According to a Source

by Abby Stern

  “What’s this?” she asks, even though she’s received so many gifts from Cartier over the years she could put her ear to the box like a conch shell and tell me exactly what’s inside down to the weight and metal details. That doesn’t stop her from meticulously unraveling the ribbon from on top of the box. She opens it and when she sees its contents she lets out a slight gasp. “A pink gold Cartier love bracelet!” She’s genuinely touched and I can see the tears welling up in her eyes. “Ella, you didn’t have to do this.” Upon further inspection, she notices the engraving and gives me a smile. “Well, well, well, Miss Moneybags. I can see you’ve been holding out on me,” she jokes through the genuine moment to attempt to prevent tears from running down her face.

  “You know how it is. I grossly overcharge my clients,” I tease. I retrieve from the box the small matching accompanying screwdriver, also made of pink gold, and Holiday holds her wrist out for me to lock the bracelet onto her.

  “Thank you,” she says, staring at the bangle. “For this and for everything.”

  Holiday hugs me and a tear cascades from her cheek and lands on my shoulder.

  “Don’t you dare start crying and ruin your makeup before you’re photographed,” I reprimand. She takes a deep breath and grabs my hand as we walk to the red carpet to meet Tristan.

  Holiday barely has both stilettos firmly planted on the carpet when the photographers start screaming her name like she’s an athlete and they’re cheering her on in the big game.

  “Holiday! Over the shoulder!”

  “One over here, Holiday! One more!”

  “Blow a kiss to the camera, Holiday!”

  “Put your hand on your hip! Beautiful! Gorgeous!”

  “You’re beautiful, Holiday! Over here!”

  “Thanks, guys. That’s enough,” I tell them after three minutes of her uninterrupted professional posing, which feels like a lot longer than it sounds. They continue to scream for more shots of Holiday but she dutifully follows me as I lead her down the carpet for interviews.

  “We make a great team,” she says.

  “We always did.”

  “Ella,” I hear my mother call. She and Robin are on the other side of the red carpet near the reporters, and they wave excitedly. I wave back. Holiday marches over and unhooks the velvet rope for them to join us on our side.

  “It’s okay, they’re with me,” she tells security. My mother is in awe of the scene of a real premiere and I catch a look of whimsy in Robin’s eyes, too. I hand my phone to Holiday.

  “Can you take a picture of us?” I ask her. My mom and Robin snuggle in tight with me, and three of the four Warren women pose in front of the step and repeat while the lady of the night snaps a few photos so we will always remember it. None of us take memories for granted these days, and the fact that we can all stand here happy, healthy, and healed is better than any fame or fortune.

  “Now do a funny one,” Holiday instructs. We all instinctively duck-face for the last shot. Holiday returns my phone and we look through the photos.

  “They’re beautiful,” my mom says.

  “Will you send them to me? Marianna is going to love them,” Robin gushes.

  “Of course. You know, we do look pretty amazing here. Maybe we should look into getting our own mother-daughter reality show?” I joke. We all burst out laughing and say “nah” at the same time. Never in a million years. I screenshot the photo and make it my phone’s background.

  “Congratulations, Holiday.” My mother hugs her even though this is the first time they’ve ever actually met.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Warren. I’m glad you were able to make it.”

  Holiday puts her arm around me as we walk in with Robin and my mom right behind us.

  “Before you start to mingle let me get a picture of you in front of your poster for your social-media feeds.” Holiday marches over to the wall and quickly emulates all of the poses she just ran through on the carpet.

  “Ella, stop working! We are supposed to be celebrating,” she reminds me.

  “As your publicist I never stop working.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’m going to find Tristan. Can you at least work your way over to the bar and get us some champagne?”

  “Of course.”

  “What can I get you, beautiful?” the bartender asks. This one is the Gucci model from the billboard right in front of the Chateau Marmont. I’m about to make my request, but before I do a familiar voice chimes in.

  “She’ll have a glass of champagne.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The voice belongs to Nick.

  “And a scotch for the gentleman,” I add. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Nick places his hand on the bar and leans toward me. “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, you walk into mine.”

