Behind the Scenes(67)
“And?”
My grin grows bigger. “And I think I’ll save my heavy drinking for the weekend.”
“Why?” he jokes.
“Because he’s in almost half the scenes. I’ll be drunk off my ass after ten minutes.”
“Nu-uh. There’s like a whole one or two episodes where he only shows up once.”
I gasp, my palm slapping my forehead. “Oh my God! I have to tell you what happened today.”
“Spill.” He sits up and makes room for me on the couch. “Wait. Let me guess. You met James Franco?”
“No. Is that a real guess?”
“You work at a movie studio. Anything’s possible.” He tapped his lips and tried again. “You gave your boss a blow job in the broom closet.”
“Close, but no.”
“Really?”
I roll my eyes and plop down next to him. “It just never stops with you, does it? Mr. Mulroney’s father—”
“You mean Simon.”
I pause and heave out a breath. “Okay, yes. Simon’s father came in and invited me to a barbecue at his house.”
“And you gave him a blow job? Or are you saving that for the barbecue?”
“Eryk!” I slapped at his leg.
He kicked me in the thigh. “God, you said I was close. I’m just guessing… will Simon be there?”
“He didn’t seem like he wanted to go, but I think so.”
Eryk sits up straighter and clutches my arm. “If you want, I can go as your date and pretend to be straight in order to make him jealous.”
I crinkle my nose. “He already saw you in high heels. I don’t think there’s any going back.”
“Damn,” he mutters.
I reach forward and grab the TV remote. “So when’s your next show?”
“Next month. Here’s hoping it will be just as dramatic as the last one, with jealous ex-lovers and sultry forbidden bosses running rampant all over the place.”
I roll my eyes once more and hit the button for the TV guide. “Here’s hoping that never happens again.”
CHAPTER TEN
Saturday, I change outfits four times. I go from jeans and shirt to a flirty sundress to leggings and a blouse then to just bra and underwear, staring dismally at the clothes strewn all over my bed.
Finally, after fifteen minutes of standing in front of the mirror, I end up in the same jeans and pink t-shirt I started off in. Frustrated, I yell down the hall for Crystal.
“What?” she asks, poking her head around the frame of my bedroom doorway. She’s wearing nothing but a sports bra and black leggings and is somewhere in the middle of painting her nails. With one hand outstretched to dry, she holds the bottle of red polish in the other one.
I nervously flap my hand around. “I don’t know what to wear.”
“Didn’t you say it was a barbecue? You can’t get much more casual than roasting meat in someone’s backyard.”
“Yeah, but it might still be kind of upscale. It’s a Mulroney barbecue. In Beverly Hills. Somehow, I don’t think it’s going to be like the ones I’m used to.”
Crystal shrugs. “It’s still in a backyard, and it’s not a wedding. What you have on is good.”
“Really?”
She pauses, taking a second to look me up and down. “Actually, no. Here’s what you should wear.”
She goes to my closet and, using the hand with dry nails, picks out my black tube skirt and a loose white tee.
“Isn’t that kind of short?” I ask.
“The t-shirt counteracts it.”
I hold the clothes up against myself and look in the mirror. I can’t decide if I look like I’m going to a club or to the library to meet up with my study group. “So you’re saying the shirt is so casual that no one will notice how short the skirt is.”
She sits on the edge of my bed and begins painting her second hand. “Something like that.”
“Screw it. I’ll wear it.”
By the time I’m ready to go, there’s still plenty of time to make it all the way to Beverly Hills. I take the long way, not minding when I end up sitting in traffic.
The road David Mulroney lives on is even nicer than Mr. Murakami’s. Most of the houses — no, mansions — have spacious front yards. I can tell which house is my destination before I see the address. The road in front of it is lined with cars, each one of them probably costing more than ten of my little Chevy. I pull into a spot behind a white Mercedes and do one last check in the mirror.
My heart speeds up and I can’t seem to find the strength to open the door. I’ve never been good at schmoozing, and this entire party is going to be just that. Its likely I won’t know anyone there, unless of course, Simon shows up after all.