According to a Source

by Abby Stern

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?! Wait, wait, wait. Mom, I’m not sure it’s a good idea. You just got out of the hospital,” Robin reminds her.

  “That’s the point, Robin. I’ve been in the hospital for the past month and life is short. I’ve been looking forward to this. I could spend every night at your house resting for the rest of my life and there’s still a chance this cancer could beat me. I don’t want to live like that.” Robin’s eyes change and we all know she connected with what my mother said. “It’s just dinner. It might even make me feel better. Ella, do you think you will be able to get us a reservation on such short notice?”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem, but I can always have Holiday make a call if there’s an issue.”

  “Then it’s settled! I’m going. Now I just need to find an outfit that hides my port.”

  “I’ll bring your bag up in a minute, Mom,” Robin calls out to her. “Ella, do you really think this is a good idea?” I can almost hear her teeth yearning to grind against each other out of anger.

  “It was your idea for me to do something to make it up to her for missing chemo!” I remind her.

  “And I’m glad you are, but she has cancer, not a cold. Can’t you make it up to her with a little less excitement? She’s doing better but she’s far from cured. She still has to do outpatient chemo and needs to watch her diet.” Her frustration is increasing, but I’m not gonna let her ruin this for me or my mom.

  “Can you be her daughter instead of a doctor for once? You know she will get a huge kick out of this. She’s been looking forward to it. She said it herself.”

  Silence.

  “Besides, isn’t a positive attitude and a high spirit proven to help people who are sick? You can’t keep her cooped up in the house if she isn’t at the hospital.”

  Robin lightly moans.

  “C’mon, it’s just dinner and she has to eat. I promise, I won’t let her bus any tables.”

  “Fine, do what you want,” she tells me, upset that I’m questioning her authority and her medical opinion.

  “Screw cancer!” I hear my mother yell from the top of the stairs.

  * * *

  “It’s just like how it looks in The Life,” my mother gushes. She’s ecstatic, her eyes darting around as if she’s a trophy wife in a diamond mine.

  “I really am sorry I missed a chemo treatment. I wanted to be there but I got caught up in work and … there’s no excuse. I’ll be there next time.”

  “I understand, Ella. You have to live your life. I know Robin gives you a hard time but you’re there for me as much as you can be.” I smile at my mom because I want her to enjoy her night out but I’m disappointed in myself and ashamed. Nothing should take precedence over my mother’s health. “I can’t believe I’m at Spago!” she sings.

  “I know you’ve always wanted to come here.”

  “It’s classic Hollywood but what’s even better is being here with you.” She smiles. I know that dinner doesn’t expunge the fact that I missed chemo but she is so happy to be here.

  “Do you know what you want to eat?”

  “My appetite isn’t back to full swing yet so I might not be the best food decision-maker at the moment. You’re my Hollywood guide. I trust you to choose.”

  “How about we ask him?” Her eyes follow mine and none other than Wolfgang Puck is mingling in the dining room checking in on his guests. My mother is in heaven.

  “How are you two beautiful ladies doing this evening?” he asks when he reaches our table. My mother blushes.

  “Chef, what would you recommend tonight?” I ask.

  “Have you been here before?” he inquires.

  “I have but it’s my mother’s first time. It’s a special occasion.”

  “In that case, leave the ordering to me.” My mother is impressed and feels like a queen, and despite Robin’s displeasure about our outing I think it could be what my mom needed.

  “Thank you, Chef,” I say with a grateful grin.

  He brings out course after course of different delicacies. I’m normally a pretty good eater but I can’t keep up, especially because my mother has the appetite of a bride before her wedding day. But she always has room for dessert, cancer or no cancer. During the dessert course of some kind of pastry that’s dark chocolate with a name way too fancy to pronounce, my mother stops midbite. She tries to say something without opening her mouth, like a ventriloquist, but I can’t understand anything. Finally she whispers, “Middle-Aged Self-Proclaimed Bachelor Actor is at the bar.” Not only is he the biggest celebrity she’s ever seen in real life but she also knows that at this moment she’s the sidekick to a reporter for The Life. “It looks like he’s sipping a scotch. I will try to get a look at the brand when the bartender pours him a refill.”

