Jane Austen Goes to Hollywood (31 page)

“Exactly.” Hallie reached forward from the backseat and gave Grace’s shoulder a squeeze. “But when was the last time you went running off on some random quest, or cared enough to risk everything? Never! This bad idea could be the best idea you ever had.”

Grace didn’t quite follow her logic, but it was too late: Brandon was pulling up outside an ivy-covered residence hall. “Roble Hall . . . that’s him, right?”

Grace didn’t move. “What am I supposed to do, just march in there and tell him how I feel?”

“Pretty much.” They all nodded.

“Brandon, you’re the sane one.” She turned to him, pleading. “Tell them this is crazy.”

“Hey, I’m just the driver!” He softened, looking at her clearly panicked face. “Do it like a Band-Aid: just rip it off, fast. Then, at least, it’ll be done.”

Fast. Painful. That sounded about right.

“But what will he say?”

Brandon gave her a rueful look. “Does it matter?”

Grace stared. Did it matter? She was about to go pledge her affection for a guy who hadn’t even bothered to e-mail in months, who might turn around and run — or, worse still, laugh in her face! Of course it mattered!

And yet . . .

No. It didn’t. Grace realized with a shock that the reason she’d come all this way, the reason she’d even wanted to in the first place, didn’t have anything to do with what happened after she told Theo how she felt. The only thing that mattered was that she tell him. Finally.

Grace took a breath and reached for the door handle. “I’m going in.”

“She’s going in!” Palmer cheered.

“I saw a café-slash-juice-bar-type-place just back around the corner,” Hallie told her. “Come meet us there after. Or, you know, bring Theo along.” She winked.

“Uh-huh.” Grace stumbled down from the car and paused a moment, looking up at the building. This must be how pro athletes felt, trying to psych themselves up for the big game. Or those men who ran with the bulls in Spain: embarking on a reckless mission that may well end in bloody, painful death.

“You can do it!” Palmer called.

She could. Do this.

Oh, God.

Grace hurried up the steps, slipping into the building behind a group of girls in matching team sweatshirts. She waited for the elevators with them, her skin prickling; never so glad that nobody could see the hot flush that was spread across her face. Theo lived on the third floor, and too soon, Grace was standing outside his room.

She raised her hand to knock, then lowered it. He might not even be in. He could be in the library, studying, or out with friends, or even some other girl —

Grace knocked. There was a pause, and then the door swung open.

“Grace?” Theo gaped at her.

Grace felt a pang. He looked exactly how she’d been remembering him: glasses, a college sweatshirt, and striped pajama bottoms; chestnut hair sticking up in unruly tufts.

“What . . . ? How . . . ? I mean, hi.” He finally recovered, standing back from the door. “Sorry, come in. I’m just . . . surprised to see you.”

“Me too.” Grace followed him into the small single room, her heart racing. It was earnestly neat: no posters or clutter, just a stacked bookcase, some ficus, and a framed Rothko print. Theo swiftly kicked some laundry under the bed and straightened his duvet.

“So, hey,” he said again, loitering awkwardly in the middle of the room. “How are you? Is everything OK?” His eyes widened with sudden concern.

“Yes!” Grace said quickly. “Everyone’s fine. No emergency, I promise.”

“Oh.” He exhaled. “Good.”

There was silence.

This was it, Grace told herself. Time to rip the Band-Aid. Just a few short words, and she’d be done. Hell, she could even turn and run right after if she wanted.

“I, umm, heard about Rex,” she said instead, drifting closer to the desk. “And Lucy.”

“You did?” Theo seemed to brighten, or maybe that was just Grace’s imagination. “It was all pretty sudden. I’ve been on the phone all day with everyone. Portia’s in meltdown.”

“What happened?” Grace perched on the desk chair, swiveling back and forth. “I mean, really.”

Theo sank onto the edge of the bed. “Honestly, I don’t even know half of it yet. Portia fired Lucy a couple of days ago, and I guess her visa was running out. She needed a way to stay, and Rex was up there visiting Portia . . .” He trailed off.

