According to a Source

by Abby Stern

  “Huh?” I’m back to reality but there’s still a slight euphoria preventing me from full brain function. “Oh, just this guy,” I tell her, shrugging it off. I mean I haven’t even been on a date with Nick yet, what am I supposed to tell my mother? That I’ve already had imaginary mind-blowing sex with him no less than thirty times and I’ve decided I’m going to name our first daughter Evangeline and call her Evan. There’s no way a girl named Evan won’t be the most popular girl in high school.

  “Just some guy?” She knows me better than that.

  “Don’t get too excited.” I want to manage her expectations as well as my own. “We’re going on our first date the night after tomorrow.” I thought that would be enough for her but the third degree continues.

  “Does this mystery man have a name?”

  “Nick. Nick Williams.”

  “And how did you meet Nick Williams?” she inquires now, with a sparkle in her eye in addition to her smile. I wasn’t planning on giving her the dossier on Nick yet but if it makes her happy it’s literally the least I can do.

  “We met through Holiday.”

  “I see.” She nods her head with approval. “Well, Nick Williams made you smile for the first time since I’ve been here and that makes me smile.” She bumps her shoulder with mine. “So he already has brownie points from your mother.”

  When I get home from the hospital I hurl myself backwards onto my bed as if it were an Olympic sport. If it were, that maneuver would’ve won me the gold medal. I’m so tired that I’m overtired and even as my back and every limb melt into my mattress my eyes won’t close because they don’t have the strength to do so. I’m barely lucid and all I’m seeing is the color gray but my ears work perfectly and I detect the clacking of Holiday’s Jerome C. Rousseau beaded booties, which I’ve tried to steal no less than three times, coming down the hallway headed toward my room. I swiftly bring my hand to my mouth to make sure I didn’t drool in my impotent state. I’d never live that embarrassment down.

  “There you are,” she buzzes as she enters without bothering to knock. “I came in this morning when I woke up to see if you wanted to get acai bowls to detox and cleanse our bodies of all of the toxins we imbibed last night but you weren’t here.” I don’t bother trying to speak. She’s on the express train of thought and I’m exhausted so I let her continue. “I figured you’d either snuck off to Nick’s after how cozy the two of you were last night or you were kidnapped. I planned on texting Nick if I hadn’t heard from you or received a ransom note by five P.M.” I summon every ounce of energy I have to raise my head and neck up to respond to her while leaving the rest of my body viscous against the bed.

  “How very proactive of you,” I chime in. “Wasn’t at Nick’s and I’m only imprisoned by my credit-card debt. If I do ever go missing, find out if American Express has some secret lair they use to exile all of their customers that only make the monthly minimum payment; that’s where I’ll be. But I appreciate you looking out for me.” I let my head and neck fall back to the bed.

  “Then why in God’s name did you get up so early? I felt like a total slug this morning. I couldn’t have managed to make it out of bed before ten A.M. if Alexander McQueen himself had risen from the dead just to design couture for me.” As soon as the words leave her mouth her brain catches up to them and her eyes open wider, realizing she just took the piss out of one of her idols and he still deserves her reverence. She immediately follows with, “May he rest in peace.”

  I told Nick about my mom last night so there’s no reason I shouldn’t tell Holiday now. I should probably at least sit up for a conversation this significant so I shimmy my shoulders up and scoot back so I’m leaning my back against the headboard.

  “I had to go to the hospital this morning.”

  “To see Robin?” she inquires.

  “No. Not to see Robin. She was there, well, we were there with my mom.” I take a deep breath. “My mom has leukemia and we were meeting with the oncologist who will be treating her.”

  Holiday rushes over to the side of my bed and grabs me. If she squeezes me any harder, this hug will put me in the hospital.

  “Are you okay? Is she going to be okay? Is there anything I can do? Do you need anything? Does she need anything?” she rattles off. She’s still attached to me like I’m her host and the Holiday organism will die if she releases her grip even a smidge.

