Saved by the Celebutante (17 page)

I laugh. If only it were that simple. But then, maybe it is.

I eat my breakfast and try to do what Gia said. I’m sure millions of people are already aware of how to meditate and watch their thoughts, but I’ve always been a bit resistant to new-age stuff. I blame it on all the people I see back in San Francisco, pretending to float around on a cloud of bliss while they wear their fisherman’s pants and hemp cotton, espousing the benefits of yoga and meditation. But a lot of them seem like angry people underneath – like they’re just waiting for you to question their non-conformist beliefs so they can argue with you and tell you how you’re doing everything wrong. Maybe I’ve been too quick to judge.

Peter doesn’t join us for breakfast, which makes me think there can be only two reasons for this. One: he is doing some kind of solitary retreat elsewhere on the property, or two: he’s not actually here.

“What if Peter never made it here?” I ask.

“Relax. We’ll figure something out.”

After eating, everyone trickles away. The monk from last night comes over to check on us. “How are you settling in?”

Gia gives him one of her most charming smiles. “Perfectly, thank you. It’s been lovely so far. So what’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

“Well, next up is quiet study. You can do this back in the meditation hall, or out in the grounds. Reading material and notebooks are available in the front office if you require them.”

“What do you recommend?” Gia asks. “Seeing we arrived a bit late, we’re not exactly sure what’s expected of us. For example, does everyone here follow the same schedule?”

“Oh, yes, most of our practitioners do stick to the suggested routine. We find it’s good for self-discipline. But then occasionally we have people who need to come and go throughout the course due to extenuating circumstances. We just request they be mindful of everyone else and minimize their impact on others, like what I asked of you two last night.”

I try to make eye contact with Gia, but she ignores me.

“Great. Thanks for your help.” She then pretends to remember something. “Oh, before I forget, I ran into a man on the way to the bathroom last night and he introduced himself as Peter. I didn’t see him this morning, so do you know where he might be?”

The monk nods. “Yes. He had to leave the property quite early. Some sort of emergency back home. He didn’t say exactly what.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Thanks anyway.”

“You’ll have to excuse me,” the monk apologizes. “I have some administration to attend to before the talk at nine.”

“Of course. Thank you again for being so helpful. I’m sure we’ll see you later.”

“I’m sure you will,” he says. He walks off, smiling to himself – almost as if he’s in on some sort of private joke. I wish I could be like that – constantly amused by life.

Gia waits until the monk is out of earshot before she talks again.

“Damn. Can you believe it?”

“I know! What do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t know if I’m ready to go home yet. Do you fancy a drive to LA?”

“And do what?”

“Visit the studio?”

“How will we get in?”

“Maybe someone will recognize me and take pity on me?”

“That seems like a long shot. I mean, you are kind of famous, but I don’t think even someone like Jennifer Lawrence would be able to just waltz into a movie studio unless she had a legitimate reason for being there.”

“They would totally let J-Law in! But I get your point.” She looks around, as if the answer might physically jump out at her. “Well…dang. I don’t know. How about we go anyway? You seem like you could use a bit more of a break before going home.”

“What about your kids?”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. I’ll just call Mom and see if she minds looking after them for an extra day or two.”

“Are you sure? I kind of feel like I’m being a burden.”

“Don’t be silly. Sometimes you need to accept help from people when they offer it. Especially if those people are your boss.”

I grin. “Okay. Thank you. So what do we do here? Make a run for it?”

“Oh, Chrissie. Always so dramatic. No. We’ll get our stuff, leave a nice thank-you note and quietly walk out. We can even donate a bit extra to their cause if that makes you feel better.”

“That
would
make me feel better.”

“Good. We’ll do that then.”

“So do you want me to look up some hotels in LA? The least I can do is pay for you.”

“No, no. I have a friend we can visit in Venice.”

“Do you need to let them know we’re coming?”

“No. I drop in unannounced all the time.”

“But what about me?”

“She’ll love you.”

“If you say so.”

