by Abby Stern
“Go back to sleep. I love you.”
“’Night, babe,” he says, trailing back off into his slumber.
In the living room, I change into my pajamas and remove all of my jewelry. I always have to be comfortable when I file—not even a necklace or bracelet on. Keeping my jewelry on at the end of the night makes me feel claustrophobic, like I’m in a music video and have a boa constrictor wrapped around me. I place my jewelry on the coffee table as I open my laptop to e-mail Maggie. I’m required to file my stories overnight in case the editors want to use them first thing in the morning.
I scroll back through my notes and start typing.
The Chateau Marmont March 20th
Celebrities:
Former A-List Hot Mess Actress & Sexy Indie Film Actor
FORMER A-LIST HOT MESS ACTRESS
Though she had previously been banned from the establishment, Former A-List Hot Mess Actress made a return visit to the garden at the Chateau Marmont on Tuesday evening. She didn’t appear to be upset about being dropped from her upcoming film as she chain-smoked cigarettes and sipped on diet soda all night. Though soda was on the table, underneath the table was a bottle of vodka. Whenever Former A-List Hot Mess Actress bent down to retrieve another cigarette from her purse, she took a swig. As the night wore on she was more than a little bit out of it and loopy. While her three male companions all ordered food she abstained, but ate off all of their plates once their meals arrived. She was clearly trying to keep a low profile and the group stayed until 12:30 A.M. When Former A-List Hot Mess Actress got up to leave, the remaining patrons immediately took notice and it was obvious they were staring and gossiping about her. She put on a pair of aviator sunglasses (which looked like Ray-Bans) despite it being nighttime and clutched her white leather purse, which looked worn, as did her green tank dress, which was complete with cigarette burns. She swiftly walked out and her entourage followed and she stumbled on the steps up toward the lobby, narrowly avoiding a fall. It looked like she went toward the bank of elevators instead of downstairs to the garage.
SEXY INDIE FILM ACTOR
Sexy Indie Film Actor made a late-night visit to the Chateau Marmont. He was fashionably late, arriving a little after 12:30 A.M. looking effortlessly casual in a navy-blue T-shirt, jeans, and combat boots. He stopped to say hello to a petite blonde before he made his way over to a group of male friends who had a Heineken waiting for him. Sexy Indie Film Actor basically bro’d out and spent his time catching up with his friends.
Maggie always jokes she can tell when I’m writing myself into the file. “Focus on the celebrities!” she’ll say, but because we’re friendly outside of work she humors me and rarely cuts me out of the story. Even though we are the only two that know I’m that blonde, I still get a thrill from being in a story for The Life.
I click Send, and thank God I can sleep in tomorrow.
Time to go snuggle with Ethan.
Two
My alarm clock shocks me awake at 9 A.M. I roll over to say good morning to Ethan, but his side of the bed is empty. I reach for my iPhone on the nightstand.
Me: Where are you?
Ethan: I had an early pitch with the studio. My agent thinks this is the one.
Me: Good luck! XO
Then, with a start, I realize—Robin! I scroll back to her texts:
Me: I’m so sorry! I was covering Chateau for work and by the time I got home I forgot to text you back.
Robin: It’s okay. You and Ethan are coming Saturday, right? Marianna will be crushed if you aren’t at her party.
Me: Can’t wait to see her and Mom. XO P.S. Tell M her duck face is on point.
I check my e-mail to see if I have any assignment requests from The Life. Yep. E-mail from my boss, Maggie Kalaf.
Dear Freelancers,
There will be a mandatory meeting for ALL freelance reporters for The Life, tomorrow at 2 p.m. at our office. Again, this meeting is mandatory. If you do not attend your association with The Life will be terminated, immediately.
Best,
Maggie
I squint at the screen. Mandatory meeting? What the…?
I’ve known Maggie for years and this e-mail doesn’t sound like her at all. I met her right after Ethan and I started dating. Ethan invited me out for Taco Tuesday at LA’s Mexican fusion restaurant du jour for a double date with his friend. The friend was Maggie and her date was her semiregular hookup-slash-sometimes-boyfriend, Dennis.
