Hollywood Hills (3 page)

Holly’s head spun. “Jonah Eklundstrom?” she gasped, shakily getting to her feet. A sudden thought made her face flush with excitement. “Alexa! Oh, my God—hold on! The two of you are
so
going to get together. You’re exactly his type—he dated Charity Durst, but you’re
much
prettier—”

“Relax,” Alexa said, letting out her tinkly silver laugh and shaking her head. “We are
not
going to get together—we’ll probably barely get to see him. Besides,” she added, with a toss of her pale blonde locks, “I doubt he could be as cool as his big sister. Margaux is, like, my new favorite person
ever.
”

Holly nodded, some of her shock fading. Impossible, fantastical things were always happening to Alexa—whether it was a guy whisking her up to an orchid-strewn rooftop or a French tabloid snapping her photo—so her becoming BFFs with a crazily famous actress kind of seemed like the next logical step. “Still,” Holly argued, grinning, “imagine getting to stay on his property, with all the gorgeous Malibu beaches right there…” A couple of weeks ago, in between cramming for finals, Alexa and Holly had sacked out in Alexa’s den and watched a
Laguna Beach/The Hills
marathon on MTV, eating sliced kiwi, braiding each other’s hair, and completely losing themselves in the California surf-and-sun scene.

“I thought you hated the West Coast.”

Holly spun around to regard Tyler, who had spoken quietly, his eyes on the white carpet. Holly bit her lip, feeling as if her boyfriend had brought her crashlanding back to Earth.

“Well, I’ve never actually
been
farther west than, like, Ohio,” she murmured. But Holly also knew exactly what Tyler meant. Despite—or maybe because of—her interest in
Laguna Beach
, and the occasional episode of
Entourage
, Holly had always pictured LA as a sunlit wonderland of silicone, bleached teeth, and people screaming at their agents. In other words, the kind of place where down-to-earth, sporty Holly
wouldn’t fit in
at all.
True, the former captain of Holly’s track team, Kenya Matthews, was a freshman at UCLA, and had been the one to encourage Holly to apply to the university. But even while e-mailing in her application, Holly had known she wouldn’t want to live so far from home, and in a city so phony and weird.

Still, how many times in her solid, dependable New Jersey life would she be handed the silver platter chance of attending a wedding amid palm trees and paparazzi? The last wedding Holly had been to was her aunt Janet’s tacky, all-pink shindig in Leonard’s of Great Neck, a wedding hall on Long Island that resembled a pastry puff. Holly
wasn’t
Alexa; the fairy dust of outrageous fortune rarely rained down on her (except, of course, when she was with Alexa). Her skin tingled as she thought of all the wild stories she’d have for the other counselors at sports camp, her roommates at Rutgers, and her starstruck mom, who would definitely overlook her no-traveling-without-a-guardian rule this one time.

But then Tyler looked up to meet her gaze, his expression sober, and Holly felt a wave of guilt mixed with clarity.
I can’t go
, she realized, feeling neither disappointed nor upset—but simply resigned.
Only one guest
, Alexa had said. Whether they went camping or not, Holly and Tyler had counted on spending this
week together. And Holly remembered all too well what had happened the last time she and Tyler had been apart for a stretch of time—when she’d gone to Europe and he’d stayed in Oakridge. She couldn’t abandon him again. Not even for Jonah and Margaux Eklundstrom.

“So?” Alexa was saying, tapping one wooden heel on the carpet. “If you want to get yourself to those Malibu beaches, babe, let’s go online and—”

Holly turned to Alexa and let out a deep breath. “You know what,” she said steadily, feeling Tyler’s eyes on her back. “There’s no way I can leave Oakridge at such short notice, and my parents won’t ever—”

“Oh, come on, your mom will
push
you onto the plane so that you can bring her back Jonah’s autograph,” Alexa cut in with a giggle, echoing Holly’s earlier thoughts.

“But Tyler’s right. I wouldn’t feel comfortable in Hollywood,” Holly argued, knowing it was true. “And,” she added hurriedly before Alexa could protest, “this week won’t work for me anyway. I’m sorry, Alexa. I just—I can’t be your date.” Holly felt a little flare of pride at how firm she’d managed to sound. She met Alexa’s wide-eyed stare, silently challenging her friend—whom Holly had aptly nicknamed “Little Miss Bossy” when they were younger—to argue with her.

