Sunset Boulevard Part 6

Ash rolled his Camaro into the driveway of his house on Bedford Drive, just as KROQ started to play Cracker's "Happy Birthday to Me."

f.u.c.king mockery.

It was Ash's birthday, not that anyone would know it. He was completely pathetic. Fine, so his mom had remembered, calling him this morning. Her present had arrived last week-an open-ended ticket to Austin so he could come down whenever he wanted and get a new amp for his guitar. His sister had mailed him her usual gift, books, including a she-hoped-it-was-subtle-but-it-wasn't self-help book t.i.tled d.a.m.n the Man: A Four-Step Conflict Resolution Guide for Fathers and Sons.

d.a.m.n the man was right. Gordon hadn't called to wish him a good birthday, or uttered so much as a thank-you, even though Ash had been tossed on his a.s.s out of a s.h.i.+tty dive bar. If he knew about it-Daisy's ejection from Powerhouse hadn't made any blogs-Gordon would probably revel in it. It would be a great story to tell at c.o.c.ktail parties; he'd cap it with, "That's just life in the music business." Admittedly, it was kind of funny, and Ash had recounted it several times over the weekend to Tucker and Geoff.

Ash stepped onto the driveway, pulling his iPhone from his pocket as he did. Myla had sent a text. Happy Birthday, Ash. I wish a lot of things for you. Love, M. P.S. Remember, you're always invited for dinner.

That Myla had remembered-and bothered to do something about it-only added to the sting. Even his best friends had forgotten. Tucker and Geoff had invited him to Zuma today to hit the surf, but it wasn't a birthday thing, it was a we do this every day thing. In years past, they'd remembered-as had everyone else he hung with at BHH-because Myla had made them remember. For his sixteenth birthday last year, Myla had rented out four cabins at Big Bear, and paid for two days of skiing for Ash and all their friends. And she always made him a card, complete with glitter and stickers, which sounded cheesy, but wasn't. Myla had a crafty side she rarely showed. More than any gift or party, the fact that she risked her manicure to glue hundreds of sparkly hearts to construction paper always made his birthday a reminder of how much she loved him.

Ash heard the squeak of brakes in the Porter-Goldsmiths' driveway next door and he looked up to see Jake pulling up in his Corolla. He'd been meaning to congratulate Jake on his part in Cla.s.s Angel, and say something to his childhood best friend about his awesome "game."

Jake emerged from his pastel blue Corolla looking a lot different than the scrawny, bruise-p.r.o.ne kid Ash had traded Pokemon cards with. He looked like someone Ash would hang out with now. Even his crazy mop of curls resembled a style Geoff had tried and failed to achieve.

Ash nodded across the driveway, stepping onto the swath of gra.s.s that separated their yards. "Hey, Jake," he said, feeling awkward. "Congrats on the movie."

Jake grinned widely, making Ash glad he'd paid the compliment. He'd never intended for his best-friend status with Jake to morph to them not talking at all, but the more they drifted, the less they spoke.

"Thanks, Ash," Jake said, grabbing his backpack from the pa.s.senger seat. He took a few steps toward his house, then raised his eyebrows. "Oh, and hey, it's your birthday, right?"

Ash squinted at him. "Yeah, it is. How'd you remember?"

Jake looked down at his Converse. Just when his old friend might start to think he was unlame, Jake had to do something as girly as remember Ash's birthday. "Just good with numbers, you know? But happy birthday." He shrugged nonchalantly and looked up to see Ash grinning in an appreciative way. Maybe remembering wasn't lame and girly. He noticed Ash was about to head into his dark and empty house. Most nights, Ash's car was the only one in the driveway, and the only light on in the house was in Ash's room, on the second floor across from Jake's. In theory, it sounded cool that Ash got a mansion to himself at sixteen, but Jake knew it had to be depressing. Especially on a birthday. "You know, you're welcome to come over for dinner here. My mom always has a lot of food. And don't worry, she never cooks anymore. Takeout. So everything's edible."

Ash laughed. Mrs. Porter-Goldsmith once had served them grilled cheese sandwiches made with microwaved matzo bread and cream cheese. "Um, thanks, but I think I'm supposed to do something later." First Myla had invited him over, now Jake. He must have looked like an orphan.

"Cool," Jake said. "But the offer stands, you know, whenever."

