Party Girl (6 page)

“I don’t know if I’m up for going out,” I say dejectedly.

“Oh no, you need a drink! You look exactly like Clari when she found out she couldn’t make out with Jace anymore because he was actually her brother.”

“I’m embarrassed that I recognize that reference.” The elevator doors open, and we both get inside.

“Why is that embarrassing? Those books are epic.” Miko hits the elevator button. “Though I do sometimes wish I didn’t get so addicted to YA series. I mean, it’s like book after book filled with heavy petting, and all I want the characters to do is get it on. It’s so frustrating!” Miko says, rifling through the giant neon bag she has slung over her shoulder.

“I guess you could stop reading YA,” I try helpfully.

“It’s a love story about teenage half-angel warriors . . . I’m not made of stone.” She says this through a giggle, like it’s the most absurd thing I could ever suggest. She finally finds the lip balm she’s looking for and dabs it on her lips.

“OK, where are we getting the drink?” I ask, watching as she drops the balm back into the black hole of clutter in her bag.

I will never understand how people can live with such chaos. The inside of my bag is a collection of smaller bags, each with its own special purpose in the organizational hierarchy.

“You get to choose; you’re the one who got dream-crushed today.” Miko opens the door to the lobby and lets us out onto the sidewalk. It’s early October, and back home it’s already chilly, but here it still feels tepid. We walk along the sidewalk in silence.

“What do you mean I got dream-crushed?” I ask.

Miko takes a deep breath.

“I mean that today you learned that this job isn’t what you thought it was going to be. I mean that you can already tell how terrible Selah is, and it’s only day two. That makes you wonder what that means she’s like on day 22 or day 137. It means you realized that you’re working for one of the worst people you’ll likely ever meet and that you understand if you want whatever future you dreamed up for yourself, you’re going to have to keep working for her for the foreseeable future. You had a vision for the way this was all going to go down, and today that got blown to hell and back.”

She finishes succinctly: “
Dream-crushed
.”

I stare down at my heels eating up the pavement beneath me.

“That sounds about right,” I finally concede.

“Yep. Let’s find you some vodka!”

Since I haven’t actually been out yet in LA, I pick the only place I even know the name of.

Gander, as it turns out, is a restaurant inside the Buchanan.The large wraparound bar that services both the restaurant and the hotel lobby at large is gigantic and sleek and surrounded by an eclectic mix of people who can afford the overpriced cocktails. It’s a place to see and be seen and the ideal locale for anyone starting or ending a night in Hollywood. I’m thankful I haven’t picked out something supremely cheesy, and I owe my knowledge of this cool location to the gorgeous but annoyed-looking bartender rocking a now perfectly styled pixie cut behind the bar.

Max looks up from the cocktail she is mixing just as Miko and I find seats at the bar. She calls down to me.

“You finally decided to come in?”

She is dressed the same as all the other bartenders here: skinny jeans, tight linen button-down shirt, thin suspenders. If I were wearing the uniform, I’d look like the ride operator on Big Thunder Mountain. On Max it looks flawless.

“Desperate times,” I reply as she walks over.

“What can I get you guys?” Max asks.

Miuko pipes up. “Any kind of cocktail involving liquor, and then we’ll also need a sidecar of more liquor. I’m Miko by the way,” she says, tossing her neon bag onto the floor at her feet.

“Bad day?” Max is already pulling unknown ingredients from below the bar to mix us something.

“Decidedly not the best day I’ve ever had,” I sigh.

“I told you she’s an asshole,” Max says.

“You did in fact.”

“How’d you know she’s an asshole?” Miko asks.

“I know some guys who’ve worked with her,” Max answers while sliding us two tall, sleek shot glasses filled with an opaque pink liquid.

“What’s this?” I ask, sniffing the shot dubiously.

“A new creation. I call it Cereal Milk. It tastes just like milk left at the bottom of the cereal bowl. You seem like a pink-shot kind of girl.” Max’s voice is sharp but her smile is teasing. I’m beginning to suspect her bark is worse than her bite.

I smile at my shot and the girl who made it, then down it in one swallow. She’s right; it tastes exactly like cereal milk.

“This is delicious!” Miko sips on hers gingerly.

“It is delicious. How’d you come up with that?”

Max shrugs. “It’s slow sometimes in the late afternoon, and I have to fill up the time.”

“Well, I’ll have another.” Miko slams her now empty glass on the countertop.

