“Hey, Sammikins!”
A bald guy with an unfortunate lack of chin cut between Sam and her line of vision of Ben, instantly enveloping her in a bear hug. Ken Bertram had produced one of Sam’s father’s few stinker films. Once he’d had a lot of power. These days he was “Ken who?”
“I heard your dad was getting married today.”
“He did.” Sam edged this way and that, trying to keep an eye on Ben and Anna.
“Great. Hey, I sent a nice gift.”
In other words, you weren’t invited, Sam thought.
“So, the little girl is all grown up. Tell me what you’ve been up—”
Though she was tempted to tell Mr. Bertram to save his breath for someone who wanted to help his career out of the toilet, Sam settled for a “Can you excuse me? My friend is about to kill herself, so I really need to go.”
“Oh, wow—”
Sam cut around the aging producer and headed straight for Ben and Anna. “Hey, you guys!” She hugged Anna first, then Ben. “Anna, Adam said he’d chew off his own arm if you didn’t dance with him as soon as you arrived. He’s right over there.” She pointed vaguely toward the band and then grasped Ben’s hand. “Time for that rain check you promised me. You don’t mind, do you, Anna?”
“No, of course not.”
“Fantastic. So, we’ll find you after.” She tugged Ben toward the center ring dance floor. At that moment the gods smiled upon her, because the band segued into a ballad.
“Oh, I love this song.” Sam wrapped her arms around Ben’s neck, which left him little choice but to slide his arms around her waist or look like a total asshole. She gazed up at him as they swayed to the music. “So, having fun?”
“Sure.”
“I’m glad.” Sam snuggled a little closer and closed her eyes for just a moment, pretending that Ben really was hers. Ben leaned back a bit.
“So, what have you been up to, Sam?”
“Not much. Figuring out the meaning of life, that kind of thing.”
He chuckled. “That sounds like something Anna would say.”
How irritating. It wasn’t as if Ben really
knew
Anna. Sam’s mind scrambled for something, anything, to turn the conversation away from wonderful Anna with her perfect legs and—
“Next.” Cammie neatly ducked under Sam’s raised arms, dislodged her friend from Ben, and slid her own arms where Sam’s had just been. “Well, hello there.”
“Hey!” Sam objected.
“Come on—,” Ben began.
“I’d love to,” Cammie purred.
Sam refused to move. “We were dancing, Cammie. In case you didn’t notice.”
“Yuh. I’m sorry,” Cammie said. “But you really need to go wipe that black crap off your face, Sam. Seriously. You look like a football player on ’ludes.”
Sam knew Cammie was psyching her out, but she couldn’t help herself; she swiped at the charcoal below one of her eyes.
Ben dropped his arms and stepped out of Cammie’s embrace. “You know, why don’t the two of you dance together? Tonight you’d make a great couple.”
Sam felt herself flush. “Why would you say something like that?”
“You weren’t exactly gracious to Anna before, Sam.”
“
Me?
Not gracious?” Sam protested. “I’m nice to
everyone
.”
“Come on, Sam. You called her a ‘B-list slut.’”
Sam flushed. “Only because I thought she was working an angle to get into the wedding. You have to admit, it’s a distinct possibility.”
“No, Sam, it isn’t.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Ben,” Cammie agreed smoothly. “You always did have excellent taste in girls.”
Sam whirled on Cammie. “You hate her guts.
You’re
the one who stepped on her dress!”
As The Giraffes stormed into something with three chords and a headbanging beat, Ben left Cammie and Sam to argue with each other and ducked out in search of Anna. But Cammie turned and went after him. She caught up with Ben in front of the fun house and snagged his arm.
“Hey.” She shook her red curls out of her eyes. “That’s the first time
I
ever chased
you.
Take it as a compliment.”
“Right,” he said, impatient to reunite with Anna. “What’s up?”
Cammie’s tongue flickered over her upper lip. “I … I really need to tell you something.”
“Okay. What?”
“Not here.”
Ben frowned. “Cammie, I really don’t have time to—”
“Come on.” She tugged on his hand.
“Forget it, Cammie. I’ve got a date. Remember?”
“Ben.” She lowered her eyes. When she raised them again, they were teary. “It’s very important. And … personal. Please.”
Ben hesitated. Cammie knew she had him ten seconds before he knew he’d been had. After all, Ben was a gentleman. The waterworks/groveling thing always worked with gentlemen. They were just so utterly predictable.
