Are You Going to Kiss Me Now? (20 page)

“Out loud!” she yelled.

“I can’t,” he said after a long pause. “I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” she asked laughing. “Read?”

Cisco didn’t say anything.

“Oh my God,” Milan whispered, turning bright red. We were all mortified. Cisco looked like he was going to cry.

“Is he kidding?” Chaz spoke with the urgency of a child.

“Illiterate?” Ned chuckled. “And you were going on a literacy tour when the plane disappeared? Ironic. Poetic almost.”

“I’m not illiterate,” Cisco whispered softly. “Just dyslexic. Severely dyslexic.” He put the phone down and walked away. I hated Ned, but all I could think of was getting my phone before anyone else. Just as I made a jump for it, Eve snatched it up and started scrolling through my texts to Jordan. She didn’t say anything for a long time. She didn’t even look up. Eventually she handed the phone to Milan. I knew Chaz was next. And then Jonah.

“Francesca,” Ned called from the patio. I nearly jumped out of my skin. “You’re welcome to come in and help me prep brunch. I think you might find the ambience a bit more welcoming inside.”

“Come here, Fran,” Jonah called, narrowing his eyes on Ned and holding out his hand to me. I took Jonah’s hand for what I knew would be the last time.

Listen to this!” Milan said, squinting as she read from the tiny phone screen:

Jordan:

I just saw the terrifying contents of Milan Amberson’s purse. I get the drugs and Frosted Flakes, but what do you think she does with the superglue and latex glove?

“Oh, ha ha,” she faux chuckled. “You’re such a wit, Francesca.” She looked up at me and continued reading.

Milan’s gonna put out an album. Word of advice: Didn’t work for Lindsay, ain’t gonna work for you. But she’s sooooo pretty it almost doesn’t matter.

“Lesbo bitch,” she said, not even looking up from the phone. She was scrolling frantically. I could see Eve laughing to herself. That was about to end.

I have to wave compliments around to get Eve to do stuff. Like dog biscuits.

Milan chuckled and continued.

I was standing outside their circle, listening to Milan read the words that I had written. Eve’s mouth was a tight line and her eyes were angry. Milan continued reading. It was torture.

Jonah is an egomaniac masquerading as a leader of men.

Milan raised her voice.

As far as I can tell, the only thing he’s ever led is an AA meeting.

Milan laughed. “That’s rich, ‘the only thing he’s ever led is an AA meeting.’ Now that’s funny, isn’t it, lover boy?”

“Is that what you think of me?” Jonah asked, pulling his hand away.

“No! Please. I wrote that the first night we were here. I didn’t even know you then. I didn’t know any of you then.”

“And you think you know us now?” Chaz sneered. “You don’t know anything, Francesca. You’re just a silly little girl.”

“Shut up, Chaz,” Jonah said. Was he defending me? I racked my brain, trying to remember all the awful things I’d written about him, about all of them. Milan kept reading aloud.

I think Jonah actually thinks he’s Jesus. Seems he’s more the spawn of Mel Gibson than Squiggy Small. I hate everyone.

“Please,” I begged. “I wrote that the first day we were here.” I felt desperately apologetic and morbidly humiliated.

“See,” Chaz said, looking at Jonah. “I don’t know why you’re defending her. She’s obviously not worth it.”

“Just leave it,” he barked.

“Jonah’s right, Chaz,” Joe said, “let it go.”

“Oh, listen to this,” Milan purred, interrupting Joe.

J:

Joe’s day: Crashes plane, forgets to send distress signal, takes beautification nap while rescue plane flies overhead.

Milan glanced at Joe before shooting me a look.

“But that was right after the plane missed us because you let the fire go out,” I jumped in. “I was mad. I didn’t mean it! I was venting.”

“It’s OK, Francesca,” Joe said calmly. “You’re right. It’s OK.”

“Oh, this is funny. Listen,” Milan kept reading.

Chaz’s man boobs are only slightly smaller than Milan’s Silicone Sallies.

“Jealous, jealous,” Chaz tisked, looking at me and pushing up his big sisters.

I cringed as Milan read the next entry.

So pathetic to build your career on gossip about people who either despise you or don’t know who you are. And who’s he kidding with that hairdo? It’s as fake as Eve’s English accent.

“Well,” Chaz said without a beat, “you’d have to be pretty stupid to build your tween fantasies around Jonah Baron.”

“Chaz!” Jonah interrupted firmly.

“What does that mean?” I asked, looking at Jonah.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Francesca,” Jonah said, glaring at Chaz. “But I can’t imagine that you’d want to carry on with me seeing as I’m such a hypocrite.”

