Amos DuPont: If they were friends, it might have made more sense. But they were both too self-absorbed to really connect with people like that—besides, friendships rarely end in restraining orders, do they?
Caleb Krause: Harper was always weirdly fond of Nadine, even when she hated her like it was a hobby.
Sasha Wallace:Nadine didn’t mention Harper to me once while filmingMaldon. Whatever they were, it didn’t matter all that much to her at the time. But when she went back to LA, suddenly the two of them were every single headline. Maybe it was boredom or press aggrandizement or …
Amos DuPont:There was nothing there but obsession. With themselves. With each other. It’s the thing that bound them.
Sasha Wallace:I think maybe what Nadine wanted most was to be seen by someone. Harper, for better or worse and whatever she did with that information, saw her. I think Nadine was very persuaded by that.
September 1996
“I’VE BEEN BACK A DAY,” I SAID, INSTEAD OF WHAT I wanted to say, like:“Why are you here? Did my security let you through the gates? And are those paparazzi taking photos from the bushes here because you tipped them off?”
Harper slipped her sunglasses up to push her hair back—and I noted that she’d cut it, slashed it into a choppy bob that framed her angular face.
When had she done that? I’d been trying to keep up with life over here, but it had slipped through my fingers like the tide through the marshland weeds. At the time, I’d thought it pleasant, but now it felt like I’d missed out, and I had to resist the urge to trawl through backdated magazines to find exactly when, exactly why.
She pierced me with her cold amber eyes and deadpanned: “I missed you.”
“Inside,” I growled as those shutters snapped. “Now.”
“Careful, Heywood, issue an invitation like that and your threshold becomes traversable.”
She tipped her weight forward, so she was no longer leaning against her cherry-red Lamborghini.
I shut the door behind us and watched as she took my home in. Hers, I remembered, was all monochrome modernity with a few artful pops. This was more of a rattan collective—designer beach to her state-of-the-art luxury.
“Well?” I demanded.
“You’re back, so I thought we should do something big to get the press’s attention again.”
“Big is you turning up at my house?”
“No, we’re going out. I know a cocktail bar with impeccable lighting.”
“Why would I agree to that?”
Harper smiled, and it was always a vicious, beautiful slash of stretched-thin lips and blinding teeth. “Because you missed me too. And because you like manipulating your public perception almost as much as you like attention. We head out, and we’ll be on every cover, possibly for weeks. Everyone thinks they understand a rivalry, butfrenemiesare complicated. We don’t merely want them looking, Nadine, we want them captivated.”
———
“Look at the sconce in that back corner,” Harper instructed, pointing behind her shoulder. I looked—sleek and metallic, not all that interesting. At the tables surrounding it, peoplewere eyeing our booth as subtly as they could, like they might pretend they weren’t in this barhopingto spot celebrities. There were even a few camera shutters winking at me.
“Why?”
“Because I know your best angles.” She grinned into her straw. “That will be the shot, trust me. Say thank you.”
It took all my effort not to glower, and she laughed.
“One day you’re going to thank me for all that I’ve done for you. You’re going to grovel. Even if I have to force you to your knees myself.”
“Caleb that disappointing you have to fantasize about me instead?”
“I can be flexible. But I imagine you know a thing or two about that.”
I looked at her, but she was focused on the cocktail, tapping a perfectly polished, white-tipped nail on the glass. I took a sip of my own vodka soda, convincing myself she wasn’t saying what I thought she was.
But then, almost nonchalant, she added: “So, aren’t you going to tell me about her? That’s what girls talk about on these kinds of jaunts, isn’t it?”
