Gold Shimmer (12 page)

When I reach the middle of the magazine, an advertisement with the cityscape of Manhattan stretches across both pages. Pausing, I smile at my home. I love Manhattan. It has its own glitz and glamour, and its grit and dark places too. I run my fingers across the glossy pages, tracing the skyline. The idea of photographing Manhattan like I’ve captured the Hamptons these past few days really appeals. Not just the city, but the people, the venues. No one can capture it better than someone who lives and breathes it.

Real life. Not fairytales.

“Still dreaming of the glitzy life, Cass Rockwell?” Celeste says breezily. Sitting in the chair across from me, she picks up the Vogue magazine and opens it with a flourish.

While her expensive perfume adds to the heaviness of her presence, I straighten my spine and exhale harshly. She has no idea that that March issue of Vogue features some of my past work. Granted, no one but Talia knows that I’m the well-known fashion photographer
Raven
listed in the credits. Even on my website, I’m wearing sunglasses. And while I usually prefer to keep it that way, when Celeste stops turning pages to stare at the centerfold spread of the exclusive beach party I shot in Barcelona, a small part of me wants to say, “Now I inspire
your
fashion sense,” but I just press my lips together and say nothing.

Right now all I see is the top of Celeste’s glossy dark hair, big curls spilling across the shoulders of her cashmere coat. I recognize the coat designer’s style, but I don’t bother acknowledging her vanity. She might not be looking at me, but the quick way she moves on to other pages in the magazine, flipping too fast to really see anything, tells me she’s using it as a distraction. When she glances up at me, a memory of her pausing at the end of the aisle in the school library to stare at me where I sat on the floor near the window with an oversized book in my lap, blips through my mind.

“Shhhhhhh,” Our high school librarian, Mrs. Heart, shushed Celeste and her friend as they giggled. They were supposed to be in the library researching their projects for our art history class.

At the same time I looked up, Celeste’s gaze landed on me. It had been a year since the incident with Jake at Shelley’s party. A year since I’d lost my sister. A year since I started wearing cuff bracelets of any kind: leather, cloth, silver, stainless steel, beaded, brass. All that mattered was the width. Two inches wide. My clothes had to change with my new accessories, so I adopted a kind of a retro hip, grunge look. And even though I couldn’t bring myself to cut my hair—my sister would be horrified—I always wore it up in a messy claw-clipped bun. Anything to keep me from looking like Celeste and off Jake’s radar.

Apparently I’d started a trend among the girls in my grade. Bracelets on both wrists became the new “it” accessory. Sometimes matching. Sometimes mismatched. Not that I cared. I spent all my time in the library. It was the one place I knew I’d never run into Jake.

Approaching me, Celeste chuckled when she saw the fashion designs and color swatches depicted on the pages. Squatting down, she flipped to the front of the book and read the title out loud, “Colored by Design.” Opening the cover, she glanced at the copyright year. “Nineteen-sixty-five. Really Cass?” Standing, she shook her head and folded her arms. “I have more fashion sense then that musty old book. If you want tips, I just attended fashion week over spring break.”

I didn’t want to draw or design the clothes, but I loved studying the set ups. It helped me visualize seeing how the clothes, jewelry, and even the backgrounds, when put together via color and placement, set the whole scene and brought it to life.

While the fair-skinned, pencil thin cheerleader next to Celeste snickered, I noticed the thick gold bangles on Celeste’s wrists. Of course hers were expensive and purely to display her wealth. I wanted to rail at her…to blame her for what happened to me, but as far as I knew Celeste didn’t know what Jake did to me at Shelley’s party. No one did, other than the unknown asshole who participated with Jake.

I still had no clue who that was. But God forbid Jake’s
goddess
would discover what a true bastard he could be. My fingers twitch around the edges of the book. Telling her wouldn’t do any good; she has never given him the time of day. For all I know, she might be twisted enough to find what he did to me amusing. All I can think about is going home and sliding something sharp along the inside of my wrist. With the pain, blissful release always follows. Something other than constant numbness is a welcome experience.

“So, would you like to hear about the latest Paris fashions?”

Hearing “Paris” pulled me out of my dark thoughts. I blinked at her and shook my head. “I’ll just faux pas my way to a fashion sense.”

Flipping her long hair over her shoulder, Celeste sniffed her irritation, obviously unused to someone rebuffing her. “Suit yourself. I was only trying to help.”

As she walked away, I mumbled, “Your help is the last thing I’ll ever need.”

Celeste snapping her fingers in front of me yanks me back to the present. “Are you living in your glamorous world right this second?” she says, a slight smirk on her lips.

“Nah, I’m just slumming it here in the Hamptons,” I deadpan.
What the hell does she want?
I haven’t spoken to her since high school.

A half dozen thin gold bangles clink against a dainty jeweled aquamarine bracelet as she hands me the magazine. “You always were a smartass.”

I blink in surprise.
When did she start cursing?

Before I can speak, the waitress, who’s wearing retro horn-rimmed glasses and a small scarf tie around her high ponytail, stops by our table. “Would you like to order a coff—”

When she cuts herself off, her gaze pinging between us, Celeste smiles, clearly amused. “I’ll have a decaf latte.”

I shake my head while the girl jots down Celeste’s order on a notepad without taking her gaze from us. I’m wearing jeans, a navy zip-up sweat jacket, and no makeup. I’ve also been traipsing around taking pictures in the morning mist, so my hair has to be a mess of waves. I seriously doubt we look that much alike right now.