Maggie and I sat across from each other drinking skinny margaritas. I was trying to make a good impression on her but she was disinterested when I tried to make conversation. Maggie’s expression was blank and after she gave me the once-over she didn’t look at me, even though I was in her direct line of sight. I felt like I had tried some new fad diet that made me translucent. This made me determined to try harder.
“Ethan just raves about you,” I said. Maggie looked at her phone and everywhere else and still wouldn’t make eye contact but I continued attempting to win her approval through compliments. “He says he wouldn’t have survived high school without you.”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered. It was obvious she wasn’t actually listening to what I said, but threw a “yeah” in occasionally to shut me up.
Her eyes continued skimming the crowd around me. Tired of my one-sided small talk, I excused myself to the restroom when I finished my entrée. I leaned against the door when it shut behind me to collect myself before I went to the sink to splash some cold water on my face. I gave myself a deep, introspective stare.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I told myself in the mirror. “Maggie can’t dislike you. She doesn’t even know you. If she doesn’t want to get to know you, it’s her loss.”
As I was in the midst of my affirmations, I was startled when the bathroom door swung open and Southern Girl-Next-Door Movie Star joined me. She was even tinier in person than she is on-screen. She smiled at me before she entered the stall and we both silently acknowledged that I knew who she was. I stared at myself again and took a deep breath. Namaste. I didn’t want to return to the table quite yet so I decided to fix my hair. While I was debating between a half or full ponytail, the toilet flushed and Southern Girl-Next-Door Movie Star took her place at the sink next to me.
“You alright?” she asked, noticing the hint of chagrin on my face as she was washing her hands. They were flawlessly manicured with a nude polish.
“Me? Yeah. I’m just on this weird double date and—”
“I totally get it,” she interrupted. She took more towels than necessary to dry off. “I’m here on a first date. My publicist set me up with Rugged Award-Nominated Method Actor. Between you and me, he’s really boring,” she confided. Was this happening? Southern Girl-Next-Door Movie Star didn’t even know my name or astrological sign and she was blurting out intimate details of her life to me. Not that I minded, of course, and her venting took my mind off Maggie. I folded my arms into my chest to indicate that I was listening. “I didn’t want to go out with him in the first place but my publicist says I need to show the world I’m not sitting around at home after my divorce and I need a new sexy, single image even if it is totally fabricated,” she continued.
She threw her towels in the trash and sucked in as she stood with her profile to the mirror. “I was with my husband since I was twenty years old, I’m nowhere near ready to date yet.” She pivoted on each foot to determine if she approved of the image looking back at her.
“You look amazing,” I told her.
“Really?” She inspected herself up and down one more time to make sure my compliment was sincere. She pursed her lips and silently agreed with my assessment. It seemed to have provided her with a necessary confidence boost. “Thank you, Spanx,” she joked in a more hushed tone. She returned to her normal voice. “I just haven’t been able to bring myself to exercise after my split so I can’t live without them.” I giggled. Stars, they’re just like us.
“Everyone is rooting for you. Just be
yourself. That’s why your fans love you.”
“Thanks.” She readjusted her cerulean gingham button-down shirt and khaki pencil skirt and took a deep breath of her own. “I guess I better get back out there.”
“Me, too.” I followed her out of the restroom and I didn’t notice until I almost tripped over her that like me, she was going to the patio. When I reached my table I noticed Maggie was there alone. I pulled out my chair, and before I could process the absence of our dates Southern Girl-Next-Door Movie Star tapped me on the shoulder.
“Thanks again for the pep talk,” she said with a wink, before continuing to her table. I sat down to try to make the best of my Maggie situation and salvage the rest of the evening, but my behind didn’t even touch the chair before Maggie’s attitude shifted. She was suddenly all over me like a fruit fly at the end of a picnic.
“Were you in the bathroom with her?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “Where are the guys?” I inquired.
