Saved by the Celebutante (14 page)

We cruise through the iconic scenery down the winding road that leads into the village in the valley. It’s a crystal clear day, and the mountaintops are all sharply in focus. I’m starting to feel a little queasy again, but the crisp scent of the surrounding trees helps slightly.

We find a car park and get out to stretch our legs while we wait for the shuttle bus.

Brad buys a couple of bottles of water and loads them into his daypack. I feel like a tourist, which I suppose I am. I’ve only been to Yosemite a few times, mostly just with Penny. Our parents aren’t really outdoorsy people, and Corey definitely isn’t. His idea of roughing it is staying in a three-star hotel.

It’s only now that I realize I haven’t spoken to Mom and Dad since the whole Corey thing happened. We’re not very close, and they didn’t even come to the wedding because we kind of eloped, but I should at least let them know my marriage is over. They probably won’t care. They’re a bit strange that way. I’m not sure what they were thinking when they had kids, but I’m certain they regretted it. Sometimes I think they only had Penny so they could give me someone for company. As soon as we were old enough, they moved to Florida and made it very obvious we weren’t invited.

I often wonder if that’s why I always wanted a big family of my own – to make up for the lack of a proper one when I was younger.

I mentally shake myself. It’s too nice a day to be thinking like this. There will be plenty of time to psychoanalyze myself later.

The shuttle arrives to take us to the mountain track near Vernal Fall. We drive along the valley floor for a few minutes with a handful of other tourists.

We all get out at the base of the mountain and set off up the track. Brad leads the way, and we hike in silence, absorbing the sounds of nature and trying to tune out the loud voices of our fellow hikers.

The fall drowns out the people noise the higher we get, and when we reach the top, it’s surprisingly uncrowded. Brad and I find a flat rock to sit on while we rest and rehydrate, listening to the water rushing over the cliff.

“How awesome is this?” Brad breathes.

“So awesome. I’d forgotten how much I love doing this kind of thing.”

I stand up and look out over the railing at the edge closest to the waterfall. The steep rock faces on either side of us form a V-shape. When I direct my gaze downwards, I can see a misty spray rising several feet in the air.

This is nice.

My phone rings again.

“Shit,” I hiss.

I yank it out of my pack and see that the caller ID is Corey. Again.

“Do you want to answer that?” Brad asks.

I look at the phone, frustrated. “No, I do not want to fucking answer that.” In a sudden fit of frustration, I hurl the phone over the edge of the cliff. I’m not sure if it falls in the water or smashes on the rocks below, but either way, it’s gone.

“Uh, that was a bit dramatic,” Brad says. “Couldn’t you have switched it off like a normal person?”

“Sorry,” I say, coming to my senses. “I just wanted to enjoy
one
day without thinking about Corey every five minutes.”

“Maybe we should go,” he suggests.

“No! We’re going to have fun, even if it kills me!”

He raises an eyebrow and joins me at the edge of the fall, looking over. “I hope you have all your photos and contacts backed up,” he remarks.

It’s only then I realize the huge career ending mistake I have just made.

Peter Carson’s personal number is on that phone.

And now it’s gone.

SIXTEEN

You may be wondering how I can be so certain that Peter’s number is gone for good. The fact is, I’ve always been wary about storing stuff in the cloud because I worry it could be hacked. And what if there was some technical problem and everything suddenly just disappeared one day? I have always looked after my phones, and have never lost a single piece of information once it’s been saved to my trusty handset.

Until today.

I can’t tell Brad what happened because I don’t want him judging me or thinking I’m an idiot. Which I am. Who throws away their only link to a Hollywood director just because they’re mad at their ex?

Having Peter’s number was like having a direct line to God. You can’t just call up the studio and ask to be put through. At least I’m pretty sure you can’t. And what if Peter hadn’t told anyone he’d been considering Gia for the movie? They’ll just think I’m a nutcase.

Brad tries to recapture the easy mood we had earlier, but it’s not working. I’m too stressed, and I just want to get home so I can sort out this mess.

We climb back down into the valley.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” I ask half-heartedly.

“No, it’s okay. It’s later than I thought. Maybe we can just grab something at the gas station on the way home.”

I know he’s just being polite. I heard his stomach rumbling before, and we haven’t eaten properly since Denny’s.

We get back to the car.

“Okay, what’s really going on?” he says finally.

“I don’t know,” I reply, trying not to cry. “I just can’t seem to move forward. When I really wanted Corey to answer my calls, it was like he completely abandoned me, and now on the one day I was actively trying not to think about him, he finally decided to get in touch. It’s just so frustrating.”

