Beautiful Disaster (6 page)

Vanity watched them, feeling the tiniest pang of jealousy. She and Max would always have a strong connection. Their history tracked as far back as grade school. But day to day, their reliance on each other had faded. At one point, Pippa had become his anointed “best girl pal.” Now Christina seemed to be filling the slot.

“How’s Shoshanna?” Vanity asked.

Max’s smile dimmed. “Probably wishing she was still in a coma. She’s on her way back to Miami with Dad. But Sho could be worse than miserable. She could be in a body bag.”

There was a tense silence.

Vanity threaded her fingers through Dante’s hand.

He responded by clasping tight, his thumb caressing the top of her hand.

“Sho’s a lucky girl,” Vanity said earnestly. “So is Christina. And so am I. We’re all lucky. To be here. To have one another.” She reached for Christina.

Christina accepted the gesture and, in kind, slipped her hand into Max’s.

To complete the circle, Max reluctantly took hold of Dante’s hand. “This is a little gay, but I’m not opposed to the occasional ‘Kumbaya’ moment.”

In answer, Dante pulled Max’s hand to his lips and kissed it with a loud smack. “I love you, man.”

Vanity gave them a stern look. “Can you guys be serious for one minute?”

“Yes, of course,” Max said through a smile. But the act of trying clearly made the task more difficult. Finally, he broke up, saying, “Dude, I want to make out with you so bad.”

Dante lost it.

Vanity was beyond exasperated, turning helplessly to Christina. “It’s, like, all of a sudden they’re twelve!”

The subdued Latina merely shook her head. “
All of a sudden
?”

Dante leaned in to kiss Vanity’s cheek. “Baby, I’m sorry. Okay, no more. It’s out of my system. I’m good. Let’s do this.” He closed his eyes, refusing to look at Max.

Vanity regarded him. The impact of how handsome Dante was sometimes hit her unexpectedly. Feelings were burgeoning between them, strong romantic vibrations, and instead of trying to define it, she was content to just give in to them. The most incredible thing was that she was sober while doing it. A definite first.

“I’ll start,” Max said.

Vanity gave him a warning look.

“
Seriously
.” He cleared his throat. “I went through the scariest night of my life last night. But I didn’t go through it alone. I don’t think I could have.”

Emotion got caught in Vanity’s throat right away.

Max continued. “A piece of my heart has always been missing. I think we all have that in common. Maybe it’s the parent who’s left us. Maybe it’s the parent who’s still around but doesn’t see us. I don’t know. All I can say is that I’ve always gone through life thinking that Sho was the only family that I had. Now I know that’s not true anymore.”

There was a brief silence.

“So…are you saying that I’m like a brother?” Dante asked.

Vanity looked at her oldest friend. The glint in his eyes told her that the sentimental Max had left the building.

“Yes, you’re like a brother, you poor bastard. But that doesn’t mean I’m putting you in the will.”

Vanity laughed through her tears. She didn’t let go of Dante’s hand. She didn’t let go of Christina’s, either. She just held on to them, allowing the wonderful, connected feeling to sink in.

If only the moment could last…

From: Vanity

Exercise, tanning spa, and shopping.

Are you in for a total girl’s day?

6:04 am 4/12/06

J
ennifer Lopez jogged past with her trainer, barely out of breath and looking fabulous.

“The first mile is always my hardest,” Vanity said. “After that, I get into a zone, and the next four are easy.”

“
Five
miles?” Christina huffed.

Vanity glanced backward. They were running her favorite South Beach route, from First to Fifteenth Street. Clarification: she was running it. Poor Christina was gasping for air and close to a total collapse. “Do you need to stop?”

Christina nodded gratefully, coming to a standstill. “Actually…I never…should’ve…started.” Her breathing was ragged. “How do you…do this?”

Vanity walked toward her, grinning. “How do you
not
do it and stay so skinny?”

“It’s my metabolism, I guess,” Christina reasoned, still flushed. “I never gain weight.”

“Lucky bitch. I hate you.”

“To drag me out of bed for this? You must.”

Vanity did a full-body stretch in her Stella McCartney for Adidas performance wear. “I tried to get Pippa to come, but she never responded to my text.”

“Pippa who?” Christina asked rhetorically.

“ ‘Pippa who’ is right. For all we know she could be back living in England.”

They started to walk.

Vanity took in the scenery. Even though it had been months since Hurricane Wilma, many of the stairway-to-heaven skyscrapers still had boarded up, blown-out windows.

