American Beauty (20 page)
Ben helped Anna off the bus onto a circular driveway large enough to support a fleet of fighter jets. The patio surface was illuminated by rose-colored floodlights high atop stanchions. Remarkable. She realized they weren’t standing on asphalt at all.
“It’s mosaic,” Ben exclaimed. “Can you imagine how much work it was, laying this down tile by tile?”
Anna pointed. “Look closely. It’s full of mathematical formulas.”
“Well, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised.” Ben swept back the lock of hair that had flopped onto his forehead. He was dressed comfortably in jeans and a blue work shirt. “Pashima’s father gets a penny every time someone clicks a computer mouse. Or something like that. Ready to head in?”
Anna nodded. To get to the front door, they trod a mica path that followed the curvature of the building. The structure itself was magnificent. Perched at the edge of one of the promontories that gave Pacific Palisades its name, Pashima’s house was as long as two football fields, with the side closest to the ocean almost entirely made of glass.
As they approached the front door, they had to give their names to a guard in a black uniform, dark sunglasses, and a Secret Service-style earpiece. He typed their names into his Sidekick and waited for some kind of confirmation. Then he waved them toward a black glass door that slid up as they approached.
“Welcome! You’re Ben Birnbaum and Anna Percy, right? We’ve been expecting you! Welcome to my house!”
The girl greeting them was built like a midget sumo wrestler, with dark hair that had been flat-ironed into submission, and smooth olive skin. She wore a bowling shirt from the Mar Vista Bowl-O-Drome and white cotton painter’s pants from OSH Hardware. “I’m Pashima, your hostess. I’m
so
glad you’re here, Anna. You too, Ben!”
Anna was a bit taken aback. Clearly, the security guy had warned Pashima that she and Ben were about to enter. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
“Don’t thank me, thank my daddy. He’s a genius!” Pashima exclaimed. “He practically invented the Internet.”
All righty, then
. Anna gazed around the amazing foyer, which featured a floor-to-ceiling saltwater aquarium complete with coral reef. Huge parrot fish dominated the seascape, along with various other tropical fish. The rest of the entryway was stark and white, with sea-themed sculptures atop white marble stands dotting the gleaming white tile floor.
Pashima looked Anna up and down. Then her eyes narrowed, her gracious hostess face a thing of the past. “Didn’t anyone tell you about the price tag rule for outfits? You don’t want your school to forfeit, do you?” Then she touched the fabric of Anna’s dress. “Oh, I see. It really is cheap shit. Well, okay, then.” She smiled, the radiant hostess once again. “Have fun. Dee Young and her boyfriend are out there. What is she taking? I swear, she was totally coherent when she arrived. And Sam Sharpe’s with that hot Spanish guy. Just between you and me, is she
paying
him to pretend to be her boyfriend?”
“The hot Spanish guy’s name is Eduardo,” Anna filled in, her tone frosty. She was quickly learning to despise Pashima as much as Sam and Cammie did. Sam had called her the night before, giddy with the news that she and Eduardo were back together. Anna had been thrilled to hear it—almost as thrilled as she’d been to share the word that the weirdness she’d felt with Ben was over. “He’s lucky to be her boyfriend.”
“Oh, relax, Anna. I was only
joking
! You’ll see that Pacific Palisades kids don’t bite. Food’s on the second floor, fashion-contest photographer at the first guesthouse, and the band is supposed to start in forty-five minutes. Here’s a schedule and a map, cuz this place is, like, huge.” Pashima pressed a piece of heavy parchment paper into Anna’s hand. “Okay, you two, go have fun!” She was already moving toward a group of girls who had just entered, all of whom wore cheap cotton shorts with faux Fendi scarves twisted into bra tops. “Natalie! Kendall! Madison!”
Anna and Ben took that as their cue to wander off. The room adjoining the foyer was an art gallery, featuring dozens of late-twentieth-century works from such downtown New York City artists as Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Futura 2000, and Kenny Scharf. Anna could almost hear her mother’s approving cluck-clucks as she checked out one of Rodney Alan Greenblatt’s cartoon-inspired paintings.
