Playground (14 page)

candles, picture frames, and magazines.

I flip through the pages of my algebra book. Anything to keep

me occupied in this huge and lonely house. Bored, I slip off my

chair, walk back into the hallway, and stare at Dad’s note. Since

high school, I’ve kept my Mansion visits to weekends only. Mom

always said, “No parties on a school night.” But she’s not around to

tell me what to do anymore.

Ten minutes later, I stroll into Hef ’s foyer dressed sloppily in

Sergio Valente jeans, checked Vans, and a pink Camp Beverly Hills

T-shirt. The guys are in the library playing Monopoly while a

group of Playmates with size-zero waistlines lounge in the med

room, picking at pineapple salads.

Everyone turns to examine me as I kiss my favorites, hugging

others left and right. Tobey, a super-cool, down-to-earth actress

with straight blond hair, blue eyes, and a sweet Southern accent,

grabs my hand.

“Hey, girl; good to see you,” Tobey says warmly.

I hug Austin, an outgoing brunette, who will eventually open a

nightclub.

“I saw Nicolette Sheridan at some party in the Hills last night,”

Tobey mentions.

“You just wish you were her,” Austin smirks.

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“You’re right. She always dates the hottest guys.”

Morgan, a genuinely nice makeup artist and photographer,

plops down next to us.

“I saw Charlie Sheen at the Roxy. Weren’t you dating him?”

Morgan asks.

“We’ve fucked, but we’re not dating,” Tobey answers.

Her voice trails off as Dolph Lundgren and Grace Jones walk

down the staircase and into the foyer. Grace looks amazing in Azze-

dine Alaïa black body-conscious Lycra pants and Charles Jennifer

pumps with wraparound leather wings winding up her ankles. Her

chunky gold Egyptian-style necklace looks like it could stop bullets.

Kendall, Hef ’s nineteen-year-old girlfriend, pops up behind

them, licking her lips naughtily.

Kendall is tan with wavy dark brown hair and enticing green

eyes. Her skimpy lavender outfit clings to the toned curves of her

perfect body.

For some reasons, Kendall annoys the shit out of me. She’s got

this fake laugh that makes me want to bash her in the face. There’s

something about the way she stares at me that gives me the creeps.

Plus, I’ve heard she’s into girls, which
really
grosses me out.

I have to give her credit though; she always manages to get

what she wants. The Playmates jump up from the table when

Kendall enters the room. Her presence changes the energy, makes

it vital, edgy and electric.

She is dressed so sparingly her nakedness and body exude sex-

uality in a perverse and almost intoxicating way. She is a magnet

for attention and no one seems to give it to her. Disingenuous

laughs and compliments fly out of everyone’s mouth except mine.

The playmates kiss her ass, though I’m not certain why. The phoni-

ness in the air has skyrocketed to such a degree I feel uncomfort-

able in my own skin, let alone seat.

I look away from her whenever she peers in my direction. We

glance at each other with mutual loathing.

Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf ” plays while Natasha, a

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Playground

Swedish coke whore and Kendall’s newest best friend, sprays Afrin

in her nose.

“Damage control,” Natasha shrugs, offering it to me.

“I’ve sworn off all nose sprays,” I tell her.

I gaze out the window at the flamingos, but am interrupted

when Dad, Hef, and the other guys come in.

“Hi, my sweet daddy. I love you,” says Kendall, fawning over Hef.

“How’s Baby-boo?” Hef asks sweetly.

They sound like third-graders. Dad waltzes in wearing an Izod

shirt from Rudnick’s with his collar turned up.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says.

Anticipating a warm welcome, I turn to him, but quickly real-

ize he’s not talking to me when he grabs a Playmate and kisses her

hungrily on the lips, petting another one on the head like a dog.

Slouching in my seat, I stare from my father to Kendall and won-

der why I’m not at home doing homework. In fact, I’m not sure if

he even notices me at all.

“Hi, dear. You staying?” Dad asks.

“I just wanted to stop by and say hi,” I tell him.

“And here I thought you came to see me,” Kendall mumbles.

I ignore her, sighing audibly.

“How was school?” Dad asks.

“Boring,” I say with a shrug. “I have to do my homework.”

“You can do it in the library or go upstairs to your room,” Dad

offers, urging me to stay.

“I don’t think I can concentrate here,” I tell him.

I am holding on to every last bit of self-discipline.

“Homework? Fuck homework,” some guy says.

What the hell does he know, I think to myself. He’s a fucking

porn star.

“You’re in a pool of distractions, kid. It’s up to you to figure out

which direction to take,” Ted whispers.

“Oh, will you stop with all that philosophical jargon! You’re

gonna taint the girl’s mind for Christ’s sake,” Duke shouts.

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“Movie time,” Hef announces.

All the girls file into the screening room to watch an old Spencer

Tracy movie. Dad slaps one of the many blondes on the ass.

“I’m out,” I say, throwing him an air kiss.

“ ’Bye, dear. Call if you need anything.”

I have a bottle of Xanax waiting for me at home. I won’t need a

thing.

I hug him good-bye.

The next day I flake on tennis practice, go home, and flip through

television channels, stopping on
General Hospital
.

I call Liz.

“What’s up? Wanna smoke a fatty?”