  “Very good eye, Mom.”

  She’s proud of herself, and it’s so cute to see her excited and get a look at what I do through her eyes. “He’s even more handsome in person.” We scoot our chairs a little bit around the table so we have a better vantage point. “He’s a good get, right?”

  “Totally!” And if I can get Victoria the right details I might have a chance at a cover story. At the very least I should be in good standing points-wise with everything I’ve turned in this week. We observe multiple women approaching Middle-Aged Self-Proclaimed Bachelor Actor, and while he’s not inappropriately friendly, he’s very polite to each of the women who thought they might have a shot at seducing the star. No such luck.

  “Do you think he’d take a picture with me?”

  I usually despise the idea of asking a celebrity for a fan photo but if it makes my mom happy, I’m all in. “There’s only one way to find out.” We make our way over to the bar. We are about to approach Middle-Aged Self-Proclaimed Bachelor Actor when my mother grips my arm like we’re going down in a plane crash.

  “I can’t do it, Ella.”

  “Sure you can,” I encourage.

  “I’m too nervous.” She’s about to make a run back to the table, but I know how much a picture would mean to her and am not unnerved by his presence so I step in.

  “I will ask for you.” My mother nods and I break free from her grasp.

  “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you but my mom is a really big fan of yours and she really wants a photo with you but she’s too nervous to approach you.”

  He looks over at my mom, who nervously waves. “I don’t mean to be an asshole but if I take one with her then I have to take one with whoever else asks and I wanted to have a low-key night.” At Spago? He came to Spago to stay under the radar?

  Oh, hell no. I pull out the big guns. “She’s in town being treated for leukemia and it would really mean a lot to her if you could make this one exception.” Okay, it’s not exactly kosher to manipulate him and prey on his sympathy but if I can use the cancer card to make one of her fantasies a reality, I’m going to do it. I’m really just giving her a senior Make-A-Wish moment.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he says, embarrassed by his previous refusal. “Yes, of course I’ll take a picture with her. What’s her name?”

  “Joan.”

  “Joan, get over here!” My mom rushes over. “Hi, Joan, it’s very nice to meet you.”

  I haven’t seen her this happy since before her diagnosis.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” she echoes. My mom is massaging her hands, which is her tell that she’s anxious.

  “Are you enjoying your evening?”

  “Oh, yes. My daughter is so sweet to treat me to a Hollywood night.” Middle-Aged Self-Proclaimed Bachelor Actor flashes that smile that made him a star.

  “Let’s take that picture, shall we?” He leaves his barstool and places his arm around my mom.

  “You ready?” I ask. They both nod. “One, two, three.” I snap a few photos on my phone.

  “Are they good?” My mom wants to know.

  “Take a look.” She scrolls through them and the joy on her face is illu
minating her spirit. Note to self: If yoga is nature’s Xanax, joy is nature’s Botox.

  “Thank you. This was a real treat.”

  Middle-Aged Self-Proclaimed Bachelor Actor gives her a hug. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

  We return to the table and I begin writing notes on everything that happened during the interaction, highlighting that he “graciously took photos with fans.”

  “I will never forget this,” she tells me, and I have to fight back a quivering lip and tears. I bury my face back in my iPhone.

  As I type, an e-mail clicks through. It’s the updated points sheet. Even with my info on Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star I’m still number four? How is this possible? Where are these other girls getting their scoops and how are they getting them? Thank goodness I at least got a sighting in here because it looks like every last point is going to count before Victoria does her next round of termination. I return to my notes in a frenzy to make sure I get everything down, and thank goodness my mom has my back.

