According to a Source

by Abby Stern

  “Oh, yeah. Sometimes I do some freelance red-carpet stuff for them.” If they know that I work for The Life there’s no point in denying it. But I can downplay it.

  “We didn’t know that. I’ve seen your real name on stories online, Ella.” My heart stops. At least it feels like it has. Is this what it feels like to have a stroke? As soon as she calls me Ella I know that my years of duplicity have come to an end. My intuition tells me there’s no recovering from this, even with the best lie, but I’m not going to let her win this easily so I proceed to my next tactic. The best defense is a good offense.

  “I wasn’t aware that I was required to present my résumé and tax return when I make a reservation.” I know that I’m in the wrong here and getting into it with this particularly thorny hostess isn’t going to make my situation any better but I can’t help myself. If anyone was going to bust me, why did it have to be her?

  “I believe you’re aware that it’s our policy that we do not allow any media to dine here.” Of course I’m aware of it. It’s printed on the menus along with a warning that there’s no flash photography—or photography of any kind, for that matter—permitted on the premises without exception. “I’m sorry but you’re not welcome in the garden anymore. Tonight you can still enjoy your last meal inside if you like.” She turns to leave.

  “Wait!”

  She whips her head back around, annoyed that she has to continue speaking to me.

  “How did you find out?” I blurt out. I have to know. Did someone rat me out? Was it one of the other reporters? Was it someone I thought was my friend? Did they Google me? I have a million scenarios racing through my mind.

  “Well, Ms. Warren, it seems like you have your sources and so do we.”

  Pixie Haircut Hostess struts away, pleased with her tongue-lashing, enjoying the bomb she’s just dropped on me. I’ve been coming here undetected for years. I can’t imagine how they found out, even though it’s really not important. My mind is spinning out. What if to spite me even more she spreads it around the hospitality community in LA? All of the restaurateurs and nightlife impresarios and their employees routinely mingle. Everything in LA works on a barter system. I’m sure she gives coveted Chateau reservations to club owners and promoters in return for a table and bottle service. If she exposes me to other people I won’t have to be worried about being fired. I’ll be blacklisted. I’m frozen for a moment and my head can’t think what to do next.

  Once the hostess is out of sight Holiday rushes over. “What’s wrong?”

  It takes me a few moments to collect myself before I can speak. Once I say the words out loud my punishment will become real. “I … I got busted. They found out that I work for The Life. It’s over. I’m persona non grata. She banned me.” My hands are shaking and I’m doing everything in my power to fight back tears. I’ve already cried here once. I cannot do it again. I won’t do it again.

  “How did they find out?”

  I can barely get the words out. My body and mind are in a state of shock. “She wouldn’t say.”

  “I wonder who it was,” Holiday ruminates. She’s missing the point.

  “It doesn’t matter how—they know. And what if she tells other restaurants or worse, club owners?” I’m in a haze. I feel like I’m on whatever drug is the opposite of Ecstasy. My whole body feels limp and in sharp pain at the same time, like I want to spring toward the exit with every cell of my being, yet I’m paralyzed. “I guess in a way I’m surprised it took this long, since it’s been so long that I stopped worrying that I’d be outed.” My body has chills running through it and not the exciting kind I get with Nick, the I-feel-like-I-could-puke-without-warning variety.

  “This is completely unacceptable. Let me talk to her. I’ve been here longer than she has and have probably paid her salary more than once.” If it were under any other circumstance Holiday’s call to action would’ve been snobby and condescending, but she was trying to defend me against this scrawny yet powerful enemy. She isn’t one to allow things to happen passively. She always fights to the very end and sometimes won’t give up even after she’d been declared the loser. “Let me see if I can work my magic.”

  She marches over to the hostess, leaving me motionless. I look on and each second am trying to assess her progress. First she embarks on the friendly route. She places her hands on the hostess stand and leans in. Knowing Holiday and from my limited field of vision it looks like she’s saying, “There has been a misunderstanding.”

  Holiday playfully tosses her perfectly tousled tresses in an attempt to seduce the hostess into a false sense of camaraderie. The hostess’s acerbic expression remains intact, and Holiday goes to Plan B. It looks like she is saying, “It doesn’t have to be this way. I’m sure we can work something out between us gals.”

