Confessions of a Wild Child Read Online Free PDF

Brad, and before long it’s Almost time.
    Hmm . . . I am getting pretty sure of myself, but after a while Brad – who must be at least nineteen – wants more, and he’s becoming quite aggressive about it.
    I manage to extract myself and go find Liz, who is now totally wasted. The girl shouldn’t drink – doesn’t she remember what happened to her last time?
    I realize there’s no way she can leave her own party to take me home even if she is capable of driving – which she’s not, so I call a cab, although I feel a bit guilty about leaving Liz without a friend by her side, ’cause all the other girls seem to have paired off with guys. A lot of Almost is taking place, and more besides.
    This party is fast turning into a free-for-all and I want out. Besides, it’s verging on midnight and I have an eleven o’clock curfew. Not that it matters – Gino’s in Vegas. Apparently he couldn’t care less.
    Liz is out of it by the pool, passed out on a lounger. I think that maybe she’ll sleep it off.
    My cab driver doesn’t speak a word of English; he drives along Sunset as if he’s in a to-the-death race. As soon as we hit Bel Air he gets lost, then when he finds our house, he gouges me on the fare.
    Reluctantly I pay up, head up the stone stairs, throw open the front door, and there is Marco, standing in the front hall, furious.
    ‘You know the rules,’ he scolds, steaming and oh-so handsome. ‘Home by eleven, an’ never – I repeat never —put your dumb ass in an LA cab. They’re frig-gin’ death traps.’
    I throw him a haughty look. ‘You’re not Gino,’ I mutter. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’
    This infuriates him even more. ‘You got yourself one helluva smart mouth in Switzerland, huh?’ he says, scowling, which only makes him look even more handsome.
    ‘That’s not all I got,’ I reply, before hotfooting it up to the safety of my room before he can say anything more.
    What am I supposed to do about Marco? It’s so obvious he has feelings for me. How come he can’t relax and admit it?
    I smile to myself. Is he jealous that I’m out and about? Is he wondering what I am doing and with whom?
    Too bad, Marco – you had your opportunity and you blew it.
    *  *  *
     
    The next morning I am up early, packed and ready to go. Dario is skulking around with a pissed-off expression. I’d made a promise to spend the summer with him, only things have changed. Besides, Dario is still a kid. What would we do together? Play Scrabble and stare at the TV all day? I think not.
    Olympia is waiting, and I’m on my way.
    Marco drives me to the airport in stony silence.
    I have so many questions I want to ask him, but I sense that now is not the time.
    Do you have a girlfriend?
    Do you want a girlfriend?
    What do you really think of me?
    And the biggest question of all – when will you finally acknowledge that we belong together?
    I step out of the car at the airport. There is a VIP woman waiting to escort me to the plane. Marco takes my luggage from the trunk, hands it over to a porter, gets back in the car and drives off without so much as a goodbye.
    Screw you, Marco! screams in my head. I hate you too!
    *  *  *
     
    On the plane I am seated next to an obese man with bad breath and an urge to flirt.
    Ugh! He is major old and quite disgusting. I yearn for the voluptuous bimbo I was seated next to on my first trip to Europe.
    The flight attendant walks down the aisle offering newspapers. I grab an LA Times and bury my nose in it. Maybe the old dude will take a hint and stop trying to hit on me.
    I am not really reading the newspaper, merely trying to appear occupied, when the headline of a story catches my eye.
    TEENAGE DAUGHTER OF STUDIO
    MOGUL DROWNS IN FAMILY POOL
     
    For a second my heart stops. It can’t be . . . can it?
    I am too nervous to read on. But then I do, and the story is all there in black and white.
Elizabeth Farrell, daughter of studio head Martin B. Farrell and philanthropist