat on an iPhone—a first date that wasn’t going very well. Molly wondered if those two would even make
it to dinner, much less dessert.

“How is Lark Rodkin going to impregnate her if she is
Ryan Gosling
?” Brick’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Try that tapenade, it’s tangy!”

Molly felt like she was on a five-second delay—that’s about how long it took to realize that last bit was aimed at her. Brick
had a maddening ability to conduct phone and in-person conversations simultaneously, and indistinguishably. When he sighed,
“Who the hell bleaches her knees?” Molly thought she was supposed to answer before she noticed Brick had his BlackBerry clamped
to his left ear. Moments earlier she’d needed to explain to their jittery waiter that Brick was, in fact, trying to order
the Grilled Alaskan King Salmon, and not the Grilled Deviated Septum My Ass.

“Lady Gaga is
not
doing the sound track,” Brick said forcefully at poor, disembodied Caroline, whoever she was. “I don’t trust people who don’t
wear pants.”

He hung up with an aggressive punch of a button.

“I’m so sorry, Sunshine,” he said. “But don’t you think I’m right? Our thighs should be our greatest mystery.”

“Sounds right to me.” Molly passed him the bread basket.

Brick looked around as if nervous that people might see, then burrowed through it until he came up with a seeded wheat roll.

“The carbs are complex,” he winked as he split it in two with his thumbs. “Even my trainer can’t be too mad. Now, tell me,
how is school? A good academic environment is like Bowflex for the mind.”

Molly hesitated. Now that she had his full attention, she wanted to confide in Brick about how it had
really
been, thanks to the problems she and Brooke were having. But it seemed dirty to pull him into the middle of it, like she
was tattling the first chance she got. Besides, maybe Brooke had the right idea earlier: The sooner Brick thought the two
of them were getting along, the sooner she’d get back her own room.

“I might try out for cross-country,” she said instead.

Joy washed over Brick’s face. “That is a spectacular idea! We can work out together!” he said. “Exercising is one of the best
ways to bond! It’s like my trainer says: If you love something, sweat it free!”

“That would be—”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt you, Brick,” a woman said, leaning over their table in a tank top cut so low that Molly could see
the top of one of her nipples. “But that scene in
Tequila Mockingbird
where you disarmed the bomb with your teeth was amazing. Could I get an autograph?”

This was the third autograph Brick had given, and they weren’t even halfway into their appetizers.

“You can just sign this,” the woman said, presenting her sun-damaged right breast the way Vanna White revealed a letter on
Wheel of Fortune
.

Molly turned her inadvertent snort into a cough. Judging from the expressions of the unimpressed diners surrounding them,
it had been a long time—possibly forever—since someone had her boob signed in Campanile. Although the first-date couple didn’t
seem to notice; he had now progressed to showing her the dry skin around his thumbs, while she focused very hard on getting
one piece of lettuce on her fork.

Brick finished with a flourish. “Thank you so much,” the woman cooed, reaching into her Dolce & Cabbana handbag—it was a nice
try, but the letter was obviously not a G—to remove a folded piece of paper. “Call me sometime.”

Brick chuckled. “That was sweet,” he said, tossing the paper into the bread basket. “Now, I’m glad you’ll be pursuing team-oriented
cardio, but how are your studies? Education is very important, Sunshine. You can’t spell ‘dream’ without ‘read.’ I learned
that when I made a PSA about the Library of Congress.”

“Well, I think—” Molly began, but she was interrupted by Brick’s buzzing BlackBerry. He glanced at the screen and shot Molly
an apologetic smile.

“This will only take a minute. It’s my lawyer. Ed, talk to me.”

Molly sighed. The work interruptions almost made her nostalgic for the ten ridiculous minutes Brick had spent talking to the
bartender about the tragic nonexistence of low-calorie whiskey. She began to wish she’d brought a magazine—or weirder, that
Brooke had come, because at least she’d be company during the lulls. As it was, she picked at her beet salad and tried to
decide if that guy browsing in the wine room was Stephen Colbert.

“Are you done with your salads?” the waiter whispered.

“Incendiary nonsense!” Brick shouted.

The waiter recoiled, looking like he wanted to weep into his apron.

“It’s not you,” Molly whispered. “Just take the plates.”

Brick heaved another exasperated sigh as the waiter scuttled away.

“I am
turning this off
,” he told her, and did so with a flourish. “Precious girl, forgive me for being so distracted. Work is valuable, but family
is
in
valuable.”

He made as if to reach for his BlackBerry again, but stopped himself. “Remind me to write that down later.”

“You can do it now,” Molly offered as their server returned and slid a plate in front of each of them.

“No! This is quality father-daughter time,” Brick insisted,
prodding his salmon with his dinner fork. “How’s the play going? If your costuming is anywhere near as good as Laurel’s was,
it’s going to be the best-dressed production in town. Even better than
Avalanche!
, unless Patricia Field finally comes to her senses. Do
you
think Lark Rodkin would wear manpris? Because I do not.”

Molly felt a wave of affection, mixed with some residual irritation that he’d shanghaied her into doing the costumes at all.
He could have simply
asked
her; Molly would’ve agreed just to avoid further drama. But Brick didn’t know that was how she operated. He didn’t know her
at all, really, and at their current rate, he might never.

Maybe I
should
just tell him everything.
Brick had been so cool after the
Hey!
party, so understanding and surprisingly insightful, that Molly was seized with optimism that he’d have the same reaction
now. History was on her side. And then she could move back across the hall, and no blood would be shed.

“The play is going okay,” she began slowly. “But I think… with all due respect… I know you thought if Brooke and I lived and
worked together that we’d grow to love each other. And hopefully that will still happen. But right now all that togetherness
seems to be making things worse. It might be doing a lot of damage, actually.”

Satisfied, she chanced a peek at her father. He was tapping away on his iPhone. Since when did Brick have
two
phones?

“I should never have given Harvey my e-mail address,”
Brick said with a convivial eye-roll. “But he’s trying to make us use mountain goats even though I specifically asked for
yaks. It’s like people don’t even care.”

Molly shoved a piece of coq au vin into her mouth to keep herself from screaming. Even the first-date couple seemed to be
having a better time now than she was: He’d grabbed the woman’s hand so she could feel what seemed to be the edge of a steel
plate in his pectoral region, which, however unlikely, appeared to be the right aphrodisiac.

“Anyway, so glad to hear the play is working out,” Brick said. “Now tell me where you are emotionally. Spiritually. In
here
.” He tapped his heart with his fork.

“Well, I’m feeling better, I swear,” she started.

“I’m so proud of you,” Brick said, squeezing her arm. “You have been so brave, Sunshine. And if your mother were here, she
would be so happy to see how you’re thriving.”

“Thanks,” Molly said. “It’s still hard sometimes, though.”

Brick looked deeply sympathetic. “Of course it is. Tell me more,” he said.