Hollywood Hills (17 page)

“I thought maybe…a change,” she ventured, indicating with her hand the length she’d been envisioning. “Though not too
big
a change,” she added hurriedly, meeting Aramis’s sparkling eyes in the mirror. “And…”

“Yes, honey belle?” Aramis asked, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“I’m going to Margaux Eklundstrom’s wedding this afternoon,” Alexa blurted, her face growing warm. “So…” she trailed off, wondering if Aramis would even believe her.

“Say no more,” Aramis said, running his fingers through her hair. “I understand the need for extreme fabulosity. You know,” Aramis went on. “I used to do
Margaux’s hair way back in the day, when she and her brother were two little runty kids growing up in La Brea. They still pop in here now and then.”

“Really?”
Alexa asked, intrigued by this slice of Eklundstrom family history. “What else do you know about them?”

“Oh, everything,” Aramis sighed. “Including the fact that Paul DeMille’s family is
loaded
, so he probably
is
marrying Margaux for love. And,” he added, holding up a strand of Alexa’s hair. “Aren’t
you
the lucky one? I know for a fact that Baby Bear Jonah has a thing for blondes.”

“So I’ve heard,” Alexa sighed, rolling her eyes, and Artemis laughed.

“Alexa,” he said decisively. “We are going to have fun today.”

Alexa grinned in agreement, settling deeper into her chair. This was going to be the most entertaining haircut of her life.

Over in Westwood, Holly settled into the stiff chair outside the UCLA dean of admissions’ office, her sweaty palms clutching the transcript her high school guidance counselor had faxed to El Sueño that morning. Holly had had just enough time to pick up the fax from Esperanza’s office in the main house, before
fighting her way through the reporters swarming outside and making it into Kenya’s car.

“Gee,” Kenya had deadpanned as she’d peeled away from the estate. “You’d think there was a wedding or something happening today.”

Kenya had been such a soothing, funny presence on the drive to Westwood that Holly had wished her friend could accompany her to the interview, but Kenya had to attend a philosophy study session. Still, she’d assured Holly that she’d drive her back to Malibu, since Kenya had planned to spend her afternoon on Zuma Beach anyway. The notion that an afternoon in college could be whiled away on the beach had only reaffirmed Holly’s decision. So had driving across campus observing the crowds on Bruin Walk, admiring the rolling green of the athletics fields. Holly had once again been enchanted by the spirit of the school.

Now came the tricky part.

Holly was a disaster at interviews. She got fidgety, blushed, suddenly had to pee, and forgot all the reasons as to why she was interviewing in the first place. In her opinion, phrases like “Tell me about yourself ” had been invented by the devil; how was a girl supposed to sum up her entire existence in a few half-stammered sentences? Holly had managed to avoid having interviews with most of the colleges
she’d applied to, but her parents had cajoled her into interviewing at Rutgers. In a suit, of course. Holly could still recall the choky feeling of the high-necked tweed jacket, the itchiness of the skirt, and her completely immature stuttering when the patient alum asked her why she’d chosen Rutgers.
Because my parents made me
, Holly had almost said—cursed, as always, by the honesty bug. Of course, she’d held back and mumbled something about a good academic curriculum, which was probably why she’d received that acceptance letter in April.

Taking a deep breath, Holly crossed her legs, studying the beaded gold flats she’d slipped on before leaving the guesthouse. She hoped they wouldn’t come off as too flighty for such a serious interview. The rest of the outfit she’d cobbled together—the khaki skirt and a button-down blue shirt with short, puffed sleeves—wasn’t quite the suit her mom would have recommended, either. When she’d first stepped off the elevator into the admissions office’s elegant foyer, Holly had wished she’d bought something more formal back on Rodeo Drive. Especially when the department secretary had raised an eyebrow at Holly, and murmured, “Oh, yes, Jacobson. You’re the one with the unique situation.”

Holly hoped that “unique situation” wasn’t code for “you’ve got no chance in hell, baby.”

To distract herself, she picked up a copy of UCLA’s alumni magazine and was skimming an article about how many movies had been filmed on the campus, when she heard footsteps behind the closed office door. Nervousness raced through her, and Holly instinctively reached down to twist her Claddagh ring—but there was nothing on her finger.
Right.
With a pang, Holly realized she had no one to rely on in that moment but herself.

