Angels on Sunset Boulevard by Melissa de la Cruz

Author:Melissa de la Cruz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2007-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

Nick

THE PHONE WOKE NICK WITH A START THE NEXT morning, bright and early at eight o’clock. It was a shrill, electronic ring which echoed throughout the ten-thousand-square-foot house and bounced off the marble floors.

“Helllo?” Nick grumbled, still underneath his pillow.

“May I speak to Miss Langley?” a crisp voice asked.

“You mean Mrs. Huntington,” Nick corrected. He turned and buried himself under the comforter. He’d forgotten to draw the curtains the night before, and the sun was streaming into his bedroom.

“No, a Miss Langley. A Miss … er … Fish Langley?”

“Fish? Who is calling please?” Nick asked sternly, tossing the pillow to the floor and sitting up finally. Might as well just get up; he’d never be able to get to sleep again, what with the light.

“This is Citibank. If you please, sir, we’d like to talk to her about her account,” the caller said in slightly accented English. Nick pictured a hapless Indian clerk in Bombay reading from a script.

That was odd. They both had debit privileges on their parents’ Citibank checking accounts, but if the bank wanted to talk to an account holder, why would they want to talk to Fish?

“Hold on,” Nick said. He pressed the intercom. “FISH! PHONE FOR YOU!”

There was no answer from Fish’s room. She was probably ignoring him. It really was too early to deal with anything like this.

“I’m sorry, she’s not here right now,” Nick said.

“Thank you very much, sir. We will try again later.”

Nick put the phone back on its base. Maybe the bank was trying to sell something—they always were.

He yawned and decided to take a morning run.

When he returned from a slog up and down the canyon, sweaty and refreshed, he noticed that Rosa, their housekeeper, had already set up a breakfast buffet in the kitchen. He picked a croissant from the tray and tore it in half, stuffing it into his mouth.

“Hola,” he said. “Fish come down yet?”

“No, Mr. Nick. No Fish.” Rosa shook her head.

Nick looked at the time. It was only ten o’clock. He’d give the kid till noon, then ask her if she knew anything about Citibank, and what she’d thought of the party the night before. She’d be thrilled to know he’d met Taj Holder—Fish had Web shots of Taj in a series of outfits taped to her wall. Fish was a big MiSTakes fan, and she played Johnny Silver’s record around the clock.

Saturday at the Huntington household was usually quiet. If Dad and Evelyn were home, which they weren’t, they would be out at the country club by now for a tennis tournament. Nick checked the calendar by the phone. Dad was shooting in the Czech Republic. Evelyn was making a presentation in D.C. on global warming. Neither of them would be home for another week or two.

Thank God for Rosa. If it weren’t for the housekeeper, who’d been nanny to both Nick and Fish, they would never have had a real home-cooked meal, let alone someone who remembered to sign them up for dental appointments and pick Fish up from acting class.

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