He sat on the edge of his chaise as I swiped sunscreen along his spine, spreading it outward in circular motions. His skin was already hot. He had a freckle between his shoulder blades. He was due for another appointment at the salon, as there was prickly looking growth at the nape of his neck. I didn’t mean to take these little mental pictures, but I couldn’t help myself. At that moment the CD ended, leaving a hole where the sound had been. There was only the waves, and clinks of ice settling into glasses as drinks melted, and Amanda’s occasional page flip of her magazine. It felt uncomfortably quiet, before the CD changed over and music resumed its flow.

“You know,” I said, doubling back up and focusing on the tops of his shoulders, even though they already glistened with sunscreen, “you don’t have to call me Sassy.”

“That’s your name, though, right?”

“That’s like my stage name. You knew me before, as just Cassidy.”

“It’s hard to think of you as just Cassidy, though.” He twisted around to reach for the tube, helping himself to a big blob that he then smeared on the tops of his feet. “You were like a different person then.”

I hesitated, hands slowing as I pondered if I should be upset by this remark. He wasn’t interested in me during the reality show, so maybe Sing It Cassidy was like a kid sister or friendly competitor, whereas the stylish and scantily clad Sassy Gloss was a siren calling to his base animal appetite. He must’ve replayed his remark in his head because he added, “I just mean, you’ve come so far since you were on the show. New hair, new ensemble . . .”

“New body,” said Lucy. I gave her a look that she must have understood through my shades, because she propped her head up on one hand and flipped her hair over one shoulder. “Whatever, I watched the show. You were a lot heavier then.”

Stephen swiveled around, raising both hands in surrender. “I didn’t say it. Though”—he grinned in my direction—“You are looking good, Sassy.”

I knew that the way a normal girl would react would be to laugh and shove him playfully and say something like, “You’re such a jerk,” and continue the conversation for a few more minutes before retiring back to her lounge chair. If this had been any other person or any other situation, I may have done the expected. Instead, my reaction was to flatten myself in my chair and bring the towel up to cover the rest of me, and I clamped my eyes shut.

There were just too many thoughts roiling in my head. This wasn’t what I expected the party to be like. I was supposed to have a calming time at the beach house with butler service and fresh papaya; I was going to unravel my thoughts, forgetting for a day about Jerry, real estate, and impending tour schedules. But what I felt instead were even more obstacles to get through, little pinballs bouncing around inside me, each pinging noisily, demanding attention, rowdy.

One of Lucy’s assistants complained, “These skinny margs are so boring. I’m craving sugar. Hello?” She called to the woman in the black linen shirt who was hovering inside the door. “Could we get some fun drinks out here? You know, something fruity, with extra umbrellas?”

“Yes, miss.” She emerged with a tray of raw fish and what looked to be tacos filled with shredded meat. “I also have your sashimi and kalua pork.”

The smell of pork overpowered the fragrance of fake coconuts from Amanda’s sunblock and salt from the ocean. The other assistant hopped up and took a bite of a taco without using a plate, dribbling oil onto the ground. “This is fantastic,” she gushed, slurping juice from her thumb. Lucy found a pair of chopsticks and stabbed at the fish, ignoring everything else on the tray.

It was all too overwhelming. My stomach turned suddenly and I rolled out of my chair, wrapping the towel around my waist and dropping it only when I’d slipped my feet into the infinity pool. Swimming to the farthest corner from everyone else, resting my elbows on the edge and looking out at the waves, I wished for a quiet place where I really could vacate my thoughts, a spot where all of my brain could stop clicking and just be still. I submerged my head under the water and listened to the thrum of the pool pumps. It was easier than hearing anything else.

I WAS JOSTLED out of sleep by an insistent shaking. Lifting myself up on one arm, I realized that I’d fallen asleep on the slippery couch in the living room and Amanda was pushing me awake. I hadn’t had much to drink, but had laid out on the sofa while the party died down. Blearily I glanced around and spotted Stephen with his head cradled in his crossed arms, slumped against the soft back of an armchair. “What?” My voice was groggy and thick. “What time is it?”

“Your phone keeps going off.” Amanda’s voice was irritated.

“Huh?”

“Your cell phone.”