  He hugs me but I’m jarred by his unexpected gesture and we are not in sync. He weaves while I bob and when I try to bob he weaves. After two failed attempts he takes the matter into his own hands, literally, and pulls me toward him. I’ve always loved how he takes control. I find myself grinding my teeth to calm my nerves and I’m afraid I’m going to whittle them down to a point by the end of our embrace.

  “Ella—”

  “Nick,” I interrupt. Once I say his name I lose all of the control I had over my body. My voice quivers and my limbs instantly go numb. The bartender hands us our drinks just in time and I take a large gulp. The bubbles haven’t finished tingling in my throat but if I don’t say this now I’m scared that I never will. “I know that you hate me but I really am sorry. For everything.”

  “Is that what you think? That I hate you?” he asks. The usual sparkle in his eyes looks like it might turn into tears.

  “Well, yeah. I never heard from you after that day at your office.”

  “Ella, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I was angry. Disappointed. But most of all, heartbroken. I felt like you used me.”

  “I never meant to hurt you and I understand why you ended things and I really did…” I stop myself from finishing that sentence.

  “Me, too,” he says, understanding exactly what I meant to say. “You seem to be doing great, though. New career, Compassionate Celebrities.”

  “I’m just trying to make it up to everyone I’ve hurt the best I can,” I tell him.

  “I know you are. When you came to my office and told me about the site and asked me to represent Sexy Indie Film Actor I knew you had changed.” He can’t stop staring at me. “I miss you.” Our reunion or reconciliation or whatever this might be is interrupted by Holiday skipping over to us.

  “I have the most brilliant idea,” Holiday says, out of breath. Whatever moment Nick and I were having immediately diffuses.

  “Uh-oh,” Nick whispers to me.

  “Oh, bugger off, Nick.”

  “What’s this idea?” I ask.

  “Let’s all go to a club!” she shrieks. Nick and I shoot each other a glance that we are both on the same page and would rather slit our wrists than do that. In that brief moment we feel like a team again.

  “Come on! I know that look. Ella, have you even been to a club since you stopped working for The Life?”

  “No. Thank God,” I blurt out.

  “I promise, they can actually be fun. You said it’s my night, and since both of you are on my payroll I’m going to be a demanding client and insist.”

  I attempt to wiggle out of her request. “What about my mom and Robin? I don’t want to leave them.”

  “Bring them along,” she says. “They can really have the Hollywood experience if they come.”

  What can I do?

  “I’m only going if Ella goes,” Nick disclaims.

  I wave them over and pitch Holiday’s plan.

  “I think we’re going to pass, honey,” my mom tells me. “But you should go.” I turn to Robin.

  “You should. You’ve earned this,” she agrees.

  “Are you guys sure?” I check.

  I notice
my mom staring at Nick, recognizing him from his photo, and I suppose now is as good a time as any for their belated introduction.

  “Nick, I’d like to introduce you to my family. This is my mom, Joan, and my sister, Robin.” He shakes Robin’s hand and kisses my mom’s as he greets them.

  “Well, it’s about time. It’s nice to finally meet you, Nick. You are the Nick, aren’t you?”

  “Mom!” I playfully tap her shoulder and immediately use my hand to hide my embarrassed face.

  “I sure hope so.” Nick and my mom both look at me for an answer and I nod that yes, this is the Nick and now I’m mortified. “Wonderful to meet you ladies.” With that he has mesmerized them. “I’m glad to see that it looks like you’re feeling well, Joan.” She blushes and I can tell Nick has her seal of approval.

  “I am starving,” my mom announces. I never thought hearing her say those words would mean so much to me. “Robin, shall we make our way to the buffet?”

  “Yes. Go have fun, El,” Robin insists as she and my mother make their pilgrimage for food.

  Holiday rushes to grab Tristan and I survey the room. You can take the girl away from the reporting job, but …

  “I think our client is staking her claim in Hollywood. Everyone is here,” Nick marvels.

  Yes, everyone. Who happens to meet my gaze but Victoria Davis, who is in my immediate sight line. A few months ago I thought she had ruined my life but she probably saved it. I take a deep breath as I watch her as she approaches me.

