I love1984.Wish that were my summer reading! We read it during freshman year, though (Actually, in the George Orwell category I prefer Animal Farm and in the "negative Utopia" I prefer Huxley's Brave New World...but I still love it) I have to read Native Son, Moby Dick, and Huck Finn. I hate junior year already! Luckily I'm a fairly fast reader. And yeah, the dialogue is a little bit difficult for me; I feel as though I have to establish their new personalities and it comes out sort of awkward. Anyway, here goes again...a little more angst in the Cooper household, sorry, but I hope it works. Thanks again for all the reviews.
The waiter returned again, this time with food. Grace dug into the pasta she'd ordered, finding it quite tasty. Kirsten, on the other hand, seemed to pick at the Caesar salad she'd gotten.
"Do you want some of mine?" suggested Grace. "If you don't like the salad, I mean..."
"Oh...no," said Kirsten off-handedly. "I'm not really hungry; I'm just eating so that the vodka doesn't get to me. How's your food?"
"It's really good. Are you sure you don't want to try some?" Kirsten considered.
"All right, why not," she said. Grace offered her fork.
"That is good," Kirsten agreed. She appraised her stepdaughter contemplatively. "Excuse me if I'm intruding, Grace, but do you do anything in particular to keep so thin? Only because I haven't known many girls your age who dig in so heartily at something like pasta," she finished quickly, embarrassed.
"No, not really," said Grace, looking down at her plate. "I've always been pretty skinny." Kirsten reached out and touched her arm.
"That's a good thing, sweetie," she said. "Don't say it like it's a death sentence, 'pretty skinny.'"
"I always wanted my mom's body," Grace admitted. "She's not fat or anything, just...more proportioned. It took me forever to get boobs." Kirsten smiled.
"Me, too, or at least it felt like forever. You're stunning, though, just the way you are—like a deer, maybe; very graceful." She smiled again. "Your name fits you. But, yeah, your body looks like it came straight from your Cooper side. Jimmy's mom and his sister are very tall and thin, too, with that delicate bone structure and willowy shape. It's elegant."
"You, too," said Grace softly. Kirsten shrugged.
"Not really. I have small bones, I guess, and I've always been pretty thin, but I'm not built the way the Cooper girls are."
"You're just right," declared Grace. "Lucky you."
"Don't waste your time hating your body, Grace," said Kirsten seriously. "It's the only one you've got."
"I know."
"There are girls who starve themselves, make themselves sick to look like you, sweetheart."
"Yeah...but I guess whatever body you have, there's someone else who wants it but can't have it, right?" Kirsten smiled rather sadly.
"Yeah." She took a long sip of her drink, asked the waiter for a second, and spooned a few dressing-soaked cucumbers into her mouth before gliding into the next subject.
"So, your father and I were talking, and we think that it would be best for you to attend Harbor High. That's where Jim goes, and Summer Roberts, too, and you and she seemed to hit it off, so...I mean, if you want to stay with us."
"What other choice do I have," said Grace dully. "I mean," she quickly corrected, "I do want to stay with you; it's just...I don't have any other options, you know?"
"You feel trapped," said Kirsten softly. "And it sucks. I know what you mean. Don't worry about it. You didn't hurt my feelings." She rubbed Grace's hand. "Now, you'll have to take a placement test, and we'll have to get your records—I've talked to Mr. Cohen; he's going to help."
"All right," said Grace automatically. "So...Harbor...I guess it's a private school?"
"Yes, and it's excellent," agreed Kirsten. "Don't worry; there's no uniform, and they're fairly lax...but it's beautiful, good teachers, lots of nice kids. You'll love it. Your father and I did."
"Sure."
"Anyway," said Kirsten, changing topics again. "My father's birthday is coming up in two weeks, and we—Jimmy and I—are throwing him a party. Is there, um, anyone you'd like to invite?"
"Yeah, that would be really nice of you," said Grace, her eyes alight. "I...I guess I was wondering what's going to happen to Ryan and me, you know, now that I..." She let the words hang in midair, not quite knowing how to end her sentence. "Ryan Atwood, my boyfriend. But isn't it a bit late to be mailing invitations?"
"No; they're really more of a formality, anyway," Kirsten smiled. "Just give me your boyfriend's address, and I'll send an invitation." She glanced at her watch. "Ouch. We're running out of time here, I think. I'd better ask for the check." She threw the rest of her screwdriver back and followed it, as an afterthought, with a crouton. The waiter returned with their bill, and Kirsten handed him her credit card.