And it was time to face the present.

The door to the office opened and an elderly man with a shock of white hair—Dean Brown, Holly knew—poked his head out and, to Holly’s relief, gave her a warm smile.

“Come on in, Ms. Jacobson,” he said in a deep, rumbly voice, pushing the door open all the way to reveal a sun-filled office hung with bright watercolors. “We’ve been expecting you.”

We?
Holly thought in confusion, until she walked into the office and saw the young, trim, auburn-haired woman seated at the dean’s desk. She, too, gave Holly a broad smile as she stood and held her hand out.

“Holly, such a pleasure,” the woman said. “I’m Olivia Farber, the coach of the—”

“Women’s track team,” Holly filled in, smiling herself now. “We spoke in January. You tried to recruit me?”

“That I did,” Coach Farber said with a nod.

“With good reason,” Dean Brown thundered, striding back to his desk as he motioned for Holly to take a seat. “We looked through your file again and saw a stellar letter of recommendation from your current coach, Ms. Graham. And your high school’s assistant principal spoke very highly of you this morning.”

Holly sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, her heart hammering away. “My—my assistant principal?” she echoed, glancing from the dean to Coach Farber.

“Yes,” the dean boomed, accepting the transcript Holly handed him. “She called first thing today to ask that we make an exception for a student of your caliber.”

“I—she
did
?” Holly asked, overcome. Her
mother
? Holly felt a swell of emotion; she couldn’t believe her parents had actually come through for her.

“Yes,” the dean said again, giving Holly a piercing look. “Of course, we have to take into account that she is, after all, your mother and therefore highly biased. You’ll have to prove it to us yourself, Holly, that we should bend the rules and allow you into our freshman class.”

“Okay,” Holly said after a moment, pressing her hands together and sitting up straight. “I’ll try.”

Wearing boy shorts and a tank top that spelled out je t’aime in sequins, Alexa was sitting on the fake grass of the indoor golf course, painting her toenails Café Au Lait for the wedding.
This feels so weird
, she thought—not the do-it-yourself mani-pedi, of course, but the new sensation of cool air on her back.

When Aramis had unclipped Alexa’s cape and announced that he was done, Alexa’s heart had leaped in surprise at the sight of the shorter-haired blonde girl in the mirror. Was it really still her? But after driving back to El Sueño, walking past the stretch limo that was waiting outside to pick up Jonah for the wedding, dropping off her bags in her bedroom, and taking a long, hot shower, she was starting to suspect that this new haircut was very much her. The new Alexa—the college girl.

Alexa was blowing on her nails when she heard the front door open and slam. A moment later, Holly appeared, the expression on her face utterly unreadable and her hands behind her back as she crossed the green golf course toward Alexa.

“So?” Alexa cried, setting down her bottle of polish as suspense gripped her. “Are you in?”

“Oh my God, your hair!” Holly cried, marveling at her friend’s sideswept bangs and shiny, flaxen hair cut just to her shoulders. “I love it, Alexa. You
look…you look like a girl who works at
Vogue.
” Suddenly Holly felt she was catching a glimpse of who her friend would really become: someone successful and savvy and so far beyond the shallow, self-centered Alexa of a few years ago.
We’ve grown up
, Holly realized, getting the slightest bit choked up.
Both of us.

“Stop avoiding the subject,” Alexa chided as she carefully got to her feet. “Am I looking at a member of UCLA’s incoming freshman class or not?” She held her breath as she waited for Holly to respond. So much rode on the answer—including both girls’ futures.

Her face still giving away nothing, Holly finally pulled her hands out from behind her back. She was holding up a thick manila envelope that was stamped with a bright blue-and-gold seal, and Alexa could make out the words T
HE
U
NIVERSITY OF
C
ALIFORNIA
…She glanced from the envelope to Holly and noticed that her friend’s eyes were shining.

“Oh, Hol!” Alexa squealed, opening her arms to hug her friend. Despite all the hesitations she’d had about Holly going to UCLA, she felt a bubble of joy rising in her. She wasn’t sure
how
she’d survive without her best friend close by once college started, but this wasn’t about Alexa now. It was about Holly seeing her dream realized—and Alexa had to celebrate that, no matter what.