Ash lay on his bed, eating leftover chow fun noodles from Dragon's Fire, a Chinese restaurant on Santa Monica. He flipped idly through the d.a.m.n the Man book, laughing at how poorly the advice would go over with Gordon.

Clear the air, read the start of step one. Set a date to do something manly as father and son. Get your aggressions out on the basketball court, at an automobile race, or even by taking a long run. Then find a quiet place to have a coffee, or even a stiff drink if that makes you both comfortable. Whoever does the inviting should then announce, "It's time for a talk." Agree to a no-interruptions opportunity to list your complaints with your father or son, and then be patient as he does the same.

Ash rolled his eyes, flopping onto his stomach and putting his head under a pillow. Yeah, like Gordon would listen to a list of complaints.

From under the pillow, Ash heard his m.u.f.fled ring-reset to a new Raconteurs song. Lifting the corner of the pillow, he reached for the phone, seeing his dad's face on the screen. At least he'd remembered his birthday.

"Hey, Dad," Ash said, hating that he felt incrementally better.

"Son," Gordon said, sounding jovial instead of stern. "Heard you had quite an adventure with Daisy last week." He chuckled. "Bet you've never had a night like that."

Um, you're welcome, Ash thought grimly, but didn't say anything. His dad was waiting for some acknowledgment of the Daisy adventure, and Ash was waiting for his dad's birthday wish. We could stay like this all night, he thought.

"So tonight, I need you to come up here," Gordon said. "We're having a party."

Ash instantly softened. A party? For him? The last time his dad had planned him a birthday party was a paintball outing in the seventh grade. It was right before the divorce.

"You didn't have to do that, Dad," Ash said.

"Of course I did. Investors want to meet Daisy, and I need to show she's not a liability. You're good with her. To an extent, anyway. Be here at eight?"

"Um, actually, I have plans." Ash gripped the phone tightly, p.i.s.sed off that his dad would plan a party for Daisy while forgetting his birthday.

"What kind of plans?" Gordon asked skeptically. "It's Tuesday night."

And my birthday, Ash thought. Not that you care. He racked his brain for an actual engagement, not just hanging with Tucker and Geoff. Ash glanced out his window at Jake's navy curtains. "Actually, I'm supposed to go the Porter-Goldsmiths' for dinner," he said, hoping his Porter-Goldsmiths invite sounded like an unbreakable obligation.

"Yeah, of course. Must be a big night for you," Gordon said, sounding more amused than hurt. "Have a good time."

And with that, he hung up. Ash exhaled, laughing to himself as he imagined stodgy investors chatting up Daisy in one of her crazy tutus. It might have been fun to go, but if Ash's birthday was so easily forgettable, so was his dad's stupid party.

He rang the Porter-Goldsmiths' bell, feeling like a tool. He'd fetched a bottle of wine from the cellar and now he hastily untied the gift tag signed by Francis Ford Coppola from the bottle's neck. He tossed it in the bushes just as Jake's mom answered.

"Ash," Jake's mom, Gigi, said, her familiar halo of auburn hair tied in a loose ponytail. She looked a little surprised to see him, but pleased. "What a nice surprise. Come in." Memories flooded Ash as he stepped through the door. He and Jake had practically lived at one another's houses until they were ten. Mrs. Goldsmith had seen him in his Power Rangers underwear.

He handed her the bottle of wine, as she protested that he didn't have to do that.

As he walked into the Porter-Goldsmiths' eat-in kitchen, every face registered surprise at seeing him.

"Hey, Ash," Jake said, looking confused as he brought a plate of spaghetti to the table.

"Ash, 'sup?" Jake's little brother, Brendan, said, nodding approvingly as he sat down. Brendan had always tried to hang out with Ash and Jake when they were younger. He had to be thirteen now, and was almost Ash's height. He'd been a little chubby as a kid, but now he was all muscle, with shoulders that looked broad and square compared to his face, his cheeks still a round reminder of his baby fat.

Jonathan, Jake's dad, stood, clutching Ash's hand in his solid grip. "Good to see you, Ash. Sit, sit. I hear it's your birthday." The Porter-Goldsmiths' kitchen table was still the same dark, round six-seater he'd eaten at hundreds of times growing up. The kitchen was updated with granite counters and a stainless-steel fridge, but Gigi's collage of old Hollywood stars still hung above the stove.

