The Nannies (15 page)

31

Victor gave Jonathan a long once-over, from head to feet and back again, then lifted his eyebrows at Esme. “Does Junior know this white boy is at your crib?”

Esme could see he already knew the answer. She decided to tough it out; begging for mercy would only make things worse. “I dunno. Does Junior know you two
children
are here?”

Victor stabbed a finger at Esme. “Watch your mouth.” He jerked his head at Jonathan. “And you, asshole? Sit the hell down.”

“Look, you two need to leave.” Jonathan’s voice was steady.

In a flash, Freddie grabbed Esme and twisted her arm behind her back, while Victor stepped between them and Jonathan, his smirk daring Jonathan to take a swing at him. “I said
sit.
”

Jonathan sat. “Leave her alone, man. You got a problem, take it up with me.”

“I don’t think so, gringo,” Freddie said, but released Esme anyway.

She got right in his face. “You want my cell phone, Victor?”

“Why the hell would I want your cell?”

“To call Junior, you asshole,” Esme spat. “ ’Cause my boyfriend’s gonna kill you when he finds out what you’re doing.”

Esme saw a twitch of doubt in Freddie’s eyes as he looked at Victor. Then it was gone. “Let’s end this shit and get out of here before they fix that damn gate, man.”

It happened so fast: Jonathan burst out of his chair and lunged at Freddie. But Freddie was too quick, sidestepping him as Victor grabbed Jonathan from behind. Esme cried, “No!” But she knew if she intervened, these two
cholos
could kill them both.

Freddie punched Jonathan twice to the face, then hard in the gut. Jonathan snapped over, grunting with pain, the wind knocked out of him. Blood poured from his nose.

“This is just a warning,” Freddie said, dark eyes gleaming. “Stay away from Junior’s lady, or next time, I make you wish you were never born.”

“Get out of here!” Esme screamed at them. “Get out!” Freddie pointed at Jonathan. “Remember my words, gringo.” With that, the two guys sauntered out.

Esme rushed to Jonathan. “Are you okay?”

Jonathan found a dish towel and wiped the blood off his face. “Damn.”

“Sit,” Esme told Jonathan. “Put your head back.”

“Got any ice?” he asked as he followed her instructions.

“Not yet. Don’t move.” She got a cotton ball from her tattoo kit, and poured something out of a small plastic bottle onto it.

“What are you doing?”

“Colostrum. It will stop the bleeding.” She stuffed the cotton up his bleeding nostril.

“What the hell is colostrum?”

“A milk by-product,” Esme said, peering at his nose. “It works better than ice.”

“Swell.”

She took the bloody towel and tossed it into the garbage, then got some ice from the freezer and wrapped it in another one. She put it on his left eye. “Hold that there. For the next hour.”

Wincing, he put his hand over the ice.

“I’m so sorry, Jonathan.”

“Interesting company you keep.”

“I don’t—” She couldn’t possibly explain. “Never mind.”

He touched his nose, and looked at his finger in surprise. The bleeding really had stopped. “Who’s Junior?”

Esme was ashamed. She could feel heat rush to her face.

“My boyfriend.”

He lowered his head so that he could see her through his right eye. “You didn’t mention that you had one of those.”

“Leave it, or your eye is going to look like an eggplant,” Esme said. “Maybe we should talk about your girlfriend, the one at the tennis court.”

“Mackenzie? We were over a long time ago.”

Esme remembered the awful moment when the toilet spewed, how the girl had stood behind Jonathan, snaking an arm around his waist. “You’d better tell
Mackenzie
that.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Esme,” he insisted. “Don’t change the subject. This boyfriend of yours hangs with those lowlifes?”

“You don’t know anything about it,” Esme insisted, on the defensive.

“Right. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“He used to be in their gang,” Esme reluctantly explained. “He got out. But he takes care of them when no one else will. They look up to him.”

“Does the boyfriend have a name?”

“Junior,” Esme told him.

“So this Junior was a bad guy who is now a good guy but still looks out for the bad guys even though he’s a good guy?”

“Something like that.”

“Shit.”

Esme folded her arms. “How can you say that?”

“Because it means I would probably like him.” He moved the ice again and peered at her. “And I don’t want to like him. Because I want to steal his girlfriend.”

