“Oh, no. I didn’t. That’s so sad. She was an amazing actress. So how do you know Vincent?”
“Brooklyn and I met him the other day. He’s buying a house down the beach. Actually, it’s really sad. He was buying it because it’s the same piece of land where Viviane and her husband used to live. He was going to surprise her with it on her birthday next month. He was all alone on the beach yesterday. I helped him spread her ashes. We’ve kinda gotten to be friends.”
“That was sweet of you, Keatyn, but how old is he?”
“I don’t know, maybe late twenties, early thirties. I didn’t ask. And it was not a date. It was a thanks-for-being-nice-to-me dinner. We also talked a lot about a movie he’s working on. He wants me to be in it.”
“Keatyn, I’ve warned you about that.”
“I know. I know. But he owns the rights to remake your old movie, A Day at the Lake. He said he’s been having a hard time finding someone to fill your shoes. He thinks I look like you.”
“Hmm. I know a lot of people say that, but when I look at you, all I see is your father. So are you going to get to see a script soon? Do you want me to call my agent? Is acting even something you want to do?”
“Not yet. The script won’t even be done until this fall.”
“Okay. Just use your head.” She gives me a kiss and says, “I’ve got to get to bed. I have an East Coast phone interview to do at five am, then I have to get on set. Night.” She starts to head toward her bedroom then turns back around. “Oh, hey, Brooklyn stopped by earlier looking for you.”
“REALLY!? What did he say!?”
Mom looks at me kinda funny. “Uh, he said to tell you to come down to his house when you get home, like he always does.”
“Ohmigosh!” I say, and go tearing out the back door and up the beach.
I try to walk leisurely down the beach, rather than running like a maniac, in case he’s sitting on his deck.
It’s a good thing I do, because he says, “Hey, Keats, what’s up?” as I walk up the stairs to his deck.
I realize I’m sweating.
This is nothing.
Just two old friends catching up.
“Not much. Just got home. What have you been up to? I haven’t talked to you in forever.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says. “I lost my phone.”
“That sucks; did you find it? I mean, you don’t usually call me anyway. You usually just stop by.”
“I did on Monday night, but you weren’t home. Didn’t the nanny tell you?”
“Uh, no.” Note to self: fire the nanny immediately.
“Where were you?”
“Monday night? Oh, I was at the Pier with a friend from school.”
“Was it a date?”
“No, just, no. I had a bad day at school. Everyone was talking shit about me and Sander’s break up, and I just needed to get out of there, so Cush and I skipped school and went.”
“Do you like him?”
“Cush?” I laugh. “No. He’s, we’re, um, we’re just friends.”
“Good.” He releases a big sigh. “I was afraid you were mad at me or started dating some guy from school.”
I’ve been awkwardly standing in front of him. He leans forward in his chair, grabs my arms, and pulls me onto his lap.
“I’ve missed you,” he says as he kisses me.
And I am back on cloud nine.
We make out for a while, but unfortunately I have a test I still have to study for. And I need to do well on this test. I totally bombed the last quiz.
“I don’t want to leave,” I tell him. “But I have to study for a test.”
“That’s okay. I’m beat. I had a busy day. So, me and the guys are going down to Hermosa Beach on Saturday morning. We’re gonna surf, camp, party, then come home late Sunday night. You want to come with me?”
“I’d love to,” I say, and give him a really long good-bye kiss.
I go home and try to study, but my brain is having a hard time concentrating. It’s busy imagining scenes with Hermosa Beach as the setting.
B and me, alone in a tent.
By a campfire.
On the beach in the moonlight.
I mentally revise the scripts of losing my virginity to include a cozy tent. In the sand under the moonlight. Or maybe in the ocean.
I picture myself stripping off my bikini and running out into the ocean. B takes off his board shorts and follows me into the water, wraps his arms around me, and can’t control himself. I finally shut my History notebook and let myself dream.
Thursday, May 19th
Pay for what you’ve done.
8:10pm
Tommy and I just got home from grabbing a quick dinner and are sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. I’m trying to finish up an English essay, but Tommy is giving me crap.
“You know, my parents never would’ve let me go to a club at your age, let alone drive a freaking Ferrari.”