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Authors: Zoey Dean

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American Beauty (8 page)

BOOK: American Beauty
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“Cici?” He heard her lean over to her mother. “I’m going to show Jack where the bathroom is.”

Dee led Jack out of the showcase room; they made a hard right down a narrow corridor, Dee trying door handles all the way. Finally, one opened: behind it was a tiny closet packed with brooms, an ancient vacuum cleaner, and a crusty mop.

She pulled him inside and shut the door.

Damn, this girl was smoking. Jack pressed her against the wall as darkness enveloped them. He moved his mouth to the spot where the top of her dress melded into her petal-soft skin. Her hands were totally tangled in his hair, and he couldn’t control how much he wanted her. …

Neither of them knew how much time had passed when they realized that the music had ended.

“Jack, what happened?” Dee whispered urgently.

He stopped and listened—people were shuffling past them in their hallway, chattering excitedly about what they’d just heard.

“I think it’s over.”

“We have to get out—my dad will flip!”

Fuck. She wasn’t really going to leave him like this, was she? How the hell was he supposed to go out there with a tent in his jeans?

“Um, Dee, there’s a problem.” He touched her hand on the difficulty.

“Just tell Captain Winky to come out and play later.”

Before he could explain that Captain Winky was not under his conscious control, he saw her push the closet door open, her baby-blue eyes squinting with the sudden appearance of light.

Then, out of nowhere, Graham wheeled around the corner and watched them slip out. But if he was unhappy at the sight of Jack, his daughter, and an open broom closet, his words belied it. “Dream Works wants to make a deal,” he reported efficiently. “What did you think?”

“I think they’re great, Daddy,” Dee gushed. “Really. Jack did too.”

Thanks, kids. I have to go kibbitz with the Columbia guy. Again, nice to have met you, Jack.”

“You too, sir.”

Graham fixed his gaze on him, then on the closet door, and then on him again. “Excellent. I’m glad you were here. And Jack? One more thing. Hurt my little girl, I’ll eat you for lunch.”

Crimson Crime

I
f you wanted the perfect Los Angeles double hamburger, you went to In-N-Out Burger. If you needed a vintage terry-cloth jumpsuit, you haunted the thrift shops on Melrose. If you craved utter and total indulgence, you hauled your Dior-clad ass to Le Petite Retreat day spa.

Le Petite Retreat was
the
spa of the moment. Its clientele included Heidi, Kate (after her latest rehab), Nicky (but definitely not Paris, who rendered everything she touched post-hip), and Gwyneth, when she was in town. Sam knew for a fact that there would be a five-page-with-glossy-photos spread on Le Petite in the next issue of
Vogue
. Hence, this Sunday afternoon outing with her friends would be their last and best chance to go before the tourists and wanna-bes swarmed the place.

It was always so much work to find the spa of tomorrow.

A-list models and movie stars, as opposed to A-list television stars, were the only ones who could get into Le Petite without a month’s advance notice. Sam Sharpe had A-list-movie-star clout because of “Action Jackson,” as he was called, which was why she was treating Anna, Cammie, and Dee to a Sunday afternoon at Le Petite as a graduation present. Of course, she was treating herself, too.

Naturally, this spa afternoon was part of a still-forming larger plan—a strategic plan, in fact—to win Eduardo back. Every woman looked more beautiful after a spa day. It was absolutely crucial that Sam look her best to carry out her mission, no matter what shape it ultimately took, which was why it was absolutely crucial that she spend an afternoon at Le Petite. Eduardo was a wonderful guy who, through some magical alchemy of the stars, really loved her. She was not going to let one stupid night make the whole thing disappear.

She’d decided to begin with the outside. Yes, she was ridiculously rich and semifamous, due to her very famous father and her own occasional mentions and photos in
CosmoGirl!
and
Teen People
. She had the best of everything and had taken advantage of every beautifying service known to womankind short of actually going under the knife. Yet she was still not really beautiful.

Maybe if she’d lived in Duluth or Salt Lake City or one of those places where women thought wearing a size twelve was just fine, she could have dealt with her own physical shortcomings. But Beverly Hills? Sam’s deadly sin was worse than the seven she’d used as a theme for her pregraduation party on the boat: hers was lack of perfection.