  “Hello, Ella. It’s nice to see you.” She pretends like no unpleasantness happened and ignores Nick. “I’m glad I bumped into you. You are a publicist now, correct?”

  I nod. “Word travels fast.”

  “You of all people know that.” She cracks a duplicitous half smile. “I want to talk to you about doing some interviews with your clients. Especially an exclusive on Holiday for The Life. Can I take you to lunch?”

  I return her devious smile. Never again will I allow Victoria to mince my words or my clients’.

  “No comment” is all I have to say to her.

  * * *

  The impromptu seating arrangements in our car just so happen to have Nick shoved in right beside me. His leg scrapes mine and his virgin wool pants feel like sandpaper rubbing against my freshly shaven leg but I like it. I’m finally close enough to smell the scent of Nick’s cologne and it’s intoxicating. My heart is beating faster and my hormones are making me sweat in lady places I haven’t sweat in for a long time, which I’m trying to hide.

  “Where are we going?” I ask. I’m so out of the club-scene loop I don’t even know what the hot spots and the has-beens are at the moment.

  “Celestial Circus. It’s supposed to be the best spot in town right now,” Holiday says, trying to convince us.

  I send a few text messages en route and when I finish with my phone I feel an unexpected squeeze on my shoulder. Nick moves his hand lower and it engulfs mine. I look down and stare at our hands together and then back up at him and lean my head to rest on his shoulder. Holiday and Tristan spend the ride responding to the hundreds of congratulatory texts they’re receiving and I spend it in silence, happy to be present in this moment where all feels well.

  We arrive at the club and Holiday emerges from the car first. She’s instantly swarmed by a group of overzealous paparazzi. Tristan follows and the photo op intensifies.

  “Your doing?” Nick asks, smiling, referring to the photographers.

  “Normally I wouldn’t tip them off but it’s premiere night. Want to make sure their faces are everywhere so people remember to tune in on Tuesday night.” Nick lets out a sigh and looks away and my heart once again splinters. I’m ready to launch into my expository defense when he turns back and kisses me. I melt into the familiarity of Nick’s kiss. We come up for air after what feels like forever but also feels like not long enough. I smile and thrust my lips back toward his. I don’t want to stop kissing Nick again and I don’t, until Holiday prances back to the car and knocks on the window, interrupting.

  “Are you two coming?” As soon as we hear her voice our lips repel like opposite magnets, but it’s too late. She’s spotted us smooching. “Never mind. Carry on,” she says with a wink and the flicker of a devious smile in our direction before retreating to the club’s entrance.

  “We should probably…”

  “Yeah,” Nick agrees.

  “Wait—” I interrupt. “Before we go in there together … before we start anything again, I have to tell you something.” He looks at me quizzically. “Full disclosure, I used your Doheny Circle membership a few months ago,” I confess. I continue before he has the chance to speak so he knows I wasn’t trying to take advantage of him just to hang out at the swanky spot. “Holiday had told me she would hire me if I could get her on the cover of Style & Trend Magazine and after I exhausted all of my other options I used the membership to make it look like I haphazardly ran into Gwendolyn Ross.” I’m eyeballing Nick, anticipating his reaction, but he gives me nothing and makes me sweat it out for some of the longest fifteen seconds of my life.

  “I know,” he says with his bewitching eyes, which are full of compassion.

  “You do?”

  “Of course. Doheny Circle e-mails the primary member every time the membership is used.” I look away from Nick, part embarrassed but mostly too vulnerable to continue looking into his eyes. He takes his forefinger to my chin and swivels my face back around to his. “It’s okay.” I nod, not sure what I would say if I were to speak. “I appreciate you telling me, though,” he continues.

  “I have a confession to make too,” he announces. I covertly cross my fingers on my far hand near my hip, hoping he isn’t about to tell me he wants to do this but then lists the reasons why he can’t.

  “That day you came to my office…” He pauses, and I want to scream at him to spit it out! “It took everything inside of me to keep our meeting professional and not grab you and kiss you.”

