Bling Addiction (11 page)

P
aulina Perez was in campaign mode. She sat in the living room, perched on the edge of the sofa, dressed up in full politically conservative armor—the navy business suit, the high-buttoned blouse, the low-heeled black pumps, and the single strand of cultured pearls.

Splayed out in front of her on the coffee table were informational materials for Salvation Pointe, a program located in Madison, Mississippi that claimed to help teenagers find true freedom from homosexuality through the power of Jesus Christ.

“I’m
not
going,” Christina said defiantly. “You can’t make me.”

“Christina,”
Paulina hissed through tightly clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea how this…” She stopped to clear her throat.
“Information
…has impacted my campaign?” Paulina stared at her archly. “Have you given any thought to that at all? I’m completely off message, and every media outlet in the country is expecting an official response to this…
nonsense.
”

Christina was still in shock. But she knew exactly what was happening, too. “I’m a lesbian, mom.” She announced this in her best I’m-trying-to-say-this-as-
simply-as-I-can tone. “That’s not
information.
It’s not
nonsense,
either. It’s who I am.”

Paulina’s next words died in her throat, as if Christina’s last statement had impaled her. After a long flustered moment, she found her voice again. “You’re confused. And you’re too young to know who you are anyway. That’s why this place will be good for you.”

Christina glanced down at the colorful, glossy brochure. Salvation Pointe resembled an upscale summer camp with its acres of pine trees, gleaming fresh-water lake, and spa-level accommodations. Of course, the rundown of rules indicated another experience entirely. In fact, it sounded like a prison.

No closed doors (with the exception of fifteen minutes each day for showering).

No contact with friends or family.

No outside news sources.

No music (unless preapproved Christian CDs or MP3-loaded players provided by Salvation Pointe staff).

No television.

No Internet use.

No diary or journal writing.

No mannish/boyish attire for girls.

No jewelry for boys.

Paulina expelled a long, frustrated sigh. “I knew this Keiko person would be trouble for you. Even when we were first introduced, I had a terrible feeling about that girl.”

Keiko Nakamura wasn’t a seventeen-year-old transfer student from San Francisco. She was a twenty-seven-year-old paid political operative for QUAN! (Queers Unite for Action Now!), a well-financed extreme advocacy group actively involved in the fight against Paulina’s campaign, especially its agenda to shut down school-sponsored gay/straight alliance clubs.

It made for twisted irony—and headline news—when QUAN! published an exposé in their free alternative newspaper under the banner headline: ANTI-GAY SENATE HOPEFUL MARCHES AGAINST TEENAGE LESBIAN DAUGHTER.

After that kind of public humiliation, it seemed impossible that Christina could be sitting here and actually struggling to conjure up the hatred that Keiko Nakamura so richly deserved.

Yes, Keiko had sought out Christina’s friendship based on a calculated deception. And yes, Keiko had violated Christina’s confidence and taken advantage of her trusting nature for the sole purpose of using both as instruments in a political revenge that had nothing to do with Christina.

Still, she harbored little resentment toward Keiko, no matter how hard she tried. It was a dirty trick ambush to be sure, but the end result was strangely…
liberating.
An enormous emotional weight had been lifted.

Christina was gay. Now everybody knew it. And what was the silliest part of all? Nobody—except her own mother, of course—seemed to give a damn.

Politically, the fallout was shaping up to be severe for Paulina Perez. But personally, Christina had found the thunderbolt revelation to be…well, anticlimactic.

As she predicted long ago, Max’s only reaction was a request to watch her make out with another girl, though he’d issued the stern stipulation that it
not
be Keiko.

Pippa had declared the news as good to glorious, telling Christina that she was much better off not having to live a life sorting out boys and their dicks. Dante had offered nothing more than a nonplussed utterance of “cool.”

The most painful embarrassment concerned Vanity. In perhaps Keiko’s ugliest act of all, she’d stolen finished pages of
Harmony Girl,
Christina’s
shojo manga
in progress, and reprinted them in the newspaper as proof that art was indeed imitating life.

The title character was a beautiful and mysterious heroine who exquisitely resembled Vanity in face, shape, and form. Harmony Girl lived in an enchanted forest filled with magical animals, and she communicated with them only through music.