The great thing about Eduardo had been—and would be again, she vowed—that he really and truly loved her exactly as she was. They’d even made love with the lights on. That had been tough on her; she’d studied him like he was a canary in a coal mine for signs of disgust while viewing her dimpled thighs. But all she saw was lust. And love. On the worldwide guy scale of one to ten, Eduardo was an eleven. He had fallen really, deeply, and truly for Sam. Then she had gone and fucked it all up.

Well, how the hell was she supposed to know he was going to surprise her and show up at the prom after-party? In real life, guys as fine as Eduardo didn’t do things like that for girls who looked like her. Talk about your suspension of disbelief. She’d tried to reconnect with him since then: phone calls, e-mails, all the usual ways. Nothing worked. It was time to get more creative. Whatever her plan would be, step one involved being buffed, scrubbed, rubbed, painted, and primped into a state of Le Petite polish. If, God forbid, her efforts bore no fruit, she’d at least look as good as she ever did.

Roger, one of her father’s many drivers, dropped her at Le Petite, and she stepped through the glass door into the circular lobby. It was all white, with a soaring twenty-foot ceiling that featured a massive skylight. A waterfall trickled musically into an indoor koi pond—lights on the waterfall morphed through the spectrum of colors, all pulsing in time to the New Age music that emanated from inside the pebbled white walls. Large, slender aquamarine vases had been placed here and there on small black pedestals; each held a single purple orchid. The spa staff—invariably slender, mostly platinum blond—wafted through in white saris and loose-fitting pants, specially designed for the spa by Vera Wang. Each staff member had a “third eye” jewel glued to the middle of his or her forehead.

Her friends were already there, on different white couches, as if they’d never met. Anna looked up from her
New Yorker
magazine; Cammie continued a cell phone conversation.

“Hi, Sam.” Anna stood and kissed Sam on the cheek. “This place is beautiful. Thanks for inviting me.”

“That was Dee,” Cammie reported, dropping her Razr cell phone into her mint-green-and-baby-pink Kate Spade hobo bag. “She can’t come—I didn’t catch exactly why—probably boning Jack. She said she tried to call but, Sam, your phone is off.”

Sam pulled her Samsung out of her chocolate-brown fringed Kenneth Cole purse. Dee was right; the battery pack had come loose.
Shit.
What if Eduardo had tried to call, hit her voice mail, and decided not to leave a message? She couldn’t have it on during the spa session; cell phones in Le Petite were strictly forbidden. Even for her.

“Ah, Miss Sharpe, welcome. I am Batsheva, at your service.” The girl greeting her had beautiful almond-shaped eyes and a lush raven braid down her back. She wore the regulation white outfit and had a ruby in the center of her forehead. She gestured toward Anna and Cammie with one graceful arm. “Please call me Sheva. And these are your guests?”

“Yes; meet Anna and Cammie.”

Sheva nodded. “I will be your personal valet for the afternoon. If you need anything at all, I am but a chime away.” She handed Sam a small white disc on a wristband. “You press the disc like so—” Sheva pressed the disc; an identical bracelet on her own wrist chimed loudly. “When you chime, I chime, you see, and then I will come see to your every need. I hope that is satisfactory.”

“Sure,” Sam agreed, donning her bracelet. “Thanks.”

Sheva gave a small bow. “Most excellent. Now if all three of you would be so good as to follow me?”

She led the way through a pristine hallway, then down some steps and into the ladies’ changing room. There was a row of doors with brass handles. Each girl’s name had been precalligraphied on a faux-brass name-plate. Nice touch.

Sam entered the
SAM
door to get undressed. Her cubicle—at least as large as her oversized bathroom and dressing area at her dad’s estate—contained a graceful white velvet divan, a private sunken whirlpool, and a white leather massage table. Hanging on the back of the door she found an Italian Frette spa robe monogrammed with the Le Petite logo and silk thong slippers. There was even a white velvet head wrap to protect her hair during her facial.

The treatments had all been prearranged. They’d each begin with an aquasonic lymphatic microdermabrasion facial on the massage tables in their chambers to firm, oxygenate, and rejuvenate the skin by detoxing the lymph system.

A moment later, Sheva knocked discreetly and asked if she might come in. She handed Sam a bone china cup of herbal tea, and then asked if Sam would prefer jasmine, eucalyptus, or primrose scent in her room. Sam picked jasmine. Sheva pressed a button on a panel. Moments later the aroma of fresh flowers subtly filled the air.