“And I’d like another drink too, just not this exactly.” I smile at her. “Can I have a Jack rocks?”

Max looks surprised, but then the shock fades into the first real grin she’s ever given me.

“Well, well, well, Miss Landon, I’d never have pegged you for a Jack girl.” She pulls the bottle off the glass shelf behind her.

“I was born and raised in a dry county . . . Had to get your alcohol content in hard and fast.”

Max holds up an ice cube at the end of small tongs. I hold up two fingers in response. She drops the cubes in the finger of whiskey and sets it down in front of me.

“There may just be hope for you yet.”

“There is. There definitely is hope . . . There is also some slight depression mixed with disillusionment and maybe the teensiest bit of dark thoughts,” Miko agrees, studying me along with my roommate.

“And how do you know that?” I ask.

“Because I’ve competed as a tribute in the Games myself.” Miko’s gaze moves from me to her empty glass. She nudges it towards Max with her index finger. Max takes the hint and starts to make her another one.

“You’re right . . . I’m definitely bummed out.” I look down into my glass. “But my mama always said you can get mad and happy in the same pants.”

I raise my glass to both of them in salute and down a hearty swallow. I don’t even wince as it washes down my throat. Jack and I are old friends.

“What the hell does that mean?” Max sets the new shot down in front of Miko.

“It means that I refuse to let this get me down. I’ve worked too hard to get here; I won’t be detoured. I’ll find a way to get through this and come out the other side better for it. I
will
impress Selah. I
will
get promoted. I
will
start my own event-planning firm and have a feature in
InStyle
. I’ll do it all!”

I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince them or myself.

“Oh man.” Max shakes her head slowly.

“I know, right?” Miko agrees, even though Max didn’t actually make a statement.

“Oh man, what?” I ask, confused.

“This town is going to chew you up and spit you out.” Max is still shaking her head.

Miko is using one hand to prop up her head on the bar, but she’s nodding along with Max now. “It’s a definite possibility.”

I consider their words for a moment, and then a smile slowly curves my lips. Both of them stare at me like I’m going insane, but then they don’t know me yet. They don’t know that my parents lost four babies before I was born two months too early. They don’t know that because I was a preemie, I’ve always been the littlest kid in every class and have had to fight for acceptance for as long as I’ve been alive. They don’t know that I’ve been doubted since the moment I was born, and because of that nothing,
nothing
, motivates me more than someone telling me I
can’t
do something.

My smile is a Cheshire-Cat grin now.

“Oh, girls, you have no idea how much I’m gonna enjoy proving you both wrong.” I wink and knock back the rest of my drink.

Chapter FIVE

I walk into the office the next morning wearing an all-black version of a Catholic schoolgirl uniform, complete with Mary Janes. It’s not a look I’d ever gravitate to but, like I said, my options are limited. It hadn’t looked
that
bad when I stared at it in the full-length mirror on my closet door, but as I walk through the office I feel like a moron on parade.

I’ve got to go shopping!

“Walker needs you this morning,” McKenna directs me before I’m even all the way into his office.

“OK.” I drop my bag under the chair in the corner. “Walker is . . .”

“Production,” he sighs. “You should know that by now.”

“Sorry. I’ll make flash cards or something,” I grumble.

I swear McKenna’s lip quivers in an almost-smile, but then he turns his head and gets a load of my ensemble.

“Holy Britney! Where’d you dig up this outfit?”

“Do you need anything before I go?” I ask, ignoring the jibe.

“I’d tell you if I did.” He turns back to his computer.

I run to the kitchen quickly for a coffee fix and then hurry down to the end of the large room where I see Miko clustered around a desk with a few other people. Today Miko is wearing little black shorts over black tights, an oversize black blouse, a black tuxedo jacket, and faded black Converse. As I walk up I hear her talking to the group.

“I like this better; it feels more nautical.”

“Totally. I’ll handle it, thanks.” I recognize the light-haired girl from the meeting the day before.

The small cluster breaks up, having come to a conclusion, and I step up.

“Hi, I’m looking for Walker.” I smile at them.

“Walker, this is Brinkley,” Miko says to the light-haired girl.

“Brinkley, I’m so grateful we have your help today. We’re working on the programs for Saturday, and I need some help with production.” Walker flashes me a small smile.

Programs? How exciting! I can’t wait to see how we make something here!

“Of course. Anything you need,” I tell her.