"Kirsten?" asked Grace timidly. "Do you...I mean, are you going to be okay to drive?" Kirsten chuckled.
"Sandy asked me the same thing," she laughed. "I told you that I've been building my tolerance to alcohol since I was a kid. But, hey. If it makes you feel better, you can drive." She fished in her purse and took out her keys. "Here you go."
The waiter came back with the receipt, which Kirsten signed without even glancing at the price.
"Thanks," she said, and they left.
Ryan Atwood lay on his bed a few days later, examining the cream-colored envelope addressed to him in dark blue ink. The return address on the flap said "Cooper," but the only Cooper he knew was Grace, who had left and not called him in a week. Carefully, he slit open the envelope.
Mr. and Mrs. James Cooper request the pleasure of your company at a celebration of the birthday of Mr. Caleb Nichol...
It read like a wedding invitation. No birthday party Ryan had ever attended had been anywhere near as formal. He had no idea who "Mr. Caleb Nichol" was, anyway. Was this a joke? Absently, he turned over the invitation and saw more of the flowing handwriting that had addressed the envelope.
Ryan, it read. I'm Grace's stepmother, Kirsten. We're having a birthday party for my father, and Grace invited you. Please come; I think that it would mean a lot to her. Don't worry about buying him something or anything like that—just come. The dress isn't too formal; khakis and a sports jacket are fine. If you have any questions, I've included our house phone number, just in case Grace hasn't given it to you yet. Hope to see you soon. Fondly, Kirsten Cooper
Was this where Grace was? Ryan shook his head. Why hadn't she called?
"Ryan," said Theresa, walking into the room he shared with her brother, Arturo. "What was that card, anyway?"
"An invitation to a birthday party," he said wryly. "Grace Cooper's step-grandfather." Theresa frowned.
"Grace Cooper's step-grandfather?" she queried, sitting next to him on the bed.
"Yup," Ryan confirmed. "Caleb Nichol."
"From the society pages?" Theresa gasped. "He's that real estate mogul who's always dating someone young and beautiful...that's Grace's step-grandfather?"
"Apparently. And I've just been invited to help him celebrate his birthday."
"You're going to go."
"Well, yeah. At least...I mean, I'll get to see Grace, right?"
"She still hasn't called?" asked Theresa softly, her voice sympathetic.
"Nope. I guess she's enjoying rich people." He squinted at the invitation again.
"Society pages, huh? Do they say anything about...James and Kirsten Cooper?" Theresa raised her eyebrows.
"Maybe..." she said, thinking. "Hang on." She ran from the room and returned with a several-months-old copy of Riviera magazine. Theresa lay on the bed with him and flipped through the pages, stopping when she came to a half-page photograph with a short blurb under it. Ryan leaned over her shoulder to glance at the picture. There was a distinguished-looking older man with icy blue eyes and a slightly intimidating smile. On his right arm was a young, lusciously beautiful woman with shoulder-length dark hair and a perfect Playboy figure that had been poured into a low-necked white gown. Ryan swallowed. To Caleb Nichol's left was an older, but still quite young-looking woman with long, wavy blonde hair and a face that resembled his. She must be Mrs. Cooper, Ryan reasoned. She was certainly beautiful and sexy and not shy about showing it, said her tight black dress. Oh, God, she's Grace's stepmother, Ryan chastened himself, though at least she wasn't the grandmother. The woman was arm-in-arm with a tall, good-looking man with a friendly smile. He looked like Grace, though he didn't have her easy elegance or the deep blue eyes that Ryan loved so much. Three teenagers were assembled in the front of the picture. Ryan glanced at the blurb.
Caleb Nichol and daughter Kirsten Cooper celebrate the latest success of their Newport Group—a commission to build a series of malls across the state—in their usual glamorous way. Top row from left: Nichol's date Stephanie Harris, Caleb Nichol, Kirsten Cooper, and her husband James F. Cooper. Bottom row from left: James N. Cooper, 15, and twins Victoria and Caleb Cooper, 12. The Coopers' net worth is estimated at about $27 million, though that's nothing compared to the reported value of Caleb Nichol, which is almost $50 million.
Shit. That was some rich father Grace had. Ryan studied the picture again, looking at the kids this time. The older boy had his mother's good looks combined with his father's charm; the younger one, though handsome, was stuck in that slightly awkward stage of shooting up in height and not quite catching up in width. The daughter could have been a replica of her mother except for a few obvious mistakes, her green eyes and wider shoulders among them.
"Wow," breathed Theresa. "You have to go."
