Fake Plastic Girl Page 9

  CHAPTER 11

  SONGS

  “I have to run an errand,” Eva-Kate said to us all as we waited for the valet to bring her car around. “Justine is coming with me. Josie, will you call an Uber for the rest of you, please?”

  “You got it.” Josie took out her phone.

  “Why are you taking her?” Olivia objected. “You barely know her.”

  “Because, unlike you, she’s interesting to talk to.”

  I avoided eye contact with Olivia. Nobody had ever called me interesting before; nobody had ever been interested to hear what I had to say. Enter Eva-Kate.

  * * *

  There were dark, tumbling clouds along the road as Eva-Kate drove us south down the 405 with her hand resting on mine, “Venus in Furs” by the Velvet Underground playing from the speakers. For someone so delicate-looking and emotionally aloof, Eva-Kate very much liked to touch and be touched. Even if it was just to have someone’s hand against her hand, as mine was now. In the short time I’d known her, I’d often see her spontaneously interlace her fingers with whomever she was talking to, or nuzzle her head into the crook of someone’s lucky, unsuspecting neck, like a kitten. She could touch whomever she wanted, whenever she wanted, because there wasn’t a person around who wouldn’t be delighted and honored by her body making contact with theirs.

  “So, as you know, I dated Rob for a few years,” she said, breaking the silence. “We were always breaking up and getting back together, you know how teenagers can be.” She said this nostalgically, as if her teenage years were far behind her.

  “Of course,” I said, though I’d only ever seen that dynamic on TV—Friends, One Tree Hill—and in the 2012 Taylor Swift hit “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.”

  I wondered, from time to time, which of two ways this lyric was intended. Was it A: you can go talk to your friends, or talk to my friends, or even talk to me, but we’re never getting back together, or was it B: you can go talk to your friends about it, who will tell my friends about it, who will tell me, but still, we’re never getting back together? When I’d asked Riley which one she thought it was, she’d looked concerned and said, “I think you’re overanalyzing it, Justine. It’s just a stupid pop song.” I didn’t really mind, I knew she was wrong.

  “A lot of people thought the whole thing was for publicity, but it wasn’t,” Eva-Kate went on then. “We were really in love.” She picked up a bag of Red Vines and ripped it open with her teeth. “We fought all the time but we were the real deal. At the end of the day we could only trust each other. We had other people in our lives, yes, sure, but in our minds it was us against the world. If we had it our way, we would have been alone, just the two of us; no distractions, no interruptions.”

  “That sounds really nice,” I said, thinking, I want something like that. I’m tired of being up against the world by myself, I want someone to be on my team.

  “It was. And now it’s over.”

  “You broke up with him.”

  “Nope. That’s just what I want people to think.”

  Wait, what? Why was she telling me this?

  “Then … what happened?”

  “He fell in love with … someone else. And I just found out she works at Chateau Marmont, which means his new song is about her. Not me. It’s humiliating, Justine, I can barely handle it.”

  “I’m really sorry, Eva-Kate.”

  “Thank you, but you don’t have to be. I’m gonna be fine, I just need some help healing. That’s where we’re going now, to see Ruby Jones, crystal healer, astrologist, Wiccan extraordinaire. She’ll fix me right up.”

  The entire coast between Los Angeles and San Diego is lousy with beach towns, but about halfway down there is one that stands out among the rest. It stands out for its massive modern Spanish Colonial Revival estates and lazurite-blue pools visible from airplanes, and toxic sunsets, pink and purple, blotchy and dappled, like how you might imagine bruises would appear on a Barbie Doll. This was San Onofre, an opulent offshoot of Orange County, more resort than it was town, where the wealthy and dull went to retreat from the world into their multimillion-dollar fortresses, never to be seen again. I couldn’t tell you the actual demographic of San Onofre, because there’s never anybody on the streets. They hide out, air-conditioned and insulated, oblivious and impervious to the planet’s many states of disarray.