  All of my brain functions and motor skills have decided to take a brief hiatus and I black out for a moment. When I come to a few seconds later I can see even from a distance that the hostess isn’t budging. She’s standing her ground, explaining herself to Holiday, and glances in my direction, giving me the evil eye. Holiday returns to me, defeated.

  “She said we can take the inside table or leave. I can’t believe that didn’t work. No one has ever told me no before,” Holiday concedes.

  “Thanks for trying, Hol,” I muddle, biting the inside of my cheeks.

  “I did get her to agree to keep your identity a secret.”

  I raise my head and look into the face of my savior, yet again.

  “And she knows I will make her life a living hell around town if she goes back on her word. Your secret is safe.”

  “I don’t even know what to say,” I stammer. “Thank you for having my back.”

  “Darling, you’ve always had my back and I have yours. Trust me, this is not the last she will be hearing from me.” I sit facing forward, motionless, a victim of trauma. “Ella?” I continue beaming straight ahead. “Ella?” I nod my head. “Ella!” she snaps sternly.

  “I’m going to get fired.” I wish I were in my pajamas rocking back and forth on my bed.

  “You don’t know that,” Holiday consoles.

  “Yes, I do! I was just banned from the biggest celebrity spot in town. In fact, I was banned for the very reason it is the biggest celebrity hot spot in town. Yes, I can go to clubs or parties, but this was my most consistent way of earning points. I’m at a huge disadvantage compared to all of the other girls. There’s no way I will be able to keep up with them now.” Taps is playing in my head.

  “You’ll figure it out, darling. If there’s one person who can creatively get herself out of any jam, it’s you. Right now you need to take a deep breath and calm down. Let’s take the inside table and we’ll get you a glass of wine and something to eat. I want you to relax before we meet Tristan and Nick.”

  “I’m not in the mood to celebrate. You should go meet them, though. You’ve all worked so hard on Benedict Canyon and deserve this. I don’t want to bring the party down.”

  “Absolutely not. You’re my best friend and I’m making you eat here. If they are going to treat you like this, you have to eat here and show them that they didn’t faze you. Show them how fucking fabulous you are,” she demands.

  I know what Holiday is trying to do and I really appreciate it, but I have to figure out what the hell I’m going to tell Victoria. This is going to be the hardest e-mail I’ve had to write so far. Do I just tell her I got busted or give her all of the details? She’s not going to respond well to either tactic. Holiday interrupts my contemplation.

  “You don’t have to come out afterwards but I insist on dinner.”

  “Hol, I’d love to but I don’t think I can expense this one.”

  “Darling, it’s on me.”

  I hate that she’s treating me on her big night.

  “Holiday, one more thing. Please don’t tell Nick,” I beg. If Nick and I have one weak spot in our relationship, it’s my job. He tries to accept it but I know it makes him a little u
neasy. Hearing that his girlfriend was shunned from the Chateau won’t exactly be a turn-on.

  “You’re not the only one good at keeping secrets, Ella. Now come on. You need a shot of something … of anything,” she says as she leads me to our drafty, lonely inside table.

  Twenty-two

  I wake up the next morning and hope the whole incident at the Chateau was just a bad dream but as the minutes pass the reality sets in. I stare at my iPhone for what seems like hours. I’m trying to give myself the courage to open my e-mails. After ten minutes of purgatory I squint my eyes and press the e-mail icon. There it is, Victoria’s response to my non-file file from last night.

  Ella,

  I need to see you in the office today. 12 PM.

  Victoria

  Of course she does. My mom has an appointment with Dr. Jacobs today at 11 A.M. I could maybe make it from the hospital to The Life’s office in thirty minutes if I don’t hit any of the prelunchtime traffic at that hour. Plus I need at least fifteen minutes to get out of the doctor’s office to the parking garage and pay and this is all assuming that Dr. Jacobs is running on time with his schedule and that my mom’s appointment only takes ten minutes. Today is not the day to be tardy to a meeting with Victoria and if I go to the doctor’s appointment I will be cutting it very close. What am I supposed to do? I don’t have any leverage to try to change the time with Victoria but I will feel awful if I miss my mom’s appointment again. On the other hand if I don’t go to this meeting there’s no way I will be able to save my job, even though the possibility is incredibly slim as it is. I text Robin.

  Me: You’re going to kill me but I can’t come to the Dr. Jacobs appointment today. Emergency work meeting at noon. I’m being summoned by my boss. I’m sorry.