Esme frowned. “Why do you say stupid things? You could get a million girls, beautiful rich girls, like, like Tennis Girl.”

“Her name is Mackenzie.”

“You know, I don’t give a shit what her name is!” She whirled back to him. “You think I’m exotic, is that it? A poor Latina girl? That get you all hot?”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Esme.” He stood. “I’ll take the ice with me, if you don’t mind.”

“You can take anything you want in this damn house. It belongs to your parents, anyway,” Esme said crossly.

“Except you,” Jonathan added. “I’ve never known anyone quite like you before.”

“There are thousands of girls like me, Jonathan.” She peered at his left eye. “It’s turning purple. Put the ice back on it. What will you tell your parents?”

“That I got clocked by a stray tennis ball.”

Guilt washed over Esme. “It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. Those
cholos
punched you out because of—”

“Shhh.” He put a single finger on her lips. “Not important.” He twisted his bicep so that he could see the half-finished tattoo. “What was it supposed to be, anyway?”

“Nothing,” Esme said.

“Yeah, well, let’s call it ‘To be continued.’ ” He started toward the front door.

“I doubt it.”

“I don’t.”

As he started to open the door, Esme called to him. “I really am very sorry that this happened. I will make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

He turned to her. “Yeah? How?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Esme.” That voice again, saying her name like a prayer. “What I’m feeling is . . . I swear. I’m not playing you.”

Then he left, heading for the big house.

32

Kiley and Serenity sat on a chaise longue by the adult pool at the Brentwood Hills Country Club. Platinum’s daughter pored through a copy of
Star,
commenting on every celebrity that she knew.

“Pink. She did a duet with my mom, she’s nice.” Page-flip. “That’s Cher. I saw her backstage in Las Vegas. When she made her hair blond she was just trying to copy my mom.” Page-flip. “Christina. You know her?”

“Not personally,” Kiley said, smiling.

“Obviously,” Serenity said.

Kiley nodded, ignoring the insulting tone. “But I like her music.”

“Do you think I look like her?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I think I asked a question and you answered with another question which means it wasn’t an answer.”

“What do you say we go over to the family pool and swim?” Kiley suggested, anxious to cut off this line of discussion.

“No. I’m hungry.” Serenity put a hand to her forehead to block the sun’s glare, and then peered around. “Where’s a waiter?”

“Mrs. Cleveland asked me to have you home at twelve-thirty for dinner,” Kiley reminded her. “It’s already a quarter to eleven.”

“What are you talking about?” Serenity challenged. “Dinner is at night.”

Kiley chuckled. “Not where I’m from in Wisconsin, it’s not. The farmers get up early—their big meal is in the middle of the day. That’s called dinner.”

“What do you call dinner at night?”

“Supper.”

“That’s stupid. I’m hungry and I want to eat.” Serenity spotted a waiter and waved one hand at him. “Excuse me? Over here, please!”

“Serenity . . .”

But the waiter was already getting out his order pad. Stuck, Kiley speed-dialed Platinum on her cell. Her boss picked up on the third ring.

“What?”

Kiley was taken aback. “It’s me. Kiley.”

“I know that. What do you want? I’m busy.”

“Sorry,” Kiley said hastily. “Serenity’s hungry and would like to eat at the country club, but Mrs. Cleveland said—”

“That’s why you called?” Platinum sounded incredulous. “Because Serenity is hungry?”

“Um . . . yes?”

“Goddammit, Kiley! I’m in the studio. There are eight musicians, three backup singers, two engineers, and three producers standing here with their thumbs up their ass while you’re calling to discuss when, where, and what my hungry daughter should eat!”

Kiley’s face burned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“Jesus. If you’re not grown-up enough to handle the gig, Kiley, do me a big favor and quit.”

The line went dead. Kiley turned to see that Serenity was deep into her order with the cute waiter: a focaccia and an Oreo milk shake.

“You want anything, Kiley?” Serenity asked, as if they were adult friends hanging out for the day.

Kiley shook her head, and the waiter trotted off as the little girl flipped open the magazine again, this time to the
Star
Style and Error page.

“Paris Hilton,” Serenity opined. “I hate her. She made a sex tape. That’s the only reason she got famous.”