After the initial surprise wore off, Ash worked to be a good dinner guest, even if he felt a little odd. Everything was familiar but different at his old best friend's house, like walking out of a movie and coming back a half hour later to realize you'd missed the whole middle.

"So, Ash, how are things? Still playing piano?" Gigi asked, looking at him over the rim of her winegla.s.s.

The question made Ash feel like he'd been gone even longer. "I stopped a while ago," he said. "But I'm playing guitar now."

"Dude, that's awesome," Brendan said, high-fiving across the basket of garlic bread. "Think you'll ever get a band going?"

Ash shrugged, grinning. "I've been trying," he said, coiling some strands of spaghetti around his fork. "My bandmates have a hard time making decisions. You know how it goes."

"I wish," Brendan said. Turning to Jake, he said sarcastically, "He's got bandmates and you've got Abelson. No wonder he doesn't hang out with you anymore."

Ash cringed at the reminder that he'd been the one who ditched Jake. They'd already started to drift, and the one time he'd tried to include Jake with his new friend Tucker, when they were all about eleven, the whole experience had been a nightmare. Jake still thought girls were gross, and all Tucker wanted to do was try to get 7-Eleven clerks to sell them Playboys.

Jake took the remark in stride. "Bren, you couldn't even get into band playing the clarinet," he snickered, making eye contact with Ash. "I don't think you'll have bandmates anytime soon either."

"I only tried out for clarinet 'cause all the cute girls play the flute," Brendan shot back, looking at Ash defensively. Mr. Goldsmith made a loud shhh noise as he blew on a hot meatball.

"So, besides music," Mr. Goldsmith said, setting down the fork, meatball and all, "how is your family? Tessa?"

"Still at Berkeley," Ash said, remembering how Tessa used to love getting into debates with Jake's dad about non-teenage topics like politics and religion. "Studying philosophy."

"Oh, your father must love that," Gigi said, the words sounding harsher than she'd probably intended. Ash knew she thought his dad was a d.i.c.k for leaving him alone in the house. He'd been lying out by the pool one day with his headphones on and heard Mrs. Goldsmith over the fence, telling one of her friends on the phone how she'd like to give Gordon Gilmour a piece of her mind, leaving a growing teenage boy to fend for himself. Ash remembered thinking he'd have loved to hear Gigi rail on his dad. Gordon could string together a creative swear combination, but Jake's mom could outgun him any day of the week.

"Yeah," Ash said, rolling his eyes so that Gigi knew they were on the same page. "He asked her what philosopher has ever made any money, and she told him Bob Dylan. That sort of ended that."

Jonathan laughed heartily. "Tessa was always a gifted debater. How is school going for you, though?"

Ash took a sip of the bitter iced tea Gigi had made. "I don't think anything I tell you about me and school will be half as good as what Jake can say."

Brendan laughed through a mouthful of meatball. "Yeah, nerd," he chided Jake.

Ash shot him a look. "No, I mean with the movie."

Gigi plastered a smile on her face that Ash could tell was fake. "Jacob knows what I think. I think he should make school the priority, not Hollywood." She sighed. "But since when does a mother know what's best for her child?"

Across the table Jake's hazel eyes bugged out in Ash's direction. Ash had clearly talked his way into a conversational minefield. "Jake's working with that Grant Isaacson dude...." It was all he could think of.

"Little p.r.i.c.k turned down my proposal to do his publicity," Gigi muttered into her wine.

"Ma, he doesn't even need you," Jake said. "Today, these three girls-which of Myla's friends again, Ash?"

"Billie Bollman, Talia Shepard, and Fortune Weathers. All totally crazy for that guy. And probably a little crazy," Ash chimed in, grinning at Jonathan, who was listening intently.

"Yeah, them," Jake said, sounding excited. "They left a plate of cookies from Sweet Lady Jane outside his trailer door. And he was completely terrified."

Ash leaned forward, getting into the story. "Well, of course he was. They'd had all of them iced with his face. And they were hiding behind the bushes with binoculars watching him as he picked them up."

"He didn't even eat them," Jake said. "He doesn't do sugar. It screws up your system." He looked meaningfully at Gigi, who'd finished eating and was sorting discriminately through a box of See's Candies on the counter. Apparently, Jake's mom was still in the diet mode she'd been in six years ago: Scarf candy at night in private, guilt herself through a day of bland food, repeat.

