talk to me about Platinum, and I'll kill my exposé on your little dysfunctional house on the prairie. Meantime, be sure not to miss our next issue. I think you'll find it
very
interesting.” He spun on the heel of his Prada loafer, pulled his phone from his pocket, and headed in the opposite direction.
Kiley felt like throwing up. What if he really did write about her family? Her father would probably lose his job. And her mother … she would be so hurt. After giving Kiley permission to stay in Los Angeles as an emancipated minor. After giving Kiley her wings.
This
was how she would be repaid?
She needed advice from someone who would know how to handle this. She took out her cell phone and pressed in a familiar number.
“And then after he threatened me in person, this … this
cretin
, Spencer Lacroix, calls my cell
and
says not only is he going to write about me and my parents in the
Universe
, he's going to send copies to every corner of my extended family free of charge. They'll freak and I'll be on the next Greyhound to Wisconsin.”
“Lordy,” Lydia commented. She leaned back in the Horchow mahogany rocking chair and gazed up at the starry night sky. She and Kiley were in the backyard of the moms' estate— actually, Kat's estate now that Anya had departed. The exterior lights had been turned off; all that illuminated their faces was the cool blue light emanating from the bottom of the swimming pool. Inside, Martina and Jimmy were playing with their Wii (something they were allowed to do now that Anya was gone), every so often letting out squeals of excitement, while Kat was doing more prep work for the U.S. Open. When Lydia last saw her, she'd been watching videotapes of all of Serena Williams'smatches for the last year, intensely charting her particular tendencies on the court.
Now that Anya was gone, things were different. The house no longer felt like a gulag. The kids actually relaxed. But sometimes Lydia would catch the sadness in their eyes. Kids always got the raw end of things when it came to divorce. Kat seemed melancholy, too. She and Anya had been together for eleven years. They had two children. It had to be horrible. Lydia hoped that time would heal her aunt's wounds. If not, she had some amazing powder she'd brought back from Amazonia that would make her feel like doing the hula on a tabletop. But that didn't seem exactly appropriate to offer for the time being.
And now here was Kiley, bringing a whole set of problems of her own. “Don't worry about the
Universe
,” she assured her friend. “This Lacroix dude is a jackass.”
“All the more reason I should worry,” Kiley shot back.
Good point. “Any chance your family will think it's a big ol' laugh riot to have a feature spot in the supermarket checkout aisle?”
Kiley gave her a baleful look. “Have you
met
my mom?”
Well, no
, Lydia thought. They had never actually met. But Lydia clearly remembered seeing Mrs. McCann at the filming of
Platinum Nanny
at the Brentwood Hills Country Club pool. It was the same day Lydia first met Kiley. Her mother had been a nervous woman. Very nervous. Not the kind of person who would take well to a tabloid exposé.
“Remember when those producers forced your mom to wear that hat? And it was so god-awful orange that she looked like a polka-dotted highway crew leader?”
Kiley grimaced. “I was trying to forget that.”
“My point is, your mom was embarrassed, but she sucked it up and so did you. If your mom was willing to wear that hat for you, then a dumb tabloid story should be a breeze. Your problem is that you let that tabloid guy get in your head. Now what you need to do is use it to your advantage.”
“And how, pray tell, does one use her own dirt as an advantage?” Kiley knit her dark eyebrows, which, Lydia noted, were seriously in need of grooming.
“You know MySpace?”
Kiley laughed. “Only you would ask somebody that question. You were in the jungle too long.
Everyone
knows
very
interesting.” He spun on the heel of his Prada loafer, pulled his phone from his pocket, and headed in the opposite direction.
Kiley felt like throwing up. What if he really did write about her family? Her father would probably lose his job. And her mother … she would be so hurt. After giving Kiley permission to stay in Los Angeles as an emancipated minor. After giving Kiley her wings.
This
was how she would be repaid?
She needed advice from someone who would know how to handle this. She took out her cell phone and pressed in a familiar number.
“And then after he threatened me in person, this … this
cretin
, Spencer Lacroix, calls my cell
and
says not only is he going to write about me and my parents in the
Universe
, he's going to send copies to every corner of my extended family free of charge. They'll freak and I'll be on the next Greyhound to Wisconsin.”
“Lordy,” Lydia commented. She leaned back in the Horchow mahogany rocking chair and gazed up at the starry night sky. She and Kiley were in the backyard of the moms' estate— actually, Kat's estate now that Anya had departed. The exterior lights had been turned off; all that illuminated their faces was the cool blue light emanating from the bottom of the swimming pool. Inside, Martina and Jimmy were playing with their Wii (something they were allowed to do now that Anya was gone), every so often letting out squeals of excitement, while Kat was doing more prep work for the U.S. Open. When Lydia last saw her, she'd been watching videotapes of all of Serena Williams'smatches for the last year, intensely charting her particular tendencies on the court.
Now that Anya was gone, things were different. The house no longer felt like a gulag. The kids actually relaxed. But sometimes Lydia would catch the sadness in their eyes. Kids always got the raw end of things when it came to divorce. Kat seemed melancholy, too. She and Anya had been together for eleven years. They had two children. It had to be horrible. Lydia hoped that time would heal her aunt's wounds. If not, she had some amazing powder she'd brought back from Amazonia that would make her feel like doing the hula on a tabletop. But that didn't seem exactly appropriate to offer for the time being.
And now here was Kiley, bringing a whole set of problems of her own. “Don't worry about the
Universe
,” she assured her friend. “This Lacroix dude is a jackass.”
“All the more reason I should worry,” Kiley shot back.
Good point. “Any chance your family will think it's a big ol' laugh riot to have a feature spot in the supermarket checkout aisle?”
Kiley gave her a baleful look. “Have you
met
my mom?”
Well, no
, Lydia thought. They had never actually met. But Lydia clearly remembered seeing Mrs. McCann at the filming of
Platinum Nanny
at the Brentwood Hills Country Club pool. It was the same day Lydia first met Kiley. Her mother had been a nervous woman. Very nervous. Not the kind of person who would take well to a tabloid exposé.
“Remember when those producers forced your mom to wear that hat? And it was so god-awful orange that she looked like a polka-dotted highway crew leader?”
Kiley grimaced. “I was trying to forget that.”
“My point is, your mom was embarrassed, but she sucked it up and so did you. If your mom was willing to wear that hat for you, then a dumb tabloid story should be a breeze. Your problem is that you let that tabloid guy get in your head. Now what you need to do is use it to your advantage.”
“And how, pray tell, does one use her own dirt as an advantage?” Kiley knit her dark eyebrows, which, Lydia noted, were seriously in need of grooming.
“You know MySpace?”
Kiley laughed. “Only you would ask somebody that question. You were in the jungle too long.
Everyone
knows
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