Beautiful Disaster (12 page)

What she saw next would change Christina for the rest of her life. It was an image that she would never forget. And it was a way out that she would never again consider.

She saw Zack Webber with his wrists sliced open, lying in a pool of his own blood.

From: Keiko

Everything is in place. Let’s rock.

9:47 am 4/25/06

T
he Cessna Citation Bravo approached a private airstrip in Madison, Mississippi.

From his pedestal-mounted ivory leather-upholstered swivel chair, Max had spent most of the flight in cellular conference with Keiko.

If he knew one thing about the sushi bitch, it was this: She gave good activism. Within hours of discovering Christina’s whereabouts, Keiko had cobbled together a grassroots protest to rival the immigration demonstrations. She had also compiled a revealing dossier on Pastor Chet Hobbs, the director of Salvation Pointe and CEO of Holy Waters, a megachurch with a congregation boasting over three thousand members.

Max scrolled through the information on his Sidekick II. On paper, Chet Hobbs appeared to be the Stepford religious leader. He was in his mid-thirties with charismatic good looks, a pretty wife, three adorable children, and the proper credentials from Bob Jones University.

Hobbs had scaled the ranks of the Jesus-as-business-model world high and fast, commandeering his own place of worship at a young age and making a name for himself with a big entertainment style. His sermons featured large projection screens, a twelve-piece stage band, and were routinely overseen by a lighting designer.

Salvation Pointe, now in its fourth year of operations and bringing in an average of three million dollars per year, had been Hobbs’s dream project, going from napkin brainstorm sketch to ribbon-cutting ceremony within two years. And already it was widely considered
the
market leader in the controversial gay-prevention program industry.

“This shit is un-freaking-believable!” Max exclaimed, glancing up to engage Vanity and Dante, who sat opposite him on the chartered plane. “It says here that since Salvation Pointe opened its doors in 2002, there have been
three
onsite suicides.”

Vanity gasped. “Oh my God.”

“How can they still be in operation?” Dante asked.

“State and federal authorities don’t provide much oversight because it’s religious-based,” Max explained, his nimble fingers working fast on the device. “And if the parents are brain-dead enough to send their kid to this kind of place, I’m sure they’re too stupid to question what’s really going on there.”

Vanity grinned, secretly amused by something.

Max did a double take. “What?”

“Nothing…I just never imagined that you of all people would become so political,” Vanity said, still smiling. Pride shone from her eyes.

“Who, me?” Max asked cockily, gesturing to the one-size-too-small red Che Guevara T-shirt hugging his body and enhancing his biceps. “I’m a rebel, baby.”

Dante chuckled. “I think the last thing you campaigned against was MACPA’s crackdown on oral sex in the school parking lot.”

“At the time it was an important issue,” Max insisted lightly. “I was in
my
car on
my
lunch period. For me, it was a matter of basic human rights.”

Dante shook his head, laughing. He glanced at Vanity, winked, and reached for her hand.

Max noticed how she avoided Dante’s gesture with consummate skill, suddenly checking for something in her eye, even producing an exquisite jeweled compact to prolong and authenticate the moment. This wasn’t the same couple from the Improv.

Max gave Vanity a curious look.

She stared back. Her eyes were hard, as if daring him to say a single word.

Max let it go. What choice did he have? Vanity had attempted to talk to him about Pippa, and he’d shut her down fast. Turnabout was fair play.

“So tell us, funny guy, when’s your next stand-up shot?” Dante asked.

“I don’t know,” Max said, somewhat distracted as he gazed out the window, taking in an endless sea of green. “I might check out the scene in L.A. The Comedy Store’s there. Plus another Improv location. I could give it a year or more. Stick around for a few pilot seasons. See what happens.”

A meaningful silence seized the small cabin.

Suddenly, Max realized that this was the first time one of them had spoken in explicit terms about post-graduation plans. “What about the two of you?”

Vanity glared at him.