“The Lakers game went into overtime so they went to finish their drinks at the bar to watch,” Maggie spit out. It’s clear she has no concern or time for their whereabouts at the moment. She’s almost foaming at the mouth. “You talked to Southern Girl-Next-Door Movie Star?”
I nodded my head and she fired questions at me so fast I don’t think she took a break between them.
“What did she say? How was her mood? Did she say who she’s here with? Did she seem sober or drunk? Tell me everything! No detail is too small!” Her eyes were bugging out of her head, as if I’d just told her I was an alien. This was the most animated I’d seen Maggie all night.
“Oh, she was super sweet,” I told her nonchalantly. “We were just chitchatting.”
“Chitchatting? About what? Did she say what she’s doing here?” she interrogated, again without taking a breath.
“Yeah. She’s here on a date with Rugged Award-Nominated Method Actor,” I tell her.
“She is?!” Maggie receives a surge of electricity with my information. “I had a gut feeling it might be him, but I couldn’t make out his face for certain from over here. They would be such a power couple.”
“Don’t get too excited. Southern Girl-Next-Door Movie star told me it’s a setup and that he’s really boring and she doesn’t want to be dating anyway, but her publicist forced her to go out with someone for her image.” As I was talking Maggie grabbed her phone and started transcribing everything I said verbatim. She nodded her head as I spoke and I wondered why she was taking notes.
“Ella, you’re amazing!” When she finished typing she returned to staring and I realized she hadn’t been ignoring me, she’d been staring at who was behind me. I turned my head to confirm that Southern Girl-Next-Door Movie Star was at a table behind me. “My boss is going to eat this up,” Maggie said with a duplicitous grin. “I just sent in everything you told me. Since I got it to her ASAP, we might have the chance at an exclusive.”
My mind was attempting to arrange the pieces of this bizarre puzzle together but I was coming up empty. She continued ferociously typing and when she finished placed her phone on the table and traded it for the biggest gulp of margarita she’d taken all night. She swallowed it without a trace of trouble and leaned into me conspiratorially. “I work for The Life,” she whispered. I bolted upright.
“No way!” Mystery solved. “I can’t believe you work for The Life! That is so cool! How did Ethan not mention this?”
Maggie looked startled but flattered by my enthusiasm.
“My mom raised me on it,” I continued. Now it was my turn to bombard her with questions. “What’s it like to work there? Do you meet a lot of celebrities? What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen happen that hasn’t been published?” Maggie smiled and leaned closer—but she was cut off by the waitress returning with the check.
I reached into my purse to pull out my wallet, not wanting to interrupt Ethan watching the game. I figured he could owe me one. Before I could get half of my wallet past the zipper of my bag, Maggie waved her hand at me, to drop it back in. She threw her American Express inside the leather-bound bill.
“Put it all on my card,” Maggie instructed the waitress.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Absolutely. The info you just gave me was amazing. I can expense dinner as a source meal.” Me, a source for The Life! I couldn’t wait to call my mom and let her know I helped a reporter for her favorite magazine.
“Thank you,” I told her. “I certainly don’t mind saving a few extra dollars. Ethan is dipping into pretty much all of the money he’s saved his whole life so he can try to work as little as possible and focus on writing, and I don’t exactly have a diversified financial portfolio fresh out of undergrad.”
“If you want to try earning some extra money, you could come work for me,” Maggie suggested.
“Are you serious?” My emotions heightened and I wanted to make sure she’s not messing with me.
“I could use a new undercover reporter, and if you were able to get Southern Girl-Next-Door Movie Star to open up to you in two minutes, you’ll be a great source for us.” Wow. Me? At The Life? Even if she’d been condescending moments before she was handing me the dream job. I’d get to hang out with celebrities and write for The Life.
“Yes! I’m in! I’d love to,” I cheered. The Life has been a part of my life ever since that night.
So while I’m curious about this mysterious meeting tomorrow, I assume Maggie will have my back, as she always has.
* * *
Later that day, I meet Holiday Hall at Mauro’s Cafe in Fred Segal. She’s almost become more of a sister to me, in some ways, than my own sister, Robin.