Alexa, her pouty princess mouth turned down at the corners, reached up to toy with the high neck of her sleeveless lacy white top. “Hol, did you forget?” she asked, her voice soft and plaintive. “Rodeo Drive?”

Rodeo Drive.
Holly’s stomach dropped.

What she’d forgotten was that Alexa St. Laurent was a master of persuasion. And, once again, she’d hit her bull’s-eye.

As a precursor to their days of lazy
Laguna Beach
—watching, Alexa and Holly, when they were eleven, had loved nothing better than to sequester themselves in Alexa’s bedroom and bask in the glow of a forbidden DVD. Because Alexa’s father (whose philosophy was that
les enfants
shouldn’t be too sheltered) never asked what they were watching, the girls imbibed
American Pie, Dirty Dancing
, and, one fateful Saturday night,
Pretty Woman.

Though the she’s-a-hooker setup went over their heads (or at least Holly’s head), both girls were equally enraptured by Julia’s sublime shopping spree in Beverly Hills. Later that night, sleeping bags spread out side by side on Alexa’s pink shag rug, the girls had hooked pinkies and whispered a vow that one day they’d go to LA and make a pilgrimage to Rodeo Drive. Together. Holly knew that their
Pretty Woman
pact walked that fine line between sweet and dorky, but it
was just one of those
things.
Only close-as-sisters friends could understand the power that silly, embarrassing oaths had in forging the deepest of bonds.

But Holly also had a bond with Tyler. She sat back down onto the bed beside him, and reached for his hand. “I’m sorry,” she told Alexa simply. “You’ll have to pay tribute to Julia without me.” She tried to smile, but the lump in her throat and the deflated look on Alexa’s face made it difficult.

“This is so wrong,” Tyler murmured.

Alexa gave a noisy sigh and pretended to search for something in her clutch, which Holly knew was her friend’s classic, I-couldn’t-care-less gesture. “You know, Tyler, I
did
apologize about only being able to bring Holly—” Alexa began.

“No.” Tyler shook his head. He thoughtfully turned Holly’s hand over in his palm, then glanced at her face. “What’s wrong is that you
want
to go, Hol, but you feel like you shouldn’t, because of me.” He paused while Holly held her breath. “And that’s really stupid.”

“It is?” Holly asked in a small voice. A bubble of hope rose in her chest. Alexa stopped rooting around in her clutch.

“Uh-huh,” Tyler replied, giving her a reassuring smile. “You need to do this, Hol. Come on, Hollywood’s named after you—maybe it’s fate.” He laughed at his own joke, a move that was so patently Tyler that Holly
felt herself choke up. What had she done to deserve such a good, kind, caring boyfriend, one who knew her better than she knew herself?

“Sweetie,” she ventured, stroking the side of his face. “What about camping?” As Holly spoke, she felt cautious joy building in her; maybe, just maybe, this was her passport out of the dreaded family jaunt. She didn’t dare make eye contact with Alexa, who Holly knew was probably wearing a megawatt smile.

“I’ll break it to your parents, if that will help,” Tyler said, confirming Holly’s happy suspicions. “There’ll be other camping trips.”

She squeezed his hand, speechless. “You’re—you’re awesome,” she whispered, using his favorite word. She couldn’t think how else to express her gratitude.

Tyler kissed her cheek, then stood and straightened the lapels of his blazer. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starved,” he announced with what Holly thought sounded a little like forced cheerfulness. “When you ladies are ready to head back to Oakridge, I’ll be in the kitchen, making friends with the cheese tray.” He chuckled, and left.

There was a beat of stillness after Tyler shut the door behind him.

Then Alexa and Holly looked at each other, and screamed.

“I can’t believe it!” Holly burst out, leaping to her feet as Alexa practically jumped on her. “We’re going to
live
Rodeo Drive!”

