Home > Influence(6)

Influence(6)
Author: Sara Shepard

Do you think the drama’s even real? she typed instead. Scarlet wouldn’t leave anything to chance.

Fiona sent a Snap back. So you think she planned it?

Maybe, Jasmine wrote. People like Scarlet made up gossip for their fans all the time. It was great for impressions stats.

She clicked on Scarlet’s YouTube page, half expecting Scarlet to have already posted a vlog about how she and Jack were still “strong together.” There was no such post yet, but it had to be coming.

The sun set over the hills, draping the city in a moody, lilac haze. The Uber whisked past neon lights and valet lines and snaked up a side street in the hills. They pulled up in front of a small compound nestled at the mouth of the canyon. The driver glanced at Jasmine in the rearview mirror for the millionth time.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but my little sister?” he finally blurted out. “She used to love your show. Could you . . .”

He thrust a piece of paper at Jasmine. Jasmine figured he’d want a selfie, but maybe it was better this way: she didn’t need digital, time-stamped evidence that she was at this party. She scribbled her name. The guy looked like he was going to explode with happiness.

It was only after the Uber’s taillights disappeared that Jasmine slid the mask over her eyes. The only thing that gave away that a party was taking place at this nondescript building was the bouncer at the door. Jasmine held up her second phone to show him a QR code she’d received. The bouncer scanned it, and she was in.

Inside was a bank of lockers along the wall. Jasmine selected an empty one and placed her phones on the shelf. No phones or posting at this party. She started down the dark hallway. Sexy votive candles pointed toward a main room. Her heart jumped in her chest. She’d been here only once before, but it still felt giddily unfamiliar.

The room opened into a cavernous space full of plants, chandeliers, banquettes, a dance floor, and a lot of bodies. Everyone wore a mask. Some turned to her, but it wasn’t because she was famous. Here, she was anonymous.

She loved it.

She sat down at the bar and ordered a vodka soda from a bartender in a bird mask. Normally, she couldn’t be seen having more than a half glass of champagne in public—and that was only for something really big, like an awards party. At this party, though, she liked something a little stronger to loosen her up.

The DJ switched to a K-pop song, and the crowd migrated to the dance floor. Who were they? People like Jasmine, who wanted to escape the public eye? Or just normal people sick of the superficiality of LA? Jasmine knew there weren’t any weirdos here—all guests had to interview with the promoter before being allowed access. When Jasmine passed the promoter her lawyer’s standard nondisclosure agreement across the table, he barely glanced at the thing, just whipped off his signature at the bottom.

She sucked down her drink and slid off the stool, then sashayed toward the middle of the circle, moving to the jumpy beat. One could argue that Jasmine could drink and dance in the privacy of her living room, but she wanted to be out in the world. Nobody was faking it in here. No one was pretending to be someone they weren’t . . . because in here, they were no one.

Jasmine swayed, pop-and-locked, and even threw in some choreography moves she’d had to perfect on That’s Hot! Halfway into the second song, she felt eyes on her back. She turned slowly, paranoia creeping down her spine. It wasn’t a crime to be spotted here, but . . .

A girl in a mask and dark hoodie was watching her from the edge of the dance floor. At least Jasmine thought it was a girl—her cloaklike hood covered most of her face. Jasmine turned away, but before she knew it, the girl was next to her. The smell of caramel wafted from her skin. Her movements were graceful and intoxicating. There was something familiar about her body language. Was she here last time?

Her heart started to beat faster. She moved closer to the stranger, her arm grazing her waist. The girl’s hand touched Jasmine’s hip in return. Jasmine could barely breathe. This was one of those fantasies she’d fully allowed herself to indulge in because it didn’t seem possible. And yet here she was, living it.

As they danced, Jasmine felt for the shape of the girl’s body under her layers of fabric. The girl shuddered—from desire? Discomfort? Jasmine stepped back, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. But quickly, the girl pulled her closer. She touched the sides of Jasmine’s face. Jasmine slid her hand on the back of the girl’s neck. This felt delicious—and naughty. But what would Lulu C do if she saw? Even more disconcerting—what would Ruby do?

“Come,” the girl murmured in Jasmine’s ear. They found a dark banquette. Jasmine’s stomach felt like it was on the downhill of a roller coaster. The girl edged closer still, cupping Jasmine’s chin. Jasmine could only see the outline of her face under her mask, but it didn’t matter that she didn’t know what the girl looked like. She was enchanted by her essence. She wanted to do this. She wanted to see what this . . . experience . . . was like.

Their lips touched. A whoosh swept through Jasmine’s core. The girl’s mouth tasted like chocolate. Jasmine reached into the girl’s hood, touching her ears, her long hair. The girl kissed Jasmine’s neck until Jasmine’s body felt split open. Yes, she thought. Her instincts about herself were correct. Everything she’d repressed, everything she’d always wondered—this was what she craved.

She pulled back, breathing hard. The girl peered at her from under her mask, her dark eyes seemingly looking into Jasmine’s soul. Jasmine gripped the girl’s hands hard. She wanted to kiss her again. She never wanted this night to end.

“Jasmine?” said a voice.

Her head snapped up. Bodies swirled. The music thudded. Then a bright flash assaulted her—a camera! Spots formed in front of Jasmine’s eyes. The crowd scattered. Someone yelled, “Phone!” A bouncer ran in, tackling the offending person. The crowd shifted, and the music ground on. Another bouncer peered at Jasmine, his brow knitted in concern.

“Miss?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

Jasmine realized she was balled in the booth with her hands over her head. Her heart was thudding for different reasons now. What had just happened?

“I’m fine,” she answered shakily, uncurling her legs. Then she turned for the girl she’d just been kissing to see if she was okay, too.

But the girl was gone.

 

 

FIONA

 

Fiona Jacobs really wanted another mint. She felt the tin’s outline through her bag; it would be so easy to reach in there and pop one into her mouth. But the Voice told her no. You’ve already had five mints today. There’s five grams of sugar in each. Twenty-five grams of sugar is already too much for someone like you.

She folded her hands in her lap. A new thought stabbed her: Did you brush your teeth today? She was pretty sure. Certainly she didn’t come here with bad breath. And she always brushed her freaking teeth. Sometimes twice. Sometimes three times, because she didn’t do it right the first two times—she didn’t brush the top and bottom for exactly ninety seconds, or she forgot to brush her tongue while reciting “Twinkle, Twinkle” in her head.

See, this was why she needed a personal assistant. So someone could remind her to brush her teeth. So someone could track it in an app. Fiona’s personal assistant had quit exactly three days ago, and already, she felt on the verge of a breakdown.

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