Fake Plastic Girl Page 10

  “Exquisite,” Ruby said, folding the stack in half and binding it to itself with a pin she plucked from her hair. “Was there one more thing you wanted to discuss?”

  “Right, yeah.” Eva-Kate zipped her purse shut and turned to me. “Could you give us a minute?”

  I glanced back and forth between Ruby and Eva-Kate two or three times before it registered that she was talking to me, and a moment after that before I realized she was asking me to leave. My mind reeled with worst-case scenarios: Eva-Kate and Ruby would abandon me here, in San Onofre, with these zombie-eyed boy servants, and I’d be stranded in this reality-adjacent beach house forever, incapable of finding my way home.

  “Uh…” I turned my neck to look at the door behind me. “Sure, of course. I’ll just be in the hall?” I sounded like a doormat and hated myself for it, but the adrenaline high of being chosen as Eva-Kate Kelly’s consort on this after-hours outing eclipsed the self-loathing tenfold.

  “Zander?” Ruby called out aimlessly. One of the boys who still sat obediently on the floor stood up, keeping his chin slightly tilted down. Out of the two boys he was the dark one, black shaggy hair and heavy-lidded eyes. Standing up, I saw that he wasn’t as scrawny as he’d seemed sitting in the shadows, and he was much taller than I’d thought. He towered above Ruby, who had to be at least five ten, and as he stood, defined bundles of muscle shifted beneath the skin of his chest and biceps.

  “Take Justine to the kitchen and offer her a drink.”

  “Yes, Ruby.”

  “And Eva-Kate, do you want anything? We have virtually any beverage you could ask for.”

  “I’m good, but thank you.” Eva-Kate locked her eyes onto mine and widened them, shifting them left and right as if trying to tell me something. But whatever her message, it was beyond indecipherable.

  “Follow me,” Zander said, walking ahead to open the door.

  “Oh, you know, I’m actually not thirsty, so I’m really fine just—”

  “Justine,” Eva-Kate said, her voice stern but sweet, as if trying to negotiate with a misbehaving child. “It’s totally fine, Zander is the best. Ruby just needs me alone for one second.”

  “One second,” Ruby repeated.

  I smiled through my nerves and trailed cautiously behind Zander as he walked back down the hallway and through the living room to a cavernous dining area with wooden booths for tables and a rainbow of liquor bottles crookedly lined up on a white porcelain-tiled counter.

  “Anything you want,” Zander said, opening his palms toward the liquor like a sedated game show host. His palms were calloused and lightly stained the muted, dusty orange-red of bricks. “We got whiskeys, vodkas, rums, gins, tequilas, wines, lagers, liqueurs, and … pretty much any mixer you could imagine.” He stood with his hip cocked to one side, becoming loose and casual, shaking off the stiff obedience he had worn just a moment ago in Ruby’s room.

  “Thank you, really, but just a water would be great.” I held on to my right wrist with my left hand and let both arms hang down in front of me, a shy attempt at a protective shield. He laughed and narrowed his eyes at me, suspicious, as if I were joking.

  “Water?” he sneered playfully. “You do realize standing before you are literally the finest bottles of alcohol in the world, don’t you?”

  “First of all, I did not realize.” I adopted his mocking tone of voice, finding that as he relaxed, so could I. “But second of all, I just wouldn’t know what to pick.”

  “Ohhhh, okay,” he said, like he had just solved a riddle. “I get it. I’ll just pour you a glass of what I’m having. You can sit down if you want.”

  I didn’t want to sit down. Sitting down would make the separation from Eva-Kate feel more real. But I also didn’t want to stay standing where Zander could keep sneaking glances up and down my body, where I knew I must have looked conspicuously awkward, like a weed in a flower bed. So I sat. Seemingly pleased, he uncorked a translucent olive-green bottle that made me think of the opening scene from The Rescuers. Bernard, a mouse, climbs into a green bottle just like that one to retrieve an SOS letter that was written by an orphan named Penny and tossed out to sea. I hadn’t seen the movie in a decade, but I vaguely remembered that after the troublesome ordeal of maneuvering his way into the belly of the bottle, he found himself stuck there and couldn’t get back out.