“I
knew
you wanted to come!” Alexa squealed, her words overlapping Holly’s. “And I’m
so
glad Tyler is cool with it.” The girls flung their arms around each other and bounced up and down, doing a slightly more mature rendition of the “oh-my-God-no-way!” dance they’d choreographed in the third grade.

“Do you think he
really
is, though?” Holly asked, pulling back and feeling a twinge of regret. “Before you came in, I mean, before we started—um—-anyway,” Holly tried to shake off her blush as Alexa watched her, clearly amused. “Tyler and I were talking about future plans, and I kind of told him I didn’t want to make any, and now I’m leaving before we can…”

Alexa held up one hand. “Stop right there, Hol. I have three words for you: Movie. Star. Wedding.” She raised one eyebrow. “You should be focusing on
that
future now. Tyler can wait. And he will. Trust me. Boys are like punching bags—they bounce back.”

Holly couldn’t help giggling. “Did you just invent that brilliant little simile on the spot?”

“Hey, and you wonder how I got into Columbia,” Alexa teased, linking her arm through Holly’s. “Now tell me,” she began as they started toward the computer
on her desk. “Do you have a dress that’s appropriate for a party to end all parties in the Hollywood Hills?”

At Alexa’s words, Holly felt a bolt of anticipation. No matter what happened this week—no matter how much she missed Tyler, or how many phony LA types got on her nerves—things would be, to say the least, eventful. “Um, I don’t think so,” she replied as Alexa sat down at the desk and turned on the computer. Holly pictured the fancier end of her closet back home: the black-and-white dress she’d bought in South Beach that
still
needed dry-cleaning; the frumpy gray jumper her mother made her wear to synagogue on the High Holy Days; the shiny mauve number she’d mortified herself in at her aunt’s wedding…“Though there is my prom dress,” she added with a shrug, remembering the halter sheath that was the color of pale grapes.

“You can’t
repeat
an outfit at Margaux Eklundstrom’s wedding,” Alexa protested, clicking over to the Expedia site. “That violates every law of fashion. And possibly nature.”

“Well…” Holly rested her elbows on the high back of the chair, checking out the computer screen. “Can’t you just lend me one of
your
zillion dresses?” Alexa was practically a walking wardrobe.

“Ha,” Alexa snorted, typing Tuesday’s date onto the website. “My best stuff got stolen in Paris, and
remember when I went through that ridiculous phase of buying
vintage
?” She shuddered. “Rodeo Drive is definitely in order.” She scrolled down the page, then clicked on a flight option. “Aha—
here
we go. Two seats on True West Airlines, leaving from Newark at ten a.m., with a stopover in Vegas, and arriving at LAX at two
P
.
M
.—”

“Hang on,” Holly said warily, leaning even closer to study the screen. “Las Vegas?”

“Just for an hour,” Alexa said, nudging Holly away. “We’ll check out the slot machines in the airport, sip skinny iced lattes from The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf…”

“All right,” Holly said, laughing. As usual, Alexa’s bubbly optimism—her ability to make even airport layovers sound glam—was catching, and Holly’s heart thrummed. She focused back on Expedia, and soon the girls were off and running, selecting a return flight for Saturday morning (thus giving them a day to regroup before graduation) along with seats and payment options—all the minutiae that went into planning their last delicious adventure before settling into college, and the rest of their lives.

And
that
kind of planning, Holly could totally do.

The Oakridge morning sky was a dark, thunderous gray, and fat drops of rain landed on Alexa’s windshield with audible plops. Her shower-damp hair piled up atop her head, her almond-colored Prada platform wedges on her feet, and her approximately fifty-seven bags crammed into the backseat, Alexa flicked on her wipers and grinned. Each plop was like a small symphony. Alexa lived for rainy-day departures.

In recent months, Alexa had grown surprisingly fond of Oakridge. She loved that, as she was turning on to Holly’s street, she knew exactly where the road would dip and curve, and that the wide plane tree to her left was where she and Holly had carved their initials the summer they were nine. But today she didn’t feel the slightest bit bittersweet about leaving her
hometown. Blinding desert sunshine, celebs sipping cocktails, pedicures by the pool with Margaux and Holly…all that, and more, waited out there, out west, and she’d be there soon enough.