As the waitress walks away, I notice the girl’s saddle shoes and rolled up jeans.
Is it retro day at the café or is rockabilly making a comeback here in this pocket of the Hamptons?

“So you’re probably wondering why I’m here. ” Celeste cuts into my attempt to ignore her presence.

“The thought crossed my mind,” I say in a dry tone as I watch her absently fiddle with the gold charms on her delicate necklace. A golden lock, a key, and a diamond encrusted heart. Real diamonds.
How upper-crust cliché.

She ignores my crisp comment and tilts her head, sliding her gaze over my face. “I’ve seen you taking pictures the last few days while I was in town shopping. You’ve stopped in here several times.”

Note to self: no more habitual
anything.
It makes you too easy to find.
“And now I’m entertaining the notion that you’re stalking me.” I hold Celeste’s gaze, my own expression carefully schooled as I wait for her to reveal her agenda.

Taking a deep breath, she shrugs. “What? No, how’s it going, Celeste? Or, what have you been up to since high school?”

“How’s it going, Celeste?” I sound bored, even though I want to snap back, “Did you ask me?”

The waitress interrupts, dropping off Celeste’s latte. Blowing on her coffee to cool it, Celeste looks at me and sighs. “You really don’t like me, do you?”

“What gave me away?” I close my magazine and stack it on top of the other before slipping them both into my bag.

When I move to pick up my camera, Celeste puts a hand on my arm. “I’d like you to stay.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about.” Pulling free of her hold, I set my camera in the bag.

Just as I heft the bag’s strap onto my shoulder, she says in a sincere tone, “I need your help, Cass.”

Shock turns my stomach upside down, but ramping tension quickly rights it. “What makes you think I would
want
to help you?”

Celeste folds her hands around the bottom of her cup. Lowering her voice, she leans forward. “Because you owe me.”

Fury flashes and I quickly stand. “I don’t owe you jack—”

“Sit down, Cass,” Celeste cuts in, her casual tone suddenly serious. “You went to the Blakes’ party as me that night.”

“What party?” Not that I’m admitting anything, but I sink back into the chair out of curiosity. The tension in her face surprises me. I never did check on-line to see if there had been any fallout for Celeste.

Celeste’s brown gaze turns laser sharp. “Look, I kept my mouth shut and took the shit your presence at that party caused in my life, and now I’d like you to help me.”

Why did she keep her mouth shut? “The shit
I
caused in
your
life?” I speak slowly, trying my best not to scream at the girl. So maybe getting caught hooking up with a guy in the kitchen caused her some embarrassment and probably even a few party invitations for a while. Aw, that must’ve been such a tragedy to deal with in that ivory tower of hers.

Celeste shakes her head. “You have no idea. In return for my silence back then, I’m asking you to do me a favor.”

My gaze narrows. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

Her face flushes. “I wasn’t exactly trying to—”

Snorting, I stand and put my hand on the table, leaning close. “A bit of advice, if you’re going to blackmail someone, make sure it’s for something they give a damn about.”

Before she can reply, I walk out.

I’ve just unlocked my car door when Celeste says from behind me. “I’m sorry that I didn’t phrase my request very well. I need you to be me, Cass. Just for a day.”

Now
she wants me to be her?
I might be curious, but I’m not stupid. I open my car door.

“Please, Cass.” Celeste reaches around me and pushes the door shut. “I really need your help. Do you think I would be here if I had any other choice?”

The desperation in her voice makes me pause. I’ve never known Celeste to
beg
for anything. I glance over my shoulder and am surprised at the dark circles under her eyes that her makeup can’t hide in outside light.

“Why do you want me to impersonate you?”

Folding her hands together, Celeste says, “I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with politics, but my father’s ramping up for his campaign run in the fall. This weekend, he’s hosting a huge party at our house in Westchester to help him garner even more supporters. It’s his time to shine and show off his family.”

I knew her father had been appointed Senator last year when the previous Senator died of a sudden heart attack. A man with many varied holdings and businesses, prior to his appointment, Gregory Carver had contributed heavily to several political campaigns in previous years, garnering him loads of respect in the right circles. According to the news, he’d been well received as an appointee in the Senate, and now he’s planning to run on his own merit.

I hold Celeste’s gaze for a beat. “Sounds important. You really need to be there.”

She nods her agreement. “That’s the whole point. I have to be there for my dad, but I’ve waited weeks for this appointment. I can’t miss it.”

I’m already shaking my head. “It’s one thing to fool partiers where everyone’s half drunk and pretending to be someone else in masks and costumes, but there’s no way—”

“Do you really think a political function is any different?” she cuts in with a laugh, her eyes lighting up for the first time. Sobering, she continues, “Seriously, it’ll be fine, Cass. All you have to do is nod, shake hands, and say, ‘It’s nice to meet you’, for an evening. That’s it. When the event is over, you can say you’re running an errand and we’ll meet up somewhere and I’ll take my car back.”

Not that I’m really entertaining this, but I frown at her last comment. “Why would I need your car?”

“Oh,” she waves like it’s no big deal. “It’ll be best if you get dressed for the evening in my room there at the estate, just like I would.”

“I don’t understand why you aren’t in an apartment,” I say, genuinely perplexed that she still lives at home.

“My father depends on me for a lot of hosting stuff, since my mom tires quickly. It’s just easier for him if I live at home.”

The idea of being in her personal space sends a shiver of “hell no” down my spine.

“Uh uh,” I say, shaking my head. “Sorry, I can’t do it.” I quickly turn back to my car and open the door.

Just as I slide into my seat, she leans on my car door and says, “Not even to help your dad?”