Then another female entered and Sheva departed. This young woman, who called herself Natasha, wore the same outfit as Sheva, save for the third eye glued to her forehead. Hers was a blue sapphire. She had a blond crew cut and the perfectly chiseled bone structure to pull it off. “Lie back and clear your mind,” Natasha instructed, in a voice that had the faintest of Russian accents. “Enjoy your facial.”

Sam closed her eyes, and as Natasha’s hands pressed firmly on the lymph nodes around her eyes, over and over, she drifted away on a magic carpet of bliss. If she were a guy, she could imagine marrying Natasha for her hands alone. In fact, Sam didn’t realize that Natasha had finished and exited until she heard the chime go off on her wrist.

A moment later, Sheva reentered her chamber. “So, you are ready to meet Cammie and Anna at the copper tubs?”

The attendant led Sam out of her chamber and down an entirely different white hallway that finally opened into a large bath area with a dozen massive copper tubs. Given the choice of hydrotherapy bath options, Sam had opted for the Peppermint Ginger Plunge, wherein she would soak in aromatherapy oils of eucalyptus, ginger, and peppermint that were said to energize and invigorate the body and the spirit. For Anna, she’d selected the Aqua Latte & Floral Medley—essential oils of lavender, rose, and sage. Finally, Cammie would experience the Green Tea Escape, soaking in rose petal oil and essence of green tea.

“How’s life?” Sam giggled to her friends, who were already in their respective baths.

“Amazing,” Anna rhapsodized as she lowered herself deeper into the scented water. “It put me to sleep.”

“Me too, and that never happens.” Sam noticed less of an edge than usual to Cammie’s voice, as Sheva helped her into her steaming copper tub, bowed, and exited.

She sank into the bubbling water, her eyes closing of their own volition. “Oh my God. This might be the best thing I ever felt in my life.”

“In that case, you better tell Eduardo to step up his game,” Cammie commented, from Sam’s other side. “That is, if he ever speaks to you again.”

Sam reopened her eyes. Trust Cammie to say just the thing guaranteed to bring the tension roaring back. “That was bitchy.”

“You’re right.” Cammie nodded quickly. “Sorry. I’m dealing with all this shit about my father.”

Had Cammie Sheppard apologized? Cammie
never
apologized. Sam knew Cammie was referring to what had happened on that yacht. She turned her head and dropped her voice so Anna wouldn’t overhear.

“So how’s that going?”

“It isn’t. My father keeps ducking me. I
am
going to confront him tonight. If I have to have him kidnapped and tied to his Eames management chair, I will.”

“I know you will.”

Forty-five minutes later, when all three girls were bubbled into pink submission, their attendants came back to wrap them in fluffy white seven-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton towels. Then they were given aromatherapy pulse-point massages by various attendants while three other minions tended to their manis and pedis. Sam opted for the spa’s Crimson Crime polish, mixed with flecks of real twenty-four-karat gold.

“I have one more treat for you guys,” Sam announced as their fingernails and toenails dried. Three professional makeup artists appeared, along with Sheva.

“Ladies, your new 3D-Lashes are semipermanent eyelash extensions,” their spa envoy explained. “They will be applied one at a time to your existing eyelashes with a special waterproof bond that will not be disturbed by makeup remover. They will stay on for two months. If you wish to remove them, simply return to us and we will use our special polypeptide bond remover to gently take them off. But they are so weightless, so utterly and totally natural, that we have not yet had a client choose to remove them. More likely you will decide to return in six or seven weeks to have new ones applied.”

Anna hesitated. “They don’t look fake?”

“I assure you that they are absolutely undetectable,” Sheva promised. “We offer them in Jet Black, Espresso Brown, Burgundy Red, Velvet Purple, Midnight Blue, and Mountain Green. Please inform your trained technician the color of 3D-Lashes you wish to have.” She gave her little half-bow again and left.

Anna leaned close to Sam. “How can they look completely natural if they’re ‘Velvet Purple’?”

Sam grinned and shook her head. “Go for brown, Anna. You aren’t the Velvet Purple type.”

Ninety minutes later, all three girls were batting their new eyelashes into magnifying mirrors handed to them by their lash technicians.

“This rocks,” Sam marveled. “I really can’t see where they’re attached at all.”

“Oh, I am so adding this to my regular beauty routine,” Cammie said, admiring her Jet Black lashes. “This is great.”

BOOK: American Beauty
10.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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