Chaz laughed. “Touché!”

“Jonah,” I cried, “please. You have to understand I was writing everything down as the days went by. You guys were never supposed to read it. Nobody was supposed to read it. I don’t feel that way about you. I don’t feel that way about any of you now. Everything changed.”

“Why don’t you give her phone back?” Joe finally said. “It’s not her fault.”

“No way. This is way too much fun,” Milan said, scrolling backward and reading. “Listen to this.”

Do you think Cisco would let me lick his armpit?

“Oh, gross, man!” Milan laughed. “You couldn’t pay me to get involved in that gnarly pube party.”

I was
mortified
. And then:

Cisco can’t spell SOS. I mean, please explain? Are his parents cousins or something?

“That’s mean, Francesca,” Milan announced, suddenly discovering her empathy gene.

“Just because I’m dyslexic doesn’t mean I’m dumb,” Cisco said, looking at me like a wounded puppy.

“Oh God. I know you’re not. I didn’t even know about your reading issues, Cisco. Don’t you get it? That was the first day we were here!”

It was obvious that nothing I could say was going to change their new perception of me.

“Look,” I said, trying to collect my thoughts. “Forget being mad at me for a minute. Ned stole my phone, and everything you’re reading is backed up on his computer.”

“So what does he want with it?” Milan asked me. “Blackmail? He’s going to sell it to the press if we tell anyone where his dumb island is? Like anybody cares.”

“He’s going to use it as material to write a book,” I said, taking a deep breath. “And he wants me to tell him everything I know. He also wants to know everything that happened that I didn’t write down. He said that if I cooperate he’ll get us out of here quickly.”

It took about five minutes for everyone to fully absorb this bit of information.

“So tell him,” Milan said with indifference. “Why should you be any different from everybody else?”

“It was an accident, Milan! I would never tell him anything deliberately. Never. You have to believe me.”

“How could you be so
stupid?
” Eve glared at me. It was stupid. I had no answer for her.

“You tell him I farted and you die,” Milan said casually, still scrolling through my texts.

I looked at Jonah. He was shaving a piece of wood with a knife and wouldn’t even look at me. I could tell by his expression that “it,” whatever “it” was between us, was over.

“I’ll just go in there and trash his computer,” Cisco finally suggested.

“He emailed the files to himself in the States.”

“He has Wi-Fi here?”

“Satellite.”

Everyone stopped to absorb.

“But who cares about this stuff?” Milan finally said as she continued scrolling. “Joe’s an inept douche, I take pills, Jonah’s a poser, Eve likes gray pubes…yada, yada…there’s nothing so newsworthy here. I mean, who cares?”

“Speak for yourself,” Eve snapped. “Not all of us are OK with having had our vaginas plastered on the cover of
The National Enquirer
. Some of us actually have private lives we’d like to keep private.”

“Just because your vagina isn’t cover-worthy, don’t go all crazyweed,” Milan chortled, walking over to Eve and whispering really loudly in her ear. “But that rashy picture of you will get good play. That’s what you’re worried about. Admit it.”

Eve didn’t say anything.

“Seriously, Eve,” Milan continued, turning and continuing to scan through my phone. “What difference does any of it make? These are funny. And anyway, who are you protecting? Your ancient,
married
boyfriend who dumped your flat ass? His wife? His kids who are probably older than you?”

I was so grateful to Milan for diffusing the situation I wanted to kiss her.

“But the fire,” Eve whispered, big eyes swimming with tears. “The dog. Everyone will know.”

“Who gives a crap? Think about all the stupid shit Paris and Britney have done.”

“Or Vanessa Hudgens,” I ventured.

“Or Mel Gibson,” Joe added.

“OJ, man,” Cisco said. “OJ! OJ killed his wife, Eve. You think anyone’s gonna care about a dog?”

“Or Kobe Bryant,” Chaz laughed.

“And Amy Winehouse or Kate Moss,” Milan added. “Or Bill Clinton!” she screamed, obviously delighted with her political knowledge.

“Or Eliot Spitzer,” Joe added.

“Who?” they asked in unison.

“Never mind,” Joe said. “That’s not the point. Milan’s right. The only power Ned has over us is if he thinks we don’t want the information leaked. Let him write his book.
Confessions to Gordon from Francesca
,” Joe snorted. “He should be ashamed of himself.”

“Jordan,” I corrected, suddenly feeling insignificant.

“Whatever.”

“I’ve been around long enough to know that any press is good press,” Joe said. “Milan is right.”