“That part, I don’t get.” Grace paused. “I mean, isn’t he . . . ?”

“Gay? Yup.” Theo looked about as baffled as she felt. “But he’s run through all his money; our parents cut him off. The only way we can get our trust funds early is if we’re married. So, the next thing anyone knows, they’re in Vegas.”

“I’m sorry,” Grace murmured. “You must feel awful.”

“Why?” Theo stared.

“Because of Lucy, leaving you like that.”

Theo looked shocked, but Grace added quickly, “It’s OK, she told me everything, about you guys falling in love, and keeping it secret, and —”

“Love?” Theo interrupted. “No, wait, you’ve got it all wrong.”

Grace stopped. “I have?” She couldn’t help the hopeful note that crept into her voice. “You mean . . . you weren’t seeing her?”

Theo flushed. “I . . . well, yes. But not like that,” he added quickly. “We were never serious.”

“Oh.” Grace didn’t know if that was worse; that Theo had just been hooking up with Lucy, and it didn’t mean anything to him. Her feelings must have shown, because he sighed, frustrated.

“I’m not explaining this right.” Theo took a breath. “The truth is, I met Lucy in the Hamptons over summer, and we, well, we dated.” He looked away at that last part. “It got too serious, way too fast,” Theo continued, “and I realized that we weren’t right for each other, but by then . . .” Theo’s voice was heavy with regret. “I didn’t want to be one of those guys that just cuts and runs, you know?”

Grace nodded. Of course he didn’t; Theo couldn’t have been further from the type.

“So I tried to let her down gently,” he continued, “but she wouldn’t take the hint. When summer ended, I figured, that was it. She kept calling and e-mailing, and I kept blowing her off, but I didn’t even know she was talking to you until we all met in New York.” Theo looked at her earnestly. “I’m sorry. I know what you must have thought of me.”

“Why?” Grace said simply. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

It was true, he didn’t. Grace could have so easily hooked up with Harry that night at the party, or started dating someone else herself. As much as it had pained Grace to think of him with Lucy, Theo didn’t belong to her — they’d said nothing at all.

“And then, your necklace . . .” Theo continued, awkward. “I thought I’d just misplaced it, but then I saw her wearing it at Christmas, and I realized . . . I didn’t give it to her,” he swore. “I would never do that. I only kept it because . . .”

He stopped.

Because what? But before Grace could find the words to ask, Theo leaped up.

“I got you something,” he said, crossing to the desk. Grace stepped back, out of his way, as he opened a drawer and pulled out a gift box. “For your birthday.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I can’t believe I didn’t even say anything yet. It should have been the first thing.”

Theo held it out, awkward.

“Thank you,” Grace said, slowly taking it.

“I know it’s not wrapped, or anything. I was going to drive down, to visit, and give it to you in person.” Theo bit his lip. “But then, Lucy and Rex happened, and everyone needed to talk, and —”

“I get it.” Grace laughed. “I mean, it’s a good thing you didn’t. Otherwise, I’d be here, and you’d be there, and . . . well. You know.”

She opened the lid. “Theo!” Grace looked up at him in delight. “Where did you even get this?”

He looked bashful all over again. “I had it made. Is that OK? I know it was your idea, but I just thought . . .”

“Are you kidding?” Grace lifted out the necklace, the gold pendant dangling. A central atom, and then electrons circling it like the rings on a planet: the chemical equation for silver. “I can’t believe you did this for me!” She reached to fasten it around her neck, lifting her hair aside.

“Here.” Theo took it and fastened the clasp, his fingers brushing against her skin.

Grace turned back around, and found Theo looking at her.

“It looks great on you,” he said quietly.

“Thanks.” Grace toyed with the pendant, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s perfect.”

“Good.”