The main plot focused on a romantic triangle involving Harmony Girl’s love for a dashing prince and her growing feelings for a young female artist named Lychee, who made secret trips from her village to the forest in order to obsessively sketch Harmony Girl’s portrait.

There was no need to look deep. The subtextual connections could be seen on the surface. Harmony Girl was so obviously Vanity and Lychee so obviously Christina.

That her most private work had been robbed from her bedroom and splashed across the pages of a cheap newspaper was the ultimate violation. Initially, Christina feared that the homoerotic elements of
Harmony Girl
might engender fierce ridicule.

But precisely the opposite had occurred. Praise for Christina’s first earnest attempt at
manga
came fast and furious. People loved the illustrations and the story. In fact, they wanted more. She was producing new pages as fast as possible and selling color copies of them directly out of her backpack! The whole experience had boosted her confidence, finally giving her the courage to apply for acceptance at the Savannah College of Art and Design.

I gave in on the argument to send you to MACPA, but I’m not wasting your college savings on art school. You’re going to get a real education.

Paulina made this pronouncement often, but Christina now stood ready to defy her, no matter the consequences. If her mother made good on the threat and refused to pay for an art school, then Christina planned to secure student loans or accept Max’s offer to lend her the money for tuition.

It was a wonderful feeling to finally be living honest and free. She didn’t have to dread her sexuality as a dangerous subject anymore. She didn’t have to stifle her most passionate interests, either.

Much of the credit should go to Keiko, too. Fraud or no fraud, she’d been the catalyst for Christina’s rebirth. And now Christina found herself missing the friendship. Once the QUAN! newspaper had rolled off the printing press, Keiko dropped out of sight, never to be heard from again, save for a single late-night text message that reeked of almost apology.

The estrangement filled Christina with a deep loneliness. She refused to believe that her entire relationship with Keiko could’ve been a lie. They’d been too close for too long. And she especially missed Keiko’s wise counsel now, during this high noon moment with Paulina regarding Salvation Pointe. Oh, yes. Keiko would
definitely
know how to handle the situation.

“This is a difficult program to get in,” Paulina said, tapping the application packet with her index finger for emphasis. “The waiting list is extensive, but I’ve been working the phones and calling in a few political favors. The director has made a slot available for you in the residential camp.”

“You’re not listening!” Christina shouted. “I’m not going to that awful place!”

“Unfortunately, the timing isn’t ideal,” Paulina continued robotically, ignoring Christina’s loud protest. “The next session begins after your spring break. Of course, this means that you’ll be missing two weeks of school, but you’re a smart girl. You can catch up.”

“God, Mom, how can you believe this bullshit?” Christina roared. “There is no
cure
for homosexuality! This is a scam! It’s nothing more than a group of manipulative bigots pimping religion to make money off horrible parents like you!” Her words were spitballs of long-suppressed rage.

Paulina’s face was working hard to contain the hurt and disbelief. “A horrible parent would let you go on believing that you’re a lesbian. But I plan to do everything within my power to help you live your life as you know the Lord intended. This is a phase. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if that horrible Keiko person hadn’t come into our lives.”

“I was a lesbian before I met Keiko,” Christina said wearily. “I was born one. I’ve known since I was a little girl. And it’s nothing that you did or didn’t do that made me this way. It’s just how I am. It’s who I am. So deal with it. And while you’re at it, get over it, too.”

“You don’t have a choice in this—”

“You’re right,” Christina cut in. “I don’t have a choice about whether or not to be gay. It’s not a mental disorder. There’s no little white pill that’s going to make me like boys. I like girls, Mom. Can you understand that? You should. You saw me in the bedroom with Keiko. I like the way girls look. I like the way they smell. I like the way they fe—”

“Stop it!” Paulina shrieked. “This is why the people at Salvation Pointe can help you. They’ll teach you about morality.”

Christina’s mind was on fire, the flood of adrenaline raging inside her. “What’s
moral
about making me feel ashamed of who I am? That’s a sadistic way to raise a child. Most people would consider that abuse. So if the morality teachings are so great at this place, then maybe
you
need to go there!”

“It’s abusive to want my daughter to be normal?” Paulina’s tone was incredulous.

“Well, if you want me to be so normal, then why are you carrying on like I’m a freak?”

Paulina gave her a long, hard stare. “Do you want to have children one day, Christina?”

The question tripped her into a brief silence. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Why? I don’t have to be married to a man to get pregnant or adopt a child.”