  My mother, now even more enamored with Middle-Aged Self-Proclaimed Bachelor Actor than she was before, has kept her eye on him while mine has been buried in my smartphone. She clears her throat loudly like she’s done this with me a hundred times before so I look up. She tilts her head over toward the bar area and I see it; well, in this case, her—Middle-Aged Self-Proclaimed Bachelor Actor’s ex-wife! She takes the stool next to him at the bar, and now this has gone from a sighting to a potential story. Why is she here? Does his new girlfriend know he’s meeting her? They’re supposed to hate each other, having had one of the most acrimonious divorces Hollywood has ever seen.

  My eyes are shifting between them and my phone as if my head was on a remote control that could only look at those two things … until I hear my mother release a sigh.

  “Mom, are you okay?” The sparkle that has been in her eyes all night has disappeared.

  “I’m feeling a little nauseated and tired, that’s all.” She tries to conceal her discomfort but I can see right through it.

  “Coffee, ladies?” the waiter interrupts.

  “Ella, that’s up to you if you want to stay.” What she really means is, do I want to drag out our meal so I can spy?

  “No, thank you. Just the check, please.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need to stay to see what happens with them? I don’t mind.” Her sentiment is sincere and clinches my decision.

  “Not a chance. I’m going to get you home.”

  My mom keeps her eyes peeled to Middle-Aged Self-Proclaimed Bachelor Actor while I pay the bill. I’m glad we saw him. He inadvertently paid for our dinner by allowing me to expense it for getting the sighting. My mom remains reticent as I sign the bill and continues her self-imposed but brief vow of silence until we get in the car and are assured of our privacy. She then releases her breath and can’t wait any longer to spill the dirt on our drive home.

  “His ex-wife continually tried to make eye contact with him, which he denied the whole time I was watching. He seemed distant and was drinking at double the speed he was before she showed up,” she rattled off. I laugh. I don’t know if years of reading The Life gave her an innate sense of what details to key into or if she’s better at my job than I am.

  “Are you gunning for my job too?” I tease her. My compliment gives her smile a shimmer.

  “Never. I’m just trying to help. If you get a byline, it’s a win,” she affirms. “His hands appeared stiff, and it seemed like he even clenched one into a fist at some point throughout their conversation.” She continued providing the minutest details until I pulled in the driveway.

  “You’re back early,” Robin comments when I bring my mother inside. My mom gives me a kiss, a hug, and a squeeze.

  “Thank you for tonight. It was so special to be there with you.” She starts removing her jewelry at the base of the stairs. Like mother, like daughter. “Is Marianna still awake for story time?”

  “No, she’s been asleep for about an hour.”

  “Just as well, I’m exhausted. Good night, girls.” She slowly walks upstairs, holding on tightly to the railing.

  “’Night, Mom,” I call out. Robin and I are left alone, staring at each other.

  “I’m glad you had fun.” This is Robin’s way of offering peace.

  “We did. But I think you were right. She got really tired. Maybe it was a little too much too soon. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you.” I stare at every corner in the room, waiting to incur my sister’s wrath, but it doesn’t come.

  “I’m not trying to be a bitch, El. I just want to do everything we can in our power to make sure her body is capable of beating this disease.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I won’t question you again.” I’m not sure if I was being selfish, bringing her out as a way for me to feel better for missing chemo. I swallow and Robin hugs me.

  “She did seem like she had a lot of fun, though. It might not be what the doctor ordered, but maybe it was what she needed.” I shake my head. “I better get back home. I have a file I need to turn in and I’m pretty exhausted myself.” I make my way toward the door. “Give Marianna a kiss for me.”

  “Will do.”

  “Maybe I could come by soon and take her to the park or something after school?”

  Robin’s expression transforms into an actual smile. A feat for me.

  “She’d love that.” She approaches me for one last hug. “’Night.”

  Twenty-one

  “Ella! Ella! Did you hear?” Holiday hollers and storms in, waving a bottle of Dom. I’m lying in bed attempting to take a nap but I’m so exhausted I can’t sleep so I don’t mind the spontaneous distraction.

  “No, what?” I wiggle my way up and rest my back against the headboard.