Christina was still recovering from the aborted run.

Vanity pushed her mango-flavored Propel into the girl’s hand. “Here. Drink up before you dehydrate.”

She guzzled half the bottle.

Vanity shook her head. “To have that body and be so out of shape. It’s criminal.”

Christina’s cheeks blushed pink. And it had nothing to do with exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” Vanity said. “Was that a weird thing to say? I didn’t mean—”

Christina waved off the apology. “No, don’t be—”

“I just—”

“It’s fine—”

“
Christina
.” Vanity’s voice was firm but gentle. “We have to talk about what happened in New York. We have to clear the air between us.”

Christina sighed. “Let’s just forget that it happened.”

“Can you forget it?” Vanity repossessed the Propel and took a generous gulp. “Can you forgive it?”

Christina shrugged. “You were drunk.”

“I was mean.”

“You were
drunk
.”

“I was disrespectful.”

“Vanity, you don’t have to do this. That night was insane. Given the chance, all of us would go back and live it differently.”

“I just don’t want you to think that I would ever intentionally mock your feelings. I was in a terrible head space that night.”

“And you were
drunk
,” Christina said.

“Yes, I was. Believe it or not, I’ve been known to do some very stupid things in that condition.”

“Well, let’s just add that to the list and move on.” A devilish smile crept onto Christina’s lips. “Anyway, get over yourself. It wasn’t that great of a kiss.”

Vanity gasped. “Okay, you’ve been hanging around Max way too much. He’s ruining you.”

Christina laughed.

“And you’re such a liar,” Vanity accused lightly. “That was an awesome kiss, and you know it.”

Now Christina drew in a shocked breath. “Oh, you totally need to get over yourself!” She laughed again, then tripped off to some distant place, appearing sad all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong?” Vanity asked.

It took Christina a moment to answer. “Nothing. It’s just…I’m going to miss times like these.”

“I don’t understand.”

She hesitated. “You know, after we graduate.”

“Me, too,” Vanity murmured. But she had a gut feeling that Christina was holding back the real answer. “Have you decided about that art school in Savannah?”

“I got in,” Christina said glumly. “For once being a female minority is a plus. The package they’re offering is hard to turn down.”

“So why don’t you sound more excited?” Vanity asked.

Christina stared off into the distance. “I thought it was what I wanted. Now I’m not so sure.” She paused a beat. “I’m feeling a little stronger. Maybe I should try to run again.” She took off at an impressive clip.

Vanity caught up within a few strides, even though Christina was a million miles away…

One week later, Dante Medina was considering something much more dangerous than a street jog.

“Backwards,” Max taunted. “I dare you.”

“You
dare
me?” Dante laughed. “Does that line even work after the third grade?”

“Okay, if you don’t do it, then you’re a pussy.”

“Oh, shit, it’s
on
now, dude.”

“Well, quit stalling, man. I’m waiting. The tourists are, too. Same goes for the fishermen. Give us a decent show.”

Dante turned his back to the amazing sunset, balanced his feet on the edge of the South Pointe Pier, and sucked in a nervous breath, preparing to dive.

“You need to make at least two complete revolutions,” Max said. “Otherwise, you’re just a clumsy bitch falling backwards.”

“Dude, shut up,” Dante snapped. “I’m trying to concentrate. And since when are you a diving expert? You’ve done one cannonball from up here. And that barely made a splash.”

“It’s because I’m so lean.”

“
Dude
. I mean it. Shut the fuck up. This is some reckless shit I’m about to try.”

“All I’m saying is that if you want big splashes, bring a fat girl next time.”

Dante gave him a withering look. “Okay, now I’m doing it just to get away from you.”

And then he jumped up and out, arching his back, twisting and tucking on his way down, charged by the weightless feeling, pumped with adrenaline by the rocket speed as his body approached the water. Dante was three or four meters from breaking distance. Straightening his figure line, he tightened his muscles and smoothly entered the deep.

When he swam to the surface, a gaggle of tourists were clapping like seals.

“Not bad,” Max shouted. “If I’m being honest, though, your feet could’ve been closer together!”

Dante shot up his middle finger. On principle. Then he ventured back, ignoring the
NO DIVING
warning signs and slipping past the chain-link fence, earning tipped hats and thumbs-ups from a few fishermen on the pier.

Upon reaching Max, Dante was wet and cold, but cocky as hell. “Your turn.”