“Stop worrying! Come on. Let’s go pack and I’ll write that note for the monk.”

There doesn’t seem to be as much of a sense of urgency to our mission now, so we take the long way back to our room. It really is a beautiful property. I wish we were staying longer. I could just imagine sitting out under the trees in the forest, absorbing the sounds of the birds and insects…and…oh my God, is that an actual hot tub overlooking the valley? No one told me there was a hot tub here!

I look at Gia and then back at the hot tub longingly. “Can we…?”

“Sweetie, we’ll find you a hot tub later. We don’t want to go arousing suspicion when we’re about to leave.”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

We get back to the room and I start packing my bag. I wonder how much more likely we are to run into Peter Carson just by being in the same city as him. We’re talking about LA! With a population of four million and where every celebrity has their own bodyguard! Even if we did find Peter, what are the chances of us being able to get close enough to talk to him?

But then, I guess we don’t have any other choice. And I kind of have to do everything Gia asks me to do, because I owe her.

I just hope one day I can properly repay the debt.

TWENTY

It’s just after lunch when we park out the front of a modest building in Venice Beach. An external staircase leads to a landing with several apartment doors lined up in a row. Gia knocks on the third one along.

The door bursts open, revealing a petite redhead.

“Agh!” she screams, lurching forward and wrapping Gia in a bear hug. I stand back and wait for them to finish their PDA.

“What are you doing here?” the woman screeches. “Come in, come in!”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I brought a friend,” Gia says, gesturing to me.

The woman looks at me and smiles warmly. “Of course I don’t mind. I can’t believe you would even ask that. What’s your name, honey?”

“Chrissie.”

“I’m Nikki. Me and Gia go way back. I knew her when she was Gia the first time around!”

“Oh, right! It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Where’s your stuff?” she asks Gia. “You
are
staying, right?”

“We were hoping you could put us up for a day or two,” Gia confirms. “Our bags are still in the car. I didn’t want to assume too much.”

“You know me. You can never assume too much. Do you want some chai? I just brewed a pot.”

“Your famous recipe?” Gia says.

“Of course.”

I inspect the interior of Nikki’s apartment. It’s small, but cozy. I’m not actually sure where we’re going to sleep because there is only one bedroom, but I’m guessing Gia and Nikki already have that figured out.

There is a vintage turquoise dresser against the wall with an eclectic bunch of candles and bohemian knick-knacks along the top. The dining table is one of those retro constructions from the seventies with spindly metal legs and a shiny Formica top. Bright Andy Warhol style paintings hang on the walls.

Nikki pushes us out onto a balcony. I can just glimpse the ocean between the buildings in front of us. It’s a gorgeous sunny day and a million miles away from the dreariness of San Francisco. I start wondering why I even still live there. I’ve never even considered living anywhere else, but now I’m not sure why.

Gia sits down on a sun lounger while I perch on a slatted wooden chair nearby.

Nikki disappears for a moment, and then returns with a tray of mismatched mugs and a pot of delicious smelling tea.

“You have to try this chai,” Gia tells me. “I’ve been begging Nikki to give me the recipe for years, but she acts like it’s a state secret. I don’t even think her mom knows what’s in it.”

“It’s the only thing I can hold over her to make sure she comes back to visit,” Nikki says to me.

I laugh. I like this woman.

Nikki pours us each a mug of chai, her many bracelets jingling as she moves. “So what brings you to La La Land?”

“Well, we just spent the night out at Misty Falls because we thought Peter Carson was staying there, but it turns out he left early.”

“Oh, I love Misty Falls! I can’t believe you only stayed for the night, though. When I go there, you have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”

“We might have stayed longer, but when we found out Peter wasn’t there, we thought we’d come down here and reassess the situation.”

“Can I just confirm you’re talking about Peter Carson, the Hollywood director? And if so, why, pray tell do you need to find him?”

“Because he wants me to play Marilyn Monroe in a new movie, but we kind of lost his number,” she says.