  “It’s okay, Hol. You can breathe. Her cancer can be treatable. There are no guarantees but this doctor is a friend of Robin’s and apparently he’s the best in the country,” I manage to get out. I’m distracted by the potent fragrance of gardenia emanating from her hair. “She’s going to have to be in the hospital at least for the first month but we’re all hopeful, including Dr. Jacobs.” I delicately remove her arms from me.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she wonders aloud.

  “I know it sounds stupid but it just felt like the more people I told the less I could deny that it was actually happening,” I say with a shrug.

  “That’s not stupid,” she contests. “It makes perfect sense. I just wish I had known so you didn’t have to handle it alone.” Her hand engulfs mine.

  “I know I’m not alone,” I tell her. I don’t want to go through all of the emotions again right now and figure if I throw in some gossip, we can bypass the rest of the cancer conversation. “Guess who I’m going on a date with this week?” I tease. Holiday goes from empathetic to enthusiastic and looks like she wants to scream for joy.

  “I don’t even have to guess. You and Nick might as well have had a conjoining procedure done the way you wouldn’t look at anyone else or leave each other’s sides last night. I’m surprised you were even able to do your job. You were transfixed on him.”

  “I was not,” I defend, playfully slapping Holiday’s arm. She cocks her head to the left to dispute my claim. “Maybe I was a little,” I admit. “Holiday, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  Twelve

  “I’m surprised you had time to grab coffee in the middle of the workday,” I say to Maggie, who responded to my earlier text by asking me to meet her for coffee the next day. I haven’t seen her since Victoria took the reins so it will be nice to get the inside scoop from an ally. “I figured Victoria assigned an intern to be stationed at Starbucks to keep everyone on staff at their desks and make coffee runs more efficient.” Maggie’s lips curl like she’s trying to smile but her mouth won’t physically make the movement. She takes a few moments to herself and my imagination is making me more paranoid by the second, waiting for her to deliver whatever she’s about to say.

  “That’s why I asked you here, Ella.”

  I scrunch my face and inhale.

  “I’m not at The Life anymore.”

  I exhale. I can’t believe what I hear. Maggie is saying one thing and somehow my brain is translating her words improperly.

  “What do you mean?” I’m caught off guard and need her to spell it out to believe it.

  “I was fired.” Fired? I still can’t comprehend the information. It’s like she’s speaking in tongues—or Dianetics. My breathing intensifies and I want to fly out of my chair and pace around as if I were going mad but trying to convince myself I actually wasn’t.

  “Why?” In stark contrast to my hyper reaction, Maggie is at ease. There’s not a trace of anger or outrage in her voice, and since the last time I saw her she’s adopted a laissez-faire demeanor.

  “Victoria believes it’s unacceptable that I wasn’t in front of Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star’s meltdown.”

  “That wasn’t your fault,” I argue on her behalf, even though she doesn’t want a defense and continues.

  “The Life was completely blindsided and none of our reporting on the incident was exclusive.” She takes a sip of her iced latte and takes a breath. “I was never able to get a source that was actually close to her.”

  “After everything you’ve done for the magazine she fired y
ou just like that?” I’m very good at my job, and while I know that The Life needs freelancers and our reporting to generate a fair amount of their content I’m nowhere near as integral to the everyday operations as Maggie.

  “Victoria doesn’t care. She’s cutthroat. With her it’s kill or be killed. I’d always heard she was tough but apparently she’s even more ruthless now than when she originally worked for The Life. Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star is one of the celebs Victoria wants to make a priority for The Life. Her covers always do great numbers so she assigned me to start sourcing people close to her to give us info before any of this ever went down and she was embarrassed we didn’t have any exclusive information.” She studies her coffee cup like it’s forensic evidence. “No one would talk to me. Not the barista she visits daily, not the girl who does her hair extensions. Boybander Turned Solo Artist Turned Actor’s team wouldn’t even leak any info on his ex.”

  “I can’t believe she treated you like you were so disposable.…” I trail off.