Dinner wound down with the whole family helping to clear the table. Ash loaded the silverware into the dishwasher and Jake's mom-maybe because of the two gla.s.ses of pinot noir she'd had with the meal-threw an affectionate arm around him. "You've always been such a sweetie." As everyone headed back to the table for dessert, Gigi held Jake back and whispered something to him.

Because even Gigi's whisper carried, Ash could hear her. "I can't believe he's alone on his birthday," she said. "I was thinking we could..." Ash couldn't hear the rest because Brendan started playing drums on the table with his silverware, looking out the corner of his eye to see if Ash was impressed with his percussion.

Jake came back to the table, Gigi just behind him, carrying a sheet cake from Whole Foods. A faint blue imprint of the words Congrats to Our Star, Jake! was still visible, but she'd spelled out As.h.!.+ 17! in M&M's. As she placed it on the table, she looked almost guilty, ran to the kitchen, and came back with candles.

"We were celebrating Jake's big role," she said, sticking the candles into the chocolate icing. "And reminding him that his family thinks he's a star, even if we disagree with his choices and even if the movie is a bomb."

Brendan chuckled. "Ha, loser," he said, looking at Ash. "I'm calling him DVD. As in 'direct to DVD.'"

Jonathan's jaw clenched, every hair of his beard looking tense. "C'mon, Bren. If Jake's movie is a hit, you'll be taking credit. Success has one hundred parents, but failure is an orphan."

Brendan pursed his lips petulantly, the softness of his chin becoming apparent. Jake's dad's "rabbi with a touch of Buddha" made for guilt trips worse than any normal parent could deliver. Ash chuckled along with Jake, and they shared a glance across the table.

"But Jake said he agreed your birthday was more important," Gigi continued, putting the candles in at odd angles.

Jake shook his head earnestly, his face turning red.

"Thanks, man," Ash said, as Jake shrugged.

Gigi lit the candles and everyone stood up, save for Ash, who Gigi instructed to stay seated. As they sang, Ash tried to focus entirely on the moment. They asked him questions, and cared about his interests, and made him feel like he was worth listening to. The Porter-Goldsmiths were being nicer to him than his own father.

Ash blew out the candles and Gigi cut the cake, serving pieces all around. Taking a quick bite of cake, Jake stood up from the table. "Sorry, Ma," he said. "I have to go meet Miles about this physics project. And I just told you, sugar screws you up."

"More for me then," Gigi said, kissing him goodbye. Jonathan patted his back. Ash had just witnessed Jake getting more parental affection in ten seconds than he'd had all year.

"More for you, too, Ash," Gigi said, setting a continent- size piece of cake in front of him as Jake slipped out the door. Once everyone had a piece, they resumed eating, but the chatter of conversation was gone, and the only noise came from the screech of forks across dessert plates. Ash looked up to see Gigi, Jonathan, and Brendan smiling at him generously across the table. He felt like some straggly dog the Porter-Goldsmiths had found and brought home and were now watching to make sure he ate something. The person who'd invited him had left; this was definitely what they called overstaying your welcome. He took three fast bites of cake, wanting to get out of there as soon as he could without being rude. He was feeling too much like a charity case without any family of his own.

Jonathan gave him his opening. "Ash, my boy, you must have some big things going on for your birthday tonight. I still remember when Jacob came home wanting to be a jockey after your dad took you all to Santa Anita."

Ash suppressed a smile. He'd been ten and his dad had taken him and his friends to learn how to bet on horses. As nuts as it was, Ash had thought Gordon was the coolest dad in the world. Once.

"Ha, yeah, I remember that. Jake even bought that pink jockey hat," Ash said. "He kept insisting it wasn't pink, it was magenta, and a royal color."

"Oh G.o.d, how did I not know this?" Brendan said, running from the kitchen, probably in search of Jake's hat.

"But I do have to go," Ash said, backing toward the door. He wanted to go to the one place that always felt like home. "Thank you guys for everything."

He'd decided to take Myla up on her invitation to stop by.

Right now.

LAST IMPRESSIONS.

"Okay, so what about Olivia Abdabo? Miss I Think I'm Donatella Without the Bad Tan?" Jojo pointed one Lotus Rougepainted fingernail-chip-free, thank you very much-at the pretty face with deep-set eyes staring up at them from the pages of the BHH yearbook.