“That’s a selfish way to think,” Paulina snapped. “In today’s society, a child’s best chance at success and survival is within the traditional family unit.”

“Oh, please!” Christina spat. “Save the bumper sticker talk for your Rotary Club speech.”

“I’ve had quite enough of this,” Paulina announced. She stood up and smoothed out her skirt. “You’re still seventeen, Christina. I decide what’s best for you. Period. End of story. If necessary, the staff of Salvation Pointe will come to this house and take you by force. And it’s not kidnapping when your mother signs the consent form.” Her eyes gleamed as she painted the dark threat.

Christina could feel the water welling up in her eyes.

“I had every intention of canceling your spring break trip. But I’ve changed my mind. If only to prove to you that I’m not some kind of monster. So go to New York. Have fun with your friends. Because when you get back, you’re going to Salvation Pointe.”

Christina cried a torrent of frustrated tears. “It’s not going to work! I’m still going to be gay!”

Paulina’s face twisted into a mask of bitterness that Christina had never witnessed before. “I would rather you commit suicide than live that life.”

Y
ou’re going to regret this,” Max said. “It’s the spring break of your senior year! How many times does that happen?”

“For some smacktards, I’m sure it comes around at least twice,” Pippa said, smiling as she took another bite of her delicious Mediterranean salad.

“Come on!”
Max whined, sounding like a little boy who was being denied a new PSP game. “I need you there to bring life to the party. Do you realize what I’m dealing with? I’ve got Vanity and Christina, who could start their own public humiliation support group. And I’ve got Dante, who goes into a manic depression whenever he hears that song by Speed Freak. The upside to my spring break is the fact that my little sister is tagging along. How pathetic is
that
?”

“Quite,” Pippa agreed. In a perverse way, she was sort of enjoying Max’s minor-league miseries. Why? Because he usually gave off cockiness in radioactive waves, putting forth the invincible attitude of a seventeen-year-old guy who
always
comes out on top.

Max rolled his eyes and stabbed an artichoke heart. “Life sucks.”

Only Max Biaggi Jr. could make such a doomsday pronouncement while sitting in a paradise like the Setai, an Asian-inspired luxury hotel on the edge of the Atlantic. It was landscaped with breathtaking tropical gardens and three sparkling pools. The common traveler need not inquire. Room rates started at nine hundred dollars a night. And that was for a small suite with views of a city block.

Pippa and Max were lunching in the courtyard. Surrounded by an oasis of trickling ponds and lush pergolas, they sat in sunken pods while hotel staff fussed over them like foreign royals. So if life sucked for Max right now, then the son of a bitch would
never
be satisfied.

“And then you die,” Pippa said.

Max gave her a strange look.

“Isn’t that the expression? ‘Life sucks, and then you die.’”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Max grumbled. “I still don’t understand why you can’t go. This could be one of our last big chances to party. Who knows where we’ll be next year?”

Pippa sighed. “I have to work,” she told him for the millionth time.

Max popped a black olive into his mouth. “I’ll hire you. I’ll
pay
you to come with. In fact, I’ll double whatever you’d be making here.”

Pippa laughed at him. Not long ago, she would’ve gladly accepted his offer. But now she was making her own money. She didn’t need to mooch off her friends anymore. Financial independence. It was a fantastic feeling. “No, Max. I have responsibilities. I can’t just take off.”

He gave her a long, suspicious stare. “Are you seeing someone?”

“No,” Pippa answered. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because. You
work
all the time.” He gestured to the pewter kid leather Ferragamo handbag hanging on her chair. He pointed at the Swarovski crystal-covered Valentino iPod case sitting on the table. “And you’re always sporting new bling.” He paused a beat. “I figure you’re letting some rich guy knock it out.”

Pippa glared at him. “That would make me a prostitute.”

Max shrugged. “Well, those shoes aren’t from Payless. Obviously, you’re good at your job.”

“Screw you, Max! Just because I won’t give
you
an all-access pass doesn’t make me a hooker!” She pushed back her chair and stood up to leave.

“Sit down, drama queen. I didn’t mean that like it sounded. Where I come from, sex for gifts is called a relationship.”

Pippa remained standing and rummaged through her purse to find the cash to cover the entire bill. She tossed the money onto the table.
“There.
I bought
your
lunch.”