Dante shrugged. “Just work on my music.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course, if my mother had her way, I’d be enrolling in a trade school.”

“Yeah, you could be a cosmetologist or a radiology tech,” Max joked. He glanced at Vanity.

She offered nothing.

Screw it. He decided to press her. “Any plans for the rest of your life, sweetheart?”

“I’m more concerned about what’s going to happen in the next thirty minutes,” Vanity said.

The Cessna had already started its descent. In the distance, Max could make out a private airstrip. He downed what remained of his cranberry juice and prepared for landing.

“Pippa’s moving to New York,” Vanity announced. “She wants to be a Rockette.”

Max made eye contact with Dante. “Your girlfriend must have me confused with someone who gives a shit.”

Dante gave Vanity a look that suggested she might consider backing off.

The plane scaled the tops of trees, the wheels trundled down, and within minutes, the aircraft hit solid ground.

“Your father tried to rape her,” Vanity said acidly. “Do you give a shit about that?”

Max was stunned. For several long, tense seconds he said nothing. “Is that what she told you?”

Vanity nodded severely. “And I saw the bruises. It happened on his private plane. The same night we were in New York at Tar Beach.”

The pilot killed the engines.

Max sat there, gripping the armrests, fighting for calm, putting it all together. He knew it was true. Instinctively, he just knew. So that was the reason why his father had been unreachable on the night Shoshanna had been fighting for her life. Because the bastard was forcing himself on Pippa. And then he had the gall to show up the next day at the hospital, play concerned papa for the paparazzi, and blame Max for everything.

If you weren’t so busy prancing around like some party-planning faggot, this never would’ve happened!
Max Biaggi had roared.

Vanity unbuckled her safety harness and leaned forward, touching Max’s knee with her fingertips. “I know this is awful. But you have to know the truth. Pippa got caught up in a bad situation. It can’t end this way, Max. Not for the two of you. And not for the rest of us, either.” Tears welled in her eyes. “There’s a reason I don’t want to think about the future. It’s because I’m afraid of what it will be without all of us together. We’re the fabulous five, right?”

Max nodded, touching her hand.

“I’ve been such a fucking mess that I’ve missed almost everything. But sometimes I feel like I got through it all because of the connections. You know? We’re connected. Even in spirit, there’s something special about all of us as a group. We’ve got a month before graduation. We can put it all together, Max. We deserve to make it the best time ever.”

Max touched his beautiful friend’s face. Gently, he rubbed out a rolling tear with his thumb. And then he laughed a little.

“What?” Vanity asked, almost hurt.

“Nothing…I just never imagined that you of all people would become so sentimental.” He smiled.

She smiled back.

“When does Pippa leave?”

“Tonight.”

Max nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it right.” He cradled Vanity’s cheek in one hand and reached out to bump Dante’s fist with his other. “We’re still four strong. But one member’s down.” He paused a beat. “Let’s go save Jap.”

Mere hours after the discovery of Zack’s body, it was business as usual at Salvation Pointe. The residents were back on schedule.

Christina, in a near catatonic state, made the walking trail around the man-made lake in a zombielike daze. She could barely put one leg in front of the other.

Jordan and Richie flanked her in a show of solidarity, as the three of them had been closest to Zack.

“I shouldn’t have broken the window,” Richie said, his voice full of guilt and remorse. “They said that’s how he did it. He found a shard of glass they missed in the cleanup. It’s my fault.”

“Stop saying that,” Jordan said. “You’re torturing yourself for no reason. If Zack hadn’t found that shard of glass, he would’ve broken his own window to get one.”

Richie expelled a deep sigh. “I still can’t believe it. He seemed so happy yesterday. Well, you know, by Salvation Pointe standards, at least. He just never struck me as the suicidal type.”

All of a sudden, Christina stopped. It was a gorgeous Mississippi spring day, the sun shining, the sky brilliant blue, the fragrant scent of honeysuckle in the air.