The next room, though—an indoor picnic area with teakwood patio furniture, an actual bubbling spring, and a skylight roof that opened to the second floor—had plenty of action. There were lots of people drinking beer and dancing to Fall Out Boy being piped through a hidden sound system, while waitresses in 1950s carhop uniforms with exceedingly short white skirts circulated with plates of picnic-style foods: tuna sandwiches, hot dogs on buns, plates of potato salad and cole slaw, and actual s’mores. The s’mores made Anna smile—she hadn’t actually eaten one since the summer after seventh grade. Then she heard her name. “Anna. Anna!”
She turned—Sam was coming toward her, grinning happily, wearing her black stretch pants and fuzzy off-the-shoulder sweater. “I’m so happy, even in this piece-of-shit outfit!” She threw herself into Anna’s arms. Eduardo stood just behind her, gazing at Sam as if she were more precious than all the art in this outsized home. Anna knew that look from Ben—she had missed it so much earlier in the week, when things were so peculiar between them.
Thank God that’s over
.
“It’s good to see you again, Anna,” Eduardo told her, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He wore jeans and a baby-blue T-shirt under a blue Polo; perfectly under-dressed for the occasion. “And thanks again for telling me where Sam was.”
Sam put her hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Now I get to introduce you to one of the truly great guys in the world. Eduardo, I want you to meet Ben Birnbaum.
Finally
.
Eduardo stretched out a hand; Ben shook it firmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Ben declared. “You’ve got a great girlfriend.”
Eduardo put his hands on Sam’s waist. “I know that.”
Anna recalled Sam telling her how she and Ben had made out at the party after a bat mitzvah once—that Ben was the first boy she had ever French kissed. Funny, the story hadn’t made her jealous then, and it didn’t make her jealous now. It just seemed sweet.
“What do you think of the place, Anna?” Sam asked. “Have you guys been out back?”
Anna shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Well, come on. Prepare to be blown away. Who knows? You might even meet the definitely-not-divine Miss Stefanie.”
Facing north toward Malibu, Anna could see the twinkling lights of communities all the way up the coast to Santa Barbara. There were three aquamarine swimming pools, each one jutting out over the one below it by some miracle of engineering. A five-foot-high waterfall flowed from the third-floor pool into the second-floor pool; another waterfall spilled from that pool into the main pool. Meanwhile, a tiny computer console embedded in the wall was programmed to change the underwater lighting scheme, as well as fire a series of lasers into the waterfalls. Lilies and rose petals floated on the pool surfaces, while beautiful long-haired models dressed as mermaids and mermen sat around the perimeters, fins swishing in the water.
The rear area teemed with partygoers, and the wait-staff continued the nautical theme, going from group to group with seafood appetizers—jumbo prawns on braised endive leaves, Beluga caviar with
fromage blanc
, cracked lobster bites wrapped in maple-infused bacon. What these pricey foods had to do with the theme of cheap, Anna had no idea.
Just beyond the pool, a band was setting up on a portable stage. Anna checked the schedule to determine that this was Goes to Eleven—graduating senior Felicia Finn (
“Felicia is a proud member of the Pacific Palisades graduating class whose father wrote Goes to Eleven’s first smash college-radio hit, ‘Inside Doubt’—thanks, Mr. Finn!”
) was responsible for the band’s appearance.
“How excessive,” Anna commented, still scanning the schedule. “Let’s see, we can have our tarot cards read and get henna or real tattoos in the second guesthouse. Swedish massage and reflexology are in the third guesthouse.”
“That’s nothing,” Ben scoffed. “The United States Olympic women’s gymnastics team is in the home gym giving floor exercise demonstrations.”
Just as Anna was going to suggest they get some food, a brief but dazzling fireworks display erupted overhead, to oohs and aahs from the crowd. When it was over, a tall girl with blunt-cut platinum-blond hair hurried toward them.
“Anna! Anna!”
“Who’s that?” Anna mouthed to Ben.
“Not a clue,” Ben admitted.
The girl, though, knew exactly who they were.
“Anna Percy, right? I’m Stefanie Weinstock. Thanks so much for coming, I’ve heard so much about you.”
Stefanie took Anna’s hands in hers. She had high cheekbones and a longish face, with slightly too much chin, looking not unlike a much younger version of Cher, if Cher had had her plastic surgery as a teenager. Her lips were absolutely perfect—whether they were natural, plumped up with silicone, or fortified with fat sucked from her butt was impossible to determine—and her eyes were Bambi-esque and honey-colored, with eyelash extensions. She wore a burnt-orange faux-silk sheet wrapped in a complicated fashion that resulted in a pretty authentic-looking sari; and there was a small orange jewel in the middle of her forehead. “You’re even cuter than everyone said you were. I
mean
it.”
