According to a Source

by Abby Stern

  He interlaces his fingers behind his head and reclines in his chair, ready to listen.

  “He is a hundred percent sober. You’re the best agent in this town and you know it. You’re the only guy who can turn his career around. You know how talented he is. If you represent him, he can be the biggest movie star in the world. You can get him an Oscar and a superhero trilogy.”

  Nick moves his elbows to his desk and leans forward.

  “He has the talent. He needs the agent. He needs Nick Williams.”

  Nick squints at me as he considers my idea for about twenty seconds, long enough to be polite. “Let’s say for a second I am interested. Why are you taking up his cause?”

  I can’t tell if he’s curious or prying to find out if we’re sleeping together. It doesn’t matter either way. “I’m the one that leaked the info about him doing drugs with Twentysomething CW Bad Boy Heartthrob the night that he died. I was assigned to cover Ambiance that night, so his career stalling is my fault. He didn’t deserve that and I’m trying to make it right.” Nick ruminates on the information. “This isn’t just for him. It would be good for you, too. He can be a movie star again. With you on his team, an even bigger movie star! And you will get all of the credit for reviving his career.” I take a brief pause. “You know the Web site Compassionate Celebrities?”

  “Yeah, the posts on that site are what saved Holiday’s part on Benedict Canyon,” he says.

  It did? My body feels ten pounds lighter now that it’s shed part of the burden of my mistakes. Even if Holiday never speaks to me again, knowing that I did whatever I could to repair the damage I caused her will help me move forward. I feel euphoric knowing I’ve been able to create a positive impact as strong as the negative impact I’ve had on her and other celebrities.

  “It’s a good thing that came out when it did. The producers were strongly considering recasting her role midseason after the scandal broke, but once Compassionate Celebrities hit and the positive press was balancing out the negative press, they agreed to keep her.”

  The site served the exact function I wanted it to. If I was right about Compassionate Celebrities being able to save celebrity careers I am, without a doubt, right about this.

  “I started that site,” I blurt out.

  “You did?” He stares at me, first with relief then with intrigue, like the night we met at Holiday’s party.

  “Yes. I quit The Life and started it with some friends.”

  Nick rubs his lips together and for a brief moment looks at me with the same spark that he used to.

  “I’m impressed.” His demeanor shifts and his energy is more amiable. “You’re doing a great job.”

  “Thanks. I’m not trying to get back into that world as a career or anything. I’m just trying to do the right thing and help make amends with all of the celebrities I hurt, the ones I know and the ones I don’t.” Without realizing it I fall back into my habit of fluttering my eyelashes and biting my bottom lip. As soon as I catch myself I return to business mode. “Sexy Indie Film Actor is the number-one male search on Compassionate Celebrities. His fans still want to see him in movies. This isn’t even a gamble for you. It will just take a little creativity and hard work, two things I know you’re phenomenal at.” He’s still hesitant but knowing Nick, coercing him more right now won’t do my cause any good. I need to let him warm up to the idea on his own for a bit.

  He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll consider it.” I know Nick well enough to know that if I put him on the spot he’ll say no, but if I let him come around to the idea on his own my chances are considerably better. If he does it on his own, he will build enthusiasm for this pitch and sign Sexy Indie Film Actor. So in actuality, his “I’ll consider it” means yes.

  “Thank you.” I get up to leave and hold my hand out for him to shake. He stares at it with bewilderment for a moment before shaking it. As I walk out of the office I have butterflies in my stomach. Not only from possibly pulling off a work-related coup but also because the chemistry between Nick and me is still there. I may have been hiding it and he may have been fighting it, but while sitting in his office I felt an actual gravitational pull toward him again. I poke my head back into his office. “It was really good to see you again, Nick.” I dip out as quickly as I popped in. I have work to do.