“Of course she is,” Chaz said excitedly. “It’s all just information. Nobody’s held responsible if it turns out Jennifer Love Hewitt is in fact a man or if Mary Kate eats nothing but I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter spray from the can. It’s all speculation. That’s the fun.”

“For you, perhaps.” Eve said, “It’s your job, for God’s sake.”

“Now come clean, Drama Queen,” Chaz said. “This is nothing but an opportunity for you, sweetheart. You’re lucky to get a mention in
Golf Digest
these days. A little scandal would serve you almost as well as a spray tan. If Ned’s book is a success, you benefit.”

“Chaz is right, Eve,” Milan said.

“That’s not the kind of publicity I’m looking for,” she said in disgust. “I’m a real actor.” Her accent was back in force.

Chaz rolled his eyes.

“The tabloids are another form of theater,” Chaz continued. “You’ve got to know how to work the stage.”

“I don’t want to be Audrina Patridge, for God’s sake,” she moaned. “Nobody respectable
works
the tabloids.”

“Really, Angelina?” Chaz snorted. “Or Jennifer, or Reese?”

“They don’t work the tabloids; you guys hunt them down.”

“Look, Sunshine. How do you think the paparazzi know where they’ll be, with whom, and at what time? We get calls. Who do you think makes those calls?”

“You mean to suggest
they
work with you?”

“Well, you didn’t hear it here, Einstein, but duh. Try as I might, I can’t just miraculously be at all the right places all the time, can I? I’m not a superhero.”

Eve looked as shocked as I was.

“Is that true?” she asked Cisco.

He nodded, clearly in on the game himself.

“Almost always,” Milan admitted. “I mean, a lot more so since I’m unemployable, but there was always some of that going on.”

“It’s a necessary relationship,” Chaz explained.

Eve didn’t say anything.

“And people love a redemption story,” Chaz said. “Ned’s book can only help your careers, which, frankly, could all use a little nip and tuck,” he cackled, clearing his throat before continuing. “Don’t tell me you all came on this GLEA tour because you actually care about people less fortunate than yourselves. Please. It was a PR stunt for each and every one of you.

“So,” he said, standing up now, “why not look at this as a gift from the publicity gods? On the one hand,” Chaz said, extending his left hand like a scale as he spoke: “Pulitzer Prize–winning author Ned Harrison airs the dirty laundry of Hollywood’s teen elite, or,” he said, unfolding his right hand and lowering the scale, “five faux-Hollywood do-gooders teach hungry African kids reading skills.” Chaz shifted his hands up and down in mock deliberation before dropping his right arm entirely. “Hmm, I wonder which one I’ll read first?” he asked. “And
you
can’t even read, for God’s sake,” Chaz snorted, unable to resist the dig at Cisco.

“I can read,” Cisco protested again. “Just not that good.”

“Whateva,” Chaz said. “Any way you slice
that
story, it ain’t comin’ up sexy. Especially when you’re a Goodwill Ambassador, for God’s sake. You may as well cop to it. As a confession it’s brave; as a secret it’s a career-buster.”

Chaz was making sense. There was no questioning his media savvy.

“Trust me,” he said. “I get the most hits on the people who fall the hardest. Why do you think I love Milan so much? She’s always so dusty, and then she emerges all squeaky-clean from rehab twice a year, and it’s such a thrill.”

Milan made a pretty little curtsy.

“Nobody wants to hear about people who never screw up,” Chaz continued. “They’re boring. Dakota Fanning, b-o-r-i-n-g. Amanda Seyfried, b-o-r-i-n-g. Emmy Rossum…”

“B-o-r-i-n-g!” we all sang together.

“People want a train wreck,” Chaz agreed happily. “And you guys are the Express. Choo-choo,” he chuffed smiling as he made a gesture of pulling a train horn with an evil grin.

“So what do you think we should do?” Milan asked.

“Nothing. Thanks to Fran’s lack of discretion,” Chaz glared at me, “the cat’s out of the bag on all of us all now, right? So let Ned try and piece together a novel based on Fran’s phone entries. It’ll take him years to write a decent book. In the meantime, as soon as we get back, we’ll send out our own press release to every paper and tabloid detailing everything that happened here. As long as we beat Ned to the punch, he’s got no novel. Think of David Letterman. It’s all a matter of how the information is revealed. It’s all about maintaining control.”

We all agreed. Chaz was right.

“Now, Francesca, my dear,” he snapped his fingers. “It’s well past lunchtime, and I’m starving. Go in there and get me something to eat. Cleaning up your mess has left me famished, Frances. Absolutely famished.”