“Your mom’s so cool,” I say. “My parents insist painting is a hobby I’ll grow out of.” I might not share their love for politics, but I still respect their passions. I wish they could understand that painting isn’t some kind of craft for me. It’s my lifeline.
“Then you’ll have to prove them wrong!” Antonia snaps her makeup case shut.
“Well, actually, I talked to Ms. Day earlier this week and she recommended I submit a portfolio for this gallery showing. It’s supposed to be pretty prestigious...”
My phone vibrates again.
SAM: K. Surfing early tmrw morning. Night.
LIV: Sry. Wanna get together later this weekend?
There’s no answer. I think about asking him, but I don’t want to find out yet.
He’s probably pissed at me. Maybe he doesn’t actually care. Who knows? Boys are so hard to interpret over text. Why am I so worried about what he thinks about what I do with my life? We’re not together. Tonight’s about having fun. Letting loose.
That’s who I am now. Right?
Liv Blakely.
Fun girl. Life of the party. Girl of the century.
“Have no fear of perfection—you’ll never reach it.”
—Salvador Dali
“This is insane,” says Antonia. “It’s so...”
“Expensive,” I say, finishing her sentence.
Antonia and I are scoping out the main open area of the upper deck of the Royal Elizabeth. It’s decorated with gorgeous displays of white flowers everywhere, and lighting glows around the edges of the boat, making the atmosphere seem heavenly. In the center of the floor, where people are gathering and chatting, there’s an open bar stacked high with pyramids of champagne flutes. A DJ plays low-key electronic music while guests lounge on chic white sofas or wander outside to lean against the railing, looking out at the water.
“This is why I love LA. You never know where you might get invited. I’ve been to a few parties, but I mean, this is ridiculous. Can you imagine if my parents let me throw a party like this? Or, like, if we had the money to throw a party like this?”
Antonia has become a complete chatterbox. She gets like this in social situations—all giddy and energetic. Her hair is down. Tight golden-brown curls fall over the spaghetti straps of her yellow dress.
I wish I were as gorgeous as her. It barely takes her any effort—or makeup—to look like a total superstar.
I’m her opposite, wearing the black dress she loaned me. It’s my color lately. The dress still feels too tight though. The fabric constricts around my rib cage like a python. My stomach cramps as anxious thoughts bubble up behind my eyes. I’m too pale, practically a phantom, especially compared to all of the confident women strutting and giggling around the room. Half of them are probably actresses Zach knows from work.
Both Zach and Jackson are nowhere to be seen—not that I would have the courage right now to walk up and start a conversation with them anyway.
That’s probably going to take some liquid courage.
“Look at those,” Antonia says, watching a caterer walk by with a platter full of delicious-looking crostini. “Thank God, I’m starving.”
Even though she ate at her house, Antonia makes a beeline for the hors d’oeuvres. I swear that girl can eat anything and not gain an ounce. I know I shouldn’t eat and that I’ll feel guilty later, but the appetizers look delicious. I’m thinking about whether I should approach the table when Antonia turns around with a plate in her hand. “You need to eat, Liv. Get something in your stomach before we start drinking.”
“I don’t know...” I hesitate. “This dress...”
“Stop. You look great. Don’t you want to drink?”
I sigh. “Yeah. I guess.”
Antonia puts a hand on my shoulder. “Girl. You have nothing to worry about,” she says, nodding at a young woman walking across the deck with a scowl on her face. “Look at her. She obviously hasn’t eaten all day. She looks completely miserable.”
“All right,” I say. It’s impossible to not give in to her eventually. “I’ll eat. But then you have to promise to go get us some drinks.”
“Deal,” Antonia says, turning back to the appetizers.
We load our tiny plates with spinach and goat cheese tartlets, scallops and clams, and toasted bread topped with thyme-roasted tomatoes, then head over to a secluded cocktail table at one side of the deck. Both of us pig out on the appetizers like neither of us has never eaten before. The food tastes heavenly. I try not to think about the calories.
“I’ll get us some bubbly,” Antonia says, polishing off her last tartlet and setting down her plate on a table. “I’ll bring you something strong.”
I think about joining Antonia, but I figure this is a good time to gather my thoughts and to check whether LeFeber has shown up yet. And to figure out what I want to say to Zach when I finally see him.
As Antonia disappears to the other end of the room, I note the yacht’s classy decor. The room is lined with white-cloth tables strung with lights. Along the outer tables are double rows of windows strung with sparkling lights too. The view of the harbor is magnificent. The ships are soaked in a lavender blanket of descending night. A few yachts are cutting slowly through the water like graceful swans. It’s perfect.
Looking at the harbor reminds me of Sam, which makes me feel a little pang of guilt for ditching him tonight. As a kid, I always used to come here with him and his older brother, James, to go sailing. When James passed away last year, Sam asked to meet by our special bench just across the marina, where we still go to talk alone.
I held him while he cried. We kissed. Only once.
It scared me. I didn’t want to have feelings for my best friend. And Sam never talked about it afterward. So I kind of just assumed that he wasn’t really interested after all. It was just part of his grief from losing his brother at such a young age.
I look around and slowly start to recognize some faces even though I don’t really know them personally. The yacht is swarming with teenage and twentysomething Hollywood actors and several small groups of adults. Crew members. Producers. Agents. Many of them are from the show Sisters & Mothers, about two women who fall in love and move in together. Each of the mothers on the show has a teenage daughter. Hilarity ensues when they all move in with each other. Zach plays one of the daughters’ love interests, which is why I lock myself in my bedroom and watch every Thursday night. It’s pretty good. He’s not in every episode, but I watch the show weekly anyway. A couple of times, Zach has played guitar. He can sing really well too, which I love.
There’s something so intriguing about creative men.
I
