five

“YOU MUST BE MY NEW SISTER!”

A tall blonde with bouncing curls glided into the dining room, bringing with her the shortest skirt, longest legs, and tallest stilettos Molly had ever seen. It was Brooke Berlin in the flesh, and showing off rather a lot of it.

“I’m so happy to meet you!” Brooke squealed, hugging her before Molly even had a chance to get out of her seat. “Welcome to our wonderful home!”

Brooke had her clasped so tight, she was practically lifting Molly out of her chair. Molly, taken aback, breathed in sharply and almost inhaled a chunk of Brooke’s hair.

“Brookie, it’s not polite to be this late,” Brick scolded.

“I know, Daddy, but Ari’s wardrobe malfunction wasn’t going to fix itself. I’m super sorry!”

Brooke dropped Molly and sailed over to her seat, shaking out her napkin with the wide smile that her suspiciously fawning Wikipedia page called “a beacon of hope for our future.” Molly tried not to stare, but it was difficult: Brooke may not have been truly beautiful, but she was so well groomed that you’d never notice. The dress was designer, the eyelashes were false, the hair was either abundantly natural or expensively synthetic, and the purse she’d brought to the table was a Chloé bag Molly knew wasn’t on sale yet to the great unwashed masses. Molly glanced at her own comfy hoodie and kicked herself for treating this like just another movie night with Charmaine.

“I can’t believe you’re really here! This is amazing! So tell me everything!” Brooke said in a mad rush of exclamatory speech. “When did you get here! How was the flight! How do you like your room! Isn’t the view amazing! Your sweatshirt is fantastic! Isn’t it fantastic, Daddy! So authentic! We are so glad you’re here!”

“Um, thanks,” Molly said, still shell-shocked by this perky onslaught, and unsure which of Brooke’s statements were actual questions she was supposed to tackle. None of her varied and dramatic imaginings of Brooke included an attitude this, well, nice. “I’m really happy to be—”

“You are so welcome!” Brooke twittered. “Recognize my dress, Daddy?”

“Rodarte, right?” Molly offered, relieved to have something to contribute to this dinner after all. “Vogue loved that season’s collection.”

Brooke looked as surprised as if her tan had fallen off. “You read Vogue? Seriously?”

“I caught up on the flight,” Molly said. “It was a long trip from Indiana.”

“Look at you two. Bonding already,” Brick said fondly, and bit into a giant piece of steak.

“It’s like a dream!” Brooke bubbled, shooting Molly a blinding, toothy grin as she stabbed at a piece of yellowtail with the crystal-encrusted chopsticks on her plate.

“So how’d you get a fresh Rodarte like that?” Molly pressed on, encouraged by Brooke’s smile. “Do you know the Mulleavys? I just read that they’re from somewhere around here.”

Brooke’s laugh was the sound of a tiny bell on a storefront door. “So much to learn! They’re in Pasadena. That’s a whole other area code!”

“I met them at Fashion Week when I was doing a movie with Juliette Lewis,” Brick explained. “They sent her a bunch of stuff, but this one was too big for her.”

Brooke flared her nostrils. “More like, it’s far too stylish for someone who wears curtains on her head.”

“How is Fashion Week?” Molly wondered. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Daddy won’t let me, because—”

“Well, we’ll just have to see what we can do about that!” Brick boomed at the same time, adding a dorky wink. “I bet we can talk your school into calling it extra credit.”

Brooke slammed down the soy sauce with a tad too much vigor. Molly chanced a long glance at her. Brooke’s enthusiastic welcome was an extremely pleasant surprise, but Molly had read enough articles by the Hey! body language experts to recognize tension when she saw it. Brooke beamed at her again, though, so Molly decided to believe that whatever was making her half sister so squirrelly had nothing to do with her arrival.

“I guess Fashion Week might be a little intense, right?” Molly asked to fill the silence. “Today in the car with all those photographers was bad enough, and that was behind a window.”

“Oh, you got papped?” Brooke said with sympathy. “Isn’t it so inconsiderate? I mean, what if you’d had airplane spinach in your teeth? Daddy, I can’t believe you let that happen to my sister.”

“They’re doing My Fair Lady at school this year, Molly,” Brick said, ignoring Brooke completely. “What are your feelings about theater?”

“I used to help my mom make the costumes for our school plays, but I can’t act at all,” Molly said. “Guess I got her genes.”

Yikes. It was probably too soon for DNA jokes. Molly shoved a piece of meat into her mouth so that she couldn’t talk again for a while.

“Costumes are fantastic! So important,” Brick boomed. “An actor is naked without his clothes.”

“Don’t change the subject, Daddy,” Brooke said, her voice pure saccharine. “Don’t you think it was rude of you to expose Molly to all those photographers before Saturday? She needs to be prepared for that kind of crazy frenzy.”

Molly swallowed hard. “So what is happening on Saturday, exactly?” she asked.