Kiley blinked at Serenity’s words. Then she ripped the magazine from Serenity’s hands.

“Hey! Give it back!”

“I really don’t want to hear you talking like that,” Kiley said. “Remember what I told you about my job, Serenity? When you’re with me, I’m in charge.”

Serenity folded her arms defiantly. “Says who? I’m in charge of me. You can be in charge of doodyhead.”

“Well,
Sid
is at his therapist. But when I’m with him, I’m in charge of him, too.”

“He has to have therapy because he wets the bed. If you’re so in charge of him, make him not pee when he sleeps.”

“He doesn’t do it on purpose, sweetie.” Not knowing what else to do, Kiley offered Serenity the magazine again. The girl took it, and all was instantly forgiven.

“Let’s rate how pretty they are and if they have cool clothes. ’Kay?” Serenity asked. She lay back on the chaise like a movie star, and pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. “Paris Hilton. Zero for pretty and zero for cool outfit. Avril Lavigne. Zero and zero. Hilary Duff. Zero and double zero. Your turn.”

Kiley was sure she should be doing something much more Mary Poppins–esque than rating the looks and clothing of the stars in
Star.
But then, if Mary Poppins had been in charge of Serenity, maybe the famed movie nanny would have been on trial for aggravated assault instead of floating around the skies of London under her umbrella.

Kiley’s cell rang. She was tempted to ignore it. It could easily be Platinum, firing her. But what if her boss was trying to reach her for another reason? If she didn’t pick up, she’d probably get fired for that. Either way, she was screwed. She looked at her phone and didn’t recognize the incoming digits. Whew.

“Hello?”

“Kiley?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Esme Castaneda.”

Kiley exhaled with relief that it was her friend instead of her boss. “Esme! I’ve been meaning to call you. I got the job!”

“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

“It’s been a while. How’d it go after we left you at the party the other night? With that guy Jonathan?”

“Good. But . . .”

Only now did it register with Kiley how odd and tense Esme sounded. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just . . . something happened last night. With Jonathan.”

“Good something or bad something?”

“Bad,” Esme admitted.

“What?”

“It’s complicated, I—”

Kiley felt Serenity tug at her arm. “Who’s on the phone?” the girl demanded.

“A friend, okay?” Kiley got up and took a few paces away to protect her privacy. She saw the waiter on the other side of the pool, returning with a tray in his hands—Serenity’s focaccia and milk shake.

But that’s not what got Kiley’s attention. Instead, it was the guy who’d just climbed to the top of the diving board.

It was Tom Chappelle.
That
Tom. Of course, he looked perfect in his surfer Jams. Like something out of a dream. His eyes caught hers, and Kiley saw that he recognized her. He smiled. This was her chance. All she had to do was drift over there and make some joke, like “Hi, long time no see” or—

“You there, Kiley?” Esme asked. “Maybe I shouldn’t have called—”

“No, no, of course I’m here,” Kiley insisted. She forced herself to turn her back on the pool, and on Tom. “What happened to Jonathan?”

“It’s complicated,” Esme said. “Can you meet me later? For coffee?”

“Sure.” Kiley nibbled on a cuticle and checked to see if Tom was still on the diving board. He wasn’t. But then Kiley saw him in the pool, his buff arms cutting through the water in a firm freestyle. When he reached the edge of the pool, he stopped and looked at Kiley again. This time, he waved.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

Kiley waved back.

“These friends of my boyfriend punched Jonathan and—”

That got Kiley’s attention. She pulled her gaze from Tom. “They
what
?”

“I’ll explain when I see you,” Esme said. “What time do you get off?”

Kiley considered. Platinum had said that she’d be back from the studio around six. “How about if I meet you at seven-thirty. At the Coffee Bean in Beverly Hills?”

“Great,” Esme agreed. “And Kiley?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Kiley disconnected the call and turned quickly, hoping to see Tom waiting by the side of the pool.

Nope. He was gone.

Esme got to the Coffee Bean forty-five minutes early. By seven-thirty, she was jangling from espresso refills and had bitten off all her lipstick, with second, third, and fourth thoughts about having called Kiley. She barely knew her. But she didn’t have the nerve to call her best friend, Jorge. Jorge hated Junior; she hadn’t even spoken to Jorge since she’d started this job. Her girlfriends from the Echo were out of the question. If she’d told them that two
cholos
had caught her with a rich white boy, they’d say it served Esme right. In fact, that Freddie and Victor should have jacked her up as well as the boy. Jacked her up good, not no jab-jab to the face kinda shit.