  Twenty-nine

  I know Holiday is back in town because I’ve been keeping tabs on her for Compassionate Celebrities. Her paparazzi pictures are splashed across the Internet. My only consolation is that she wasn’t fired from Benedict Canyon—unbeknownst to her, at least partially because of my efforts. At some point I plan on apologizing to her in person but I’m caught off guard and not prepared for what I would’ve liked to have been my perfectly planned mea culpa when she walks into The Coffee Bean today.

  She’s the one person who will be able to recognize me no matter what kind of cotton-blend clothing I’m wearing. Besides, this uniform was her first impression of me. My flight response usurps every ounce of fight response in my body as soon as I see her Birkin bag swing through the entrance. Before I flee to the employee back room I catch a glimpse of Tristan following her. Unfortunately I’m not alone in my respite as my boss, Spike, is on his break, reading the latest issue of Rolling Stone when I explode through the door.

  “It’s not your break time yet,” he reminds me without looking up from the magazine. “Twenty more minutes.”

  “I know. Please, cut me some slack. There’s a customer out there that I don’t want to see.”

  “Too bad, kid.” I hate it when he calls me kid. It’s not a term of endearment when he uses it; it’s purely condescending since we’re the same age.

  “Spike, please,” I beg. “It would be really bad if this customer recognizes me.”

  “You owe her money?” He maneuvers his tongue around his mouth as if he’s searching for a piece of abandoned food.

  “No.” I scrunch my nose, trying my hardest to hide my nausea from both him and seeing Holiday.

  “You steal something from her?”

  “Not exactly.” Just her privacy and good reputation.

  “Then get your ass back out there,” he orders after completing a lap of his mouth.

  I peer through the small window on the door and notice Tristan paying for their order. My overzealous coworker, Julie, is manning the espresso machine, and due to her brisk service, I estimate that I only need to stall about two minutes for her to make their drinks and then they can leave. I’ve always found Julie’s self-appointed employee-of-the-decade attitude as annoying as Spike’s personification of coffee, but right now I’m internally praising her speed. She has a predilection for telling me everything I’m doing is wrong. While I stall, Spike is trying to convince me to get out there by threatening to garnish my tips, but I won’t budge. I can’t face them. Not here. Not like this. I take another peek outside and quickly formulate my stall tactic.

  “So how’s your band?” I ask. Spike places the magazine on his lap and starts to proselytize.

  “The music is more alive than ever,” he says, eyes wandering, as if he’s staring out into the vast universe. “The thing is, I really think we need to change our name. Swallow’s Rage doesn’t describe who we are or our sound anymore.” I fold my arms and nod my head to make him think I care so he will continue. “My bandmates are hesitant about changing it because they don’t want to confuse our fans. We’ve recently gone through a period of maturation.”

  I’ve got to give it to Spike; he has the LA concept of “fake it till you make it” down cold. Right now I need to fake my interest and keep my gag reflex in check to handle all of the garbage he’s spouting.

  “I’ve evolved as a lyricist and I want our name to be more of an homage to us as storytellers than punk rockers.”

  I glance out the window to determine what stage of their exit Holiday and Tristan are currently engaged in. I don’t see them and my eyes are glued to the window, searching. I haven’t noticed that Spike has realized
that I’m neither paying attention nor could I care less about his band until I feel his hands on my back pushing me back onto the floor. I unsuccessfully try to dig my heels into the ground like a celebrity mistress that refuses to give up her fifteen minutes of fame, but he is too strong for me and I’m unwillingly thrust back into the store and into reality.

  “Back to work,” he orders. “Your break isn’t for twenty minutes, Ella.” As he says my name, my vision zooms in on the back of Holiday’s and Tristan’s heads and I see her turn her head in slow motion. Without thinking I collapse to the floor to hide behind the counter and start counting my Mississippis. Spike and Julie are too baffled by my behavior to stop me and by the time I get to my sixth Mississippi I realize that I’m making this much worse and have no choice but to get up and face the music, or the gossip in this case.

  “So the rumors are true,” Holiday jeers as I sheepishly rise. She couldn’t be more smug. “You are working here again.”

  “Hi, Holiday.”