He held up two fingers. “Two minutes, Cammie. I mean it.”
“Fine. Time me.” She led him inside the fun house. It was so well soundproofed that inside they could barely hear the band. She led him down a dead end to a cocoonlike room completely lined—floor included—in crazy mirrors.
“Cammie—”
“Shhh.” She put a finger to his lips and snaked her arms around his neck. Then she gave him a soft, sexy kiss that promised much more. “That’s what I wanted to tell you,” she whispered.
“Dammit, Cammie.” He stepped away from her. But Cammie heard the ragged edge to his voice and knew that her kiss had affected him.
She moved in again, molding her body to his. “Come on, Ben. You know you want me.”
He pushed her away. “Cut it out.”
Ben was turning her down? The bastard was actually
turning her down?
Cammie was livid, but she didn’t let it show. Instead she smiled, cool as always. “So. She’s that good, Ben?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I wouldn’t know.”
She barked a short laugh. “Liar.”
“Think what you want. I don’t really care. I like this girl. A lot. And I’m not about to blow that for a quickie with you. Now are you leaving with me, or are you staying?”
She didn’t move, so he turned and stormed away. Cammie and her many images fractured by the crazy mirrors watched him depart. She could feel her throat tighten. Why did she have to care about him so much? It hurt. She gritted her teeth, refusing to give in to cheap sentiment. So Ben really cared about Anna. Well, that wouldn’t last. A girl like Anna was like skim milk—you felt virtuous drinking it, but eventually you just had to have a milk shake.
Cammie knew that she was the milk shake. With whipped cream and a cherry on top.
10:01
P.M
., PST
“T
wo hours till midnight!” The Giraffes’ lead singer yelled into the microphone. “Lemme see you people par-
tay!
” The band went into another hard-pounding tune. From the rooftops of buildings surrounding the circus set, silver confetti rained down on the crowd.
“This is so awesome,” Adam told Anna over the cacophony. “I heard there’s going to be fireworks at midnight. So, would you like to dance again?”
Anna hesitated. Adam was a truly decent guy. But she had a
date.
A date she hadn’t seen in twenty minutes. Where was Ben?
“I think I’d like to just go find something to drink.”
“I’ll get it for you. What do you want?”
“Flat water with lime would be great.”
He laughed. “It’s New Year’s Eve and you’re not drinking?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Back in a jiff. Don’t move a muscle.” He took off like a man on a mission.
Anna edged her way to the outside of the center ring, still looking for Ben. The party was fun in an over-the-top kind of way, an appropriate follow-up to the over-the-top wedding. It certainly wasn’t the kind of party she’d normally go to. The problem, however, was that she wasn’t really having all that much fun. She and Ben had hardly spent any time alone the entire evening. Wildly attracted to him as she was, she still barely knew him.
She felt the vibration of the cell phone in her little evening purse and plucked it out, holding one finger in her ear to help her hear. “Hello?”
“Anitscyn!”
Anna couldn’t hear at all. “Hold on a minute!” she yelled into the phone, and backed into a small alleyway, partially shielding herself from the band. “Again, please?”
“Anna? It’s Cyn!”
“Cyn!” Hearing her best friend’s voice made her feel better instantly. “Happy New Year!”
“The stroke of midnight was a blast. I wanted to catch you before your witching hour. Are we having fun yet?”
“Well, I’m at a party at Warner Brothers,” Anna replied.
“Really? With?”
“His name is Ben. He goes to Princeton—I met him on the plane.”
“You shameless hussy!” Cyn exclaimed, laughing. “I am so proud of you.”
Anna smiled. “I’m wearing my mental WWCD bracelet. What Would Cyn Do?”
“Speaking of,” Cyn said. “I didn’t. With Scott.”
It took Anna a moment to understand, and then her heart leaped. “No? Maybe … you’re not ready.”
“Ha! Even as we speak, I’m locked in a bathroom at this off-the-hook loft party in SoHo that is showing zero signs of ending. I’m wearing this amazing Betsy Johnson dress and the world’s sexiest underwear. Think how great I’ll look when Scott undresses me by the dawn’s early light.”
To Anna’s dismay, that image still twisted her heart around. She heard a pounding noise over the phone.
“Take a hike, I’m sick in here!” she heard Cyn yell. “Anna? Some asshole is banging on the door. I’d better go.”