Holly began to laugh, shaking her head back and forth as she returned Alexa’s embrace. “It’s the most surreal thing ever, right?” She knew the events of the day would feel more believable once she called her parents, and once she sorted through the envelope of registration materials that the dean had given her. But all that could wait. For the moment, she was enjoying the vaguely blurry, dazed feeling of happiness.

“
And
the most terrific,” Alexa replied. “It’s too bad we finished that champagne on our first night. If this doesn’t demand a toast, I’m not sure what does.”

“Relax—there’ll be
plenty
of fancy drinks at Margaux’s,” Holly said, and she felt a surge of stress as she realized the wedding was a mere two hours away. “Well, what am I
doing
?” she gasped, taking a step back. “I need to shower—and paint my nails, right?—and my dress
so
needs ironing…” Holly wasn’t sure how she could cram everything in, unless she stripped right now and dashed straight into the waterfall shower, calling her parents and painting her nails as she ran.

“Stop.” Alexa held up one hand, her eyes sparkling. “I almost forgot. Wait right here.” Walking on her heels so as not to mess up her toes, she hurried out of the golf course room while Holly watched her go with growing curiosity. When Alexa returned, her face was glowing as she held a white Fred Segal
bag out to Holly. Inside the bag was something wrapped in white tissue paper.

“What is this?” Holly asked, handing off her bulky envelope to Alexa to hold and hesitantly accepting the bag.

Alexa gave Holly a mysterious smile. “Something that I decided you need to make your trip complete.”

Holly pushed back the layers of tissue paper. When she saw a sliver of papaya-colored fabric, she felt warm, then cold, then dizzy.

I don’t believe it.

“Alexa—no,” Holly whispered numbly, letting the tissue paper fall so she was left holding the toobeautiful-for-words Catherine Malandrino dress in her hands. Returning it yesterday, she hadn’t thought for a second that she’d ever see it again. Which hadn’t seemed like such a tragedy then, especially in the midst of all the UCLA and Tyler drama. But gazing at the dress now, Holly realized how much she’d missed it.

“I know you
had
to return it to have a clear conscience,” Alexa was explaining with a smile in her voice. “Because that’s just what Holly Jacobson does. But
I
felt like you were betraying the cardinal rule of clothes—never deny yourself something that makes you feel fabulous. So I stopped by Fred Segal today to correct your faux pas.”

Glancing up at her friend, Holly smiled, too, even as a lump formed in her throat. “Because that’s just what Alexa St. Laurent does.”

Alexa bit her lip, feeling a tremor of worry. Had she been overstepping? “Uh-oh. Am I working the Little Miss Bossy thing too much?”

Holly laughed. “No…it’s not that.” She met Alexa’s gaze again. “But I can’t accept this, Alexa. I know how much it cost. And I can’t repay you any time soon…”

“Hol, it’s a present,” Alexa insisted, taking a step closer. “My graduation gift to you. It’s high time I got you something to thank you for…”
Putting up with me
, Alexa thought.
Saving my ass so many times. And being a better friend to me than I ever was to you.
Alexa knew it was true; she remembered how cruelly she’d cast off Holly in junior high when Alexa had begun traveling in popular, fashion-y circles and Holly had remained steadfastly sporty. Maybe Holly was the strong one, Alexa realized. Maybe she’d been stronger all along.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Holly murmured, her eyes smarting. What with Tyler last night, and now this, she felt like a tear generator. “Whatever happened between us in the past, Alexa…that was
then.
Our friendship’s so much better in the present tense, don’t you think?” She gave Alexa a
small smile, and then flung her arms around her friend once more.

“I do,” Alexa agreed, giving Holly a quick squeeze. “That is,” she added, stepping back and raising one eyebrow. “If you agree to
keep
the dress this time around.”

Holly held the dress against her figure, loving the way it shone a paler pink in the late afternoon light. Really, wearing her prom dress now would just be
insulting
to Alexa, Holly assured herself. And she’d be saving time on ironing if she could just slip this number on after the shower. In some ways, she
had
no other choice…

“Of course I’m keeping it,” Holly finally replied, beaming up at Alexa. “If
you
admit that you got this for me because you wanted your wedding date to look presentable.”

“Presentable?”
Alexa snorted, rolling her eyes. “Please. By the time you and I are both dressed and ready, I think we’ll be in serious danger of looking hotter than the bride.”