“Only the biggest social event of your life. Let’s see, we’ll have the entire junior and senior classes, some industry people, and a bunch of photographers that we invited to help celebrate my sixteenth birthday.” Brooke beamed. “Daddy spared no expense. He even got Fall Out Boy.”

“I spared some expense. She asked for Coldplay.”

“Anyway,” Brooke plowed ahead. “There’s an interview with Hey!, and everyone will be staring and taking pictures and watching everything we’re doing all night long. It’s kind of like being on the biggest stage imaginable.”

Molly almost dropped her fork. “An interview?”

Charmaine would faint with joy at the idea, but Molly just wanted to faint, period. No wonder Brick hadn’t wanted to lay this on her in the car. He hadn’t wanted to freak her out in a confined space.

Brooke reached across the table and squeezed Molly’s hand, which was slightly awkward because Brooke had to pry loose Molly’s fingers from her water glass to make good on her gesture.

“Molly, if you’re not ready for this, maybe it’s unfair of us to ask you to come,” Brooke said, her voice oozing concern.

“Nonsense! She’ll be fine!” Brick insisted. “It’s just a few snapshots and a quick chat with a reporter. No big deal! I was going to tell you all about it after dinner.”

“Daddy, if she’s not ready to be quoted in a major national magazine that’s read by millions of people who will be dying to see what she’s wearing, we shouldn’t push,” Brooke scolded, releasing Molly’s hand so she could gesture wildly with her own.

“Um, well, except it’s kind of not that simple,” Brick hedged. “Hey! is sort of insisting. I guess we got a little overzealous trying to get in front of the story. Trip Kendall loved it so much, he told me that unless he gets an exclusive on Molly, he’s nixing the whole thing and writing a piece about how Laurel died poor in a shanty.”

Molly gasped. “But that’s a lie!”

“Trip is ruthless, which is why he runs the best tabloid in town,” Brick explained. “I was worried he’d exploit you unless I gave him access, and now… I can’t afford to sue him with Avalanche! coming out next year.”

Molly felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to be interviewed by any magazine, especially not one that would take advantage of her mother’s death. How had she not seen any of this coming?

Brick sighed. “Molly, I’m sorry. This is why I don’t usually deal with these bastards. When it comes right down to it, I’d love to show you off to the world and give you a chance to say great things about Laurel. But Brooke is right—it’s a lot to ask. So all you need to do is say the word and I will cancel this entire thing.”

“The entire thing? Like, the whole party?” Brooke all but shrieked.

“The whole party,” Brick confirmed. “It’s just not worth it if my daughter is basting in the juices of her own agony.”

Looking impressed with himself, Brick pulled out his BlackBerry again and started typing.

“Daddy, don’t be so melodramatic,” Brooke snapped. “All I meant about Molly being unprepared is that it was mean of you not to tell her sooner. But she seems, um, smart, and I bet we could whip her into shape in no time.”

“We?” Molly asked. She felt numb.

“Of course! You don’t think I’d let Daddy send you out there unprepared, do you?” Brooke chirped, her tone so cheerful it could sell tampons to a priest. “It’s what sisters are for!”

“Well, that is what every father wants to hear!” Brick brightened. “It would be so wonderful to see the fruit of my loins come together in the same bowl.”

“Trust me. Just do everything I tell you, okay?” Brooke cooed supportively. “You’ll look fantastic, you’ll sound fantastic, and it’ll all be over in a flash. Everybody wins,” she said, pausing and then dropping her voice into a very somber tone. “Especially your mother, Molly.”

Molly looked up at Brick. Obviously, this story meant a lot to him, and Brooke was practically foaming at the mouth to help. And Molly hated the idea of the rest of America getting the wrong idea about Laurel. If there was one thing worth being brave for, it was her mother.

“You’re right,” Molly said finally, nodding. “I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Brick asked.

“If it’ll keep them from saying nasty things about my mom, then yeah.”

“That’s my girl!” Brick crowed. “It is very touching of you, Molly, to agree to this. In fact, it is a portrait of selflessness.” He paused his fork in midair. “That would be a fantastic title for a book about all this,” he mused.

Molly smiled tentatively at him, then switched her gaze to Brooke, who was radiating warmth. Okay, so maybe she seemed like she’d had one too many espressos. But after Molly had spent all this time fretting about the very concept of Brooke Berlin, it was ironic that Brooke Berlin might be the one person who wanted to help her get through this.

“Just leave it to me,” Brooke said, and smiled wide.

“And then what happened?”

Brooke paused before answering, aware she had her friend on tenterhooks and needing to swap the phone to her other side. She’d read in Allure that frequent ear-switching prevented oil buildup in her pores, and zits just wouldn’t do if The Intruder insisted upon taking photos of her glamorous new family to send to all her monochromatic friends in the cornfields.