Or as soon as she was able to steal Holly away from the chaos unfolding outside her house.

The Jacobsons’ yellow Lab, Mia Hamm (only Holly would name her dog after a soccer player, Alexa reflected with an eye roll), was barking madly at Mrs. Jacobson, who was holding an umbrella over her head while attempting to cram a lawn chair into the backseat of the family Subaru. Holly’s fourteen-year-old brother, Josh (Alexa estimated that he would turn out to be hot in approximately four to six years), was dribbling a basketball and listening to his iPod, ignoring whatever his mom was yelling at him. The trunk of the Subaru was open and a harried Mr. Jacobson—with the help of Holly and the family appendage, Tyler Davis—was trying to stuff two gigantic backpacks inside.

Alexa put her pink Jetta into park, briefly closed her eyes, and thanked the spirit of Coco Chanel that she didn’t have the kind of family that took trips together. Then she rolled down her window and tapped her horn, peering out to wave at Holly. They were going to be late, but Alexa was woman enough to admit that it was her fault.

She’d awoken that morning, the gloom seeping in through her bamboo shades, and with a jolt of joy, remembered her destination.
Hollywood. Malibu. Wedding.
Alexa had bounded out of bed, flung away the outfit she’d laid out the night before—a striped Luella Bartley shirt, denim mini, navy-blue leggings, and flats—and replaced it with what she wore now: a clingy yellow Lela Rose sundress with nut-brown spaghetti straps. Sure, it wasn’t too travel-comfy, but paired with the floppy straw hat and oversized Oliver Peoples sunglasses she’d packed in her carry-on, she knew she’d make quite a statement stepping off the plane.

Through the fog and drizzle, Alexa could see that Holly was in her standard Gap jeans, terry-cloth flip-flops, and shrunken olive-colored cotton hoodie over a white tank. Alexa honked her horn again, mostly out of annoyance; after all this time, had she taught her friend
nothing
about fashion?

“Coming!” Holly called, looking up from the trunk of the Subaru to see Alexa in the car, wearing her Impatient Face. Holly felt a giggle rise up in her throat, and she blew her sweaty bangs off her forehead. “The Diva has arrived,” she whispered, turning to Tyler, who put his hands on her waist and laughed, warm and deep, in her ear.

The minute Tyler had shown up that morning in
his baggy cargo shorts and wrinkled Oakridge Lacrosse T-shirt to help her parents load up the car, Holly, who’d run out to greet him with a piece of toast still in hand, had known everything was going to be okay. On the drive home late last night, she and Alexa had whispered over lingering LA plans—did they need to bring Jonah a thanks-for-letting-us-crash-here gift, and if so, what did one get a guy who had an Oscar on his shelf and a mansion over the ocean?—while Tyler had silently gripped the wheel, the muscle in his jaw twitching. After they’d dropped Alexa off, there’d been no talk of Holly coming over to fill out student housing forms, and she’d assumed that the soft, quick kiss they’d exchanged outside her house had been their good-bye.

But now here he was smiling down at her, raindrops glistening on his dark-blond head while her father wrestled with the backpacks and muttered curses. Around Tyler, Holly never felt embarrassed by her often crazy, overly involved family. Tyler simply seemed to understand, and, though he was more laid-back than any of the Jacobsons, he fit in seamlessly.

“Think she can wait a few more seconds?” Tyler asked, nodding toward Alexa. He reached out and took hold of Holly’s hand. “There’s something I need to do before you go.”

Holly’s heart rate picked up; Tyler wasn’t big on
surprises. But she didn’t hesitate an instant before following him around the car, through the light rain, and up the steps to her house, where they turned toward each other under the porch awning.

“Great,”
Alexa murmured, turning up the volume on her Teddy Geiger CD. For all she knew, Tyler was getting ready to drop to one knee—and she and Holly could
not
have any other weddings thrown into this week.

