Saved by the Celebutante

by Kirsty McManus

  “Oh. Your ad didn’t mention that.”

  “Didn’t it? Sorry. I thought it did. You’re a carnivore then, I take it?”

  “Um, I guess. I don’t eat a lot of red meat, but I do eat chicken and fish.’

  “Ugh. No, I cannot have you cooking fish in here. The place would stink. I’m afraid that’s a non-negotiable.”

  “All right, well can I at least have a look around before I consider changing my diet?” I joke.

  She fixes me with a stare before finally shrugging. “Fine. The bathroom is over there.” She points to the only solid internal wall in the apartment. “And there’s the kitchen, dining and living.”

  “What’s on the other side of that curtain?”

  “My studio. It’s off limits to everyone but me.”

  I take a quick peek. “It’s quite a large space.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Nothing.” Unless you want me to pay half the rent.

  I quietly venture around the different parts of the apartment and decide it actually isn’t too bad. Helen has put some lovely black and white artwork on the walls and appears to own a lot of designer kitchenware. Only I’m not sure I could live with someone so serious.

  “Are you negotiable on the rent?”

  “No,” she says defensively. “It’s more than fair.”

  Which makes me wonder whether she’s trying to get me to pay more than half for less than an equal share of the space.

  “How much do you pay each month?” I ask.

  A guilty look flashes across her face. I can see her mentally trying to double what she advertised in her listing.

  “Forget it,” I say, fed up. “I’m not interested anymore.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

  I let myself out and hope this isn’t indicative of the type of people I’ll be meeting.

  As I walk to Susan’s, my phone beeps with a text from Brad.

  Come by in half an hour if you want to check out the place.

  Great. Might as well get them all out of the way this afternoon.

  Susan answers the door to her apartment, and it’s as I suspected. She claimed to be mid-thirties in her ad, but she’s definitely late forties. Either that, or she’s smoked a pack a day since she was twelve. Her skin is almost as bad as Tan Mom’s.

  “Hi there,” she says in a voice reminiscent of Mrs. Wolowitz in The Big Bang Theory.

  “Uh, hi. You’re Susan?”

  “Sure am. Come in and check out the place.”

  I head into a dingy old two bedroom apartment that smells like cat pee and hasn’t had its furniture updated since the seventies. In fact, I think my grandmother has that exact same coffee table with the yellow tiles on top.

  “So have you been advertising for long?” I ask, hesitantly looking around.

  “A couple of months,” she admits. “I just haven’t found the right tenant yet.”

  I get the impression no one has ventured further than the front door in that time.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” I figure I should at least be polite.

  She looks surprised. “Uh, I guess. When were you looking to move in?”

  “Within the month. But I mean, do you want to know anything about my background? You know employment…or lifestyle?”

  “Oh, right. Um…you won’t be bringing men home every night or anything, will you?”

  I smile. “No, I’m newly separated. I won’t be bringing men home every night.”

  She almost looks disappointed. Then her face lights up. “Hey, do you happen to watch Cheers?”

  “The TV show about the bar?”

  “Yes!”

  “It’s okay. I mean it ended over twenty years ago, so I haven’t watched it for a while. They play reruns sometimes though, don’t they?”

  “Yes! But I have the entire box set! I’ve watched it seven times and I’m just about to start on the eighth.”

  I shudder. “Wow. You must be a big fan, huh?”

  “Oh, that Sam Malone is so dishy. Do you know I once saw him in LA?”

  “You mean Ted Danson?”

  “No, I mean Sam Malone!” She looks at me like I’m crazy. “I called out to him on the street, but I don’t think he heard me. He’d changed his hair color too. Personally, I think he looks better dark.”

  “Riiight.” I realize I might not be dealing with a full deck of cards here.

  “So do you want to take a look at your room?” she asks eagerly.

  “Er, actually, I didn’t know the building was so far away from my office,” I fib. “I’m not sure this is going to work out.”

  “Oh, okay.” Her face falls. I feel bad, but there’s no way I’m moving in with someone just because I feel sorry for them.

  I shuffle backwards towards the door. “Good luck finding someone.”

  She watches me leave, her expression crestfallen.

  Back out on the street, I breathe in the fresh air. That poor woman. Thinking Sam Malone is a real person.

  I almost cancel the last appointment, but I’m only a couple of blocks away, so I figure I might as well go while I’m here.

  The last place turns out to be a house. A rather large one. I have to double check the details on my phone because I can’t believe it’s the address I’m looking for.

  I ring the doorbell and wait. Wow. It’s gorgeous. The outside is painted a warm cream with navy trims. It looks to be three stories high if you count the garage at the bottom, and there is a curved bay window on the first floor. It’s like something out of a Lifetime family movie.

  The door opens and I laugh in surprise.

  Brad was a colleague of mine at Perry Tyler.

  He looks confused for a second, clearly wondering why I’m on his doorstep.

  “Chrissie?”

  I smile nervously. “I didn’t know it was you Brad in the ad.”