  Zander poured pale amber liquid from the bottle into two lowball glasses, dropped an oversized ice cube into each one, and set the less-full of the two down in front of me. The single ice cube rattled tenderly against the glass. He sat down across from me and took a velvet pouch from his pocket, letting it flop down onto the table next to his drink.

  “Lagavulin 16,” he said. “Single-malt scotch aged sixteen years. Should warn you this is strong stuff. I didn’t water it down because, well, you seem like you can handle it.”

  “I do?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “I bet you’re the kind of girl who looks really dainty and innocent but is secretly tough as rubber. Just remember, the burn is the best part. You gotta savor the burn.” He lifted the glass to me and then took a big gulp, wrinkling up his face in an odd mixture of pain and pleasure.

  “Ahhhhh,” he breathed, mouth wide. “Your turn.”

  It’s just like jumping into cold water, I told myself. It only hurts for a split second and then you’re happy you did it.

  I closed my eyes and braced myself, then took a sip. It was the closest thing to gasoline that I’d ever tasted, and yet I liked it. No, I loved it. The burn was better than he’d promised; it was a rush of stars to the head, a comforting warmth trotting through my veins. A key in a lock. I licked the remainder off my lips and let my eyelids flutter in relief.

  “Damn.” Zander sat back. “Guess I was right about you. I like to think I can spot a whiskey girl when I see her.”

  “Guess you can,” I said, buzzing.

  “But damn,” he repeated. “You didn’t even flinch.”

  “It’s not that strong.” I shrugged, playing to his newly conceived version of me. “I dunno, I just like it.” I took another sip, bigger this time, to show how truly unaffected I could be. I drank the entire glass easily, like water, but slowly so that I could savor it, like he’d told me to. The warmth worked its way through my veins, relaxing my muscles that had been clenched and strained for as long as I could remember. I hadn’t realized just how tense I had been until the drink started flowing through me. Suddenly I wasn’t paralyzed by what Eva-Kate and her friends might think of me, I wasn’t haunted by the things Riley had said on the last day of school or what had happened years ago on the set of Chasen’s, I wasn’t angry at my parents or embarrassed about not having money or insecure about my middle-class clothes. The million chatty voices in my head quieted down to a low simmer. It wasn’t that I felt confident or beautiful or even bottom-line deserving, it was just that for the first time I didn’t have to think about it. After that first glass, nothing could get to me. I had a force field. I felt everything that had ever hurt me melt and drip away off my body into a shower drain from which nothing could return.

  “Can’t believe I never tried this before,” I thought out loud. “I like the way it stings the corners of my mouth where the skin is delicate.”

  “Nice, right? Want another?”

  “That’s okay.” I rested my chin on one hand and examined the empty glass like an appraiser. “Everything is golden and lovely now, I wouldn’t want to mess that up.”

  “Fair enough.” He laughed and took out a pack of Camels. “Can I offer you one or are you just gonna shut me down again?”

  “Of course you can,” I said, forgetting any reason one could ever have not to smoke a cigarette. “A cigarette sounds nice right about now.”

  He stuck one in between my lips and lit it, cupping the flame with one hand. We sat back, watching the smoke rise and swirl and eddy in the air, forming clouds on the ceiling with no way out. I didn’t let any smoke all the way back into my lungs. If I did, I knew
I’d cough and cough until the vessels in my eyes burst, and then Justine, tough girl scotch drinker, would vanish.

  He tapped the cigarette against the rim of an ashtray shaped like an empty turtle shell flipped upside down, exposing the white skin of his inner wrist to the light. I saw the hint of a fading tattoo, but I couldn’t make out what it was. From where I sat, it looked like a short zigzagging line with an L-shape at the end.

  “You know what?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “You could be hot if you tried.”

