Jane Austen Goes to Hollywood (6 page)

“How’s the apartment hunt?” Theo ventured. Grace had shared some of her frustrations when it came to her family and their rose-tinted view on reality, but the topic was still edged with tension; Portia always lurking, unspoken, at the back of every conversation. “Have you found anywhere you like yet?”

“No.” Grace sighed. “I don’t know what Mom and Hallie expect to happen: that some fairy godmother’s going to conjure a place out of nowhere. I’ve started packing up our stuff,” she added. “It’s such a big house, I don’t want to leave it to the last minute.”

“I could help,” Theo offered immediately. “I’m a master packer. Trust me, I was the envy of the whole school come the end of the year. Advanced special awareness.”

“Fancy!” Grace bit her lip, thinking. “There is a lot to do. I’m not even halfway through the lounge yet. . . .”

“Then I’m in,” Theo declared. “I’ll come by on the weekend, bring some takeout. Make a party of it.”

“Either you’ve been to some lame parties, or Portia won’t let processed foods in the house.” Theo looked bashful. “Knew it!” Grace laughed.

“It’s all organic, raw stuff. I’m wasting away!”

“Then fine,” Grace agreed. “But you’ll need to earn it. Bring duct tape.”

When Grace returned home, she found Hallie in the middle of one of her fits: clutching a letter on the stairs, while their mom tried in vain to calm her.

“It’ll be OK, sweetie.”

“It won’t! He’s ruined everything!” Hallie screamed. “I hate him, I hate you all!” She turned and stormed upstairs in a whirl of black, her door slamming a moment later.

Grace shrugged off her jacket. “What is it this time?”

Their mom looked drained. “Juilliard. They can’t hold her place without the next tuition installment.”

“But . . . Dad set up college funds for us!” Grace gasped, “Portia can’t take that too!”

“Your father had investment accounts,” her mom corrected. “Portia’s lawyers say he could have meant that money for anything.”

Grace felt a surge of rage, and fought to keep it back. Getting mad wouldn’t solve anything. It was done. “Can she apply for financial aid? Scholarships?”

“Not for this year. And with her grades . . .”

They shared a look. Hallie may have excelled when it came to theatrics, but as for regular math and science? Not so stellar. “Poor Hallie,” Grace said. “She was so happy to get in.”

Their dad had been happy too: taking them out for a fancy dinner at Hallie’s favorite French restaurant, and boasting to every waiter who’d listen about his brilliant daughters and what amazing colleges they’d attend.

Portia had been otherwise engaged that night.

The phone began to ring down the hall. “I’ll get it,” her mom said quickly. “You go see if she’s OK.” She hurried away before Grace could object — as if parenting were a simple matter of claiming “Not it!” first.

Grace climbed the stairs and tapped awkwardly on Hallie’s door. There was no reply, so she pushed it open. The room was dim, light barely filtering through the thick velvet curtains onto dark walls pinned with pages from fashion magazines and framed art deco advertisements. Hallie was crumpled in a heap on her bed, sobbing loudly.

“Hey,” Grace began, carefully picking her way through the clothing and magazines strewn across the floor. “Mom told me. I’m really sorry.”

Hallie lifted her head, eyes smeared with running mascara. “How could he do this to me?”

“He didn’t mean to,” Grace murmured, perching on the edge of the bed. “It’s not his fault.”

“Would you stop it!” Hallie cried, bolting upright. “God, I’m so sick of you making excuses for him. Can’t you just be angry for once?”

Grace sighed. “Why?”

“Because he left!” Hallie’s voice cracked. “He turned around and left, and didn’t even care what would happen to us —”

“Hallie, you know that’s not true.”

“Is it?” Hallie glared at her, defiant. “If you care about someone, you look out for them. You write a freaking will!”

This was useless. Grace stood. “I’ll go make you some tea. We can talk about it when you calm down.”

“There you go again!” Hallie leaped up. “ ‘Calm down,’ ‘he didn’t mean it,’ ” she mimicked. “When will you just admit you hate him too?”

“I don’t,” Grace told her firmly.

