Chapter 5

“This is crazy. You know that, right?” Cass exclaimed as she climbed into the limo and sat across from me.

She looked stunning as usual, clad in a black dress with a slit that went so high I couldn’t believe she hadn’t shocked the neighborhood. The dress was fastened with a simple bow at the left shoulder, and she filled it with the kind of curves I could only dream of. That week, her hair was dyed red and pulled up high, enhancing the effect of the dress. Other than the diamond on her nose, she hadn’t worn any jewelry, which made the tattoo of an exotic bird on her shoulder, its tail trailing down her arm in a burst of color, even more impressive.

As soon as Cass settled in, Edward closed the door and got behind the wheel again. We couldn’t see it because we were sitting behind the bulkhead, but I could feel the limo pulling away from the curb in front of Cass’s tiny house in Venice Beach.

“Seriously, Gabriela, your job is a dream.”

“I wish,” I replied as I handed her a glass of wine.

The limo was one of the Dermont International fleet vehicles, and Nick had lent me Edward, his personal chauffeur, for the night. If I was lucky, I would get Edward’s overtime paid to my boss.

“I think we both need a moment of deep meditation,” Cass offered. “You to appreciate the enormous advantages of your position. And I want to thank you for being so unsociable that you haven’t found another companion for tonight.”

“Bad bitch,” I said, but I laughed when she closed her eyes and threw her head back.

“Mmm,” she murmured like she was in a yoga class and not in the back of a limo on her way to a party in Hollywood.

I had hesitated whether to bring her or not, but in the end, I decided that not only would she have a great time attending a red carpet premiere, but it would also be great to have her around if I needed support.

Cass has been my best friend since I walked purposefully into her father’s tattoo parlor at the ripe age of fifteen. He sent me off on my feet and made it very clear that he had no intention of risking his license so some spoiled girl from Brentwood could piss off her daddies by getting a tattoo.

I didn’t cry then, hadn’t cried since I was fourteen, but I could feel my face burning with anger and frustration. I called him an asshole and yelled at him that he didn’t know anything about my parents and even less about me. I didn’t remember calling him a fucking asshole, but Cass claimed I did.

What I did remember was that I stormed out of there in a rage and ran to the beach. Crossing the bike lane, I nearly knocked a small child to the ground before falling face-first into the sand. I lay there like an idiot with my forehead resting on my arm and my eyes shut tight because I wanted to cry, I swear I wanted to release my tears, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

I didn’t know how long I was like that, face down, breathing just enough so that sand didn’t get into my nose. All I knew was that Cass was standing next to me when I looked up, long-legged and tanned, her black hair spiky and gelled. She crouched down, elbows on knees, chin on one hand, staring at me as she swayed slightly back and forth.

“Go away,” I said.

“My dad has to take care of me. If they take away his license, they will shut him down, take the house, and we will end up living in his Buick, and I will have to prostitute myself in Hollywood just so we can eat breakfast.”

What she said made my stomach drop, and for a moment, I thought I was going to vomit.

“Don’t say that,” I blurted out. “It’s not even funny.”

She narrowed her eyes at me and stood up, gangly as a foal, holding out her hand to help me up off the ground.

“He can’t do it, but I can.”

“What?”

“If you want a tattoo, I can do it for you.” She shrugged as if tattooing someone was something any teenage girl could do.

“Don’t talk bullshit!”

“Welp, the choice is yours.”

She started walking away.

I dropped to my knees in the sand and watched her walk away, not turning my head once to see if I had changed my mind.

But I had changed my mind.

“Wait!”

She stopped. A moment passed. And another. Then she turned around. She crossed her arms and waited.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen. And you?”

“I just turned fifteen. Can you really do it?”

She came up to me, stretched out one leg, and I couldn’t miss the red rose tattooed on her ankle.

“I can.”

“Will it hurt?”

She snorted. “Well, of course! But no more than it would hurt if he tattooed you.”

I guess she was right about that, though I’d never know for sure. Because Cass was the only person who had ever tattooed me, and I had several tattoos of hers. That first day, we waited on the beach until her father closed the salon. Then we sneaked in, and she adorned the skin of my pubic bone with a pretty gold padlock, locked and chained.

She asked me why I wanted that design, but I didn’t tell her. Not then. And even later, I did not explain everything to her. I only let her see the surface without going deep. And even though she was my best friend, I didn’t think I ever would.

That tattoo and the ones that followed were for me alone. They were secrets and triumphs, strengths and weaknesses. They were a map, and they were memories.

Above all, they were mine.

“Who’s going to the party?” Cass asked after a while. “They have laid out the red carpet, right?”

“So I’ve heard. But don’t get too excited. It’s a documentary, not a blockbuster movie. I imagine there will be a few big shots in the world, some agents, and maybe even some fourth-rate actors.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that we’re going to walk a fucking red carpet. I guess I can cross it off my list of things I want to do before I kick the bucket.”

“I guess so. The dress is amazing, by the way. Where did you buy it?”

“At the Goodwill near Beverly Hills. It’s my favorite.”

Cass was now the owner of Totally Tattoo and made a good living, but it wasn’t always like that, and I didn’t think I had ever seen her shop for clothes in boutiques.

“Usually, I just stuck with a pair of $10 jeans and some cool T-shirts,” she continued. “But the other day, there was a whole rack of fancy second-hand clothes. I swear I didn’t understand those women. They put the clothes on once and then donate them.” She shrugged resignedly. “Oh well, what’s it to me? I had no problem taking advantage of their financial imbecility.”

“Not even looking so stunning, spending so little!”

“I’m telling you. You look great, too,” she added.

“It’s the minimum. I spent two hours going over my ends and doing my makeup.”

I had had short hair since I was fifteen, which was when I said goodbye to my long wavy locks in favor of a hairstyle with a peculiar style between garçon and pixie. Back then, all I had wanted was a change, and the more radical, the better. Since shaving was too extreme, even for my state of mind, I hadn’t gone that far.

However, I loved the cut. According to Kelly, my hairstylist, it suited my oval face well and enhanced my cheekbones. In the end, that hadn’t mattered to me. The only thing that mattered to me was that I liked what I saw in the mirror.

“I especially like the red ends,” Cass said.

I had dark brown hair with natural golden highlights. To be honest, I liked it just the way it was, so I had never been tempted to follow in Cass’s footsteps and dye it pink, purple, or even plain red.

Still, that night I had wanted to brighten up my face a bit and asked Kelly to do a few color highlights for me. She had gone a step further and dyed the ends of a few strands to make the effect not only fun but also stylish.

“It looks great on you, yes, but I mean that the color matches your dress. Which is fabulous, by the way.”

“It should be fabulous… It cost me a fortune.”

I didn’t spend my life rummaging through thrift stores like Cass, but I hadn’t spent as much money on a dress to date as I had on that one. It had been fiery red, and although I had decided on a knee-length cocktail style, I had thought it was just as elegant and sexy as Cass’s floor-length outfit. And yes, when I had taken a full circle in front of my dressing room mirror, I had tried to see myself through the eyes of Marcus Steele. Not because I had wanted to look stunning—not completely, at least—but because I had wanted to be the spitting image of success.

Of professionalism.

Of power.