  But San Onofre isn’t actually known for any of these things. It’s known for what you see when you drive past it on the freeway: the San Onofre nuclear power plant. Two domes, each one a hundred and fifty feet high with a thimble-shaped antenna fixed on top, and a blinking cherry-red light on top of that, leaking into the surrounding mist. The domes are completely, symmetrically round like two swollen fruits, so plump and stiff and juicy, so ripe they could burst open at any moment, so ripe they could be on the verge of rot.

  “Songs,” Eva-Kate said, gazing out the window as we pulled onto Old Pacific Highway, a dusty strip of cracked cement where the freeway shriveled up and ended, over which the two domes loomed.

  “Songs?” I asked, assuming she’d mumbled and I’d misheard.

  “SONGS,” she repeated. “San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station. SONGS.” She said it with a hint of pride, pleased with herself for knowing this acronym. It was endearing, like a schoolgirl in a spelling bee.

  “I see,” I said, though that didn’t explain much or answer any of my questions, such as why we were driving, at eleven in the morning, toward these bloated monstrosities.

  “They’re pretty controversial,” she said, turning back to them. “They store more than four thousand tons of radioactive waste. They’re old and unreliable, sitting right near an earthquake fault line, completely vulnerable to tsunamis. And with millions of people living nearby. Experts say it’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “Why don’t they just shut them down?”

  “Some people are trying. Activists, politicians. But you can’t just take them down and make it all go away. I mean, where would all that nuclear waste go?”

  “Right,” I said, knowing absolutely nothing about what she was saying, a shadow of trepidation expanding in my gut, fluttering. “So then … what are we doing here?”

  “Oh, we’re not doing anything here. This is just how we get to where we’re going.”

  We drove past the reactor and onto Chaisson Drive. It was a short street with a dead end of grassy bluffs. We stopped in front of the least noticeable house on the block, flat roofed and only one story high, hidden in the shadows of the arrogant Spanish Colonials. Parked in the driveway was an old decommissioned police car, gloss sanded down to matte, the back two windows fogged up with spray paint.

  “What do you want to do with Princess Leia? We won’t be too long,” Eva-Kate said. “No more than an hour.”

  An hour? I hadn’t slept in twenty-six and was beginning to wonder if I’d be able to keep my eyes open for another ten minutes, let alone another hour. But I’d do it, I told myself, I’d stay awake as long as my lucidity was needed.

  “She’ll be fine in the car,” I said. “Just leave the window cracked.”

  Eva-Kate knocked on the door, splintering and sea-foam-painted. I shivered, goose bumps spreading over my bare arms. The air seemed to have dropped at least ten degrees, and wind just slightly too strong to be called a breeze battered the palm fronds, making them hiss and rattle. The door opened and there stood a boy, tall and lanky, about fifteen or sixteen, wearing only jeans and a turquoise pendant on a chain around his neck. His upper chest and arms were covered in black ink tattoos, making him look like he could be older, but the baby fat in his cheeks gave him away.

  “E-K-K.” He grinned lazily, revealing a dollar sign on his right canine tooth. “Long time.”

  “Declan, this is Justine. Justine, Declan.”

  “Hi,” I said, keeping my eyes focused diagonally upward, hoping this would come off as blasé.

  “She can’t come in here,” he said to Eva-Kate without acknowledgi
ng me. “You know that.”

  “I already texted Ruby, she gave the thumbs-up.” Eva-Kate pulled out her phone to show him the text. He squinted at it, tilting his head sideways.

  “Well, whaddya know?” he said, pulling the door back for us to pass through. “Right this way, ladies.”

  The house was lit with black-shaded floor lamps, no overhead light whatsoever, and smelled strongly of incense and sandalwood oil, wafting in and out with the ocean breeze. He took us through the mostly empty living room and into a low-ceilinged, low-lit hallway, which led to a dark wood door covered from top to bottom in illegible, indecipherable carvings.

  “Knock, knock.” Declan spoke into the door. “I have Eva-Kate Kelly. And she has a guest with her.”

  “Well?” called a voice from the other side. “What are you waiting for? Let them in.”

  Declan rolled his eyes and used a key to unlock the door, then pushed it open.

