All Night Long Read Online Free Page B

eyes so that she could hide from the world, had been moussed into tousled waves. Her eyebrows had obviously been plucked; she wore a touch of mascara and clear lip gloss. Gone were the baggy clothes in which she'd begun the day, replaced by a cute purple-polka-dotted peasant shirt over white capri leggings with lace bottoms. In these new clothes, it was clear that formerly pudgy Martina had lost a lot of weight on her summer exercise program. With her new look, and clothes that didn't approximate a circus tent, it was easy to see the results.
    Lydia cupped her hands. “Martina, you cutie! Woo-hoo! C'mere and gimme a hug!”
    Martina broke into a wide grin and ran toward Lydia behind the velvet rope. Esme took that as her cue to duck under the barrier and talk to the twins, who were already halfway toward her when Esme heard a lilting voice with a Jamaican accent call to them from the other side of the room.
    “Easton! Weston! Come to Tarshea and your mother!”
    The kids instantly did a ninety-degree turn, forgetting about Esme and bolting toward their mother. Diane Goldhagen was blond, thin, and beautiful, and must have come straight from the gym, since she wore a jet-black Adidas warm-up suit. Even in sweats, she looked as if she'd stepped out of an advertisement for the Southern California good life.
    That was fine. But who was with Diane wasn't so fine. Esme narrowed her eyes in disgust.
    When the Goldhagen family had taken a vacation to Jamaica, they'd brought Esme along. On that trip, they'd met a young Jamaican woman named Tarshea, who'd spoken longingly of coming to America. The Goldhagens, after they'd returned to Los Angeles, had hastily arranged a visa for Tarshea, with the idea that they could find her a nanny job here. That was good. Unfortunately, Diane had taken a liking to Tarshea. Now the girl was sort of a co-nanny with Esme. That was bad. Esme liked Tarshea in theory. In practice, it felt as if the girl was taking over her life. She'd even showed more than a little interest in Esme's new boyfriend, who happened to be the Goldhagens' son, Jonathan.
    “¡Mira a Tarshea!”
Weston called over her shoulder.
    “I'm looking,” Esme replied.
    Tarshea had always been a pretty girl, with her long, graceful neck, slender body, and huge dark eyes. She'd braided her frizzy hair because, as she'd explained to Esme, she didn't know what else to do with it. Now, Tarshea's hair fell straight and glossy to her shoulders like a crown. Her eyes had been enhanced with subtle smoky makeup, her lips burnished copper with some sort of product to make them even more pouty. She wore a very short orange Chloé slip dress that Esme had gawked at in a boutique window on Third Street. The dress showcased her long, slender legs. On her feet were chic brown suede ballet flats with crisscross ties around the ankles.
    Either Tarshea had gotten a makeover here at the club, or she'd gone with Diane for one at another location.
    Jeez. It was one thing for Tarshea to be gorgeous; Esme wouldn't begrudge the girl, who came from such terrible poverty in Jamaica, a chance to shine. It was the fact that Diane was smiling at Tarshea as if she was her own long-lost daughter, and the twins were tugging on her hands. The thought of Jonathan seeing Tarshea looking like this put Esme over the top.
    Esme had ample reason to suspect that Tarshea wanted her life. She borrowed her clothes all the time without asking, and had tried to horn in on her friends more than once. In the nicest possible way, of course. But it was more than that. From the way she'd seen Tarshea act around Jonathan, she suspected that Tarshea didn't just want her life. She wanted her boyfriend, too.

Lydia Chandler
    As Lydia stepped into the crowded Silverbird Lounge in Los Feliz, she thought it was a very, very good sign that Billy had asked to meet her at this particular club. This nightspot—famous for the mechanical silver birds that, by some feat of engineering, flew around