  She’s relishing my downfall and isn’t trying to hide that she’s ecstatic that I’ve gotten exactly what she feels like I deserve. “I’m thrilled I was able to confirm the chatter with my own eyes.” She folds her arms, satisfied and vindicated.

  “Hi, El.” Tristan nods his head at me. Holiday glares at him with fury for speaking to the enemy.

  “Hi, Tristan.”

  “It’s—”

  Holiday doesn’t let Tristan finish. She’s got her social homicide ammunition and doesn’t want either of them fraternizing with me any longer than necessary. “Let’s go,” she instructs him. Tristan gives me another neutral head nod so as not to upset her further. I wasn’t prepared for this ambush but I can’t let Holiday walk out of here like this. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. She slides the Ray-Ban aviators that were resting on top of her head down to shield her eyes, places all of her weight on her left foot, and pops her hip out to make a grand exit as she turns toward the door.

  “Holiday! Can we talk? Just for a second?” I implore. She stops but doesn’t turn back to me. “Please?” I’m giving her the verbal equivalent of begging on my hands and knees. I notice her left fingers dangling at her side curl and begin to form a fist as she takes a sip of coffee. I know her well enough to know that she’s about to tell me that I’m high if I think she’ll talk to me, but between her deep exhales and coffee to help soothe her anger, Tristan jumps in.

  “Give her a minute, Hol,” he requests.

  Holiday’s fingers release and she rips her sunglasses off her face with them so he can see her befuddled eyes. She’s ready to argue but Tristan isn’t going to be a willing participant.

  “Just listen to what she has to say. I’ll be here, and if it goes poorly we can leave,” he says.

  Holiday glares at him again.

  “You owe it to her.”

  “I owe it to her?” Holiday gasps. I can see where her forehead wants to break past the Botox and wrinkle itself to show Tristan how wrong she believes he is, but the Botox wins that battle and her forehead stays smooth while her words cut. “You can’t be serious?”

  “I am. Ella was your best friend for a long time and even if things are fucked up now you owe it to what you two shared together.” Tristan turns to me and I mouth “thank you” to him. “If you don’t owe it to her, you owe it to me. I agreed to hear you out when this whole thing went down and I had no reason to.”

  Holiday rolls her eyes and reluctantly mumbles “Fine” after releasing an audible sigh.

  I move to the nearest table and take a seat while she unenthusiastically follows. Tristan hangs back but still has a visual on us in case he needs to jump in and save us from ourselves.

  “First, let me say again that I’m so sorry, Holiday!” I begin.

  “Yes, you’ve said that before.” Her icy exterior remains uncracked. I have a better chance of Holiday bursting into an a cappella verse of “Let It Go” than I do of her warming up to me, but this is about me apologizing, not her forgiving me.

  “I know that you don’t believe me, but telling your secret is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life. I will never forgive myself. I lost everything that was important to me. I’m not talking about being able to live in your mansion or any of the material things you were generous enough to share with me.” She sits looking through me and I’m trying to penetrate her gruff exterior and reach her heart. I know there’s still a place for me in there, albeit small; I just have to get to it. “I lost you and I lost Nick.” My lip quivers, and even though I’d usually be embarrassed and try to hide it, I want her to see it so she knows my sense of loss is genuine and not just lip service. “I miss you both every day. Even if you hate me for the rest of your life, I want you to know that.”

  Holiday raises her perfectly plucked eyebrows, pleased that I’m hurting. “Okay, I’ve heard you say what you have to say. Good-bye, Ella.” She rises from the table and dominates me with her eyes again.

  “Wait,” I plead. “Since it happened, I’ve been trying to make it up to you.”

  “Oh, really, have you?” She puffs out her mouth and cocks her head to the left to patronize me. “Another lie from a professional liar.”

  “No, it’s true.” I reach into my pocket and grab my phone. “Have you seen this?”

  “Seen it? Nick says Compassionate Celebrities is what saved my job on Benedict Canyon.”