Since she now had time to kill, Alexa plucked her cell phone from her citrus-colored Bliss Lau handbag and text-messaged her former best friend, Portia,
just
to let her know where she was going, with whom she was staying, and who was accompanying her on her
grand voyage.
With her dark curly ringlets and permanent sneer, Portia was—as Holly had once insightfully put it—that worst of combinations: stuck-up and insecure at the same time. Portia wasn’t a fan of Holly’s, either; her favorite hobby, next to chain-smoking, was critiquing Holly’s outfits with her henchwoman, Maeve. Alexa felt a small swell of triumph that she’d been able to brush off Portia’s trash-talking and choose
Holly
over her.

Alexa hit send and fell back against her seat with a contented sigh. Last night, it had felt equally rewarding dropping the Hollywood bombshell on her mother; Gail had gone all slack-jawed at the realization that
Alexa, too, could make famous friends. Of course, if there’d been any chance in hell of Gail attending her graduation, Alexa knew she’d probably blown it. But, oh well. Her dad had been nothing but supportive that morning while waving good-bye to her over his café au lait. Smiling, Alexa glanced out the window again, only to see Tyler nervously handing Holly a small white box.
Uh-oh.

“What’s this?” Holly asked Tyler as she accepted the box from him, her hands quivering slightly. Back in May, for Holly’s birthday, Tyler had gotten them tickets to a Yankees game (“Whatever happened to romance?” Alexa had sighed when Holly had told her). This gift felt different, weightier, even though the box itself was feather-light.

“I wanted to give it to you at graduation,” Tyler replied as Holly, her stomach flipping, took the lid off the box. “But now is even better. You can wear it this week and think of me.”

Nestled in the white cotton was a delicate golden ring with an intricate design at its center: a pair of tiny hands holding a single heart, topped by a miniature crown. Holly caught her breath, overcome; nobody had ever given her real jewelry before. Tears pricking her eyes, she glanced up to see a blurry Tyler watching her with an expectant smile. “It’s a Claddagh ring,” he said, tracing a finger over the design. “My Irish
grandma once explained the different symbols to me. The hands mean friendship, the heart represents love, and the crown stands for loyalty. If you’re in love, you’re supposed to wear it with the heart facing toward you, and if you’re single, it should face out.” His cheeks reddened. “I know it’s kind of cheesy—”

“Not at all,” Holly breathed, removing the chunky silver ring she always wore and sticking it in her back pocket. Then she carefully slid on the Claddagh ring, making sure the heart pointed inward. “See? My heart’s closed off—because it belongs to just one person.” She lifted her face to Tyler, who was already lowering his head to kiss her. Holly felt suffused with peace and warmth; she hadn’t slept most of the night due to a mixture of belly-fluttering excitement and worry. But Alexa had been right; boys
were
resilient. Now Holly knew she could head west with a clear conscience.

Which was convenient, because Alexa was sticking her head out the window of her car and shouting something unintelligible—but not too friendly-sounding—through the rain.

“I should go,” Holly said, bending down to grab her duffel bag; unlike Alexa, she was a steadfastly light traveler. She bounded down the steps of her house and over to her parents, who began flinging warnings at Holly as they wrapped her in tight hugs. “Wear
sunscreen,
please
don’t get yourself on TV again, don’t let Alexa talk you into anything…” Trying to tune them out, Holly petted Mia, waved to Josh, kissed Tyler once more, and jumped into Alexa’s car, squeezing the rain out of her ponytail.

The two girls glanced at each other, and at the exact same time, demanded:

“What are you
wearing
?”

“You
do
know we’re going to be chilling with Margaux in, like, seven hours,” Alexa added, giving Holly a haughty once-over while putting the car in drive.

Holly laughed and shook her head, paying no mind to Alexa’s jibe. “And
you
know we’re getting on a plane, not a royal cruise, right?” she retorted. Holly enjoyed poking fun at Alexa’s princess-y tendencies, and Alexa could usually mock herself in turn. This time, though, Alexa cast a scowl in Holly’s direction and slammed one suede platform down on the gas.

“Let’s hope so,” she replied, tearing away from Holly’s house. “If we miss our plane, I’m forcing you to give me a piggyback ride all the way to LA so we can make the party in time.” She was only half joking; Alexa couldn’t quite articulate why, but she had the strong feeling—as sure as the pulsing of her own heart—that she
had
to be at The Standard bash.