  “Um, fuck you, I’m hot now.”

  “You’re like … a five. But if you put some effort in, you could be, I dunno, like a seven or eight. Maybe even a nine.”

  “Effort? Excuse me?”

  “Well, you could start with your clothes. You’re wearing too much; you’re more fabric than you are body. And it should be the opposite.”

  “That’s your brilliant advice?” I rolled my eyes. “Anyone can wear less clothes, that does not a hot girl make.” Without thinking about it, I reached for the bottle and refilled my glass halfway.

  “I wasn’t finished.”

  “Oh, well then, please, I’m on the edge of my seat.” I scooted up to the actual edge of my seat and pantomimed dramatic intrigue.

  “Do you actually want my advice? I don’t want to be that dick who gives unsolicited opinions.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit too late for that?”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

  “No, I want to know. I can take it. I’m a tough girl, remember?”

  “All right, then. If you got a Brazilian blowout, your hair wouldn’t be so, you know, crazy or whatever. Guys dig the silky hair thing.” He looked at me cautiously until I nodded for him to go on. “And then, you know, just wear some makeup. Some lip color and smoky eyes make a big difference. But not too much, it’s gross when girls wear too much makeup, doesn’t look natural. Oh!” He snapped two fingers and pointed at me. “And a push-up bra. You have great tits, but no one is ever gonna know that unless you get some good cleavage going on.”

  Who the hell is this guy? I thought. And who does he think he is giving beauty advice when he himself is no higher than a four and looks like he hasn’t showered in days? Little did he know I cared about a whole lot of things, but what men thought of me was not on the list.

  “Such wisdom.” I shook my head slowly, playing goofily at being in awe. “And from someone so young.”

  I impressed myself, thinking quickly, moving breezily over my words. I was flowing through the moments the way the scotch was flowing through my blood effortlessly.

  “Well, believe me, you got what it takes. But it’s not just that you’re cute.”

  “Oh no?”

  “It’s just who you are. As far as girls go, you’re super real.”

  “Unlike all the other girls who’re … holograms?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I don’t. But I’d like to. What’s real about me? In your opinion.”

  “Fuck, Justine, I don’t know.” He finished his cigarette and put it out. “Girls like to put on a show, say all the right things at the right time with the right tone of voice, it gets exhausting just watching them. It’s like…” He lit another cigarette. “It’s like they’ve created masks of who they think they’re supposed to be, and they’ve worn the masks so long that they’ve become a part of their actual faces, and maybe they don’t even know the difference anymore between their faces and the masks. Makes for a great Instagram following, though. And they live for that shit.”

  “Really? This coming from the guy who just told me to doll myself up?”

  “That’s different,” he explained. “It’s good to look sexy, we like that, but then that perfect, composed hotness sinks into their insides and paralyzes their personalities. You know, sort of how Botox can freeze your face muscles so that you can’t really smile.”

  “So, the dream girl is put together on the outside but raw and earnest on the inside.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That’s a tall order, Zan.” I held back my profound irritation and did my best to keep it sounding like convivial banter. “How would you feel if we held you to such high standards? Think you’d pass the test?”

  He glanced down at his bare torso, then laughed.

  “I never said I had the full package,” he defended himself. “But I don’t pretend to be something I’m not the way all these girls do. Everything with them is perfect—never bad or disappointing or even plain old good. It all has to be perfect. Perfect or special. They want you to think they fly above the pitfalls of human nature, so they compose and curate themselves to hide that they’re lonely just like the rest of us. Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything underneath that mask at all.” He shivered at the thought. “Like what if I pulled it back and there was nothing there, just vapor?”

  “Maybe that’s what you want.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “I mean, maybe you prefer the idea that there’s nothing under the mask, because if her tailored facade is all she has, then she’s not intimidating, she’s not a threat.”

  “I’m not threatened by these girls,” he insisted. “I want to get to know them, like, know who they really are, but they won’t let their guards down. Ever. They won’t let anyone in.”