Here’s the deal with my BFF, Holiday: she’s British, she’s very well off, and she is fabulous. She doesn’t like to talk about being an heiress or where her family’s wealth comes from. “It’s tacky, darling,” she always coos. Being a reporter and nosey by nature, I’ve tried to find out more, but the only thing Google searches have revealed is that her family runs the largest import-export business in Europe. They are vastly successful … and private. Unlike me, Holiday is invited to parties because she really is part of the in crowd. She didn’t slither her way in because she’s working and the event’s PR firm wanted press coverage. The mere mention of her name scores her and a plus-one a place on any guest list in town.
Holiday is an enviable free spirit. Somehow she always looks effortlessly flawless. Her chestnut hair is mellifluous; her skin glows even if she’s hungover. She never goes to the gym yet her body is better than half the Victoria’s Secret models.
And she has style. She can throw together an outfit that rivals most stylists’ creations. Regardless of her comfortable lifestyle, she works part-time as a shampoo girl at the Je Cherche salon in Beverly Hills where a lot of celebrities tend to their tresses, so she surreptitiously feeds me sightings for The Life.
Holiday and I met shortly after I graduated from college. The country still in a slight recession, no one was exactly offering me a salary I could live on. Seeing as how I had few marketable skills, and my surprise job at The Life was still a few weeks in my future, I had taken a job as a barista at The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf.
Holiday came in almost every morning. Despite the outdoor temperature, she ordered her no-sugar-added vanilla iced blended with one and a half pumps of caramel as if she was ordering the most expensive bottle of wine at a Michelin-starred restaurant, and she was always heavy-handed when it came to the tip jar. After months of being able to sustain myself at multiple happy hours due to her generosity, one morning I was able to return the favor.
“That will be three dollars and sixty-five cents,” I told her. She opened her Birkin to retrieve her wallet but instead dumped the entire contents of her purse onto the counter and scavenged through it like a raccoon going through trash cans after a dinner party in Beverly Hills.
Suddenly, the chic and collected Holiday who soared in every morning like she was on a perman
ent vacation commenced a quarter-life-crisis meltdown. “No, no, no, no, no! It has to be here.” The people in line behind her became more impatient with each second that passed. “Oh my God,” she said to herself. I could see the wheels in her head spinning and knew that she figured out exactly where her money was. “I’m so bloody embarrassed,” she confessed. “I left my wallet in my Clare V. clutch I used last night. You should cancel my order. Of course this had to happen in Beverly Hills of all places. I’m sure I’ll be trending on Twitter as soon as I exit the premises.” She looked like she was on the verge of tears and tried hard to smile self-deprecatingly. “This is humiliating!”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“But it will be.”
“Holiday! No-sugar-added vanilla iced blended for Holiday, ready for pickup,” shouted the barista at the end of the counter.
“Don’t worry about it. This one’s on me,” I told her. “Go get your drink and get out of my line. You’re backing everyone up.” I winked at her.
“Thank you. You saved me. Really. My reputation and I owe you one.…” She looked at my name tag. “Ella.” She winked right back.
I quit The Coffee Bean shortly after that incident. Working for The Life at night and at The Coffee Bean during the day was wreaking havoc on my body and my relationship, and once I proved myself to Maggie by continuously turning in exclusives and never missing a celebrity sighting while I was out on assignment, she started asking me to work four or five nights a week.
I hadn’t seen Holiday again until I was on one of my first assignments at The Compound, the Hollywood club of the moment. I was fixing my makeup in the bathroom and she emerged from the stall effervescently, as only she could. Fuck. She knows me. The real me. I looked so intensely into the mirror it was almost like I was looking through it. Maybe she won’t recognize me without my uniform.
But her eyes kept glancing in my direction as she washed her hands. “I know you.”
“Me? No. I don’t think so.”
“Yes. I do.” She studied my hair and looked down at my shoes—in her Holiday way, she seemed genuinely curious, not judgmental. “I never forget a face and I mean never. I ran into Megan Parsons, who used to steal all of my crayons during nap time in primary school, fifteen years later and I recognized her instantly. You, I know. But from where?”