  “I made myself disposable. Ella, I know how good you are at your job but Victoria doesn’t care about you or your track record and doesn’t give any points for loyalty. To her, everyone is replaceable. She only cares about better stories and bigger numbers. If you don’t want to be disposed of you can’t afford to miss anything. You have to find exclusives and earn the points.”

  “Are you going to go to another magazine?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so.” Maggie is one of the few people who is as consumed with the celebrity gossip world as I am, so her revelation is surprising.

  “Really? I thought you love this.”

  “I did.” She corrects herself. “I do. But I got so wrapped up in other people’s lives that I lost sight of making sure I had my own. I was always in the office and the only time I went to dinner or a bar or an event was if I needed to be the one doing the reporting.” I’m surprised. I thought the spontaneous nature of the job was something she thrived on. “I’m not happy I was fired but maybe this all worked out for the best for me. Besides, now every time I get a breaking-news alert on my phone I can enjoy the gossip instead of panicking that I missed something.”

  I stare off into space and wonder if Maggie’s sermon is somehow a warning for me. She notices my detachment from the conversation and alleviates my fear.

  “You’re freelance. It’s a totally different game for you. But if you want to win that game, you have to do it by earning points.”

  I nod to show her I understand. “So if you’re not going to go to another magazine what are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. Take some time off. Reevaluate my life. Try and date now that I won’t be canceling on someone at the last minute because Former Tween Pop Star Who Will Bang Any Female with a Pulse had an after-party where the cops were called or Country Singer Turned Crossover Superstar is knocked up. Who knows? Maybe I’ll end up at one of those listicle sites where every article about dating goes viral. The world can never have enough guidelines for the dos and don’ts of sexting,” she kids.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” I smile.

  “I just want to feel good about whatever I do next. You know?”

  My phone vibrates and I can’t help but look to see if Victoria or someone else from the magazine is calling for anything. “I’m sorry. Let me see who this is.”

  “It’s okay. I totally understand.” And she means it. She’s one of the few people who realizes I’m not trying to be rude. I turn my phone faceup.

  “The Life?” she asks. For once it isn’t. It’s Nick. I wonder what he wants but my curiosity is outranked by my desire for privacy and I return my phone to the table.

  “No. It’s…” I stop myself. I don’t know whether or not I should tell her, since she’s friends with Ethan. The phone buzzes again. I have a voice mail.

  “New guy?” she assumes. She may be fired but her instincts are still as sharp as ever. I nod. It’s a little awkward even though neither of us wants it to be and after a lull she jumps in. “Well, I better get going.”

  “Me, too.” We take our empty coffee cups to the trash and it feels a little bit like we just broke up.

  “I really appreciate you giving me the heads-up on what happened.”

  Maggie leans in for a hug. “No problem. Good luck, Ella.”

  “You too, Mags.” She leaves and all I can think about is listening to Nick’s message.

  Hey, Ella, I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 6:30 P.M. Looking forward to seeing you.

  Thirteen

  “Hi, sexy.” Nick’s greeting immediately causes my cheeks to flush and I slide into the passenger seat of his Tesla. He leans in and I kiss him on both cheeks.

  “Hi, you,” I flirt back in my newfound seductive inflection.

  “You look gorgeous.” I wore my favorite pair of AG skinny jeans and mastered the effortlessly sexy look for the occasion, complete with my looks-like-I-just-had-sex tousled hair.

  “Thank you.” He leans in and kisses me on both of my cheeks again and plants another kiss on my lips. It feels like there’s a magnetic force in our chests and we’re physically being drawn toward each other. He wraps his arms around my back as I cradle his stubbly face and call on every morsel of willpower I possess not to climb over the center console and straddle him. The temptation is agonizing but I know if let my lust lead the way I will forge a pathway to my bedroom instead of building the healthy relationship I want. My brain vetoes my body and as the kiss somehow manages to intensify I extricate myself from the magnetic minefield. He smells delicious and woodsy like he always does and there’s something about his suit and his style that is so sexy it makes me want to rip all of his clothes off starting with the pocket square in his Armani jacket.

  “You smell amazing,” he says, leaning in where my neck and ear meet to inhale another sip of my signature Marc Jacobs fragrance.

