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Chapter Forty-Seven
Point of View: Narrator

Zoe jumped back from the window she'd been peering out when she saw Kayla's car lights turn into the driveway, and moved as quickly as she could to the sofa, where she sat and turned on the TV before Kayla came in the door. Kayla was humming Beautiful Stranger by Madonna under her breath and Zoe heard the keys hit the bottom of the basket on the table by the door. Kayla kicked off her shoes and came into the living room, "I'm home, I'm going to bed," Kayla announced, trying to run past Zoe.

"Not so fast young lady," called Zoe.

Kayla stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned around, praying she'd gotten all traces of the smeared lipstick off in the car - it was so hard to tell by those damn dome lights. "Yes?"

"That was an awful long time, he only lives like fifteen minutes away - you were gone almost an hour."

Was the kiss really that long? Kayla wondered. It hadn't felt it. It had felt like the blink of an eye - or even shorter, maybe. Seriously only seconds. Nick's mouth had felt so good, so warm. His breath smelled like... well, like meatloaf, but as gross as that sounds, it was actually nice because he smelled like home. Kayla dropped down a step, "Sorry," she muttered to Zoe.

Zoe got up and wandered to Kayla, studying her. "He kissed you," she gasped.

How the fuck does she do that? Kayla wondered. Zoe had always been able to tell when Kayla had been kissed by a boy. Always. "Yeah? So?" Kayla asked childishly.

Zoe closed her eyes, "Please, for the love of God, tell me you used the pepper spray."

"Aunt Zoe," Kayla sighed, exasperated, "What do you see wrong in Nick?" she asked, "Seriously? You always talk about him, saying he's a good kid that just makes bad choices sometimes. Why is he good enough for you to like, but not good enough for me to like?"

Zoe frowned, "Because, you deserve better than him, Kayla!" she responded. "He's broken, don't you understand that? He's got a hard-knock past, evidently a very messed up family, he's a pop star, which means God knows how many people he's slept with, how many diseases he could be carrying..."

Kayla threw her hands into the air, "Oh my GOD, Aunt Zoe!"

"Well it's true," Zoe snapped. "I'm not naive, Kayla, I know what it's like out here in Hollywood just as much as you do. And sometimes I wonder if I don't know it better."

Kayla's eyes narrowed. "I'm not a little kid anymore, Zoe." She purposely left off the word Aunt to make her point.

Zoe narrowed her eyes right back. "Kayla, I know Nick's type. He's just like what your father was like when Zara met him. He's charming and sweet and gentle and funny and blah-blah, blah-blah-blah. But the minute he gets what he wants from you..." Zoe's eyes traveled the length of Kayla's body, "He's gonna toss you away."

"That is such bullshit." Kayla turned around and started up the stairs, "Nick is nothing like my father."

Zoe groaned and turned back to turn off the TV, just as a news flash came up. She was just about to hit the power button, when a familiar face came on the screen.



Nick's cell phone rang almost the minute he was in the door. "Hello?" he chimed into it.

"Nick, did you hear?" It was Brian.

"Hear what?" Nick asked, kicking off his sneakers at the door and walking into the house.

Brian got silent for a moment. "Shit. Don't turn on the TV. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Nick held the phone away from his head as a dialtone filled the ear piece. He blinked, confused. Well shit, you don't tell me not to turn on the TV then hang up like that... he thought, making a beeline for the TV set. He leaned over the back of the sofa and grabbed the remote off the arm of it, and flicked it on.

"---the tragic death of the pop star, who sold over five-hundred thousand copies of her latest CD, Do It Right Or Don't Do Me At All, in the first week of sales. Authorities are saying they found the vehicle---"

Nick dropped the remote and backed away from the TV set, his stomach turning. He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket. "This is bullshit," he whispered, quickly dialing the familiar number, "This is a joke. It's gotta be a joke..."



"KAYLA!" Zoe screamed up the stairs, "KAYLA GET DOWN HERE!"

Kayla appeared at the top of the steps, "What? You're going to yell at me some more for making out with a boy, like I'm twelve?"

"No, just get down here," she said, "Now."

"What? Why?" Kayla bounded down the steps, recognizing the urgency in Zoe's voice. "What's wrong?"

Zoe pointed at the TV screen. "Krystal Armaletto's dead."

Kayla covered her mouth. "Jesus," she whispered, as the news station broadcast hovered over the twisted pink convertible, which they'd just found after two days. She covered her mouth with both hands. Kayla looked at Zoe around her clasped fingers. "Should we go check on Nick?"

Zoe looked back at Kayla. "I don't know."



Brian ran from his Jeep Cherokee across the lawn to Nick's front door so fast he almost fell down on the cement. He burst through the door, panting, "Nick?!" he cried. He groaned, hearing the TV blaring in the living room, talking about the details of the accident as they knew thus far. ...a high blood-alcohol level reveals that Armaletto was under the influence at the time of the accident, and analysis of the crash suggests she was traveling at high speeds... "Nick?!" Brian called louder this time, walking into the living room.

Nick was standing in front of the sofa, a pile of broken picture frames and glass around his feet where he'd thrown them, shattering them in his anger. He turned, red faced, when Brian came in the room, and his eyes were full of angry tears. "I FUCKING TOLD HER NOT TO GO!" he bellowed when he saw Brian standing there. Brian gaped at him, and moved closer as Nick stepped out of the puddle of glass he'd made, the pictures Zoe had been looking at earlier that morning either maimed or destroyed in the pile. "Tell me it's a joke, Brian," Nick pleaded. "Tell me she's doing this just to fuck with my head..."

Brian shook his head, "I don't think it's a joke, Nick."