  “Really? You were so distant until I told you about Compassionate Celebrities and quitting The Life.”

  “It was all an act. I was overcompensating.” He smiles. “I was a child star, remember? And I couldn’t help but stare at your ass when you walked out.”

  “I knew it!” I’m about to give him shit but he leans into my ear.

  “I love you, Ella Warren.”

  “I love you, too,” I whisper.

  Nick kisses me again and our necking continues until we are interrupted by the bright flashes from the paparazzi. We remove our lips from each other’s.

  “Here’s looking at you, kid,” he says as he helps me out of the car. When I exit, I realize that we are at Ambiance. Well, what used to be Ambiance. It really is true, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

  We catch up to Holiday and Tristan just in time to zip past the doorman—a new guy I’ve never seen. I wonder if he’d let me in if I were coming to work and not Holiday’s guest? I’m beyond grateful I don’t have to find out.

  A cocktail waitress leads us through the club and I gasp. Visually, it’s as if Ambiance had never existed. The interior was gutted, remodeled, and revamped, and it being a metaphor for Bella isn’t lost on me. On the way to the VIP section I spot my nemesis from The Life, the snobby girl that was my competition … and she’s with Pixie Haircut Hostess from the Chateau Marmont! The two girls trade sipping their cocktails for sneering at me as I waltz through the club. They are here together? And are friends? It dawns on me … now it all makes sense. The snobby girl and I had been neck and neck in points the whole time and she wanted to dispose of her competition. She must have been the person who was leaking gossip to Pixie Haircut Hostess and who ratted me out. Any hint of anger I would’ve had is replaced with gratitude. The snobby girl thought she was ruining me when in fact she helped save me. I give them an enormous fuck-you smile as I’m escorted past them.

  We reach our table in the VIP section and I instinctually slide into the reu
pholstered banquette. Nick scoots next to me. Our waitress opens a bottle of Ace of Spades champagne and hands us each a flute.

  “No Veuve or Dom?” I ask Holiday.

  “New start, new champagne.” She winks.

  I look around at the other tables in our roped-off section. I guess you can take the girl out of the job but in some ways it will always be with me. The VIP area is full of the usual suspects but it seems like all eyes are on Holiday tonight. As I continue glancing around my eye catches a table kitty-corner from ours. It’s Anaeliese, the woman who threw herself at Nick during Holiday’s dinner months ago, and she’s shamelessly hanging all over Older Multi-Oscar-Winning Womanizer. She’s pulling from her usual repertoire, kissing his neck, whispering in his ear, and letting her hands explore every inch of him that’s appropriate in public. His gaze happens to land on me and his face softens. He recognizes me. Then he spots Nick and gives me a reverent nod, an acknowledgment he was wrong about us. I nod back at him with a grin and raise my glass toward him. Anaeliese is frustrated that he isn’t fawning all over her for thirty seconds and looks my way to learn what’s distracting Older Multi-Oscar-Winning Womanizer from her. When she notices it’s me she gives me major side-eye then returns her attention back to Older Multi-Oscar-Winning Womanizer. She doesn’t even bother to come over and offer Holiday any congratulations on her success or well wishes for her new show. Her only concern is continuing her social climbing.

  “I’d like to propose a toast,” I announce. I raise my glass. Everyone follows my lead and moves in closer to hear me over the music. “To Holiday, the only woman who can drink like a fish, fuck like a man, swear like a sailor, and still be the classiest lady in the room.” Holiday purses her lips as Tristan puts his arm around her and kisses her on the cheek. We’re about to clink glasses and drink but Nick chimes in.

  “And to the success of Benedict Canyon!”

  We clink again and Nick places another soft peck on my lips. We rest our backs on the banquette and I snuggle into the nook between his shoulder and his neck that I’ve longed for since we split. Neither of us can stop smiling, as if tonight is our first meeting. And in some ways it is. We’ve never been out together when I could be only Ella. Our lovers’ daze is interrupted when I blink my eyes and notice Holiday pick up the champagne bottle, ready to take a swig. I return to publicist mode and leap from my seat to rip it from her hands.