“It’s a deal,” Holly muttered, raising her eyes skyward as the car zipped down the rain-streaked streets of Oakridge. She missed Tyler already, and was in no mood for what she secretly thought of as Alexa’s PTS—Pre-Trip Syndrome. Before taking off on a journey, Alexa’s high-maintenance side emerged full force.

“So is
that
what Tyler gave you just now?”Alexa asked, her eyes on the road as she gestured down to Holly’s ring. “Couldn’t he have sprung for something from Tiffany?” Alexa knew she was being mildly inappropriate, but after all, she’d always been the love expert, and Holly the novice. Holly
needed
Alexa’s wisdom on dating.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Holly shot back, shielding her hand. Sometimes she couldn’t believe the giant gap that existed between her and Alexa. Despite their recent closeness, they were still so different in so many ways. For one stomach-sinking second, Holly wondered if they would spend this week backbiting and sniping, as they had at the start of their South Beach vacation. Then the sudden
brring
of Alexa’s cell phone brought her back to the present.

“I have a text,” Alexa said, futilely pawing through her handbag. She felt herself tense up; what if it was Margaux, texting to say that the girls shouldn’t come
after all? “Can you check it?” she demanded, thrusting her bag in Holly’s direction.

Still sour, Holly grudgingly pushed aside Alexa’s tube of Paula Dorf Taffeta lip gloss, iPod nano in its lavender plush case, and sample container of Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue in order to find her cell. She flipped open the phone to see the incoming message:

Have fun, lucky bitches.

Holly, chuckling, read the text aloud.

“It’s from Portia!” Alexa cried, cracking up as well. She felt her spirits lift instantly. “She’s so jealous of us right now she’s probably…”

“Chewing a hole through her best Tsubi jeans?” Holly offered with a snort, and the two girls broke into laughter. Alexa, her spirits lifting, realized she may have taught Holly something about fashion after all.

The girls’ moods greatly improved by the time they reached the airport, and soared once they boarded their cross-country flight. They spent the plane ride sitting cross-legged in their seats, sharing the peanut-butter-and-quince-jelly sandwiches Holly’s mother had packed them, and analyzing Jonah Eklundstrom.

“I hope with every inch of my being that he’s shaved his beard,” Alexa pronounced as they sailed over the Rocky Mountains. The latest photo that she’d seen of Jonah, online, had shown him sporting a
mountain man look—still yummy on him, but Alexa
so
did not buy into the whole beards-are-trendy fad.

“You want him all smooth when you guys inevitably make out?” Holly teased, tucking her knees up under her chin. She was amazed at how relaxed she felt on the plane, as opposed to the freak-out she’d had on her first flight with Alexa, to Miami. Maybe because she’d developed a taste for travel, Holly’s once-paralyzing fear of flying had diminished over the past year. Alexa, who adored being airborne, took full credit for the breakthrough.

“Would you stop?” Alexa giggled, lobbing her stiff pillow at Holly, who ducked and shrieked, provoking a glare from the family across the aisle, “I told you—just because we’re staying with him does
not
mean I’m going to hook up with Jonah Eklundstrom!”

A hush seemed to fall over the plane, and Alexa realized how loud she and Holly were being. Across the aisle, two sisters—who looked to be about fifteen and twelve, and were decked out in matching striped tank tops and jelly bracelets—leaned over, eyes enormous. “Excuse me,
what
did you say?” the older one whispered in a southern accent, her braces-covered teeth snapping a piece of gum. On the younger one’s lap, Alexa noticed, sat an open
Seventeen
magazine, and Jonah Eklundstrom’s bearded face beamed up from the pages.

“You’ll have to ignore her. She’s delusional,” Holly told the girls, while Alexa hid her face in her hands, her bare shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Nellie, what’s ‘delusional’?” Holly heard the younger one ask her older sister. Grinning, Holly turned back to Alexa, who was pulling a pair of sunglasses and an adorable floppy hat out of her tote bag. Quickly, Alexa undid her hair from its bun, let it tumble down her back in pale gold waves, and slipped on the shades and hat. “It’s time to go incognito,” Alexa whispered through her laughter, looking uncannily like a movie star avoiding the press.