  “So do you.”

  He kisses me again.

  “Alright, if you keep this up before we leave my driveway I’m not going to want to leave at all.” If there were a thermometer between our faces the mercury would explode from heat and burst the device into a thousand pieces.

  “That would be perfectly fine with me,” he whispers, leaning in again. I place my hands on his chest (oh God I forgot how nice his chest is) to keep him at a distance.

  “I’m sure it would be.” I laugh but inside I feel torture. Be strong, Ella!

  “I’ve wanted to grab you and kiss you like that since the night I met you,” he confesses, brushing his hand across my well-kissed cheek.

  “Me, too.” He won’t stop looking at me and I can’t stop grinning like I won a kiddie beauty pageant. “Although I did have a boyfriend at the time and I am kind of a lady after all.”

  “Yes, you are.” Our chemistry is carnal, and as each second passes we are succumbing to it. “I haven’t Googled it recently but to my knowledge, making out hasn’t ever killed anyone,” he suggests, drawing my body closer to his.

  “Stop trying to agent me.” I wink. “This isn’t a negotiation.” If it was and it continued I would most assuredly lose in the next few critical moments but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulls himself back into his seat fully and we finally reverse out of my driveway. Nick’s eyes spend more time intertwined with mine than they do on the road. It isn’t exactly the safest transportation but I’m also not objecting. I’m just as lost in him because I don’t even realize we’re heading toward downtown until we approach the entrance to the 10 freeway.

  “Where are we going, by the way?” I wonder if he’s taking me to one of those invitation-only underground pop-up dinners in the Arts District. I haven’t been to one and am of course dying to go. If you aren’t a chef, restaurant blogger, or culinary influencer they are nearly impossible to attend. The culinary world might be an even tighter-knit, more impenetrable community than Hollywood.

  “You’ll see,” he teases.

  �
��One of the things you will come to learn is patience is not one of my virtues.” Hopefully he thinks that’s cute because I’m not joking.

  “Understood.” He stares at my face and then his eyes briefly linger on my chest before coming back to my face. “I’m looking forward to getting to know your other virtues.” He doesn’t expound upon his vague itinerary or destination. He’s as good at keeping secrets as I am. My curiosity is getting the better of me and his reticence is sending my imagination into a tailspin. He admiringly shakes his head when he catches me using the location finder on my Yelp app to see what’s around and attempting to deduce his secret agenda.

  “You really are impatient.” He takes his right hand off the wheel and places it on top of mine.

  “I wasn’t exaggerating.”

  “Try and relax. It’s a date. It’s supposed to be spontaneous and fun.” He’s right. It is. I put my iPhone away and enjoy our hand-holding. Nick exits the freeway at Figueroa Street and the answer to the enigma unveils itself as if it popped into my head by magic and an overconfident smirk reveals that I’m no longer perplexed.

  We pull into the Staples Center complex and my hunch was correct. “Lakers game. Of course.” Well played, Nick.

  “My boss was supposed to bring A-List Sex Symbol Box Office Gold Turned Critically Acclaimed Actor to the game but he’s still shooting so he gave me the tickets. I hope it’s okay.”

  Nick’s spontaneity is sexy and a welcome departure from Ethan’s reluctance to do anything even remotely industry-related with me. Basketball is technically part of the sports realm, but in LA it intertwines with Hollywood, as does almost everything. I smile.

  “I mean … I guess that’s acceptable,” I concede. We continue to wind through the streets to the parking complex and arrive in an area I’ve never seen where we stop at a valet I never knew existed.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Williams,” the attendant greets.

  Nick exits and comes around the car to open my door for me. So far he’s making an unforgettable first-date impression. We proceed through a private entrance and he leads me through the catacombs of the arena to the Chairman’s Room, a private club for VIP patrons. Screw a pop-up dinner! This is exponentially better. Nick presents our passes to the security guard and he leads me to the bar. I’m trying to absorb everything about my surroundings and don’t hear Nick the first or even second time he asks me what I’d like to drink.