She admired the landscaping. The grounds were lovingly attended. Every blade of grass, every flower, every shrub, every tree was botanical garden perfect.

So how could there be so much ugliness here?

Up ahead, the team leader in charge of the walk halted and gestured for everyone to catch up, ostensibly to hear an important announcement. “Let’s go…let’s go,” he called out.

Christina cut her eyes at him savagely. Impatient prick.

His security badge pronounced him Chad K, and he was a notorious joke among the residents, with his smug attitude, color-treated dark hair, and big, white teeth. The story had gone round and round about his discharge from the marines for appearing on a military-themed sex site.

Just days after his wife had given birth to their third child, Chad K was shooting a load for the camera while a paratrooper stood over him. But he was cured now, having gone through Pastor Hobbs’s one-on-one “Soul Salvation” course.

“Attention!” Chad K shouted. “There’s been a minor change to today’s schedule. I’m sure everyone is upset about this morning’s tragedy. It’s a terrible loss. We all loved Zack. Pastor Hobbs will be leading us in prayer at a special assembly as soon as we get back.”

For Christina, the outrage was suddenly too much to bear. The sadistic hypocrisy had to stop! But before she could react, all hell broke loose.

A crowd came surging up the circular drive, crammed body to body, a marching colorful sea of
YES, I AM
! T-shirts, ripped fatigues, and rainbow flags. They were chanting loud and proud, “Being gay is okay…being gay is okay….”

At first, Christina could hardly believe her eyes. But then she fixed her gaze and knew for certain. It was Keiko leading the pack of demonstrators!

Christina dashed toward her, leaping off the paved trail and running across the freshly mowed grass, just as Salvation Pointe staff and security began appearing from all directions.

“You’re trespassing on private property!” one voice yelled.

“The police are on their way,” another voice shouted.

Breathlessly, Christina reached Keiko, embracing her tightly. “Oh my God! How did you know? How did you find me?”

“Max,” Keiko said, drawing back to get a better look at Christina. “Are you okay?”

“Yes…no…I don’t know.” Christina began to cry.

Keiko hugged her again.

But this time Christina pulled away. “It’s awful here, Keiko. A friend of mine committed suicide. I heard him being molested by the director last night. I didn’t see anything, but I
heard
it.”

Keiko nodded knowingly. “Pastor Hobbs. I’ve tracked down an ex-resident who’s willing to go on record. I’ll need to arrange a statement from you, too.”

“Of course,” Christina agreed. “Anything. Anything at all.” She turned, astonished to see a stretch Bentley racing up the drive, followed by two police vehicles, sirens screaming.

“But now you have to get out of here,” Keiko said firmly. “Go with Max. He’s in the limo. I’ll contact you later. They won’t get away with this. I swear.”

“But they’re going to arrest you!” Christina cried.

This made Keiko smile. “These are the moments that I live for.”

Two Salvation Pointe staff members were stomping toward Christina, ordering her to separate from the protesters.

“Go!” Keiko screamed.

Christina hesitated. And then she broke out in a mad run for what she knew was quite possibly her life.

The Bentley coasted to a stop, the rear passenger door opened, and Max stepped out, a glorious sight in his Tom Ford sunglasses and Che Guevara T-shirt. He opened his arms.

Christina fell directly into them, sobbing convulsively. Seeing Vanity and Dante inside the cabin, her emotions intensified.

Max kissed her forehead. “Get in, Jap. We’re going home.”

And then it dawned on Christina that she didn’t have a home anymore. This time her mother had gone too far. She needed time and space from Paulina Perez. How much she didn’t know. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“You’re staying with me at the mansion,” Max said easily. “But my family’s fucked-up, too, so I can’t promise much of a difference.”

From: Dante

We need to talk.

8:28 pm 4/25/06

H
e waited for her at Jumbo’s, an old dive on Seventh Avenue that had been around for more than fifty years. No attitude. No celebrity buzz. Just kick-ass food.