  “It’s my Web site,” I tell her. “This is me trying, the best way I know how, to make amends with you and with Sexy Indie Film Actor and all of the other celebrities that I hurt. I helped expose your darkest secrets to the world and now it’s time for me to make sure I shine a positive light on you.”

  She takes my phone and scrolls through the site, puzzled and amazed. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  “It was the least I could do,” I tell her.

  She continues to peruse the site. “Who’s this one about?” she asks in the excited curious voice she used to use with me before I entangled us in this mess. “A-List Sitcom Star Who Has Had Bad Luck With Men buys apartment building for homeless families to stay in.”

  “That’s for you to guess,” I tell her. “I try to make it fairly obvious but I’ve learned my lesson—even if it’s something positive, my mouth won’t confirm anything.”

  She lets out a sound that can almost be distinguished as a laugh while she keeps scrolling. “This one is me!” she exclaims. She holds the phone in my direction so I can see the screen. It’s the item about her donating all of her clothes she hasn’t worn in six months to Dress for Success.

  “There are a lot about you,” I tell her. “In fact, about fifty percent of all of the items are about you.”

  Her eyes dart back to the phone and I can tell she’s trying to hold back tears. “It says here the site is run by a former industry insider who calls herself Hollywood Know-It-All.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  All traces of her bitchy demeanor disintegrate and I sense a slight bit of warmth radiating from her in my direction.

  “You did this for me? After all of those horrible things I said to you?” she wonders.

  “I hated myself for possibly taking away something you love. I couldn’t let that happen,” I assure her.

  She returns the phone to me. “Thank you.”

  Tristan approaches us, noticing that our threat alert status has gone from red to green. “Are we okay here?” he asks.

  I look to Holiday to give the response.

  “Yes, darling. We’re okay,” she tells him.

  “Good. I’m glad.” He has a twinkle in his eyes, proud that he helped reunite us and that it didn’t end with one of us in police custody or in the hospital. He places his hand on Holiday’s shoulder and gives it a small squeeze. “I hate to break this reunion up but, Hol, we have to get going if we’re going to make your meeting.” He broadens his eyes and emphasizes the word meeting. It must mean she’s meeting with Nick.

  “Right.” Holid
ay stands up, trying to play it cool and not mention his name. She again puts her Ray-Bans on.

  “I’m glad he forced us to chat,” she says, nudging her elbow at Tristan.

  “Me, too.” I take a deep breath.

  “His thinking he’s right all the time gets on my nerves but I’m not upset about him being right this time.”

  “In that case—”

  Holiday cuts him off again. “I think I can handle it from here, darling.” Holiday gives Tristan a quick peck on the cheek and he wraps his arms around her. “I think what Tristan was trying to not-so-subtly suggest is maybe we can do it again before I go back to Canada,” she offers.

  “I’d really love that,” I tell her.

  “We are here for the next few weeks on hiatus before we go back to shoot the rest of the season.” She winks at me and the two of them finally move to make their exit.

  “I’ll text you,” I shout as she reaches the door. She hastily turns around and waves good-bye to me. As the door swings open, I’m almost blinded by the sea of flashes and screams that commence in rapid succession asking about her scandal, relationship with Tristan, and her tips for the perfect blow out. The paparazzi really are following her every move now.

  The afterglow from my rekindled friendship is interrupted.

  “That didn’t look so bad,” Spike remarks, sidling up behind me. I take a deep breath and release all of the fear and anxiety I had when she walked in the door, and I think I even feel a smile creeping on my face.

  “It wasn’t,” I answer.

  “See. Sometimes it’s best to face your fears.”

  “That is very insightful, Spike.” I glance at him with a little more respect and a new set of eyes.

  “By the way, I’m considering that your fifteen-minute break. Get back to work!”

  Thirty

  “This is my new favorite restaurant,” my mom announces. “I loved it when Ella brought me here and now that I have some of my appetite back I love it even more—especially because we’re all here together this time.” Wolfgang Puck should hire her as the official Spago spokesperson.