“Awesome,” Max remarked with a sunny indifference. “I guess this means you expect to have your way with me. We should probably get a room.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got an hour before I have to be someplace.”

Pippa wanted to slap the smug bastard across the face, so she found it infuriating when she actually started to smile. “God, you’re such a snot rag!”

Max laughed. “I know. But you love me anyway. It’s called charm. And having a huge inner cock doesn’t hurt, either. Gives me a certain confidence that people respond to.”

Pippa tilted her head to one side. “Oh, really? It makes me want to spew my guts up.”

Max leaned in, close enough to inhale Pippa’s breath. “Deep down, that’s a sign of how much you want me to do you.”

In answer, Pippa reached into her bag, pulled out a tin of Altoids, and pushed it into Max’s hand. “That would sound so much better if you had one of these first.”

He gave her a faux frown. “Now that’s just plain mean. You know, you’ve been on an ego trip ever since the curtain went up on
Sweet Charity.
You were good, baby, but the show is over. I’m the original star brat, okay?”

Pippa’s Nokia 7280 jingled. She checked the caller ID and started to walk away. “I have to take this, Max. It’s my boss. Have a
great
trip. Call me when you get there.” She waited until reaching one of the pool decks before answering. “Hi, Vinnie.”

“How’s my golden pussy?”

Pippa cracked a smile. Yes, Vinnie Rossetti could be disgusting, but there was something endearing about him, too. Especially the way he looked out for her well-being. “What’s the big news?”

“You’ve got a private date tomorrow night. Notice I said ‘date.’ This is more than a dance, Star Baby.”

Pippa could feel the butterflies take flight in her stomach. Hope swelled her heart. He’d told her to be ready on his command. It was the reason she bailed on the New York trip. “With Max Biaggi?”

“No other customer is good enough for you. His limo’s picking you up at the club. Nine sharp. Dress to kill.” And then Vinnie hung up.

At the sound of the click, hormones flowed that Pippa never knew existed. It was happening. The feelings were reciprocal. She loved him. He loved her. The private dances had been getting longer, the intimate conversations more meaningful. And now…an actual date. She was just hours away from seeing him. But already it felt like the longest wait of her life.

Pippa was red carpet gorgeous. She looked that way. She felt that way.

The Gucci wrap dress in emerald green clung to her body. But the impact was alluring, not sluttish. She loved the nostalgic 1940s silhouette with its shorter hemline, puffy cap sleeves, and subtle display of cleavage.

Her long blonde tresses were pulled back in the manner of a junior socialite and delicately held in place by a beautiful Louis Vuitton hair clip of raffia, silk, enameled metal, and pearled glass.

Pippa proudly carried her latest handbag acquisition—an amazing green crocodile purse with bamboo handles, also by Gucci. Add the chunky H. Stern chandelier earrings, the eighteen-carat-emerald Bulgari necklace, and the Ebel tank watch with diamond bezel, and only one word could accurately describe the sum of all these spectacular parts—“perfection.”

Max Biaggi’s limousine was scheduled to be outside the club at any moment. The truth was, Pippa could’ve easily waited in the parking lot. Of course, dashing into Cheetah on a faux mission to claim her Dior Addict Ultra-Gloss meant that she would be seen, fawned over, and envied. Shallow, yes. But also loads of fun.

“No you didn’t, girl!” LaTonya raved as soon as she managed an unobstructed view. “No you
didn’t.
Can’t none of these hos around here scrub up like you. That’s why they call you Star Baby. The punishment fits the crime, honey. You are flawless. Do you hear me?
Flawless.”

LaTonya tossed a look behind her and pulled at a pigtail done up for a new dancer’s Little Dutch Girl striptease. “Lexus, put that mascara down and come see this bitch.”

Visibly annoyed, Lexus checked the status of her hair as she stood up. But the moment she saw Pippa, her mouth fell open in a slackened state of awe. “Holy shit! You look like a movie star,” Lexus marveled.

Pippa managed a coy smile. “Oh, it’s just something I put together at the last minute for my date with Max Biaggi.”

“Bitch, please!” LaTonya shouted. “If this is last minute, then I’ll fall out on the floor when you
really
get serious.”

Pippa started to laugh, then lost all sense of humor when she saw Hellcat stalk through the locker room door, damp with sweat and streaked with bleeding Mystic Tan.