“Right,” Hallie said, her voice scathing. “And Portia’s just doing what she thinks is best, and Mom will get her act together soon, and you aren’t sitting around all day pining over your precious Theo.”

Grace hardened. “So what do you want me to do — throw tantrums like you?” she shot back. “Use up all my energy weeping and wailing, like that’s going to make a difference?”

It was the wrong thing to say. “You always do this!” Hallie clenched her fists. “Make me feel like I’m crazy for having feelings. It’s not fair! I’m allowed to grieve!”

“Grief is one thing,” Grace told her, patience finally worn out. She’d been indulging Hallie for too long. “Wallowing in denial doesn’t solve anything.”

“It’s not supposed to!” Hallie yelled. Her voice was hoarse now. “It’s about
expressing! How! I! Feel!
” Hallie punctuated every word by hurling something at Grace: a handy magazine, a pair of pants, a vase from her nightstand.

Grace ducked. The vase smashed against the door. “You’re insane!”

“And you’re a robot with no heart!”

“Well, which is it?” Grace yelled. “Either I have no feelings, or I’m repressing them!”

Hallie threw herself down on the bed again and screamed into her pillow.

“See? This is why I have to keep it together,” Grace told her, furious. “Someone has to be the grown-up in this family, and apparently, I’m the only one left!”

She whirled around to leave, but their mom appeared, blocking the door. Grace flushed, guilty. “Sorry.”

Her mom blinked. “For what?”

“She started it!” Hallie’s voice was still muffled, facedown in her comforter.

But before Grace could even begin to explain, their mom continued. “Everything’s going to be all right,” she said, her expression brighter than Grace had seen in weeks. “I found a place for us to live!”

The house — well, guesthouse — belonged to Auggie Jennings, a cousin of their mother’s in Los Angeles who had made a name for himself producing scandalous true-crime TV movies, and now wanted nothing more than to offer his riches and real estate to his poor, impoverished family.

“Apparently, he’s rattling around some huge mansion with his
twenty-two-year-old
wife,” Grace told Theo as they transferred the contents of the lounge into packing crates.

“Twenty-two isn’t so young,” Theo argued. “My parents got married right out of high school.”

Grace fixed him with a look. “He’s in his fifties.”

“Ah.” Theo laughed. “OK, that is kind of weird.”

“Not as weird as packing up and moving to a whole new city to live with a man we’ve never met.” Grace’s relief at the answer to all their prayers was dampened by what she didn’t know about their new favorite “Uncle.” Namely, almost everything.

“Of course you’ve met him,” her mom insisted, breezing in. “He came to your birthday party, when he was in town one year. The one with the cowboy theme.”

“I was four!”

“And clearly, you made a great impression.” Her mom beamed. She’d been wafting around on a cloud of joy ever since Uncle Auggie (as he insisted they call him) had been in touch, thrilled by the thought of a dedicated studio and all that Southern Californian light. “Or maybe it was the portrait. I painted his dogs for Christmas last year,” she explained to Theo. “Matching shih tzus. So cute!” She sailed out.

Grace sighed.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Theo offered. “A fresh start. Or it could just be temporary, until you figure something else out . . .” He trailed off with a guilty look. “I’m sorry. I know I keep saying this, and it doesn’t make a difference, but . . . I’m sorry. I never thought Portia would take it this far.”

So far, in fact, that Portia had already sold the house to one of those condo developers. The demolition was scheduled for next week; Grace was glad she wouldn’t be around to witness that, at least.

“I know,” Grace reassured him. “It’s not your fault. It’s just the way things are.”

She surveyed the half-packed room, full of crumpled newspaper and the objects that had, for so long, made up the background fabric of her life. Generous as Auggie’s offer was, there wouldn’t be room for the Westons plus all their worldly belongings; half the house was going into storage, and thanks to Hallie and her mom’s inability to part with so much as a used ticket stub, it was down to Grace to decide which half.

“Come on,” she said, trying for a brighter tone. “I’ve got a ton of old textbooks that need to go to Goodwill. You can break your back as penance for Portia’s sins.”

Theo laughed. “I don’t love her that much. A muscle strain, maybe.”

