Girls on Film by Zoey Dean Read Free Book Online Page A

an impartial observer would have said not quite as classically beautiful. But when Susan was at the top of her game, Anna knew that her sister could be stunning—though now in a downtown, rebel kind of way. At the moment she was a little on the plump side with an edgy, sexy look: lots of smudgy black eyeliner, red lipstick, tight jeans, and a sleeveless white muscle T-shirt under a black leather motorcycle jacket. Her hair was naturally the same color as Anna’s, but for the past couple of years she’d been bleaching it Courtney Love white blond. It drove their mom insane, which Susan took as an excellent reason to keep doing it.
    “I
am
glad to see you,” Anna said, stepping back from her sister and giving her an appraising look. “You look great. I mean it, too.”
    Susan shook her head. “No, I don’t. I’m a blob. I need to drop fifteen in a hurry. Flipping rehab mac and cheese and endless Snickers bars. Hey, every addict needs something.”
    Anna looped an arm through hers. “Well … just come on inside. Why were you out here, anyway?”
    Susan squeezed her arm. “Because I really don’t want to see Dad, that’s why. I was waiting for you. Hey, how do you like my ride?” She patted the top of the red Saleen. “Pretty hot, huh? Zero to sixty in three point three.”
    “Yeah, great,” Anna said distractedly. “So. Here you are. In Los Angeles.”
    Susan reached into her pocket for cigarettes. “Gee. Don’t hyperventilate with happiness or anything.”
    “It’s just … you weren’t due to get out of Hazelden for—”
    “Screw Hazelden,” Susan said, torching her cigarette and taking a deep drag. “Because of Hazelden, I’m smoking again and I’m fat. So I checked myself out.” She made a pouty face at her sister. “Oh, come on, Anna. Lighten up. I’m fine. Really. I was worried about you, all alone here with dear old Dad. It’s not like he’s going to look out for you or anything.”
    Anna was tempted to say that Susan had never looked out for Anna, either; in fact, it had been Anna who’d always been the one to look out for Susan. Susan needed looking after. Anna didn’t. But no one ever talked about it. That was just the way their family worked.
    “Dad’s trying to change,” Anna said instead as she opened the door.
    “Thrilling.” Susan chucked her burning Marlboro Light into the shrubbery. “I’m not staying here, no matter what. He’s not home now, is he?”
    “Doubtful.”
    “Then I’ll come in.” They stepped into the foyer, and Susan took in the spacious surroundings. “My entire apartment in the East Village could fit in this hallway.”
    “You don’t have to live in a dive, you know,” Anna reminded her. “So, where do you plan to stay?”
    “Maybe I’ll get a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Remember when we got a bungalow there for the opening of the Getty Center art museum? It was so great.”
    “That’s funny. I was there this afternoon. The hotel, I mean. I was meeting with someone about a school project. But look, Sooz, Dad’s got tons of room—”
    “Forget it. Just show me to the bathroom, then we’re on our way.”
    “Come up to my room with me. I want to chuck my jacket,” Anna said. Her sister’s face darkened. “Don’t worry. He’s definitely not home. You won’t see him.”
    Reluctantly Susan followed Anna upstairs. As soon as they reached the hallway, they were hit with an over-powering smell of roses. The closer they got to her room, the stronger the scent became. “Jeez, you think the maid used enough air freshener?” Susan asked.
    Anna opened her door. “Holy shit,” Susan breathed.
    Every horizontal surface of Anna’s room was covered in roses: crimson and cherry red, pale and dusky pink, white, yellow, even orange. Some were in vases, some were strewn across on her bed, and some blanketed the carpets and hardwood floor.
    There was a note in the center of the bed.
    ANNA—
    I’M STILL IN TOWN. LET ME MAKE IT UP TO YOU.