Walker holds out a program to me.

Back home we have programs at weddings. Usually the couple will print them out on card stock . . . Something designed on their computer at home with pictures of themselves and a list of the bridal party and the songs they’re playing at the wedding. The program in my hands is like the daddy of those back-home programs.

No, that’s not the right explanation. It’s like the father of this program was an oil baron and he married a Rockefeller, and they had the richest, classiest baby program ever. That’s what I’m holding in my hands.

The thick navy-blue paper shimmers a little with the light. It’s been folded over itself to create a rectangle about the size of a business envelope.
Ari
is embossed in gold in the middle, and the whole thing is held together by a thin white rope tied with a really cool little knot. I can tell there’s paper inside, but I wouldn’t dare open it. I’m hesitant to drop it, it’s so fancy. It’s nautical and masculine and so awesome-looking!

“This is the knot we decided on,” Walker says, pointing to the little white rope. “It’s called the single carrick bend. You can see how I did it here.” She hands me a computer printout that shows the steps necessary to create the intricate knot. “You want to try one?” She hands me a new program and a length of white rope.

It’s not really a question. She looks at me expectantly, and Miko looks along with her.

OK.

I put the finished program and the directions down on Walker’s desk and follow them awkwardly. It takes me a few tries, and it’s kind of stressful with them watching, but eventually I create something similar to the perfect example Walker has made. I hold it out to them for inspection. Walker reaches out and adjusts it a little.

“You see, if you pull here it’ll look a bit neater,” she says while she works.

“OK, thanks.” I study the way her fingers adjust the knot.

“Great. You can help us tie these then.” She stands and starts walking towards the production room, and Miko and I follow her.

Once we step inside I’m immediately overwhelmed by the flurry of activity and the scent of flowers. One whole side of the room is lined with high worktables at which four women are working with what looks like thousands of white flowers. Tons of buckets overflowing with roses cover the floor around them. They work quickly, cutting stems and removing leaves, prepping them for something great, I’m sure.

I’m so spellbound by the flower production line that I don’t even see where I’m following Walker. I turn around just in time to avoid running into her. She’s standing in front of worktables covered with stacks upon stacks upon stacks of shimmery navy-blue rectangles. Next to those rectangles are box after box of short lengths of little white rope. It takes a minute for my brain to catch up to my eyes and realize I’m looking at my very own production line of hundreds of unfinished programs. My mouth falls open.

“You can pull over one of those stools.” Walker gestures towards the floral side of the room. “I’ll be back in a while to check on you.”

I nod absentmindedly.

I shouldn’t ask, but I have to know.

“How . . . How many guests are you expecting?” I try and sound casual.

“Uh, I think we’re at 417 last count, right, Jin?” Walker asks.

I look over at Miko, who’s not even trying to hide her smile. I realize now that she’s followed us here just to see the look on my face when I realize the amount of rope tying I’ll be doing today.

“That’s right, but you know Selah always wants extra just in case, so I’m guessing there’s five hundred here. Better get at it, sailor.” She actually salutes me.

Both of them turn to leave, and I look down at the now wrinkled computer printout of maritime knot-tying directions in my hands.

Excuse my language, but it’s gonna be a long-ass day.

Later that afternoon, around I don’t know what time, Miko shows up at my worktable with a brown bag in one hand and a to-go coffee cup in the other.

“I’ve brought provisions,” she says, setting them both down in front of me.

“God bless you!” I grab the coffee and take a sip. The sugary nirvana of a pumpkin spice latte permeates me all the way down to my toes, and I feel a million times better. In the bag is a sandwich wrap. I don’t even look to see what kind it is before I take a gigantic bite.

“You know, one of the perks about being on program duty is that no one is looking over your shoulder,” Miko says, leaning one of her slim hips against the table. “You could leave to get yourself food and caffeine. No one would notice if you were gone for a few minutes.”

“I’ve only finished 174. I don’t have time to leave.” I talk between bites. “Plus with my luck I’d leave at the exact moment they come to check on me.”

“This is true; your luck is pretty bad. I mean, in only a few days here you’ve seen Selah go full-bitch at least twice that I know of. Then the Ken doll fries your synapses and now you’re earning your knot-tying patch.” She fiddles with a loose piece of rope in the box.

“Ken doll?” I shove the last of the wrap into my mouth.

