Kamille
Sipping a flute of Veuve Clicquot champagne, Kamille gazed out at the gently sloping green and the sand-colored mountains beyond. It was a warm, dry December afternoon, perfect for a celebrity golf tournament in Palm Desert. Behind her, guests spilled out of the elegant Spanish-style clubhouse—more like a club mansion—and gathered on the stone terrace. Occasionally, the thunk of a golf ball or someone yelling “fore!” cut through the sounds of laughter and conversation and clinking glasses.
“Well? What do you think?” Simone came up to Kamille and tucked her arm through hers. “Do I know how to throw a sick party, or what?”
“Yeah, that’s a nice way to describe an event to raise money for cancer awareness,” Kamille said wryly. “Besides, you’re just the assistant. Didn’t your boss do all this?” She waved her hand at the elegant bistro tables, the tuxedo-clad servers, the outdoor raw bar, the jazz trio, the flowers, everything.
“Just the assistant? Bite your tongue, bitch! Don’t you know that the assistant always does everything? No, you wouldn’t know that, since you’ve never had a real job.”
“Fuck you!”
“Mmm, girl fight. Can I watch? Or better yet, can I get between the two of you?”
Kamille smiled as Chase walked up to her and Simone, a wide grin on his face. He was dressed in pink-and-yellow plaid pants and a white polo that set off his deep tan—the tan he’d gotten during his and Kamille’s recent getaway in Cabo, to celebrate his twenty-third birthday. He was carrying a club—no, iron—and swinging it lightly, as though practicing his driving—or was it putting? Kamille wasn’t a golfer, but she’d tried to learn the terms, just to keep up with her boyfriend, who loved the sport almost as much as baseball.
“So how are you lovely ladies?” Chase said, draping his arms around Kamille and Simone’s shoulders. Chase knew Simone from several double dates the four of them had been on (i.e., Chase, Kamille, Simone, and Simone’s hookup du jour). Simone, unlike Kass and Kat, actually liked Chase and got along well with him.
“If you want a threesome, asshole, hire a hooker,” Simone joked. “So how much money did you raise for us today? Forty thousand? Fifty?”
“Wrong. A hundred,” Chase replied smugly. “Do I rock or what?”
“Wow, you definitely rock,” Simone told him. “If Kamille wasn’t here, I’d give you a blow job right this second.”
“Really, Simone?” Kamille said, disgusted.
“Just kidding! Excuse me, guys, I’ve gotta go see if my favorite L.A. Raider needs something. Like a drink. Or an excuse to leave his wife. Poor guy, he looks so lonely!” She wriggled her eyebrows and drifted off in the direction of a tall, cute guy standing near the hors d’oeuvres table.
“She is so gross, I’m sorry,” Kamille murmured to Chase. “Don’t get me wrong, I love her like a sister. But still.”
“Enough about Simone, let’s talk about us,” Chase said, pulling her in close and kissing her.
Kamille leaned into the kiss, sighing with pleasure. Things had been so good between them lately: no fights, no drama, no mystery phone calls from mystery skanks, nothing. Even the tabloids seemed to have eased up on them. And because the baseball season was over, he had tons of free time to just be with her.
Actually, Kamille was spending most of her nights at Chase’s house in Holmby Hills lately. He’d told her right after Thanksgiving that he wanted to have her to himself, i.e., no roommate, i.e., no Kass. Which was fine with Kamille, since they no longer had to worry about privacy or being inhibited about making love on the living room rug, the kitchen counter, the dining room table, wherever . . .
Still, it meant that Kamille saw less of Kass than ever before. Plus, Kass was in the middle of final exams, so she was hardly ever at Café Romero these days. She’d even missed a couple of Sunday Night Dinners, to study, which was kind of unheard of. Kamille made a mental note to pin Kass down for a girls’ night soon, just the two of them, to catch up. Kamille missed Kass, and she felt weird not knowing what was going on with her—like was she still going out with Eduardo? Did they ever hook up? Or had she found someone new through Lovematch? Basic, important stuff.
Chase’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Hey, babe? Did I tell you, my mom invited us for Christmas dinner?”
“Yeah, about that.” Kamille made a face and tugged at the front of his shirt. “I don’t know what to do,” she said quietly. “I’ve never missed Christmas dinner with my family, ever. But I don’t want to disappoint your parents either. Especially not before I’ve even met them.”
She and Chase had been trying to get down to Laguna Beach to see his parents for a while now. But between Kamille’s shooting schedule—Giles had lined up two new ads for her, with Belladonna Cosmetics and some trendy new fashion designer with an unpronounceable name—and Mr. Goodall’s numerous business trips (he was a lawyer for some big-deal firm), they hadn’t been able to find a free day. She and Chase had spent Thanksgiving apart: he with his family in San Francisco, visiting with his elderly grandparents in their retirement home, and she in L.A. with her family. She’d hated not being with him for that holiday. She wanted to spend every holiday with him, now and forever.
“Do you think we might be able to see them for Christmas Eve instead?” Kamille said, pouting. “Or maybe go down the day after?”
“Um . . . not Christmas Eve.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have special plans for us.”
“You do? What kind of plans?”
“Sorry, I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
Kamille punched Chase in the arm playfully. “You jerk! Tell me!”
“Can’t. This is, like, classified stuff. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Chase plucked a glass of champagne from a passing server and gulped it down. “Anyway, how’s this? Why don’t we have Christmas dinner with your folks? I’ll talk to my mom and see if she’d be okay with us coming down the day after. I’m sure she’ll be cool about it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s a huge relief, thank you! You’re the best!”
“Yeah, you can thank me later. At home.”
“Mmm.”
Chase kissed her again, more passionately this time. His lips tasted yummy, like champagne. As Kamille kissed him back, she was vaguely aware of a photographer nearby, taking their picture; she could hear the familiar, steady click, click, click of a professional camera.
But it was fine with her. She was getting more and more used to having her picture taken, and she didn’t mind as long as the pictures were nice ones. Besides, Chase had mentioned just recently that his publicist, Zoe, wanted lots of PDA when they were out together, to reinforce their image as a superhappy, supertogether couple. If making out with Chase in public kept the media vultures from spinning lies about him, then Kamille was more than willing to oblige.
She felt Chase’s hand sliding down her back, caressing softly. “Hey, are you wearing panties under that dress?” he whispered in her ear.
“Chase!” Kamille cried out, blushing furiously.
Chase hugged her, laughing. Kamille laughed, too. The photographer continued shooting: click, click, click. Feeling intoxicated from the champagne and the sunshine and the sheer, giddy joy of being with her amazing boyfriend, Kamille imagined the headline that would accompany these pictures on tomorrow’s blogs: CHASE AND KAMILLE MORE IN LOVE THAN EVER!
This time, it would actually be the truth.