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41
CIARAN
As we changed out of our wetsuits and into regular clothes back at the cars parked on the other side of the Pacific Coast Highway, Joan and Filipe decided to go to Santa Monica for cotton candy at the Pier. I wasn’t sure if cotton candy was code for something else but decided it was best not to ask as Joan pecked me on the lips before smacking my ass.
“One of these days I’m going to do that back to you,” I hollered at her over the steady engine thrum of passing cars as she skipped down the sidewalk.
“Try it,” she yelled back, “and see what happens.”
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” Filipe said as he gave me a fist bump. “You’ll end up in a decade-long relationship with Joan as one of her pets.”
I blinked at Filipe.
Matty threw his good arm around my shoulder to stop me from responding. “Let it go,” Matty voiced like a wise sage. “Just let it go.”
With Joan behind the wheel, I watched their car screech out of a tight parking spot, cross over four lanes of highway, and zip off in the opposite direction. Hollywood needed her for a Fast & Furious spinoff film.
“You really can’t define them, can you?” I asked after the little purple car vanished from view, though I could still hear the roar of the race car’s muffler in the distance.
Matty chuckled. “They are the literal definition of the undefined.”
“You realize those words makes no logical sense, right?”
“Stop trying to make sense out of the senseless…like your wardrobe.” He took in my worn-to-death attire, which consisted of nondescript shorts, a plain T-shirt, and beat-up sneakers.
“Tell me how you really feel, Mr. Moneybags,” I uttered as we jumped into his SUV.
“If I did that, I’d have to drag you into the back seat and show you.” He waggled his eyebrows at me and I snorted at how ridiculous he looked. “We happen to have a few hours to kill before Zoey shows up for dinner tonight. Malibu Country Mart is right around the corner.” When I said, “I’m not hungry,” Matty laughed for half a minute. “It’s not a farmer’s market, Ciaran. It’s a shopping center. There’s a nice men’s clothing store with outfits that I think will look good on you.”
“Admit it,” I said with a grin, “you’re ashamed to be seen with me.”
“No, what I’m saying is that you have an empty closet and one pair of shoes.”
“Two pairs.”
He scoffed. “You say that like it contradicts my statement.” Matty started driving, not even waiting for me to answer yes or no. “Once our parents return from their honeymoon, we’ll be expected to join them for evening meals and social events. I’m not saying you’ll need to dress up like you’re going to the Oscars—we’ll bring in a designer for that—but owning several nice pieces will go a long way toward looking polished, yet effortlessly cool at the same time.”
“Are you saying we will be invited to the Oscars?”
“Of course,” he answered as if I’d asked a silly question. “Dad finances a lot of films. But that’s besides the point.”
I let the Oscars comment go. I had to remind myself that Mom and I now lived in a higher sphere than before. The Vaulteneaus and their social equals owned multimillion dollar homes, drove exotic cars, and wore expensive clothes. They went to the Oscars and famous events the same way normal people went to the grocery store.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Seems like a lot of work to go shopping right now. I can just order stuff online.”
Matty merely shook his head as he turned right at the next red light. “Ciaran, please let me do this for you, okay?”
“Fine,” I grumbled out. I wasn’t used to anyone taking me under their wing like this.
My embarrassment was due to the fact that I was secretly pleased. It wasn’t because I would receive a new wardrobe…I liked the idea of Matty doting on me.
Matty parked in the open parking lot and led me to the store mentioned.
When inside, I marveled over all the framed photos on the dark-paneled walls. They were portraits of well-known personas, actors, singers, and famous bands. Racks of clothing and headless mannequins were stationed next to comfy couches and chairs.
The manager must have recognized Matty because we were greeted like family. As Matty discussed the reason for our visit, I browsed the racks and nearly fainted when I saw the price tags. T-shirts alone were close to two hundred dollars. It would only go up from there.
I spied the action of others. No one was looking at the tags. Rich people do not look at price tags, Ciaran. Matty was no exception as he pulled multiple pieces from various racks.
