at the tables in Monte Carlo, and the teenage children of the affluent in Los Angeles. She stood with one hand on her hip, sighing with exasperation. Her straight sun-streaked hair was pulled back loosely in a ponytail; her face glowed from her exertions on the field. She tapped her foot impatiently. The long socks and high shorts of her soccer uniform revealed long lean legs.
“Coming,” said the straggler, a dark-haired girl whose face was hidden from me as she searched her bag.
“I don’t know if I can go to Starbucks. My Dante paper’s due tomorrow,” said a third girl. I recognized Heather O’Connor, whom I remembered as an intense redhead whose mother liked to dress her in plaid. She had grown into a tawny strawberry blonde with pale eyelashes and hazel eyes. She made a face. “The Inferno. Ugh.” Then, “Hannah, come on.”
If I hadn’t heard the name, I never would have recognized the dark-haired beauty who found what she’d been looking for—a pack of cigarettes—and now shook one out and lit it. Hannah Rosen had been a chubby little girl with tight curly hair and glasses; I remembered how cute she looked in her karate class white outfit, roly-poly and serious. Now she was slender and shapely. Her tight curls had grown into a wild nimbus of dark hair; her eyes, no longer hidden by glasses, were long-lashed, dark and soulful. She inhaled the cigarette then blew the smoke out in a long plume.
“Heather. Hannah. Dawn.”
They didn’t recognize me. Dawn’s initial reaction was wary and suspicious, whereas Heather’s smile of curiosity was open and gracious.
“Brett Tanager. I used to live with Julia Weissman’s dad.”
Dawn’s distrust did not relax even as she placed me, but Heather and Hannah broke into smiles.
“You created Murder Will Out. You took us all on the set for Julia’s birthday.” Heather remembered what even I’d forgotten.
“Is that show still on the air?” asked Hannah.
“No,” said Dawn, always the expert. “Kate McKenzie’s on Dallas Central now. Well of course, it’s still on cable in the mornings. I watch it if I’m home sick. The clothes are a riot. You can’t believe the way they used to dress.”
The show had been created six years ago, lasted five seasons, and been off the air a year. But I guess to a sixteen-year-old, that was a generation ago.
“Cool,” said Heather. “What are you working on now?”
The eternal show biz question, even from kids.
“Taking a breather. The show wore me out.”
“My dad says things are the worst he’s ever seen,” Dawn declared. “I mean, if you get an eleven share, you’re lucky. And you can forget about a back end. That’s why he and Jonathan went to Poseidon when they bought Trident. It was the only way they could keep their points.”
“Well, it’s reality. You can’t get points in reality; you can’t even get Guild minimum. That’s why Amy’s dad couldn’t keep her in school; they don’t need writers for reality.”
“Reality’s not going away. The numbers on reality are just too good.”
“If they could just figure out how to monetize content on the Internet.”
“Listen,” I interrupted. Savvy as these girls might be, and much as they could relaunch my career with a word to the right person, that’s not why I had come. “Is Julia around? She came to see me yesterday, and we started a conversation we never got to finish. Have you seen her?”
They looked from one to another with a look that was easy to read: Don’t tell her anything, she’s a grown-up.
“I’m not here to get anyone into trouble, I promise,” I added. “Was she in school today?”
Dawn’s look said, “Executive privilege, get a subpoena.”
We were surrounded by parents and nannies, coming to collect their kids.
“Look, is there somewhere we can talk more privately? Isn’t there a Starbucks nearby?” Maybe I could play on her caffeine needs. I could use some myself. Mike said “don’t take the first drug,” but based on what I’d seen at the clubhouse, I knew caffeine didn’t count. I was feeling sweaty and shaky; maybe coffee might help.
“Across Sunset. We usually go there after practice.”
“Let me buy you a Frappuccino.”
Dawn looked me up and down. I was still wearing the clothes I’d put on to go down to Mike’s yesterday: jeans, sneakers, a white t-shirt, and a suede jacket I’d bought in Florence that never went out of style. My palms were sweating, and my hands were jammed into my pockets because I thought they were probably trembling. My five foot eight frame was cadaverous; I hadn’t bothered to eat much lately. Still, being thin has never been a liability in this town, and evidently, I fell within the range of Dawn’s standards.
“Sure,” she said with a toss of the head, “Why not.”We walked to Sunset and crossed at the intersection to a Starbucks in a mini-mall across the street, catching up on who was how old now, and what we remembered about times we’d shared when I lived with Jonathan and Julia. They remembered the stories I told them at bedtime; I remembered the shows they put on in our living room. The delight I’d felt watching them seemed now as unrecoverable as the eight-year-olds within those teenage girls. I wondered if any of them were doing what Julia had spoken of.
The police had been to school that day, interviewing kids about Caleigh, but I wanted to wait until we were seated before asking them harder questions.
The store had put a few plastic tables and chairs on the sidewalk. It faced Sunset Boulevard, which was heavy with traffic in both directions, and the odor of exhaust fumes was an unpleasant accompaniment to our coffees. But it was private, in the way that sitting on a public street in a neighborhood where nobody walks can be.
We ordered our drinks and settled at a table outside, so that Hannah could smoke. The other two derided her habit but indulged it.
“Was Julia in school at all today?”
They exchanged furtive glances and shook their heads no.
“Do you have any idea where she is? I saw her yesterday. She came to see me at the beach,” I added.
“Did you call her?” Heather was already taking out her cell phone and punching in Julia’s speed dial. She listened for a bit then said, “Hey, it’s me, we’re at Starbucks. Your step-mom’s here, she’s looking for you.” I was signaling for her to leave my number. Instead, she handed me her phone. I spoke into it. “Julia?” It was her voice mail. “Look, call me on my cell.” And I left the number.
I handed the phone back to Heather.
“Julia came to see me because she was worried about Caleigh. And now that the Nussbaums have reported Caleigh missing, I’m worried too. Do you have any idea where Caleigh is?”
“On another planet?” Dawn shook several packets of artificial sweetener into her already sweet Soy Chai Frozen Latte.
“Caleigh’s sort of in her own world,” said Heather. “She acts like she’s better than everybody because of her dad, and a lot of kids humor her because they want to get into the business. But nobody really likes her.”
“Julia does.” Hannah’s voice was soft even when disagreeing. Shimmering beneath the surface, like the reflection of a tree in a pond, I could see traces of the little ninja dumpling in the beauty she’d become.
“Well, right, Julia, because she’s loyal. She’s always sticking up for Caleigh. But nobody else likes her. She’s kind of a bitch.”
“Kind of?” Dawn was dismissive. “She’s worse than her mother.”
Heather laughed. “Caleigh would shit a brick if she heard you say she was like her mother.” She turned