Anna held the phone tightly. “I’m so glad you called, Cyn. Have a great time tonight!”
“You too. I miss you insanely. Hey, I hope what’s-his-name turns out to be the guy of your dreams, Anna. You deserve it.”
They said their good-byes, and Anna slipped her phone back into her bag. Everything was so mixed up in her mind. How could she still care whether or not Cyn had sex with Scott? And why was it that when she was with Ben, she didn’t think about Scott at all?
And where the hell
was
Ben?
Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Excuse me, but my friend and I were just saying that you are by far the best-looking woman at this party,” said a bald man with a salt-and-pepper goatee, which gave him the odd appearance of having his head on upside down. He waved toward the crowd to indicate where his “friend” was.
The Cyn-making-out-with-a-middle-aged-guy-whose-name-she-never-got moment flew into Anna’s head. Why couldn’t she do something like that? She damn well could, if she wanted to. She looked Middle-Aged Goatee Man in the eye. And the idea of kissing him made her want to puke.
“Thanks,” Anna said. “I’m flattered.”
“Gerard Maxwell. I’m a producer. Call me Jerry. I’m sure you’ve seen some of my films.”
“I don’t go to the movies all that much,” Anna said politely. She looked over the man’s head, hoping to see Ben in the crowd. No such luck.
“No bullshit,” Jerry said, stroking his goatee. “You got it going on.” His gin-soaked breath wafted in Anna’s direction. It was everything she could do not to wave her hand in front of her face to try to disperse the odor.
“Nice to meet you, Jerry. Excuse me, please.” Anna began to edge past him.
“Wait, wait, just a second. Seriously.”
Anna sighed and turned back to the man. “What?”
“I’m rich,” Jerry announced.
“How nice for you,” Anna said in her frostiest Jane Percy tone. “And now I really have to—”
“I just want to ask you one thing.”
Anna was trying to conjure up a What Would Cyn Do-type “fuck off” when the producer leaned close and asked, “How much?”
Anna had zero idea what he was talking about. “Sorry?”
“For the night. For me and a friend. Together.”
Suddenly Anna understood. And felt like a total idiot for not having caught on sooner. This boor thought she was a hooker.
“Name your price, baby,” Jerry went on, raising his voice. “It’s New Year’s Eve, and I got the money, honey!” He pulled a fistful of bills from his pocket and waved them in Anna’s face. People around them snickered.
For the first time Anna thought how slutty she must look in her ridiculous vinyl leopard pants and heels. What had been so funny and sexy with Ben was now just trashy and embarrassing.
“Come on, baby,” Jerry wheedled. “That other chick told us you were up for anything.”
Anna bristled. “What ‘other chick’?”
“Red curls, body that won’t quit?”
Anna knew instantly. Cammie Sheppard. Cammie had told this walking pond scum that she was a hooker. In the
Hustler
store outfit she was wearing, she could see how he’d believe it.
Did Cammie really think this would help her get Ben? Or was it personal now, and she just wanted to humiliate Anna one more time? It was all such a massive waste of time and energy. Maybe she should take up tae kwon do, or kickboxing, or something that would allow her to simply kick Cammie’s ass so that the girl would stop playing all these mind games.
Well, no time for that now. She’d have to kick her ass mentally. WWCD?
“Tell you what.” Anna dropped her voice confidentially. “You go tell the girl with the red curls and the body that won’t quit that if she’s in, I’m in. That is, if you can handle both of us.”
Jerry grinned widely. “
Now
you’re talking.”
“Give her the money. She and I are very … close. What’s mine is hers. If you know what I mean. So, we’ll meet you at”—she racked her brains for the name of a Los Angeles hotel—“the bar at the Century Plaza. At midnight.”
“Oh yeah, baby, I am down with that.” Jerry was practically drooling as he pushed into the crowd to get back to Cammie.
Asshole. Anna hoped some flying Wallenda on the trapeze would swan dive onto the idiot’s head. She took off in the opposite direction but didn’t get more than thirty feet before Sam grabbed her arm.
“Where’s Ben?” Sam demanded. Anna noticed that the charcoal she’d smudged around her eyes was gone.
They both heard Ben’s voice. “Right here.” He edged toward them, three drinks in his hands. “With refreshments.”
“You mean to tell me you left Anna alone
all this time?
” Sam asked, as if Anna were her very best friend in the world.