Myla laughed. "That's not bad. A little on the long side. Total head case. Like, camping-out-in-front-of-the-Jonas-Brothers'-house head case. She made a whole purity outfit to show her devotion to teen abstinence and sat there overnight, until the cops came. For weeks after, she ate and drank nothing but white foods, just to show her dedication. A few weeks later, she lost her virginity to a senior in the Young Republicans Club."

Myla and Jojo were in Jojo's room, going through old yearbooks. They weren't reminiscing, though. They were in the middle of a lesson, t.i.tled "Knowledge Is Power." Myla never forgot a juicy slice of gossip. While the rest of BHH moved on to the next thing, Myla kept every foible, flaw, and weakness stored in the Eames file cabinet that was her brain.

Now she was teaching Jojo everything that could be taught about their cla.s.smates' lowest points over the last few years. Much as she liked gossiping with Myla in the privacy of their house, Jojo couldn't imagine herself using any of the information publicly. Myla could do whatever she wanted; she'd reigned at BHH for years. And she'd probably ruled her junior high, grammar school, and preschool before that. But when Jojo told Myla she didn't think she'd ever use all this dish, Myla had said, "People say they won't use algebra either. It's the concepts that are important. And the concept here is, Everyone has a weak spot." So Jojo contented herself in bonding with her sister. And she had to admit, gossip here was way more interesting than gossip back home.

Jojo flipped forward a few pages, and her eyes immediately landed on Jake Porter-Goldsmith. She giggled unintentionally. "That's Jake? Oh. My. G.o.d." He must have been about twenty-five pounds thinner last year. His face was narrow, his neck so long and thin it looked like he was trying to stretch himself out of the shot. "He was so dorky! But he's still cute."

Myla's head swiveled in Jojo's direction. "Did you say cute?"

Jojo didn't take her eyes off the picture. "Yeah, in a hopeless kind of way. He's much cuter now. Like he blossomed from geek to chic."

Myla stood up, yanking the yearbook from under Jojo's nose, closing the heavy hardcover with a snap. Eyeing Jojo with the glare of a pet owner whose puppy had just peed on the floor, she said, "No. No. And triple no. You cannot have a crush on Jacob Porter-Goldsmith."

Jojo felt a blush run up her neck at being called out for her crush. She'd been wanting to ask him how WWJKD was going, but hadn't b.u.mped into him since their lunch date. But when she, like the rest of the school, saw him throw his amazing pa.s.s, it was clear the lessons had worked. He looked cuter than ever as a quarterback. "I think he likes to be called Jake now," she said, tossing a strand of her loosely curled hair over one shoulder.

"Jake, Jacob, I don't care if his new name is James Dean," Myla said, a little more gently. "He's an NFW boy."

"A what?" Jojo stood up, so she was at eye level with Myla.

"A No f.u.c.king Way boy." Myla spelled it out. "Going out with him would cement you as BarfBarf for the rest of your life."

So what? was Jojo's first thought, and it came as as much of a surprise to her as seeing Jake as a reedy nerd. But she stopped herself from saying it aloud. After her dreadful first few weeks, she didn't have a ton of faith in her own choices-and besides, maybe her sister knew what she needed more than she did. Myla's advice had worked so far. Jojo turned and shuffled to her vanity, a hand-carved table stained silver with different-size drawers and a moon-shaped oval mirror, which Barkley had made for her. Sitting down and flipping her hairbrush in her hands, she looked back at Myla's reflection. "He's in a movie, though. You saw him make that pa.s.s," she pointed out.

Myla came up beside Jojo, putting a light hand on her shoulder. She perched on the edge of the vanity and offered Jojo a sympathetic look. "I know it sounds parental of me, but it's for your own good. What we're working on here is so much bigger than you realize. I'm not showing you how to survive BHH. I'm teaching you how to thrive. Do you understand why Jake's not part of that?"

Emotions swirled in Jojo's chest. She didn't get why Myla was talking to her like a child. Then again, she didn't understand why she was resisting what seemed like sincere, sisterly advice. But most of all, the idea of being somebody at BHH pulled at her. Not so much for the popularity, but to be closer to Myla. What good was it having a sister who ruled the school if you were always hiding out in the library? "Not really," she said, hoping she didn't sound as petulant as she felt.