  On a cluster of velvet pillows and cushions beneath a silky white canopy sat a girl applying black nail polish to her toes. She had big curlicue hair and long, twiggy limbs, skin tan and smooth as a polished stone. She wore a threadbare nightgown that hardly covered her thighs; she seemed completely unbothered by, even unaware of, the bite in the air. Sitting on the floor to either side of her were two boys, topless and scrawny like Declan, also with tattoos. Both looked tired; neither seemed to have anything to do. I saw them and quickly averted my eyes, embarrassed but not sure for who. When the girl saw us standing there, she pushed the polish bottle aside and sprang to her feet.

  “Eva-Kate, light of my life!” she gushed, pulling Eva-Kate in for a hug. “It’s been too long.”

  “My love, I know,” Eva-Kate said, kissing the girl on her mouth, plush and velvety as the cushions on the floor. “I don’t know why you have to live so far.”

  “You know I can’t handle LA.” The girl grimaced. “Too many vampires. Everybody wants to suck your soul. I’d like to hang on to mine.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Eva-Kate agreed, still holding on to the girl’s long, bejeweled fingers, still keeping eye contact. “And I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your precious soul.”

  I’d yet to see Eva-Kate so attentive. She looked up at the girl with the respect you’d give to a wise elder or an accomplished leader, though from what I saw, the girl couldn’t be much older than Eva-Kate, if even at all. I flinched with a small pang of envy.

  “And who’s this?” the girl asked, turning to me.

  “My neighbor, Justine. You can trust her, she’s one of us.”

  “I know you’d never bring someone who wasn’t,” she said to Eva-Kate, though she kept her eyes pinned to mine. “I’m Ruby.” She extended her hand to me.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, taking her hand, an odd combination of extreme temperatures; her skin radiated heat while the dozens of silver rings were cold as ice. Face-to-face I saw that though her skin was baby soft, her eyes were deep set and disarming, so dark brown they were almost black, with hints of green and gold freckled throughout. And they were old eyes, eyes that had seen and been seen, eyes that knew things I’d never know. Even Eva-Kate’s relentlessly moony glow was quenched in her presence. She tilted her head from side to side as if examining me. I wondered what Eva-Kate had meant by “she’s one of us.”

  “Come relax,” Ruby said. “You must need it after the long drive.”

  Eva-Kate tensed and stiffened. I tried to decipher her tension. Did I detect a hint of trepidation? Could it be possible she was afraid?

  “Oh, okay, sure,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Come on, Justine, let’s sit.”

  The boys on the floor made room for us, parting so we could step onto the cushions. They’d been so quiet and still I had forgotten they were there. They kept their eyes to the ground. One, I saw, was turning a bright blue stone over and over in his hand.

  Ruby pulled a pack of American Spirits out from under a cushion, put one between her lips, and lit it. Inhaled. She didn’t offer one to either of us, which I was grateful for.

  “Let’s get to it, shall we?” she said.

  “Sure.” Eva-Kate smiled. “Whatever you want.”

  Ruby stood up and walked to a bronze-painted dresser and opened a top drawer, retrieving a bundle of cloth. She held it carefully in cupped hands, bringing it back to us like a swaddled baby. She pulled back the fabric piece by piece, revealing two bulbous, misshapen crystals, each the size and approximate shape of a human fist.

  “These are very powerful,” Ruby said. “I brought them back from Brazil just five days ago. You have to be careful with them.”

  “Of course.” Eva-Kate nodded dutifully.

  “This one is rose quartz.” Ruby placed her palm over a pink one. “It will attract love like a magnet attracts metal; keep it in your purse wherever you go, wash it with salt water at night. Sleep with it by your side always.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Eva-Kate said, awestruck.

  “This one is museum-grade moldavite.” She moved her palm to the second one, mossy green and translucent as glass. “It’s extremely rare. There are only fifty-five thousand pounds of it in existence, scattered around the planet. That’s basically the size of a Greyhound bus. So if you imagine it spread out across the world, you’ll realize just how little of it there actually is. Hundreds of years ago a meteorite fell to Earth and landed in Czech Republic, and in 1786 scientists discovered that it brought these crystalline formations with it. They called these formations moldavite for the town of Moldauthein, where the stones were found.”