“Then I offered to be her best friend, of course. What’s that old saying? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer?”

Jennifer Parker was quiet for a second. “Wait, my agent told me it was ‘enemas.’ She is so fired. That was a horrible day. You should have seen the hose that they…”

“Anyway,” Brooke interjected.

“Right, right. So, tell me everything. Is there acne? Does she smell like the inside of a barn?”

“Well… no,” Brooke admitted. That had been the most offensive part. A hideous she-beast might’ve been easier to handle, but instead Princess Podunk was resoundingly fine—no missing teeth, no nose hair, not even a monobrow to stoke the superiority complex Brooke had assumed would nurse her through this entire catastrophe.

“But you should’ve seen the sweatshirt she had on—like she just tipped the cow herself,” Brooke snarked. “And her bangs! So halfhearted.”

“The worst kind,” Jennifer whispered. “You are so brave, Brooke. If Brick only understood the sacrifice you’re making.”

“He’s too busy grinning like an idiot. It all makes me want to puke.”

“Do it if you have to, but don’t force it,” Jennifer warned. “When I was in that after-school special, my character used wooden spoon handles and got splinters in her throat. That can be very uncomfortable.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. There was no response to Jennifer’s advice sometimes.

“I just can’t believe your dad is putting you through this,” her friend continued. “A secret love child… if it weren’t so awful it would almost be romantic!”

“Are you serious? He’s turning this house into a freaking cable movie.”

“Cable movies are an excellent way for an actress to hone her instrument,” Jennifer said, reciting a line Brooke knew her father had fed her years ago after her Disney sitcom got canceled. “Actually, this is all kind of like A Pocketful of Danger.”

“Is that the one where the dude from CSI kidnaps you?”

“Duh, no. It’s the one where Susan Lucci plays my mom, and someone tries to kill us right around the time her four illegitimate children turn up.”

“You think this chick is going to try and kill me?” Brooke made a mental note to lock her shoe closet. Some of her stilettos could be deadly in psychotic Midwestern hands.

“Probably not, although I guess you might want to build up immunity to arsenic, in case she’s seen my movie.” A hopeful note crept into Jennifer’s voice. “Do you think she’s seen my movie?”

“That was a terrible movie,” Brooke said absently. “Um, except for your part.”

“Oooh, or maybe you could do what my character’s brother did in Pain River, when…”

“Jen, this is serious. It’s not something your IMDb page can fix,” Brooke snapped.

There was an audible gasp, which Brooke chose to ignore in favor of keeping things on her favorite subject: herself.

“I just don’t trust this person,” she continued. “The girl obviously hasn’t had a manicure in weeks. Nobody is that regular.”

“So you think the tragic dead mom is a scam?” Jennifer asked, her interest in melodrama overpowering the perceived insult to her résumé.

“Not really. But look how far Daddy’s pity has gotten her. She has to be up to something and I bet she won’t stop at crashing my party.”

“So what now?”

“I have a plan. Don’t I always?”

“You are an evil genius,” Jennifer agreed.

“Right? If only that were a section on the SATs.” Brooke sighed. “Okay, I have to run; I think the stress of dinner gave me crow’s feet that I should moisturize.”

“Stay strong,” Jennifer urged.

Brooke hung up the phone and threw it onto the pile of gossip magazines that sat on her floor. Brick’s face grinned up at her from the corner of one of the covers. She kicked at his expensively whitened mouth, creasing his incisors.

“Take that, Sperminator,” she muttered.

She’d exaggerated her confidence with Jennifer. It had taken considerable effort to be friendly to Molly at dinner, and Brooke wasn’t sure how long she could maintain the facade, even for Brick’s benefit. Sooner or later, lines had to be drawn. This was Brooke’s domain and she refused to cede territory to a dusty visitor from Planet Yawn.

Brooke needed to recharge, which meant spending some quality time in her sanctuary: her walk-in closet. She perched on the velvet stool next to her vanity and stared at the racks of designer dresses, gleaming pumps, and towers of archived shoe boxes. Bliss. She caught her own eye in the nearest of her four full-length mirrors and cocked her head. Usually, Brooke loved what she saw: tall, thin, naturally golden blonde. Being her mother’s clone had definite perks. But it hadn’t escaped her that Molly seemed to share Brick’s athletic build, bits of his smile, maybe even his hair color. No matter how long Brooke studied herself, she couldn’t find any trace of Brick except that they used the same shade of bronzer. Her prickles of resentment became full-on stabbing pains.

She shook her head. Negative thoughts wouldn’t do. She had to focus. If Brooke played these next few days right, her graceful, generous attitude would have Brick and Molly so thoroughly in the palm of her hand that they wouldn’t notice the knife in her other fist.

Buoyed, Brooke fluffed her hair and allowed herself to smile. She could do this. After all, she was Brooke Berlin, dammit. She was an actress—no, an Actress, capital A—and she would nail this role.