"You think?" asked Ryan hoarsely. She nodded.
"Definitely. Oh, my God...look at them! You have to go, if for no other reason than to come back and tell me that there really are people as beautiful as they are in real life." Both their gazes returned to the photograph.
"They can't be real," said Ryan. "Nobody real is that good-looking, and that rich. They've got to be fake. There's no way."
"Go anyway," Theresa pleaded. "It'll make Grace happy, right?"
"I...guess..." stammered Ryan. "It's just...wow."
"Definitely," she agreed. They lay on the bed in silence still looking at the picture of the Cooper family.
Eleven or so that same night, Kirsten Cooper sat alone at the dining room table, a glass of merlot in her hand, as her eyes scanned over a copy of Time. She barely took in the words she read as she held back tears.
"Hey," said Jimmy quietly, pouring himself some wine and coming to sit next to her. "What's wrong, beautiful?"
"Nothing," she said automatically, turning the page of the magazine. He sighed and put his hand gently over her eyes, feeling a slight wetness as her lashes fluttered shut.
"What's the article about?" Kirsten sighed.
"It's Dad," she said simply, admitting defeat. "He just called."
"How is he?" asked Jimmy carefully.
"All right, I guess...he and Stephanie broke up."
"Let me guess—she 'wants too much, too soon'?" Kirsten laughed wryly.
"However did you guess?" She put down her glass and pushed it away. "He just...floats from girl to girl, and I can't even keep them straight. Stephanie was history two weeks ago, apparently, and he has a new girlfriend."
"Oh? What's her name?" Kirsten gave her husband a withering stare.
"Gabrielle," she said, drawing out the "elle" with a derisive tone. "They're coming tomorrow night, so they'll be here a few days before the party."
"I'll bet you ten thousand dollars here and now that she's closer to Jim's age than mine," said Jimmy. She lightly slapped his hand.
"I'd have to be stupid to take that bet," was her quiet response. "I just...Jimmy, I love my dad so much, but he just...can't get past Mom. These girls...remember Emily? I actually babysat for her when she was a girl."
"I remember," Jimmy said, not letting her see him smile. "She was, what, Hailey's age, right?" Kirsten flinched at the mention of her younger sister.
"Something like that," she mumbled.
"I'm sorry, Kiks...I didn't mean to..."
"It's okay. It's not your fault my own baby sister doesn't want to talk to me anymore. She liked you better than she did me, anyway; if anything, she kept in touch with us as long as she did to talk to you."
"She's young, beautiful. She'll come around."
"She's almost thirty years old, Jimmy. She's outgrown the 'young' excuse." Jimmy shrugged.
"She's a baby-of-the-family. They milk the 'young' excuse at least until forty."
"You're a baby-of-the-family," said Kirsten, her mouth hinting at a real smile.
"I know, and I'm still trying to use the 'young' excuse," he teased, and he kissed her affectionately. "Don't worry too much, okay? Everything's going to be fine." She looked up at him, her eyes still straddling the line of "crying" v. "not crying."
"I hope so, Jimmy, I really do." He put his arms around her and pulled her tight.
"I love you, Kirsten."
"I love you, too, sweetie," she said thickly, and he felt a drop on his shoulder and sighed inwardly. Family matters always hurt his wife so much that he wanted to clobber Caleb half the time for not realizing it.
"Oh—sorry," said Grace, uncomfortably, as she walked into the room. Ignore, deny, avoid...
"It's okay, kiddo," said Jimmy, stroking Kirsten's back as she began to restrain her light sobs.
"Yes," agreed Kirsten, steadying her voice. "Don't worry. But, Grace, it's kind of late," she added, switching into "mother mode." "I'm taking you shopping tomorrow, don't forget."
"I didn't," said Grace quickly. "I just wanted something to drink before bed." She walked to the cabinet and got a cup before heading to the fridge for milk. As she headed to the stairs, she suddenly turned.
"Kirsten? Are you sure you're okay?" Kirsten smiled, extracted herself from Jimmy's arms, and tossed the contents of her wine glass down the sink.
"I'm fine, sweetie. Really—don't worry. Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"All right," said Grace uncertainly. "'Night, Kirsten. 'Night, Dad."
"Good-night, Grace."
After her stepdaughter had left, Kirsten turned to Jimmy again.
"How are we going to explain her?" she asked, suddenly nervous again. "Did Dad even know about Julie?" Jimmy shook his head.
"Not unless you told him."
"Oh, God. He's going to be impossible..."
"Hey, we were—we were broken up," pointed out Jimmy. Kirsten waved the fact aside.