  “Can I touch it?” Eva-Kate asked.

  “Of course, it’s going to be yours soon. Go ahead.”

  Eva-Kate touched the clear green surface. A visible shiver rippled up her arm.

  “Oh my God.” She took her hand away. “What was that?”

  “Like I said, this is very powerful and needs to be handled carefully. It’s a good sign that it responded to you so strongly. It can do some psychic damage if it doesn’t resonate with your energy. But I suspected you were meant to have this stone. Now I know for sure.”

  It took some effort not to roll my eyes.

  “Is moldavite stronger than the others? I mean, I literally felt … like … little currents running up my arm.”

  I was dying to know if Eva-Kate really believed in all this, and if so, to what degree?

  “Moldavite is the only gemstone that doesn’t grow on Earth. It’s extraterrestrial debris, coming to us from out there in the universe, carrying with it the power of the cosmos. So, yes, some would say it’s the most powerful.”

  We sat there in silence, the three of us, just staring at the faceted chunk of moldavite. Powerful and sentient or not, it was beautiful. I didn’t know if I was transfixed or just breaking down from exhaustion, but I couldn’t find the will to look away. I was gathering the courage to ask if I could have a turn to touch it when Ruby broke the silence.

  “There are so, so many uses for this stone, so many ways to harness and utilize its power, but I’m giving this to you for a few specific purposes. As I’ve told you before, Eva-Kate, you are one of the Star Children, which has caused you to have a deep feeling of not belonging in this world, a feeling that breeds sadness and hopelessness, and can lead to a chaotic, tumultuous life if not addressed. This moldavite will help you to acclimate to the Earth plane so that you can properly take advantage of all the healing energies it has to offer.”

  Ruby lit a cluster of sage leaves and twirled it through the air as she spoke.

  “Secondly, this precious moldavite will encourage rapid transformation in your life, releasing the toxic things and people that don’t serve your highest path. It will give you the clarity you need to sever those ties, and the strength to do so by whatever means necessary. Lastly, when you take a bath holding the moldavite to your chest, it will engage with your heart chakra, returning a tranquil pink glow to your aura, enriching it with the powers of unconditional love. If you do this often en
ough, anybody who is incapable of giving you unconditional love will magically vanish from your life. Moldavite will harmonize well with the rose quartz, supercharging it to more powerfully attract the right types of love into your life.”

  “These are exactly what I need.” Eva-Kate’s jaw practically hung open. “How did you know literally the exact stones I absolutely need in my life right now?”

  “It’s pretty obvious, my treasure.” Ruby stroked the side of Eva-Kate’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You came in here sizzling with degraded energies and a murky lemon-yellow aura. Not to mention your normally very orange aura was so fogged up it was practically gray. Don’t worry, though, it’s better now. And it will keep getting stronger and stronger with the help of these stones.”

  “Thank God for you, Ruby. You’re an actual earth angel.” Eva-Kate turned to me. “Justine, wasn’t I just saying how she’s an earth angel?”

  “You were,” I said, and smiled at Ruby, though Eva-Kate had not said this or anything like it to me.

  “We’re all earth angels.” Ruby laughed breezily, reaching for a roll of bubble wrap propped up against the wall. “Let me wrap these up for you.”

  “So, then, the price we discussed over text?” Eva-Kate asked, reaching into her purse.

  “This moldavite really wants to be with you, so I’ll take a hundred off the original price.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Eva-Kate protested parenthetically, producing a bulky envelope from her purse. “But you’re sweet for offering.”

  She tore open the envelope and began dexterously counting out hundred-dollar bills in a pile on the floor. I quickly lost track of the amount she’d laid down. But the stack had grown tall, that much I knew. She took it in her hands, lining up any wayward bills, then nonchalantly handed it over to Ruby, as if it were not at all unusual to carry thousands in cash. I gawked at her miniature Saint Laurent shoulder bag and couldn’t believe so much cash had been tucked away inside this whole time.