But the way Jonathan had looked at her when he said,
I want
to steal his girlfriend.
The way it had made her feel then—the way it made her feel now.

Esme raked her fingers through her hair and checked the door for the umpteenth time for Kiley.
If I just tell him that I’m not
interested, that I’m in love with Junior, if I’m never alone with him . . .

But she wanted to be alone with him. That was the problem.

That morning, Jonathan had stopped by when she’d been playing with the kids in the sandbox. He’d asked if she was all right. She, who the
cholos
had barely touched! Meanwhile, his eye was every shade of purple and his nose was swollen, but he assured her that he was okay. He even joked how he must have really strong bones since he hadn’t broken anything. He invited her to come with him to Venice that night, to hear a band he liked. But she’d declined; she had something else she had to do that evening. Short of quitting her nanny job, it was the only way she could ensure that Jonathan would never be at risk again because of her.

God. How stupid was she to want this boy? She had to fight it. Go back to Junior. And make sure those damn
cholos
paid for what they did to Jonathan.

Kiley pushed through the door; Esme waved. A moment later, Kiley slid into the empty seat across the table.

“Do you want coffee?” Esme asked.

“I’m good.” Kiley leaned forward across the table. “So, what happened?”

Esme told her everything.

“God.” Kiley sank back in her chair. “How is he?”

“His face is swollen, his eye is black, his chest is sore,” Esme said. “That’s it.”

“It could have been a lot worse,” Kiley pointed out.

“Next time it will be. Next time, they’ll kill him. Me too.”

Kiley hesitated. “That’s hyperbole. Right?”

Esme realized that in Kiley’s world, such a statement would be an exaggeration. But she’d merely been stating the truth.

“What about the police?” Kiley asked. “Can’t you get a restraining order or something?”

“Are you kidding?” The word “police” made Esme sick with fear in a way that Kiley could never understand. “No police.”

“But why?” Kiley asked. “If the guys come again they’ll get arrested and—”

“I
said
no police!” Esme insisted. “I know what I gotta do. Tell my boyfriend. He’ll deal with them. With me, too, probably. But that’s the way it has to be.”

“Deal with them how?” Kiley asked warily.

Esme shook her head. Her new friend understood nothing about her world. But Esme had reached out to Kiley, and Kiley had come through for her, so Esme figured that she had to try.

“In my neighborhood, we take care of our own problems. We never go to the cops. It would be like . . . like turning against your own family.”

Kiley nodded. “Got it.”

“My boyfriend, Junior. He’s a
patrón,
” Esme went on. “He’s not in the life—I mean, in a gang anymore—but all the
cholos
respect him. If they thought they were doing this to protect his honor,
he
needs to be the one to set them straight. But . . .”

“What?” Kiley urged her.

“I don’t know how he’ll react. He might blame me. Shit, he
should
blame me,” Esme added bitterly. She put her head in her hands.

Kiley reached across the table to touch Esme’s arm. “That’s a crock. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Esme raised her eyes. “That might not be the way Junior sees it. I know this is a lot to ask, Kiley, but . . . will you come with me to tell him? I’ll understand if you say no,” she added quickly.

Kiley didn’t hesitate. “Of course I’ll come.”

Esme felt so grateful. This girl barely knew her, yet was willing to stand by her the same way a homie would.

“When?” Kiley asked. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

“We should call Lydia,” Kiley said.

Esme hesitated. “I was really rude to her at the pier.”

Kiley waved a hand in the air. “Friends piss each other off all the time. It doesn’t mean anything. Call her. There’s strength in numbers.”

True,
Esme thought.
Especially since the only kind of backup she
was going to get from Kiley was emotional.

Esme got out her cell and punched in Lydia’s number. But all she got was voice mail. She left a message that she hoped would make sense: what happened, that she and Kiley were going to Junior’s. When Kiley urged Esme to leave Junior’s address, Esme did, even though it seemed ridiculous.

She put her cell back in her purse. “Ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

Together, they headed for the parking lot.