"I know, and I can accept that. But you know what dads are like when it comes to their daughters, especially my dad...I mean, just try to imagine for a second what you'd do if you found out that Vicky was dating someone with a kid."
"I'd clobber him," he said instantly. "Wait—oh, crap. He's going to clobber me."
"And the fact that she's almost seventeen years old and you've never met her is only going to heighten the anger," groaned Kirsten.
"We could lie," suggested Jimmy. "You know, not about who she is, but about having had contact with her...pretend we've known her all her life, and now that she's older, her mom and I gave her the choice, and she picked me..."
"She's already met people in this town," said Kirsten uncertainly. "Not just our kids, who might have told their friends, but Summer Roberts, too." She shook her head. "That poor girl. There are times I could just kill her father for what he's done to her. As if the divorce weren't bad enough, Lila died, and he still won't speak about her. And then there's his new wife, and—"
"Shh, honey, I know how you feel about Melanie Roberts. She's an interesting character, I'll give you that, but—"
"She's not interesting; that's the point. She's just this vapid, giggly girl with a pretty face and perky breasts, which she only has because she bought them from him." Jimmy laughed at Kirsten's vehemence.
"You're so cute when you're mad, you know," he told her, reaching out to stroke her face. "But try to cut Melanie some slack, okay? Not everyone's wife is born smart and beautiful the way mine was." He kissed her gently on the forehead.
"You're so good to me, Jimmy," she said, slipping her arms around his waist. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"Hey, don't let's get started on that," he warned. "It's all beside the point...I've got you now, and you've got me, and that's really all that matters." They kissed for a long moment.
"Let's go to bed now," she mumbled into his mouth.
"Tired, beautiful?" he asked teasingly. She bit her lip and laughed.
"Actually, I am, a little bit. That's not exactly what I meant, though..."
"Oh, really, Mrs. Cooper? Care to tell me what you did mean?" She grinned suggestively.
"That depends...promise to do it, whatever it is?" He matched her lascivious grin.
"Of course."
An hour or so later, Kirsten lay drowsily in bed. She glanced at Jimmy. He was already asleep. Kirsten had never understood her husband's ability to fall asleep so quickly. She sighed and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 12:26, it read. This was why she never liked mornings; she couldn't get to sleep.
The soft sound of Jimmy's breathing in the dark, though comforting, taunted her insomnia. After the whirlwind that was her and her husband had faded, all her worries from before returned, even more torturous and nerve-wracking. Dad. Stephanie, Gabrielle. Jimmy, Julie, Grace…Sandy Cohen.
Wait. Kirsten's breath caught in her throat. When did he come into the picture? She recalled the conversation she'd had with Grace a few days ago, and her mind flashed to the brief meeting she and Sandy had had the day before that. Kirsten hadn't even given him a thought in at least eighteen years, but suddenly she found she couldn't drag her mind away.
I might have fallen hopelessly in love with you, and we would've gotten married and driven off into the sunset together. Well, what if she had? She tried to imagine what kind of husband Sandy Cohen would have been: Probably kind and thoughtful…
Well, that was pointless. Jimmy was certainly as kind and thoughtful as she could ever want, and while they had their problems—most of them hidden from the world but dealt with within the privacy of their bedroom—every relationship had problems. If she'd ended up with Sandy Cohen, there would have been problems too. Maybe different problems, but problems nonetheless. It was just Kirsten's annoying tendency to second-guess herself and the choices which she had made. She willed herself to stop, pushing to the forefront of her mind all of the wonderful things which marrying Jimmy had brought.
He was so handsome, too, with that thick dark hair and the blue eyes, and talented, too, she remembered…
This had to stop. With a glance at her sleeping husband, she slipped out from between the sheets and crept downstairs. Red wine. White wine. Scotch, bourbon, vodka…tequila, brandy, sherry, rum…and God knows what else. Pick your poison, Kirsten, she sneered at herself. What's going to knock you out most completely? What's going to let you escape from your wonderful—horrible—no, truly beautiful life into the capricious world of dreams? She sighed and poured a glass of water. Then she trudged up the stairs, back to her room, and slipped into the bathroom. There were sleeping pills in the cabinet. She hated using them, really, she did, but the thought of sleep was so seductive that she just couldn't resist.
Kirsten climbed back into bed, brushed her lips against Jimmy's jawbone, his slight stubble scratching her mouth, and fell against the pillows. Good-night.
Please, Sunny, don't call me a traitor just yet...wait to see what happens next, haha.