Dante’s new job running errands at Bogart Recording paid decently. But a hot Miami restaurant bill could put “decently” in the grave. So he settled for the nine-dollar Wing-Ding Deal here.

When Vanity arrived, every diner stopped to gawk at the impossibly gorgeous girl. She wore a linen-camouflage-print camisole dress, cinched by a brown leather belt that accentuated her delicious curves.

A waitress swooped in and slammed two sweet teas onto the table. If Vanity hated the place, then she hid her displeasure with kindness, quickly agreeing to a monster plate of fried chicken, onion rings, macaroni and cheese, and collard greens.

She smiled at him. “From private plane and stretch limo to this. Was today too much? Are you reasserting your humble roots?”

“It’s a tab I can afford.”

“Well, no one ever said I was after you for your money.” Vanity’s eyebrows went up.

Dante showed no reaction.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Are you? Still after me, that is?”

Vanity’s green eyes were less than candid. “I’m tired, Dante. We’ve flown to Mississippi and back, and I’ve just spent the last few hours helping Christina get settled at Max’s.”

“I think that’s the longest ‘no’ I’ve ever heard.”

She looked away, then back at him.

“I feel like you’ve had an important talk about us. Only I didn’t get to hear it.”

Vanity was silent.

“Everything was great until you went to your therapist on Sunday. Nothing’s been the same since.”

Her eyes dimmed. “Do you really think everything was so great?”

The food arrived, two heaping platters of death by carbohydrates.

But Dante’s appetite had faded. Who wanted to eat like a pig
during
a breakup talk? Regardless, he grabbed an onion ring and wolfed it down, trying to move on in his head, hoping his heart could catch up later. He thought about Max’s Pier speech.

It’s easy to get caught up in being Vanity’s boyfriend. I’ve roamed that jungle, and I got lost in it, too.

Dante shrugged at Vanity. the last thing he wanted to be was her K-Fed. “Well, the sex was great.”

Vanity looked possibly offended. Apparently, she was still trying to decide.

“Fantastic,” Dante clarified.

She grinned weakly. “It was more than that.”

“What’s better than fantastic?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He nodded yes. “So why are you bailing then?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’ve only had one year of private education, but I bet I can keep up.”

Vanity smiled. “And I thought
I
had self-esteem problems. So far tonight, you’re too poor
and
too stupid.”

“Well, my mother has always said that you rich kids would ruin me.”

She picked at her food, taking a few bites, but mostly moving it around. “Do you ever see any of your old friends? Or have we totally corrupted you?”

Dante thought about it. “Do you remember Vince? He used to be my best buddy.”

Vanity gazed back at him blankly.

“He was with me on that night we first met. You were patrolling the door at Black Sand.”

Her eyes sparkled with recognition. She nodded, grinning. “I didn’t want to let him through, did I?”

“That’s the one. Anyway, he got his girl pregnant, so he’s been spending fifty hours a week managing a Subway for the last year.” Dante sighed. “We drifted.” He began to attack the macaroni and cheese. “I can’t imagine a life like that.”

“Like what?” Vanity asked.

“Settling at seventeen. Having to divert all your energy to the daily grind of responsibility before you have a chance to see what’s out there, to dream a little bit. I admire him on one level. Most guys are selfish and don’t give a shit. But he and I had similar upbringings. So Vince is doing the right thing. But then the right thing is a pathetic existence.” He paused. “He doesn’t love her. I don’t think he even likes her. And he just turned eighteen.” Dante tore into a chicken wing and looked at her. “I thought you were supposed to be telling me why we just broke up?”

“I need breathing room.”

Dante gave her a curious glance. “Do I suffocate you?” His tone told her that he didn’t think so. If the answer was yes, then it was her problem, not his. But that was true of almost all “their” issues: they were really hers.