  “So they stay a mystery to you.” I began to understand. “They seem too perfect to be ‘real.’”

  “Exactly.”

  “But not me. I don’t seem too perfect to be real.”

  I decided real girl wasn’t a compliment at all. It was just another way of labeling girls and putting them into controllable categories, pitting them against each other. It was just a sneakier way of saying, women are somewhat inferior to men. Because, of course, the subtext of real girl is that while all men are real, the average woman is not.

  I suspected that real girl, at least for Zander, meant the same thing as one of the guys. In other words: a girl demystified, stripped of her feminine power, a butterfly without wings, much easier to catch, play with, and grow bored of.

  “No.” He let the right side of his mouth curl into a smile. “You’re perfect in an entirely different way.”

  I couldn’t think of what to say to this, so I said nothing. He leaned in over the table and took my hands, leaving the cigarette dangling from his bottom lip.

  “Hey.” I was desperate to change the subject and I knew just how to do it. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything.”

  “What’s the deal with Ruby?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean what’s her deal … like, who is she and what does she … do? Who are all these guys? Do you all work for her, or—?”

  “Well, well.” Ruby walked in just then, Eva-Kate close behind. “Looks like you two are getting along.”

  Zander dropped my hands like they were hot coals. I saw his tattoo again; it was grainy and perforated, like it had been done by hand.

  “Just making her feel at home, Ruby,” he said apologetically.

  “Of course you were, baby, and I’m sure you’ve done a truly stand-up job.”

  Zander liked hearing this; he smiled bashfully and looked down at his feet.

  “We should go, Justine,” Eva-Kate said. “Josie’s starting to blow up my phone.”

  “Wouldn’t want to upset the wife.” Ruby winked deviously.

  “You’re terrible.” Eva-Kate playfully slapped Ruby’s arm.

  “It was a dream to see you, as always.” Ruby kissed Eva-Kate on each of her cheeks. “And so special to meet you, Justine.”

  Zander gave me a secretive I told you so glance.

  “It was great meeting you too,” I said, finding my footing. “And thank you.”

  “You know your way out, yes?” Ruby clasped her hands and held them in front of her heart. I found this funny; she said it as if her home was a complex network of wings
and corridors, when actually the house entrance was visible from where we stood in the kitchen doorway. Eva-Kate said she did, and grabbed my hand, practically dragging me to the door. At the last minute I turned around and saw Zander look away from Ruby just long enough to wink at me, and then we were gone.

  * * *

  “What was that about?” Eva-Kate asked, pulling back onto the freeway.

  “Me?! I could ask you the same thing!” Princess Leia was chewing on her own paw and had hardly acknowledged our return.

  “Are you drunk?” She pointed an amused finger at me.

  “Buzzed,” I corrected her. “Lagavulin 16.” I loved the way it sounded, how the words fit in my mouth.

  “Did he kiss you? He’s not allowed, you know. Ruby would flip.”

  “I think he was about to.”

  “Did you want him to?”

  “Gross, no. I don’t want my first kiss to be with some random, greasy … manservant.”

  I wouldn’t have said this sober, and I regretted it immediately.

  “First kiss?”

  “Well, yeah, I’m—”

  “Oh my God, are you … you’ve never—”

  “No, I haven’t, okay? I’m sixteen, it’s not a big deal.”

  “I just can’t even imagine,” she said. “I mean, I lost my virginity almost five years ago.”

  “When you were twelve?”

  “No, God. Thirteen. Oh, but don’t tell anyone that, a good chunk of the country thinks I’m saving myself for marriage.” She rolled her eyes. “Gotta keep up the act for all those naive middle America hypocrites or whatever.”

  “Great, sure, yeah, you got it. Are we just not going to talk about why you left me alone with some guy I’ve never met?”

  “Zander? Oh, babycakes, I would never leave you alone with someone I didn’t trust. Zander practically lives to keep Ruby and her friends safe. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, unless the fly provoked him, I suppose.”