“Brody Ashton. I saw you dealing with the two of them yesterday. Being trapped by that much combined gorgeousness isn’t good for anyone’s self-esteem.”

“You saw that?” I wipe my hands on a napkin from the bag.

“Of course I saw that! Anyone with a functioning uterus eye-banged him all the way across the room.”

“I guess,” I mutter, picking up another piece of rope to tie.

Miko leans down to get a better look at my face.

“Well, now I know you’re full of it! Only a blind woman wouldn’t find him sexy as hell, and even then the guide dog would lead her to him!” She giggles.

“I guess he’s just not my type.” I continue to work on my knot with the tips of my now-raw fingers.

“He’s
everyone’s
type. Even I’d give him a go, and I hate blondes.”

“Thanks,” I say, mock offended.

“You’re the exception to the rule, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s gorgeous and wildly successful. And if rumor is to be believed, he only dates Victoria’s Secret models. Why do you think she wants him so badly?”

“His superhuman ability to attract both man and beast isn’t reason enough?” I ask, bemused.

“One of the first things you will learn about your new boss is that she cares about appearance first and foremost. Brody is the toy that all the other kids want to own, so obviously Selah wants to be the one to lock him down. He’s a fill-in-the-blank . . . It could be a purse, a car, a trip, a new pair of shoes. She’s constantly in pursuit of shiny things, and well, he’s very shiny.”

Selah’s pursuit or Brody’s prowess or both aren’t any of my business or concern. I shrug one shoulder, my own way of saying
I don’t care either way
. I have ropes to tie.

“How many now?” Miko asks, throwing away my lunch trash for me.

“One hundred seventy-six.” I sigh, continuing to work on the knot.

“I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to completely redesign the lounge layout for Saturday now. Don’t ask me why.” She turns to go.

“Miko, thank you for lunch.” I smile at her. “I have no idea why you’re so nice to me, but I really, really appreciate it.”

Miko stops a few feet away and smiles back at me. “Landon, I’m nice because I like you and because I used to
be
you. And when I was you, I was always,
always
, starving and thirsty and afraid to leave to pee.”

“Really?” I ask shyly.

“Really. Someday you’ll buy a newbie intern a latte, and the circle of life will be complete.”

She throws a nonchalant peace sign over her shoulder and saunters away and out the door. On the other side of the room, the floral ladies are still at it, only now someone is blasting the Bee Gees station on Pandora, and they’re all humming along.

I turn back to my programs feeling infinitely better. If Miko used to be a lowly, losery intern like me and is now the coolest person I know, then surely there’s hope for me too.

Only 322 more ropes to tie.

I finish the programs around nine thirty that night. Apparently, Selah doesn’t like anything to be finished last minute. I have to admit that I agree with the idea . . . in the light of day. But this night I’m not feeling very generous during the last hour of work. When I finally do stumble my way out of the production-room door, I am shocked to find the office still alive with people. I’m somewhat mollified by the idea that everyone else is hustling to finish their own projects just like I am . . . everyone except Selah, of course. She clearly doesn’t stay late when she has droves of minions to stay for her.

When I come in the next morning I’m down to the last conceivable all-black ensemble I can pull off. I’ve got on black skinny jeans, black ballet flats, and a plain black T-shirt. The shirt is sort of schlumpy and something I’d never normally be caught dead in outside of the house, but I compensated with a pretty red lip stain and a few more lashes than I’d normally wear . . . A girl’s got to get her glam in where she can.

As I pass by the angry receptionist—whose name is Ambrose, by the way—I am surprised by the quiet in the office. I’d expected the pandemonium of pre-event chaos to greet me, but it looks like half the staff isn’t even here.

I stop by Miko’s desk on my way back to the small office.

“Where is everyone?” I ask, setting a latte down on her desk.

“At the load-in. What’s this?” She taps the latte with her pen.

“Repayment beverage. Today we’re going to try a red-velvet latte.” I’m sipping on my own.

“Thanks! I’ve been here since six, and I’m hanging on by a thread. Also, I do love thousand-calorie coffees,” she says, sniffing the drink through the hole in the lid.

“Well, since it’s likely the only thing I’ll eat today, and you can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, I thought we’d be OK.”

“A valid point.” She sips her drink with relish. “This is amazing!”

“I know, right?” I turn to head to the office.

“I’m headed to the load-in to oversee setup.” She starts throwing random things from her desk into her already-overstuffed bag. “But I’ll catch you later.”