  His face registers what I’m saying, and then he chuckles. “You’re here about the room?”

  “I was. But I completely understand if this is too weird for you.”

  “No, no. Come in! Hey, aren’t you married?”

  “I take it you weren’t there the day I had my little outburst at the office?”

  “I was away on vacation in Hawaii. But now that you mention it, I did overhear the tail end of a conversation between two of the admin chicks…something about a video of you at a nightclub?”

  I knew it!

  “That’s all you heard?”

  “I don’t pay attention to office gossip. Most of it’s exaggerated anyway.”

  I grimace. “I’m afraid what happened to me doesn’t need to be exaggerated.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse.”

  “Okay then. Come in and take a look around. Hey, do you want a drink?”

  “What have you got?”

  “Beer?”

  I check my watch. It’s not even twelve. Ah, to hell with it.

  “Perfect.”

  He heads over to a very sophisticated kitchen and opens the fridge, which is stainless steel and has an ice machine built into the door.

  I admire the shiny granite countertop separating us. “Do you own this house?”

  “It actually belongs to my parents, but they’re living in France right now. I think they might retire there, so I basically have the run of the place. My friend Will is in one room, but I want to go back to Hawaii next summer, so I thought I’d advertise for another roomie in order to save money more quickly. And in case you’re wondering, yes, I also pay rent.”

  He says it like he’s worried I’ll think he’s a slacker. How adorable.

  I shoot him a teasing grin. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. But it’s nice to know you’re not a financial drain on your parents.”

  Brad hands me a can of beer, and I try to imagine what life would be like here. At twenty-five, Brad is quite a bit younger than me, but he’s a nice guy. We didn’t really work on any projects tog
ether, but whenever I passed him in the hall, he always came across as professional and easy-going.

  “Would you want a middle aged woman cramping your style?”

  “Ha! Are you kidding? Chrissie, you are not middle-aged. Will and I would be lucky to have you.”

  “You don’t have to try and make me feel better.” I know I’m fishing for compliments, but come on. When you’ve been through something as soul-crushing as I have, you’ll take the ego-boost wherever you can.

  “No! It’s true. I mean, look at you.” He waves his hand up and down in front of my outfit.

  I am so glad I made the effort now.

  “Well, thank you. That’s very sweet.”

  His phone beeps from the counter. I watch as he reads the message, shuts it off again and then looks back at me.

  “Sorry, that was just Becky. She might be coming over later.”

  “Who’s Becky?”

  “Oh, just a friend,” he says vaguely. “Anyway, if you like the place, feel free to move in right away.”

  “Are you sure? I might have to sort out my finances first. Would it be okay if it wasn’t for a few weeks?”

  “Whatever you want to do. But seriously, if you need somewhere now, you don’t have to pay rent until you can afford it.”

  “That’s very generous of you, but I’ll work something out.”

  “I really don’t mind. It would be nice to already know the person moving in. I’ve shared with some crazy people. For example, I once had a roommate who stole my clothes, but I could never confront him because he was so sneaky about it.”

  “Well, I’m not your size, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Oh, and you wouldn’t believe the guy I interviewed just before you. He was a Hare Krishna and every time he said something, he would end the sentence with hare, hare, hare. It was like he had Tourette’s or something.”

  I giggle. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but that would be pretty off-putting.”

  “Tell me about it. So you would be a dream. Unless of course you have some fetish I don’t know about.”

  “Ah, no.” That would be my husband.

  “Well, that’s a relief. How about I give you a tour of the place?”

  “Sure.”

  He casually walks me through the house, pointing out the various rooms and facilities.

  “This would be your room,” he explains, entering a doorway down the hall on the right.

  “Where’s yours?” I ask lightly.

  “Just on the other side of this wall.”

  Interesting.

  The room is huge. Bigger than the one I shared with Corey, and furnished nicely. The carpet is pale gray and feels soft, even with my shoes on. The bed is a modern Asian design, and the furniture is slightly eclectic, but high quality.

  “You get your own bathroom.” He indicates another door on the far wall. “But we’d be sharing a kitchen and laundry.”

  I do a happy twirl. “I love it! I’m going to go home and work out a budget that allows me to move in ASAP.”

  “Awesome. Well, I’m glad we can help each other out.”

  “Do you think Will is going to be okay with someone else moving in?”

  “He’ll be fine. He’s chill. I think you’ll like him.”

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t meet first?”

  “Nah. It’s technically my place so I get to decide who lives here.”

  “All right, so you have my cell number just in case you need to contact me, and I obviously already have yours. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Roomie.”

  I head home feeling cautiously optimistic. All I have to do now is rustle up the money to pay for the first month’s rent and make sure Corey gets a roommate of his own.

  There might just be hope for me yet.

  NINE

  I call Corey multiple times over the next week to follow up on the roommate suggestion without any luck. Uri mentioned that legally I should be compensated if I am unable to live in my own apartment, so at least I know I can go to court if I absolutely have to – but I’d prefer to try and resolve the issue amicably first. I’ll just give Corey a few more days. He could be away. Or busy with work. Hopefully he isn’t deliberately ignoring me.