I had forgotten about that little silver brick in the bottom of my bag, but it trilled, indicating a voice-mail message. Yumi’s voice: “You should get back here. Viv is back in the hospital and Rose is going off the rails. I can’t handle her alone.”

Viv? After being relegated to the sidelines for any mention of Viv, now I was suddenly summoned to Rose’s side because the original Gloss fourth had a downturn? I glanced up at the slumbering forms all around me, brow furrowed, but picked my way through the bodies. Stephen St. James gave off a snore as I passed by, and my security detail took me home.

When I got to the apartment, Yumi was pacing while Rose sat at the kitchen table with her cell phone clasped to her ear. Her face was tear-streaked and stricken; it was the first time in memory that I’d seen her cry. There was a bone-deep chill of fear that I could taste in the air, heavier than anything I’d sensed before even though Jerry’s letter had given us all a big scare that morning.

Yumi snapped her cell closed and looked at me taking in the scene. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“She’s been stable, for the most part, but had a sudden fever.” Yumi gave a helpless shrug and glanced over at Rose. “She was rushed to the ER. That’s all I know. Viv’s mom called us.”

Merry was nowhere to be seen. “And Merry?”

“Useless. Went off with Grant and hasn’t answered her phone, even though I called her, like, fifty times. I know it’s unfair to call you, since you don’t even know Viv, but, like . . . I don’t know what to do about her.”

Her was Rose, who had finally hung up the phone and sat with her head in the crooks of her elbows, sobbing. I set my fingers gently at the little knob at the base of her neck, pushing her damp hair out of the way, and let my hand rest there. I expected her to duck away or slap my arm aside, but instead, she sagged farther into her seat and let the phone dangle from her fingers until it clattered onto the table.

It was weird to see Rose like this, completely vulnerable, all of her hard edges softened with tears. If anyone needed a hug right now, it was her.

I leaned in close and let her soak one side of my shirt. It was a little awkward, leaning in like that, with one foot braced against her chair and one of my hands accidentally tucked under her damp armpit. My other hand clutched against her head and I found myself patting her hair. Words jumbled in my head and I realized I’d never been in a position like this before, comforting a friend who was in near-mourning. What do you say? My mouth was up against one of her ears. I smoothed her hair and murmured, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” I rocked her back and forth as she cried.

Yumi didn’t say anything; in fact, I’d almost forgotten she was there. All that mattered right then was Rose and her fear and my fingers in her hair and her smell—her warm head and hours-old conditioner and perspiration and that earthy smell that you can sometimes sense when there’s been a fresh rain, only it was Rose’s tear-laden breath. Her hands scrabbled for something to hold on to and she found me, found my back, squeezed my hips, hugged me tighter.

“It’ll be okay.”

She pulled away, dashing at her pink-rimmed eyes with both hands. Her nose was clogged and she breathed heavily from dry lips. “Th-thanks, Cass,” she wavered, and Yumi snagged the paper towel roll and passed it along in lieu of a tissue box.

We listened to the refrigerator tick in the silent apartment.

“I want . . . ,” she said slowly. I pushed a lock of hair out of her face to see her better. “I want to see Viv. Yumi, will you go see Viv with me?”

Yumi laid down on the couch and dropped an arm off the side. “I get that you’re worried, but it’s a fever. You want to risk Peter’s ire for just a fever? We have work to do today.”

Rose’s eyes swiveled to me and she said entreatingly, “A fever can mean anything. Infection. Recurrence. Will you take me to see her? And my mom?”

I hesitated, but one glance at Rose and I knew I couldn’t say no. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She gave a tiny nod.

“Okay . . .”

Rose’s new BMW was parked outside and she handed me the keys. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Gus or someone?” I said. She was unnaturally quiet, drawn into herself with worry.

She shook her head. “I want to ride with you.”

I fingered the keys as a flicker of doubt traveled through me. Despite all that we’d been through together so far, I didn’t think that we knew each other all that well. And I didn’t think I was a better driver or roadside companion than a professional. And I was tired, having fallen asleep late and woken up early. But she was already gathering her purse and waiting expectantly for me to join her. So I did.

17.

September 2001

San Jose

Cassidy