How to respond to this flattering comment?
Stefanie gave Anna no chance to respond. “You know that Sam, Cammie, Dee, and I used to be dear friends. Then we moved and lost touch. I’ve missed them so much. This is like a big, happy family reunion.”
Either this girl was the greatest liar Anna had ever met, or her ability to rewrite history with a straight face was impressive.
When in doubt, do what the Big Book says.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Anna replied. Before she could introduce Ben, Stefanie was hugging him. “Of course I know who you are. Girls at my school drooled over you. How’s Princeton?”
“Great.” He extricated himself from her embrace. “Uh, nice party.”
“Well, Pash and I tried to make it really special for you guys. So listen, Anna. You need to get down to get your photo taken for the contest, because the voting will happen in an hour. Think of it as running for antiprom queen. I heard Sam won at yours. That must have been something. Got your receipts?”
“Definitely.”
“Great. Well, tonight it all about making memories,” Stefanie gushed. “So Anna, scoot scoot scoot down to guesthouse one for me, will you? You’re a sweetheart!”
Anna watched Stefanie rush to another group of kids and embrace them like long-lost family. “My mother has friends so plastic they could rival Barbie. But Stefanie makes them seem genuine.”
Ben winked at her. “I say we just laugh the whole thing off and cut out of here early.” He brushed some hair from her cheek. “I was thinking of us, alone, a roaring fire …”
“Hopefully in a fireplace.”
“Hopefully in my fireplace. My parents are still out of town.”
“Lucky us,” Anna murmured.
Ben kissed her softly. “No. Lucky
me
.”
Anna sighed with happiness. Thank God everything was right between them. As long as she had Ben, she could make it through graduation with both of her parents, her sister, and her sister’s extremely crunchy boyfriend swarming around her.
No matter how insane it got with her family—and it was bound to get insane, because it always did—Ben would be the calm at the center of the storm.
“H
ELLO TO PASHIMA AND STEFANIE’S FRIENDS. ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?” Jett James, the lead singer of Goes to Eleven, posed the challenge to the crowd—the response from the party-goers was deafening as they streamed to the dance floor that that been laid down in front of the stage.
When the band launched into its monster hit, “Inside Doubt,” Ben couldn’t help but smile: The girls who were usually the epitome of chic were now the epitome of cheap. The ones with a sense of humor had left the price tags attached to their clothes, the 99 Cent Store and Kmart markings flapping in the breeze as they danced.
Funny how much could change in a year, he mused. Last year he’d had a blast at the version of this party that had been held at the Malibu beach home of an outrageous 1970s glam rocker whose daughter was in Ben’s class. This year, he couldn’t wait for Anna to come back from the bathroom so they could retire to more comfortable quarters.
Two very soft, small hands clamped down over his eyes. “Guess who?”
Fuck no, Ben thought. That’s impossible.
It wasn’t. Blythe launched herself into his arms.
“Surprise! Glad to see me, lover?”
“No.” He immediately pulled her hands off of him. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing you’re doing. I got invited.” She twirled to show off her outfit; her jet-black hair swished against her high cheekbones. “Like my dress? It’s Yamamoto. I figured since I’m in college I can wear what whatever I wanted.”
The Yamamoto was a low-cut coral baby doll. She’d paired it with thigh-high melon-and-raspberry suede boots. The combination was devastating.
Ben didn’t give a shit. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
“Do I look like I’m laughing? Come on, lighten up, Ben. It’s a party.”
“I can’t believe you would show up here and—”
“Ben and Blythe! I knew you two would find each other!” Stefanie came over to them practically on the dead run, shouting to make herself heard over the pounding music.
“Excuse us a minute,” Ben told Blythe, then took Stefanie’s arm and led her toward the pool and away from the band and Blythe.
“What’s she doing here?” he asked urgently, once they were out of earshot.
Stefanie looked hurt. “I invited a bunch of college kids because I thought you and some other people would be more comfortable. My friend Blake Goldenberg who goes to Princeton told me that you guys knew each other.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”