Grace fell silent. Theo was close now, standing just inches away. Neither of them moved. She caught her breath. This was it, this had to be it. She couldn’t wait anymore, she couldn’t keep hiding, not when the only thing she had left to lose was the possibility of this becoming real. But it wouldn’t, not until she found the courage to say what she’d been feeling all this time. To own her emotions, whatever they were.

“I . . . like you.”

Theo’s head jerked around, and Grace felt a rush of pure panic. Oh, God, what had she done? It sounded so stupid out loud like that, but there was no stopping now, it was there, hanging in the space between them, she had no choice but to stumble on; cheeks burning.

“Not like a friend, or family — God, not at all like family!” Grace forgot how to breathe. “I
like you
like you, I mean. And it’s OK if you don’t feel the same,” she babbled, “or even want to be friends, I just had to tell you because I’ve been carrying this around forever and I can’t keep it in anymore —”

She stopped, she had to. Theo was kissing her.

Oh.

His lips were warm, soft against hers, almost featherlight, until Grace leaned in, instinctively. The kiss deepened. His hand went to her cheek, the other light on her waist as Grace tasted him: toothpaste and cola and
Theo.

She surfaced for air, giddy. They blinked at each other.

“I —” Theo began, and this time, it was Grace who silenced him.

Hallie’s
impassioned death throes on the hit teen supernatural drama
Vampire Kisses
so impressed the producers that they resurrected her the next season to star as the newest beautiful (yet tormented) bloodsucker in the mysterious town of Darkness Falls. She soon had her pick of agents, and landed her very first film role in an indie comedy. The part was for a reckless, self-centered drama queen. It would, Hallie said at the time, be a real stretch, but she would dig deep and do the part justice.

Despite receiving regular invitations to club openings, premieres, and celebrity parties, Hallie prefers to lead a quieter life out of the glare of the spotlight. When she does walk the red carpet, she’s usually accompanied by her sister, or boyfriend, Brandon — a critically acclaimed photographer whose series on returning war veterans recently won a National Press Photographers Association prize, and remains on exhibition at the Whitney Museum in New York. They live together in Venice Beach, with a view of the ocean. He’s still trying to teach her how to drive.

Lucy and Rex
were married for thirty-two days, until his grandmother — via Portia’s urging — threatened to disinherit him. Since Rex could not acknowledge that he hadn’t consummated the relationship with his new wife, a divorce was the only option. Joint-property laws in Nevada being what they are, Lucy reached a very comfortable settlement. She is currently vacationing in Paris, while Rex prepares his dissertation:
The Reign of the Phallus: Sexual Politics in Ancient Greece.

Dakota’s
band, Take Fountain, had the most illegally downloaded album of the year with their debut record,
Lights of Mulholland
. Paid sales, however, disappointed, and after a lackluster sophomore effort (which
Rolling Stone
called “a shadow of their former selves”), they were quietly dropped by their label. Dakota continued to date his way through Hollywood’s C-list starlets, in pursuit of column inches and a solo deal, to no avail. He is currently living in London, writing songs for British-reality-contest-winners Nu-Edge, who have gone on the record about wanting a “fresh rock sound” and “like, authentic emotionality” in their music. He watches
Vampire Kisses
every week, and tries drunk-dialing Hallie when his regret gets too much to take. She changed her number.

Auggie Jennings
continues to produce, receiving wide commercial (if not critical) acclaim for
Please, Daddy, No: The Jody Leigh Simmons Story,
now Lifetime’s highest-rated true-crime movie of all-time. Amber — retired since twenty-two — is still active in the charity, shopping, and strip-hop-exercise-class communities of Beverly Hills. They recently welcomed a new addition to the family: Elizabeth Taylor, a purebred snicker-poodle.

Valerie
rose to prominence with her moving, provocative series in oils entitled
The White Witch Cometh.
The
New York Times
called it a “bold, almost violent expose of humanity’s selfish urges,” while the
New Yorker
heralded her as “one of our undiscovered African-American talents.” All speculation that the unnamed, dark-haired figure in the paintings was inspired by Portia has been, of course, denied.