His smart-ass buddy grinned. “I don’t have to do water tricks. I drive a Porsche.”

Dante came
thisclose
to shoving him off the edge.

Max bent down to open the minicooler. “Heads-up, Mr. St. John.”

Dante caught the cold bottle of Bud Light midair and twisted off the cap. “Thanks. You can’t dive for shit, but you make a cute barmaid.” He chugged the beer halfway down and played copycat to Max, dangling his legs off the pier, alternately gazing out at the ship channel action and the vastness of the ocean.

“Promise me something,” Max said. His voice was soft, his tone serious.

“What?” Dante asked.

“Promise me you won’t become Kevin Federline.”

Dante elbowed him. “Asshole.”

Max clutched his side and laughed. “I’m serious, man. I couldn’t handle it if you went all K-Fed on me.” One beat. “Or in your case, D-Med. And speaking of, what’s up with your music? I haven’t heard you say shit about it since that Speed Freak incident.”

Dante relived the personal Waterloo. His idea to sample Henry Mancini’s “Le Jazz-Hot” on a new song called “Le Hip-Hop” had been stolen by a lying son of a bitch named Juan Barba, recorded by Juan’s younger brother, and then released on Alcatraz Records, the label operated by Vanity’s father. And worse than the double cross was the fact that the track had become an all-out smash.

“I’m not feeling it,” Dante mumbled.

“Well, you need to start feeling something,” Max shot back. “Unless you intend to just hang around waiting for Vanity to give you milk money the rest of your life.”

Dante felt the fire of a quickly lit anger. “Dude, Vanity hasn’t given me a goddamn thing. And you’re one to talk. All this bullshit about hating your father. Meanwhile, you’re still nursing the trust-fund tit.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’m a total hypocrite. But I do drive a Porsche. Have I mentioned that?”

“Yeah, I think that’s come up once or twice.” Dante finished the Bud Light, scowling.

“Just don’t lose sight of what you really want, man. That’s all I’m saying. It’s easy to get caught up in being Vanity’s boyfriend. I’ve roamed that jungle, and I got lost in it, too.
Me
. So you don’t stand a chance. I mean, think about it. You’re just a maid’s kid. And I’m Max Biaggi Jr.”

Dante shook his head, pissed off but laughing anyway. “Sometimes I hate you, dude.”

Unfazed, Max thundered on. “There’s also the fact that you played superhero, which means you’ve got all this savior shit floating around in your head. Add some good sex to this list of ingredients, and you have a recipe for one very fucked-up Dante Medina.” He punctuated his analysis by taking a sip of Bud Light and popping his lips on the bottle top.

“And let me tell you something about the music business, my friend.” Max was on a roll, showing no signs of slowing down. “It’s not an industry for pussies. Metaphorically speaking. If you actually have a pussy, that can be a plus. It’s helped many a pop starlet get at least a hit single or two. But if you
are
a pussy, then that’s not good at all. Okay, so Juan Barba stole your song idea. Life sucks, bitch. Get over it. Time for your next move. I mean, come on. You’ve got to have more than one song idea. Otherwise, I’m going to change your name to Baha Men. Remember them? They sang ‘Who Let the Dogs Out.’ Never heard from those fuckers again.” Max laughed. “Or ‘Macarena.’ How about that name, you lazy one-hit wonder? Maybe you can tattoo
that
on your arm. Jesus!” Max let out an exasperated sigh and drank up.

Dante stared out at the water. “Are you done?”

“Yeah, that’s all I’ve got. Pretty good, huh?”

Dante nodded. “I have to admit, the speech had its moments. I can’t help but feel motivated.”

Max’s voice went up an octave. “Really? That’s awesome.”

“Of course, I still want to kick your ass.”

“Well, you know what they say. You can take the biracial boy out of the barrio…”

Dante laughed. “Pass me another beer, asshole.”

Max did so with a flourish. “Now don’t sit there and think I’m living under the delusion that my side of the street is clean. After what happened with Sho in New York, I had to step back and reassess.”

“And what’d you come up with?” Dante asked.

“The party-boy shit is in the past. I’ve got something else cooking.”

Dante looked at him. “For real?”

Max nodded emphatically.

“No more big events?”

“Done with that.”

“Poker games?”

“Over it.”

Dante was genuinely intrigued. “So what’s the deal?”

“Just keep next Saturday night open.” His voice was cryptic, leaving Dante to wonder.

What the hell was Max’s secret?