  I want to move in with Brad so badly, I spend a considerable amount of time trying to figure out whether it’s possible for me to do it and still pay my half of the mortgage. Staying at Penny’s is nice, but it makes me feel like a failure. Living with Brad and Will is exactly what I need to start afresh and move on with my life.

  After some creative budgeting, I conclude if I live on rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner, I can just about afford it. I think that’s a fair sacrifice. And at least I won’t get fat.

  I move into Brad’s that weekend.

  And then miracle of miracles, just as I’ve lugged the last of my boxes into my new bedroom, Corey finally calls. I answer the phone, dreading the conversation after our last one, but forging ahead anyway.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says. “I agree it’s not fair for you to pay for a place you’re not living in, so I’ll cover the mortgage until we sell.”

  He doesn’t explain why he hasn’t been in touch sooner, and I don’t want to rock the boat, so I don’t ask.

  “Can you afford that?” I can’t help but wonder about his ten grand credit card debt.

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Are you sure? I feel bad leaving you with the full financial burden. Wouldn’t it be better if you got someone in the spare room?”

  “No. I’d rather not share with a stranger. Honestly, it’s fine. I might need you to chip in for repairs and property taxes, but just leave the rest to me. Enjoy your new place, and I really hope things work out for you.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about this conversation. Corey can be quite generous at times, but this is going above and beyond. Especially considering how stand-offish he’s been recently. But then maybe it’s his way of apologizing for his behavior.

  “So do you think we should go through with the divorce?” I figure I should try and broach the subject while he’s being so open.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he says, his magnanimous tone suddenly disappearing.

  “Well, are you going to talk to a lawyer? It takes six months to process, so we shouldn’t wait for too much longer.”

  “There’s no hurry, is there?”

  “I guess not. But why put it off? Unless you think we should get counselling first?”

  “I don’t think counselling will help.”

  “Okay, well then call me after you’ve talked to your lawyer and we’ll arrange the paperwork.”

  “Sure. Hey, sorry but I have to go. Talk soon.”

  I hang up, feeling disconcerted. The conversation went exactly as I’d hoped, so why do I get the impression I’m missing something?

  Oh well. I don’t have time to focus on that right now. The mortgage issue is sorted, so now I can focus all my energy on Kahlua’s baby food launch.

  In between all the packing and unpacking, I am still madly working for my celebrity boss. We’ve set the launch date for a month’s time, and there is still a lot that needs to be done before then.

  As part of the agreed strategy, Kahlua and I are in the process of revamping her image. This includes everything from her appearance to her perceived intellect.

  My first suggestion was to use her real name, which happens to be Gia King. At first, she was quite resistant to the change, claiming that no one would know who she was. But when I pointed out that having the word Kahlua on a baby food item wasn’t exactly a sensible marketing move, she came around. We’ve also staged a series of daytime talk show interviews so we can officially reintroduce her while talking about the baby food.

  The press are loving it. I knew they would. Everyone appreciates a good makeover story. I even hired a fashion designer I knew from my time at Perry Tyler to create a whole new signature wardrob
e for Gia. I asked him to use Blake Lively for inspiration. Now she has a bunch of tasteful skirts, pants and dresses. I also recommended she avoid wearing any clothing that exposed her butt or revealed too much cleavage for the next few months. I personally don’t care about that kind of thing, but some moms can be judgmental, and if Gia wants to appeal to a wide audience, she needs to be a bit more conservative.

  The last step in her transformation was getting her hair chopped into a cute girl-next-door style. After we added in a few honey lowlights, I was confident that Gia would now give Jennifer Aniston a run for her money in the likeability stakes.

  ***

  By the time the launch finally arrives, I am feeling like we might actually pull this whole thing off.

  Gia is getting dozens of requests to appear on all the major radio shows. Not to mention all the columns she’s been offered to guest write. She’s been in greater demand these past few weeks than in the rest of her career to date.

  I plan to meet Gia at the Grand Ballroom at the Omni at seven. I’m the MC, and I’ll also be responsible for ensuring everything runs smoothly. This will be one of the biggest moments of my career, and I am absolutely petrified.

  Just as I’m getting ready to leave, Will comes out of his room and slams the door behind him.

  I’ve now been living in this house for four weeks and I am yet to have a proper conversation with my second roommate. While Brad and I have settled in to an easy-going relationship, the same can’t be said for me and Will. The guy spends most of his time in his room or out of the house. He doesn’t strike me as a very social person. I’m not sure why Brad is even friends with him.

  He storms into the living room and throws himself on the couch, flicking on the TV.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask tentatively.

  “I fucking hate my job,” he snarls.

  “Oh. So I take it you have to work tonight?”

  “Yeah. Bar work sucks.”

  “Why do you do it then?”

  “Because I don’t have a choice. I used to have an awesome job, but then my boss fucking fired me for no reason and I had no money, so I had to take a position in a shitty bar just to pay rent.”