“I’ll take it.”

They spent the rest of the morning dismantling her bedroom; Grace trying to ignore the pangs of loss with every photo she peeled from the wall, and every book she stashed away in the “storage” pile. She should be grateful. Hallie’s fairy godmother had appeared in the form of a balding distant cousin with a mysterious sense of family loyalty. Without him, she knew, she’d still be wrangling her mom and Hallie into a fifth-floor walk-up on the other side of the bay. But Grace couldn’t help the apprehension that bubbled up every time she thought about leaving town. Beverly Hills may be only six hours away on the freeway, but it seemed like a world away from home, her school, her friends . . .

And Theo.

Not that he was staying, Grace reminded herself firmly. He was heading back to the East Coast next week, to start his summer job teaching sailing in the Hamptons.

“That sounds fun. Preppy, but fun,” Grace had teased when he’d told her about his plans.

“Tell that to my grandma. Coates men don’t soil the family name with manual labor.” Theo’s voice had been light, but Grace could tell there was tension there.

“Right,” she’d agreed. “Because yachting is up there with coal mining and lumberjacking. Oh, the shame!”

“Is lumberjacking even a word?” Theo had grinned, and just like that, the tension was broken.

“Here, catch,” Grace said, tossing a canvas bag down at Theo. He caught it deftly, peering inside.

“What is this stuff?” Theo pulled out a miniature blowtorch and a handful of metal pins.

“Design elective last year,” she explained. “I had to do an art project, so I picked the most scientific one I could.”

Theo pulled out one of her finished pieces: a pendant in the shape of a periodic element, pins welded together as electrons and neutrons. “You made this? It’s great.” He looked at it a moment, then laughed.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just . . . it’s the sign for gold, and you made it out of silver.” Theo turned it over in his hands. “That’s cool.”

“You’re the first person to get that.” Grace smiled. Their eyes met for a moment, and she turned away, awkward. “Science geeks, we be crazy!”

“So which box?” Theo asked. “Keep?”

Grace wavered. “Storage,” she decided. “No, wait, trash.”

Theo put the bag in the storage box. “Maybe you’ll want it one day,” he told her with a smile. Grace sighed. “At this rate, we’ll need ten lockers! And that’s not even counting Hallie’s collection of
Vogue
s.”

“What are you saying about me now?” Hallie’s voice came from down the hall.

“Nothing!” Grace yelled back. “Be careful,” she whispered to Theo as footsteps came closer. “She’s been kind of . . . emotional, since Juilliard.”

He nodded, arranging his face into a cautiously sympathetic expression, but when the door swung wider, Hallie danced in. The black mourning garb was gone: in its place was a floaty vintage print dress and fifties starlet lipstick. She was humming an indie rock song, as carefree as if the past month of tantrums had never happened. “Hey, Theo!” Hallie held out her hand. “Up high.”

Theo slowly high-fived her, sending Grace a confused look. Hallie waltzed over to the storage pile. “Oh, our old teddy bears, cute!”

“Umm, Hallie,” Grace asked carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Great!” She beamed.

“Did you take some of Mom’s pills?” Grace checked. “Because you know the doctor says to be careful —”

“Relax!” Hallie grinned. “I’m not high.”

“OK.” Grace was still suspicious. “Drunk?”

“Grace! I’m fine. Even better than fine.” Hallie beamed. “We’re moving to Hollywood!”

“Beverly Hills isn’t technically Hollywood,” Grace corrected, but Hallie just rolled her eyes.

“It’s close enough. Don’t you see?” she declared. “I wanted to be an actress, and now I will be! I don’t need stupid Juilliard, I can get all the experience and contacts I need in L.A. Train with the greats, go to auditions . . .” She struck a pose, knocking into Grace’s stack of old school reports. Theo leaped up to keep them from tumbling down. “It’s perfect.”

“Uh-huh,” Grace murmured. Hallie narrowed her eyes.

“It wouldn’t kill you to be more supportive. I thought you wanted me to move on, embrace the change. So I’m embracing it!”

“That’s great,” Grace said quickly. “I’m really happy for you. Have you started packing yet?”