“I know. It sucks dealing with exes, but you need to find a way to stop it from affecting you so much. Sort out your divorce…get counselling if necessary…and if you need a distraction in the form of great sex, I’m always here.”

I laugh, despite myself.

“It
was
great sex, wasn’t it?”

“It totally was. Which is why I’m happy to make myself available anytime.”

We listen to Top 40 radio all the way home, stopping briefly to fill up with gas and get food. I insist on paying for everything. It’s the least I can do, considering I’m such horrible company.

I feel so out of control and crazy. I hate being like this. Not only have I probably ruined Gia’s chance at an acting career, I have also caused Brad to have a crappy day.

When we get home, he stops the car, but doesn’t get out.

“Hey,” he says. “Look at me.”

I reluctantly meet his gaze.

“I know you’re going through some stuff and it doesn’t seem like it’s ever going to get better, but I promise it will. You’re a really cool chick, Chrissie. You deserve happiness.”

He leans over and kisses my forehead. “Come on. I’ll make you a hot chocolate and then we can watch some TV or something.”

I smile weakly. “Okay.”

It’s too late to call Gia tonight, and I feel like I need to talk to her in person anyway, so I follow Brad inside and have a quick shower while he makes us hot drinks.

I crash out on the couch. Brad hands me a steaming mug and then retrieves a blanket and pillow from my room, tucking me in. My heart overflows with gratitude and I have to remind myself to remember the boundaries of our relationship. I’m such a sucker for thoughtful guys.

I watch as he sits down on the other chair and turns on the TV, flicking through the channels.

“Are you okay with some
Suits
?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks again for everything. And sorry for the millionth time about being such a wreck.”

“Forget about it. It’s in the past.”

I lose myself in the world of Harvey, Mike and Jessica, and their clever scheming, and block out the events of the day. There will be plenty of time to hate myself tomorrow.

***

It turns out all that fresh air and hiking wore me out, and I actually sleep in the next day. Which is terrible because I was supposed to see Gia this morning to do some Marilyn Monroe research, and I can’t even text her to tell her I’m running late. I quickly get on my laptop and send her an email, explaining I’ll be over soon.

I then call the studio from the house phone. A recorded message asks me to enter the extension for the person I’m after, or hold for reception. I would seriously consider sacrificing a body part right now if it meant I could obtain Peter Carson’s extension.

After a moment, a bored sounding receptionist comes on the line.

“Hello, Lion’s Den Studios, how may I direct your call?”

“Uh, hi. This is Chrissie Lambert. I represent Gia King who will be auditioning for Peter Carson’s new movie. Would you mind putting me through?”

She sniggers. “You want me to just
put you through
to Peter Carson?”

“Yes please.”

“Who do you think you are? The president of the United States?”

“Er, no. I’m Gia King’s publicist,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Who the heck is Gia King?”

“Kahlua? The woman with triplets who used to be married to Jack Dean?”

“Ooohhh her. Yeah, not going to happen. If Peter wants to talk to her, he can get in touch with her himself.”

“But we were supposed to call him…” I try to explain.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to put unauthorized calls through to Peter Carson. Thank you.”

I hear the click of the phone as she hangs up.

I sigh heavily. That went about as well as I expected.

And then it hits me. I have called Peter before, so the phone company should have a record of his number!

I quickly call the customer helpline.

Naturally, I have to jump through a bunch of virtual hoops just to get through to an actual person, but finally, someone answers.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“Oh, thank God! I need you guys to please look through my call history and find a number I called on a particular date.”

“Certainly, I can attempt to help you with that. Do you mind if I put you on hold for a moment?”

I check my watch and see that Gia will be waiting for me, but if I can get the number, at least I won’t have to deliver bad news.

“Sure.”

I subconsciously tap my foot in time with the cheesy muzak on the phone, praying for her to hurry.

After eight excruciating minutes (I was counting), the woman finally comes back.

“Okay, so what date are you looking at?”

“Um, I think it was sometime in the week starting on the fourteenth of this month. Can you just send me a list of all the numbers I called then?”

“Oh. I’m sorry, but we don’t have the facility to provide customers with their call history for the current bill cycle. You should receive your next one mid-October.”

“But it will be too late then! I really need that number! Surely you have a way to retrieve stuff like that in emergencies.”

“The only kind of emergency we respond to is one involving the police. If the issue is relevant in a criminal case, please call your local law enforcement officer and have them follow the appropriate channels.”

