Author's Notes: Thanks for all the great feedback! And thanks for watching "Veronica Mars"!
Summer In Hell
by Kristen Elizabeth
You might find this hard to believe if you live in one of those states that is complete land-locked, but summers in California are not the "super-cool" affairs you've probably heard about. Here's the truth about summer in the real O.C.: it's hot. And boring.
Yeah, that's right. Boring. Because although there's the sun and the beach and surf and more Victoria's Secret-type bodies per capita than any other state in the union, the fact of the matter is that anyone who's anyone in Neptune disappears during the summer. The richest of the rich trade the California heat for much more expensive heat in places like Maui or Phuket or the Côte d'Azur. When you live in domestic paradise all year round, you have to seek out something slightly more exotic for your vacation, right?
Logan left for France two days after the disastrous party. He didn't call me; I didn't call him. Mutual silent treatment…hey, we're nothing if not willing to hurt each other for pride's sake. I started my internship at the newspaper and got involved in a major case for my dad involving a dirty ring of bondsmen and bail jumpers. Thrilling stuff. But it kept my mind occupied for the first couple weeks of summer. I probably could have gone on ignoring all thoughts of Logan if not for my insipid editor at the paper.
Have I mentioned how much I hate grown women who use Carrie Bradshaw as a fashion frame of reference?
"Shelly?" Veronica knocked on the open door to her editor's office.
"Come on in, Veronica." Seated behind her desk with a neat spread of papers in front of her, the thirty-something woman looked up as her intern entered. "Wow. Cute hair."
Great. You can bet that tomorrow she'll have her hair in pig-tailed braids, too. Can't she see that the only fashion statement I'm making is that I was too lazy to wash my hair this morning?
"Thanks." She slipped into the extremely uncomfortable chair in front of Shelly's desk. "You wanted to see me?"
"I have an assignment for you," Shelly said. When she stood up, Veronica took in her outfit with a critical eye.
Like the models who wear them, some clothes are better left on the runway.
"Since you're in his class at the high school, you've probably met Logan Echolls once or twice, right?"
Good thing I left my frappuchino at my desk, or else that couture of hers would be covered in snarffed coffee right about now.
"Yeah," Veronica said, as straight-faced as possible. "Once or twice. Lilly Kane was my best friend, after all. And Logan was her boyfriend."
Shelly shook her head, laughing at her own stupidity. "Of course, right! Duh. Well, you might not know this." She picked up a newspaper from her desk and handed it to Veronica.
When I applied for this internship, I didn't realize I'd be working under an editor who not only reads tabloids, but actually subscribes to one or two of them. She might call it journalistic research, but how much journalistic integrity can you find in paparazzi shots of Logan Echolls hanging out on a yacht off the Cap d'Antibes?
A very tanned and bare-chested Logan.
A very tanned and bare-chested Logan side by side with an equally tanned and bare-chested (save for a discreet black bar across her nipples) model.
Veronica's eyes narrowed at the image on display on the tabloid's front page.
"He's spending his summer in Cannes," Shelly informed her. "That's in France."
"That's great. But what does it have to do with me?" she asked between clenched teeth.
"Human interest story," her editor replied. "The son of one of Neptune's most famous residents having a fairy-tale summer vacation…the people eat that sort of stuff up!"
Sure we do. But then, Americans eat a lot of crap that's not good for us. I enter the frappuchino and apple-cinnamon croissant waiting for me back in the newsroom, as well as the fact that I can't stop staring at this picture, into evidence as proof of this.
"With all due respect, Shelly, I think the Star pretty much has the scoop on this story," Veronica said, folding up the paper and setting it aside…as far away from herself as possible. "So unless the paper wants to send me to France…"
"They are." Shelly grinned. "Well, me, really. They want this story, as well as coverage of the Cannes Film Festival when it starts shortly. There's enough money in the expense budget for the trip to cover an assistant. Are you interested?"
Weird. I haven't been speechless in a really long time.
"Please tell me that my seventeen year old daughter did not agree to go to France with her airhead editor."
Veronica measured out exactly one-fourth of a cup of milk and poured it over the macaroni. She stirred, watching the mixture turn orange from the powdered cheese. On the other side of the kitchen, her father waited for an answer. She stalled for another minute before finally looking up from her dinner preparations.
"C'mon, Dad. What seventeen year old girl in her right mind wouldn't agree to go to France, airhead editor or not?"
Keith frowned. "This isn't funny. We've gotta discuss stuff like this, Veronica."
She ladled out two bowls of macaroni and set one in front of him. "Isn't that what we're doing right now?"
"This isn't a discussion. This is an argument after the fact." He pointed his fork at her. "Start explaining yourself."
"Well…" Veronica took a bite before continuing. "Even though they tried to convince me otherwise in fifth grade sex ed class, I'm of the firm belief that I was sprouted from a cabbage patch and that my original name was Sadie Sue and…"
"Veronica."
Okay, that's his "no crap" tone.
"The whole thing kind of caught me off guard. I've been working there for what, two minutes, and I'm being invited to help cover the Cannes Film Festival? I couldn't say no; I could have killed my career right then and there."
Keith wasn't loving the explanation if his stony face was any indication. "You could have explained that you're still underage and although you appreciated the offer, you just couldn't take off for France and be relatively unsupervised for the rest of the summer."
"Dad." She swallowed. "You leave me unsupervised all the time. I mean, it's okay. I'm not going to write a book about it someday, but I'm a little curious. Why is this different?"
"Besides the fact that you'll be unsupervised in an entirely different country?" He paused. "Don't you think I see the tabloids in the supermarket, too?"
I always thought he was checking out the celebrity cellulite pics. Now I know for sure. And it's kind of revolting.
"I know who's in Cannes right now," Keith continued.
"You're always wearing the PI Hat, aren't you?" she said, her voice wavering just a bit.
"It looks good on me."
Veronica pushed her still-full bowl away. "I'd be going to be Shelly's assistant, Dad. And maybe to check out a nude beach. But that's all. I promise."
He arched both eyebrows.
Give me some credit, father dearest. Even if I had an ulterior motive for the trip, what good would it do me? Logan is living it up, half-naked and probably boozed out of his mind on Cristal, with a bevy of French whores…excuse me, ladies. He's obviously not thinking about or giving a damn about me. Why should I care about him? He was a crazy fling, probably brought about by hormones or the fact that we share way too many painful memories. Nothing more.
Of course, if I happened to bump into him while helping Shelly with her research, I can't give you my word that I won't dump a cold bottle of that same expensive champagne down his shorts. But other than that, Daddy, you've got nothing to worry about.
"I promise," Veronica reiterated.
It is such a good thing I didn't return that amazing bikini of mine. It looks like it'll be making a Mediterranean appearance, after all. Goodbye Neptune.Bonjour, Cannes.
To Be Continued