“I can’t. I’m babysitting my sister,” she answers.

“We can smoke your sister out too,” I say.

“She’s nine.”

“Nothing like starting young.”

We dial Hunter on the party line.

“Cocktails at the Polo Lounge?” we ask her.

“I’m rehearsing lines for a play,” Hunter whines.

“Scorpion bowl at Trader Vic’s?”

“I wish. Did you see Greg totally checking me out in third

period?”

“Shut up!”

“I swear.”

“He’s so hot, I’m spazzing out.”

“Let’s celebrate!”

“Do you think he’ll call tonight?” Hunter asks.

“Who?” I ask, taking off my double-striped socks and pink leg

warmers.

“Greg!”

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Playground

“I don’t know,” I say, annoyed that we’re obviously not going

out for drinks.

“I’m in the middle of making macaroni and cheese,” Liz

shouts, “I’ve got to bolt!”

“Later.”

We click off and I tell myself I should stay home and study for

the math quiz in the morning. I turn on the radio, grab a joint

from my jewelry box, light it, and blow smoke out the window into

the dark backyard.

Laura Branigan’s “Self Control” comes on the radio as I squeeze

my head in my hands, resisting the temptation to go up to the

Mansion.

After school the following day I’m hanging with Amber, Hunter,

Sonya, Liz, and Michelle. We’re in Amber’s kitchen munching on

Twinkies and Ding-Dongs while Michelle and Hunter are in the den

doing the worm to the B52s’ “Rock Lobster.”

Amber takes off her cardigan sweater, leaving her white

button-down hanging out as she picks up the phone and calls

Dean, a stud at Beverly High.

Dean has plans with Brian, so Amber motions for me to pick

up the other line.

“Put Brian on,” says Amber. “Jennifer wants to say hi.”

I wave frantically, mouthing, “No!”

I run an oversize turquoise plastic comb through the top of my

teased hair.

“You guys should come over,” says Amber.

“What are you doing?” Brian asks.

“Nothing. That’s why you should come over,” she repeats.

Amber hangs up the phone, smiling, giving us the thumbs-up.

She wraps a side ponytail into her hair with a pastel blue mesh tie.

Sonya cranks up “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” as they dance

around and primp, waiting for the guys to arrive.

Michelle puts in hoop earrings and a sweatshirt with the neck

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ripped out while Hunter changes into an off-the-shoulder shirt

kept together by safety pins.

Glancing at my Swatch watch, I pick up the phone and call my

father at the Mansion. A butler transfers me to a phone by the pool,

where Dad’s playing backgammon with the guys.

“Hi, dear; you okay?” he asks, sounding concerned.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay,” he says.

“I’m at Amber’s.”

“Well, why don’t you call me back when you can talk,” he says

empathetically.

I don’t respond.

“Or come up if you want. I’ll be here,” he says warmly.

“I can’t,” I answer, conflicted.

“Tell them you have to meet me,” Dad suggests, picking up

on my desire to leave. “Hope to see you soon. Love you,” he says,

sincerely.

“Me too.”

We hang up and I look around at my friends spraying Rave

into their hair.

“I have to go,” I tell them.

“What do you mean? You can’t leave. Dean and Brian are on

their way over,” Amber whines, slipping on a new pair of striped

Vans.

“I forgot about this thing. I told my Dad I was going to meet

him,” I say, grabbing my Louis Vuitton clutch.

“Come on,” sighs Hunter.

“We just got here,” Michelle adds.

“We haven’t even watched
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
or

Sixteen Candles,
” Sonya says as she adjusts the roach clip and

feathers attached to her belt loop.

“Hit me later,” I say, bailing out the front door. Cruising down

Sunset Boulevard, I blast Bananarama’s “Cruel Summer,” apply

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Playground

bronze lipstick, adjust my Ray-Bans, and think about how boring

high school kids are compared to Hef ’s A-list crowd.

High school becomes something of an afterthought. I begin

ditching school every day at noon. I show up long enough to make

an appearance but excuse myself to the nurse’s office or hand over

one of many forged notes that I keep at my disposal. My time, empty

of adolescent concerns, is spent hanging out at the Mansion. Going

to Hef ’s is like a drug. It seeps into my system, pumps through my

veins, until it is part of me. Like any drug, the first time you take it,

there’s a rush. After a while, you can’t stop thinking about it, you

want it, you crave it, and then you need it. You don’t know why, you

just do.

Waltzing into the Mansion’s foyer in my Jordache pinstripe jeans

tucked into my Peter Pan boots, I join the Playmates in the med

room. They’re sporting the neon
Flashdance
look: Spandex, nylon

jumpers, leg warmers, Reebok high-tops, bandanas, and ponytails

on the side of their heads.

“I’m dying over this workout,” Morgan sighs, out of breath.

“It was so major,” boasts Charlie, an energetic, upbeat Playmate.

“Where did you work out?” I ask.

“Here. In the gym,” Charlie answers.

I look at her blankly, trying to recall exercise before I picked up

smoking.

“It was awesome. You should come tomorrow,” Tobey offers.

“For sure,” I answer casually as Crawford, Hef ’s right-hand as-

sistant, enters and whispers into my ear.

“Go say hi to your father,” she advises, as if she is my mother.