“It’s not a criminal thing, but it is a matter of life and death!” I say, my voice getting more desperate. “Please!”

“I’m sorry. My hands are tied.”

“I’m sure they are,” I say sarcastically.

“Now, have I responded to your query in a satisfactory manner?” she asks robotically.

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. Is she for real?

“No, you haven’t!” I yell into the mouthpiece and stab the key to end the call.

Jesus. I think I’m going to have to look into changing phone carriers. That’ll teach me for going with a cheap one without features that allow you to check your call history right away.

I quickly change and then dash out the door. On my way to Gia’s, I try to figure out how I can possibly reach Peter. Do I know anyone who knows him?

Of course not. All his friends are A-list celebrities and multi-millionaires. Or at the very least, people I’m not familiar with.

When I worked at Perry Tyler, I had a whole list of contacts on my work computer I could call in case of an emergency, but I obviously don’t have access to that anymore.

Could I stalk the studio? Probably not without getting arrested.

I feel so helpless. I’ve completely failed Gia, the woman almost solely responsible for rescuing me when I was at my lowest.

When I get to her place, she opens the door. The wonderful smell of pancakes wafts towards me.

“I got your email, sleepyhead. I just made breakfast for the kids. Would you like some too?”

“No thanks.” The thought of eating anything right now makes me feel ill.

“You don’t look so good. Big night?”

“Uh, not exactly. Listen, I have something to tell you.”

“Are you okay?” Gia instantly switches to concerned mode, which makes me feel even worse.

“I’m fine, but my phone’s not.”

“What happened? Are you worried about not being able to afford a new one? Because I have a spare you can borrow…”

“No, it’s not that,” I say hurriedly. “It broke when I was hiking at Yosemite yesterday. But the thing is, Peter Carson’s number was on the phone and now I have no way of contacting him.”

She finally understands, and her face collapses. It breaks my heart.

“Should I call the studio?” she asks hopefully.

“I already tried. I can’t get past the switchboard. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you have your contacts backed up somewhere? Aren’t they automatically stored on the cloud?”

“No,” I reply miserably. “I switched that feature off because I was worried about a security breach. And I already tried calling the phone company to see if they have a record of Peter’s number from when I last called but they have some stupid rule about only releasing information on the current bill cycle to police.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she says.

We both stand there in silence.

“I’m so, so sorry Gia.”

“It’s not your fault.”

I feel my face redden. If only she knew. But I can’t bring myself to tell her exactly what happened.

“Leave it with me,” I say with sudden conviction. “I will find a way to get in touch with Peter, even if I end up in prison.”

She smiles. “It’s okay. Sometimes things happen for a reason. Maybe the universe is telling me I shouldn’t be an actress and that I should focus on my business stuff instead.”

“You should totally be an actress! Look, I promise I’ll sort this out.”

“All right. Well, how about we go ahead with today as normal? We might as well prepare, just in case you do manage to reach Peter.”

“Yes. That’s a good plan.”

I sit with Gia the whole day while we scour the internet for articles and videos on Marilyn Monroe. With each passing second, I feel guiltier and guiltier. I really want to tell her about how I purposely threw my phone off the mountain, but I couldn’t bear having her mad at me.

I am definitely going to fix this.

***

I am exhausted and depressed by the time I get home at six. Gia wasn’t her usual bubbly self, and I hate that I am responsible for making her feel that way.

Will is sitting at the kitchen counter, which is unusual for him. He’s normally locked in his room.

He shoots me the same look he gave Gia when he saw her on TV that time.

“I don’t fucking believe you!” he spits.

“What?” I ask wearily.

“And after I was so nice to you on Saturday! You were working for that bitch the whole time!”

Ah.

“I’m sorry Will, I didn’t know at first…she said her publicist was called Billy and I didn’t make the connection…”

“Don’t you dare mention that name! I fucking hated it when she called me Billy! Like I was one of her retarded little kids or something. And to think I felt sorry for you and your pathetic marriage break-up. I was going to take you out to dinner and show you a good time, but all the while, you’ve stolen my job and lived in the same fucking house as me and haven’t even had the guts to tell me!”

“I swear I only realized when you pointed her out on TV that time.”

“So why didn’t you tell me then?”

“What was I supposed to say? If I recall correctly, you called her a whore and referred to her new publicist as a bitch.”

“Well, I got that right.”

“Will, look…”

“No, fuck you. You had your chance. You don’t mess with me. I’d watch my back if I were you. You’re going to regret this.”