  “Benedict Canyon got picked up! I go back to Canada tomorrow to shoot the series!” she squeals.

  “Congratulations, Hol!” I leap out of bed to give her a hug. “I’m so proud of you.” I guess those glamour-and-love toasts have paid off for us both.

  “You know what, darling?” She admires herself in my mirror. “I’m proud of me, too. When I got the news I literally screamed into the phone. I probably busted Nick’s eardrum.”

  “Eh, better than anything else on him being broken,” I tease.

  “We must celebrate tonight. I’m thinking Chateau? I know you’re still on your crusade for points, so if we go there we can kill two birds with one champagne bottle.” I furrow my brow at her updated cliché but can’t help but morph it into a smile. “We’ll meet up with Nick and Tristan after and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Well, then, I guess I don’t really have a choice. I’ll ask Victoria if she’s assigned it to any of the other girls already.” I grab my phone and quickly e-mail Victoria. “I’ll let you know what she says … but be warned, if she says I’m allowed to cover, I might have to include you in my file, ‘British Heiress Turned Hollywood It Girl,’” I tease.

  “Darling, you fucking better.” She winks. She hoists the champagne above her head as if it’s a trophy, and to her it kind of is. “I know it’s a bit shy of five P.M. but it is a special occasion. Let’s pop this open!”

  “I won’t argue with that!”

  Holiday pops the cork with her signature ease and grace and takes a swig directly from the bottle. I hadn’t noticed that she didn’t bring glasses but if Little Miss Classy is down to drink a bottle of bubbly like it’s a forty, who am I to argue? With her wealth, social status, and soon-to-be celebrity being what it is, it’s nice to know that she can let go with the best of ’em. In her own way, of course.

  Holiday pauses with the bottle at her lips. “Wait! What are we drinking to?” she asks.

  “Benedict Canyon,” I say, stating the obvious.

  “I know we’re drinking to that but we need an actual toast. We always toast. Something eloquent.” She’s searching. “How about to everything being perfect?”

  “Nothing is ever perfect, Holiday. But
I think we are both pretty damn close.”

  “If life were perfect, why would we need champagne?” she adds, finally taking another swig. Oh, how true.

  My phone buzzes.

  “We’re good for tonight.” Victoria said no one else was assigned to cover Chateau yet.

  “Fabulous! It will be a night we won’t forget.”

  * * *

  I groan under my breath when we arrive at the host stand at the Chateau Marmont. Of course Pixie Haircut Hostess, my least favorite, is working tonight. Why wouldn’t she be? I transition into Bella.

  “Hi, reservation for Warren for two for 8 P.M.” I always try to get away with only using my last name instead of getting into the Ella/Bella of everything—especially after my debacle with the waitress a few weeks ago. The hostess escorts Holiday and me to a table, but instead of leaving the lobby and leading us on my familiar walk outside to the garden, she brings us a few feet away to a table in the dining room inside. Why is she seating us here? Nothing happens inside the dining room, that’s why I don’t sit inside. While it’s always been clearly stated that my request for a patio table is not guaranteed, I’ve never not been seated there. The celebrities always sit outside in the garden, rain or shine, through summer and winter. Pixie Haircut Hostess knows I always sit out there, too. As much as it pains me to talk to her, this is absolutely necessary. I need to address this so I can do my job.

  “Sorry to be one of those annoying people but I requested to sit in the garden. Is there nothing available out there?”

  She rolls her eyes and leans in to me, too close for comfort. “Follow me,” she instructs. Oh good, she realizes her mistake. She’s going to take us out there. Holiday and I follow her, but she turns around. “Just you,” she says to me. I obey and follow her to the side of the living room next to the piano. She glares at me with an undeniable smirk before speaking.

  “It’s come to our attention that you work for The Life,” she announces. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What do I do? Relax. You’ve got this Ella … Bella … whoever you are. It doesn’t matter. Just be calm and you can fix this. You’ve always been prepared for this. Now is not the time to panic. Be confident and stand your ground.