She gave Pippa an up-and-down glance, then mocked her with a raspy laugh. “Where are you off to, princess? Is it prom night?”

“This ain’t no prom, child,” LaTonya interceded proudly. “Star Baby’s got a romantic date with Max Biaggi!”

Hellcat put a hand to her ample hip and glowered at Pippa. “I think you’ve seen
Pretty Woman
one too many times. This is the real world. Strippers don’t get to play Cinderella.”

Pippa cast a downward glance to her Manolo Blahnik black crepe ankle-strap sandals, which dazzled with rhinestone-circle detail. “But if I do,” she began silkily, “then I guess that would make you my wicked…step
mother.
Wouldn’t it?”

Hellcat’s eyes narrowed. The dig on her age had scored a direct hit, and her face was registering the psychic damage in Revlon Technicolor.

Pippa flounced toward the exit, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

“Hey, Star Cunt,” Hellcat called out. “Don’t be surprised if he only gives it to you in the ass.”

Pippa stopped and spun around.

The gleam in Hellcat’s eyes was bitter triumph. “He says that saves him from she’s-having-my-baby scams. Trust me. I’ve been where you’re going tonight.”

Pippa refused to believe these disgusting lies. What a shagbag. “Nice try. But I think you’ve got Max Biaggi confused with your father, your brother, and your Uncle Charlie.” Then she slipped out the exit door.

A white stretch limousine idled in the parking lot. Standing beside it was a black-suited driver. He tipped his hat to Pippa and opened the rear door with gallant flair, uttering a dutiful “Madam.”

She nodded demurely and slipped inside the expansive cabin, thrilled to find Max Biaggi waiting for her, a crystal flute of Dom Pérignon at the ready. Her gaze was transfixed by the color of the bubbly, which struck her as odd.

“I added a splash of peach nectar,” he explained. “It adds a certain zing.”

Pippa clinked her glass to his and sipped greedily.

Max Biaggi smiled. “You like?”

Pippa nodded. “Very much.”

He reached for her foot, methodically removed her shoe, and began to massage her arch with his strong, talented hands. “I’ve missed my babies,” he whispered. “My beautiful, beautiful babies.”

Pippa giggled. “Where are we going tonight? Or do you just plan to ride around town obsessing over my feet?”

“I’ve chartered a private plane,” Max Biaggi announced. “We’re taking a little trip.”

Pippa was stunned. “Where?”

“That’s a surprise.”

Her heart picked up speed. “When are we coming back?”

“Soon.” He leaned forward to run his tongue over her big toe. “Or maybe not so soon. It depends.”

Pippa felt the flush of an instant anxiety. Never had she expected this. But maybe it was serendipitous. What better time to be whisked away on a secret retreat with Max Biaggi than when her mum thought she was on a senior trip to New York. “I should call—”

“Don’t worry about Vinnie,” he assured her, licking the space between her toes.

Pippa sank deeper and deeper into the plush leather, enjoying Max Biaggi’s dedicated ministrations. This was beyond her wildest dreams—movie star, limousine, champagne, private plane. An embarrassment of riches to be sure. But thank God for that. Because when the son discovered the sins of his father and best friend, there would definitely be hell to pay. The night
needed
to be this good to fight the conflict raging inside her.

For now, though, Pippa gave in to the pleasure principle. Taking all of him in with a long, lingering gaze, Pippa decided that she loved the way he dressed. Max Biaggi was nobody’s fashion victim, and he didn’t try to beat the clock by throwing on clothes that belonged on someone younger. His style was masculine and timeless—a navy sportcoat, crisp white Oxford shirt, lived-in jeans, and fine Italian brown boots. There was no better outfit on a man.

Pippa factored out her fantasy from A to Z. He’d divorce Faith, his perpetually sauced wife. She didn’t truly appreciate the privilege of being Mrs. Max Biaggi. Not like Pippa could. He’d propose and slide an enormous pink diamond onto her finger. The ceremony would be huge.
People
would pay megabucks for exclusive photo rights and splash them across the cover: MAX BIAGGI: SUPERSTAR ACTION HERO TAKES A HARD FALL FOR A NEW BRIDE.

The vivid image made Pippa giddy with delight. She laughed and drank more Dom Pérignon as her future husband reached for her other foot and began to lavish equally slavish attention upon it.