“You don’t suffocate me. If anything, you make my air better. But I need to breathe on my own.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“The last thing I need right now is a relationship with a guy. I mean, I’m just getting to the point where I can have a relationship with myself that isn’t completely dysfunctional.”

He pointed at her, smiling. “You’ve been in therapy too long.”

Vanity laughed. “Oh, I’m just getting started. I’ll probably become one of those obscenely self-aware people who stays in analysis
forever
.”

“Have you already broken up with me?” Dante asked. “Because
I’m
about to pull the plug here if you haven’t.”

Now they laughed together.

Vanity sipped the iced tea and winced. “Oh my God, that’s awful. It’s so sweet.
Ick
. It tastes like syrup.”

Dante shook his head. “See, we were doomed anyway. I need a down-home girl. That’s how tea is
supposed
to taste.”

Playfully, Vanity stuck out her tongue. “This is fun. It doesn’t feel weird to me. Does it feel weird to you?”

He gave her an easy shrug, Max’s Vanity forecast on the pier still ringing in his mind. It was true. Being involved with her became an all-consuming concept. And losing yourself just seemed a natural progression of that.

Dante Medina could not afford to be lost. Too much was at stake. In between errands and his other duties at Bogart Recording, Dante was allowed to take advantage of dead studio time. This gave him the chance to lay down tracks for his next song idea, which was to use Willie Nelson’s country-and-western classic “My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys” as a musical underbed for a hip-hop anthem Dante called “My Heroes Have Always Been Gangstas.” Paired with the right artist, he knew it would be a monster.

“I want us to be friends,” Vanity was saying. “I don’t want things to be awkward. We’ve only got a month until graduation. I want all of us to have a blast. Don’t you?”

“Just to be up front, I can’t go without sex for a month, so there will be another girl in the picture soon.” He grinned.

Vanity leaned forward, looked deeply into his eyes, and whispered seductively, “But I bet the thread count on her sheets won’t be nearly as high as mine.”

Dante smiled. “How about one last good-bye fu—”

Vanity cut him off. “Oh, you wish!”

“Well, then give me ten bucks, Miss Girl Interrupted. Because
friends
go Dutch.”

“So this is it,” Vanity murmured.

“For now.” Dante smiled. “Who knows? You might come crawling back, begging me to give you another chance.”

Vanity smiled. “And would you?”

“Maybe,” Dante whispered. But his eyes were saying hell yes.

“I am broken, but I am hoping/Daughter to father, daughter to father/I am crying, a part of me is dying.”

As the Lindsay Lohan track “Confessions of a Broken Heart” blasted from Pippa’s iPod, she tried vaguely to read the lips of the man yelling in her face. Finally, she cut off the device, beyond irritated.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t need a car service! You needed a
moving
service!”

Pippa stood there unaffected as the lumpy driver struggled with her Vuitton trunks and dumped them onto the sidewalk, directly in front of a kiosk for curbside baggage check-in.

Whatever. She
had
asked for an SUV. There was loads of room. The lazy oaf just didn’t want to lift anything but a bloody fork.

He finished unloading the last trunk and let roar an exaggerated grunt, after which his hands went straight to his lower back, as if seriously injured.

“Oh, please!” Pippa cried. “Stop being such a spazmotic. I have every intention of giving you a lovely tip for your trouble.”

All of a sudden, he could stand up straight again. “The fare’s seventy.” He put out his chubby hand, dirty palm up.

Pippa slapped two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills into it. “More than you deserve!”

He grunted his thanks and took off.

Hoping for assistance, Pippa tried to make eye contact with one of the Delta agents, but all of them were absurdly busy with other travelers. She huffed. One of the luggage chaps should be delighted to handle her vintage Vuitton pieces, as opposed to the dodgy bags that most people tugged around.

In preparation for the wait, Pippa plopped down on one of the trunks and crossed her legs, smoothing out her black stretch tube skirt and adjusting the neckline of her white shawl-collar three-quarter-

sleeve wrap jacket. Both were by Donna Karan.