“It was my fault,” I butt in. “I…uh…was at Yosemite hiking and…”

I’m about to come clean, but Gia cuts me off. “It doesn’t matter. What happened, happened. We’re only looking forward now.”

“So, are you going to try and track him down here?” Nikki asks.

“Maybe. I know it’s a long shot, but if I got the movie role, it would totally be worth the effort.”

“You as Marilyn Monroe. Actually, I can kind of see it,” Nikki muses.

Gia slaps her arm. “Hey! Don’t sound so surprised.”

Nikki laughs. “Honey, I have always thought you would make a phenomenal actress. Wasn’t it me who suggested you move down here and take some acting classes?”

“Yes, I do recall you saying that.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just never thought I’d make it here. It’s so cutthroat.”

“Listen, if anyone can make it here, you can. Look at what you’ve already achieved to date. Especially these past few months.”

“To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have got to where I am right now without Chrissie’s help. She’s my publicist now.”

“Oh, thank God you ditched that jerk you had working for you before. He was nothing but bad news.” She looks at me for confirmation. “Did you meet him?”

“Actually, he was my roommate for a while. Not that I knew who he was at the time.”

Nikki’s eyes widen. “You actually lived with him and didn’t know?”

“Yup. Story of my life.”

“Chrissie’s been through a lot lately,” Gia explains. “So I thought, if nothing else, we could use the road trip to rejuvenate.”

“Well, I’m delighted you chose to come here. However, I do have to go into work soon – but you’re both welcome to come along if you like. I’m only going in for a couple of hours.”

“I think I’ll leave that decision up to Chrissie,” Gia says. “What do you think, hon? Do you fancy a visit to a children’s shelter?”

“Oh! Sure! If you need the extra help, I’d love to come along.”

“Great!” Nikki says. “We’ll leave in about twenty minutes.”

A children’s shelter. Wow. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I’ve never even considered visiting one before. Or participated in any other sort of volunteer work, for that matter. I hope I don’t make a fool of myself.

I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

***

The drive over to the shelter takes forty minutes, which seems like a long commute considering we’re only going for two hours. Nikki explains that she has a couple of administrative problems to sort out, so we can go and hang out in the craft room while she works.

I don’t know suburban LA very well, only having visited a few of the beaches and areas around Hollywood on previous trips. I guess Disneyland is technically in the suburbs, and I went there as a kid, but I don’t remember anything about the area. I look out the window and watch the scenery rush by. All I really keep noticing is how bright everything is. It’s amazing, the difference in weather here.

Nikki drives up to the shelter’s entry. It reminds me of a college campus, with its own dedicated roads, neatly trimmed hedges and old red brick buildings. It’s actually not at all what I expected. I had two images in my head. One was the scene from
Oliver
where the children all line up for their bowls of gruel, and the second was a prison, with cell-like rooms and communal bathrooms without doors. I’m not actually sure why my brain conjured up these pictures. I worry about myself sometimes.

We enter a room filled with primary-colored furniture and small groups of kids sitting quietly in the corners. Some of them are talking amongst themselves. Others are playing board games. It’s all very civil. Again, I don’t know why I expected otherwise.

“Hi Lindsey,” Nikki says to a young girl who is lying on a bench nearby, staring at the ceiling.

She doesn’t respond.

“Lindsey’s new here,” Nikki whispers. “She’s still adjusting.”

We continue into an office that seems to double as a staff room. Nikki dumps her purse on a shelf and encourages us to do the same with ours.

“Volunteers aren’t really allowed to go wandering off by themselves, so you’ll have to stick with me or one of my colleagues today. Let me take you over to the craft room and we’ll see what’s happening there.”

“Great!” Gia says enthusiastically. “I’m good at arts and crafts from having spent so many rainy afternoons inside with the triplets.”

“Well, you might have to cater to children slightly older than three,” Nikki points out. “The youngest girl here at the moment is eight. But generally we take them between the ages of six and seventeen.”

“And why are they here?” I ask. “Sorry if that’s a silly question.”