If only everyone would dress up a bit for a trip—instead of lumbering about in tacky togs like a society of bus patrons—then the world might be a prettier place.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” the familiar voice rang out.

Startled, Pippa turned. That’s when she saw Max, impervious to the world, standing in front of his gleaming Porsche with his arms folded.

She looked away. “Las Vegas. Who knows? Maybe I’ll take a job at the Bunny Ranch.”

He strode toward her, cocky attitude in overdrive, acting like he owned not only the entire Miami International Airport, but the flight zone above it, as well. “Aren’t you overdressed for the Bunny Ranch?”

Pippa made quite a show out of ignoring him, leaning down to adjust the leather ties on her Chloe platform wedges.

“I realize it’s important to make a good first impression. But I think you’re trying too hard.”

A rush of anger rose up. Pippa could feel it burning on her cheeks. For sure he was a true Biaggi. Just like his father. Only a better version. And that made him so much worse.

“Fuck off, Max!” Pippa shouted.

All of a sudden, a man in a ghastly camp shirt and cheap khakis stepped into the fray, settling into a tough stance. “Is this guy bothering you?” He gestured to Max with an outstretched thumb.

But before Pippa could answer, Max was saying, “Actually, sir, she’s the one bothering me.”

Pippa did a pantomime to convey her disgust and annoyance.

Max smiled at her. “It’s been that way for almost a year.”

The concerned bystander, now with a more accurate read on the situation, left them to their teen drama. He moved on, muttering curses under his breath.

“It’s true, you know,” Max said.

Pippa betrayed no reaction.

Now he was standing in front of her. “I’m not any good at this.”

She glanced up. “Be more specific, Max. As far as I know, you’re not good at anything.”

He nodded slowly, the impression lingering that he had shown up tonight prepared to take a few tough jabs. “Okay, I suck at a lot of things…like apologizing for anything wrong I’ve done…telling people I love how much I care about them…admitting that half the shit I say should probably just be ignored.”

Pippa challenged him. “Only half?”

Max’s shrug was the compromise. “Okay, maybe sixty percent. When I’m sober. If I’m hammered, that percentage might go up to eighty.”

It killed her to do it, but this made Pippa crack a smile. She could feel herself thawing toward him. And the truth was, she missed Max immensely—the wild nights out, the endless talks on the phone, just the psychic comfort of having a best mate.

“Vanity told me everything,” Max began quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. You got him pretty good, though. An irrevocable million-dollar trust?
Sweet
. The son of a bitch still controls mine. So I can’t exactly sue him for emancipation. I guess I’ll just go on hating him like always.”

Pippa looked at him, her eyes gently admonishing. “Where are your principles?”

Max pointed to his Porsche. “I’m driving them. Do you want a ride?”

Pippa noticed a black SUV coast by, then speed up. She thought of Vinnie. A cold panic seized her. But just as quickly, the concern vanished. It couldn’t be him. That SUV was an Escalade and he drove a Lincoln Navigator. She sighed her relief.

“You okay?” Max asked.

“I’m fine,” Pippa insisted, waving a hand as if officially dismissing her old life and old fears. She stood up and fixed a helpless glance upon her precious trunks. “None of these will fit in your—”

Max cut her off. “Vanity warned me.” He tossed a look backward, whistled, and pointed at the massive Vuitton pile.

A car honked in dutiful acknowledgment.

“Omar followed me in one of our trucks. He’ll take care of that,” Max explained. Then he pulled Pippa in for a fast embrace. “And I’ll take care of you.” He kissed her on the lips, slowly, softly, sweetly.

Pippa touched his face, smoothing out an unruly brow as she stared into his eyes. What she saw gazing back moved her deeply. It had nothing to do with sexual objectification. It had everything to do with love and respect. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she whispered.

“What secret?”

Pippa smiled at him. “That the brattiest bastard in Miami is the nicest guy around.”