“No, not at all. The reasons vary, but most are just here temporarily because their home situation is unsatisfactory, either due to an abusive parent, or because of behavioral problems that the family are unable to control.”

“So it’s not just orphans?”

She shakes her head. “We don’t have many orphans in the traditional sense. If a child has lost both parents, they can usually be placed with members of their extended family.”

We head back outside and over to another building. I notice that Lindsey follows us, a practiced look of nonchalance on her face.

“Be aware that some of the girls might not want to talk to you,” Nikki warns. “They might even be a bit rude if they feel you’re invading their space. Just follow their lead and don’t force anything.”

Inside this new room, there are at least half a dozen girls sitting at different tables. One table is piled high with scraps of fabric. One has paper and pens. Another has clay. The last one has beads and wire. An older woman sits in the corner knitting, a cat resting at her feet.

“Hi Gretchen. Today going well?” Nikki asks.

“Not too bad. I’m just keeping an eye on Jenny. That girl is up to something, but I can’t figure out what.”

Nikki turns to look at a girl in her late teens, hovering around the fabric. She does look suspicious.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Nikki says. “But yeah, you probably don’t want to let her out of your sight. Do you mind if I leave two volunteers here with you?”

“Of course not.” She looks us up and down, a tiny smile on her face. I get the impression she thinks we won’t be able to handle ourselves. In my case, she’s probably right.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll supervise the fabric table,” Gia offers. “I love sewing.”

“I know you do,” Nikki says. “Remember that gorgeous gown you made for me five years ago? I still have it in my closet at home.”

“I should hope so,” Gia says. “That darn thing took over a month to complete.”

Nikki looks at me. “Do you know she makes all the triplets’ clothes?”

“I did not know that. You should have launched your own fashion line, Gia!”

“Pfft. That’s so passé. And fashion is not a good industry to get into at the moment. Food is the future.”

“Fair enough.”

“What would you like to supervise, Chrissie?” Nikki asks.

“Uh, maybe that?” I point to the beads.

“Great. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Have fun!”

I switch on my PR armor. I am going to kick ass today.

Two girls approach the table, gossiping together and ignoring me. One is Jenny. She doesn’t seem particularly rough, but she shoots me a look that gives new meaning to the phrase “if looks could kill”. The other is wearing a black t-shirt with a picture of a devil holding the strings of a crucified Jesus puppet. She also has a full sleeve tattoo on her right arm. How is she even old enough to have tattoos?

Oh God. I have no idea what kids find cool. They’re going to eat me alive, and it will be a million times worse than the baby shower.

I inspect the materials in front of me and pretend I have better things to do than listen in on their conversation. They’re not saying much anyway, just talking about going to some deathcore gig in town on the weekend.

The beads are obviously cheap, but some of them are quite pretty. I sift through them, selecting a few I like. I’ve spent many an evening fawning over jewelry boards on Pinterest, so I feel like I at least know what adults find cool. I wish I had some of my regular clothes with me. If I had known I was coming to LA after the meditation center, I would have packed some of my nicer outfits. I feel like these girls would be less dismissive if I was dressed in my usual stuff.

But…I might be able to appeal to them in another way.

I push my first bead pile to the side and look instead for some that might suit a person with gothic tastes.

Of course it would be too much to ask for a few skull-shaped beads, but I still might be able to achieve the desired effect. I grab a piece of paper and start sketching out an idea. The tattoo girl shoots a quick glance in my direction, but doesn’t seem particularly interested.

Just you wait, I think. You are going to
die
when you see this.

I start off with a black teardrop shaped bead and then thread it onto a piece of wire with some small round ones, interspersing them with silver pieces. I then create six more identical lines, but without the teardrop bead. Next, I collect as many of the smallest beads I can find – the kind I used to thread onto safety pins as a kid and give to my friends. I push them onto a long piece of wire, twisting it into figure eights and securing the loops with silver C-shaped clasps. I’ve never really done anything like this before, so it takes a bit of trial and error to get it right.