  Robin: I’m sure I don’t even need to say it so I’ll just tell you to come over for dinner this week.

  That wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated. One woman disappointed in me down, one woman disappointed in me to go.

  The receptionist escorts me to Victoria’s office. She’s on the phone when I arrive and points for me to sit down and for the door to be closed. That never signifies upcoming pleasantries are about to be exchanged. I oblige and take a deep breath.

  “I said I’ll have it soon,” Victoria says slowly, annunciating every syllable in the sentence to assert her alpha self. “You’ll have it,” she repeats. “Fine! By the end of the day,” she screams and hangs up the phone so harshly I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.

  She takes a moment to collect herself and refocuses all of her attention on me. Whether I’m ready or not, it’s time to meet my fate. I glance down briefly to avoid eye-fucking her and notice a memo on her desk from the CEO of Patriot Media and Publishing. From what I can see, it looks like a warning that her job is in danger if sales don’t drastically rise in the next sixty days. Victoria notices me looking at it and grabs the paper and flips it over, sternly. “What exactly happened last night?” she interrogates.

  “Pretty much what I wrote in my e-mail.”

  “Tell me again,” she instructs. “Verbatim.”

  “The hostess pulled me aside and told me that she knew I worked for The Life and I’m no longer welcome to dine in the garden.” Victoria’s eyes are scrutinizing me, and her demeanor is making my heart rate speed up.

  “Do you know how she found out?” she pries.

  “No.”

  Victoria furrows her brow.

  “I asked her but she wouldn’t tell me,” I add.

  “I don’t mind saying that I’m disappointed in you.” No, she does not mind saying that because she’s completely devoid of emotion while expressing it. “The day I met you, I thought you might be special. I saw a spark. A spark I hadn’t seen since I had it in myself. I was rooting for you.” It’s like I’m allergic to bees and ten thousand of them are stinging me. The only thing worse than being crushed is being crushed by someone that you’ve idolized almost your entire life. “Maggie kept going on and on about how you had celebrity friends.” Her voice is bored by my apparent failure.

  “I do!”

  Victoria glares at me with disbelief and leans over her desk.

  “There just hasn’t been any good gossip lately.”

  “I don’t see why all of my other girls come to me with stories instead of excuses.” I feel beads of sweat developing in places I didn’t know it was possible for beads of sweat to develop. Victoria leans back in her chair, patronizing me. “You either don’t have the sources or you don’t have the skills to keep up with everyone else.”

  “That’s not true,” I insist.

  “Ella, this puts me in a very difficult position. I’m trying to revamp The Life and you’re putting that in jeopardy. We can’t send you to the Chateau anymore, and who knows if your detection put any of my other girls in jeopardy. We are both at a huge disadvantage. I simply don’t see how you will be able to earn the points to compete.”

  Adrenaline rushes through me like my body is a racetrack. “Please. Don’t fire me,” I beg.

  “Tell me what other choice I have? Aside from this I asked you to find us a big, exclusive story worthy of a magazine cover and you haven’t delivered.”

  I feel like a criminal being coerced into entrapment. “I tried! I’ve been going out on my own time. I’ve been getting into exclusive parties on my own.” I’m throwing myself on her mercy but Victoria doesn’t seem to have any.

  “Nothing you’ve turned in has had any wow factor.”

  “What about when I saw Not-So-Innocent Oversexualized Pop Star at the hospital?”

  “That was good work but nothing earth-shattering. It’s not like you were able to get details about what caused her breakdown or an update on her condition.”

  “That’s not my fault!” Victoria’s blank facial expression means she doesn’t care if I would’ve had to convince someone to break confidentiality or their Hippocratic oath, so I try again. “What about the file I turned in on Twentysomething CW Bad Boy Heartthrob?”

  “Ella, everyone knows he’s an addict and went to rehab, and cheating on his noncelebrity girlfriend isn’t worth mentioning. It’s not like you had details on his evening and then he died. Those would’ve been valuable. But yours were just another weekday after-party. Hardly uncommon for him.” My throat is bone dry. “Maggie told me that you have been an important asset to this company and that you are ingratiated in the Hollywood scene. The fact that you don’t know one piece of gossip that no one else does is not currying you any favor.”

  “With all due respect, Victoria, it’s not like there’s some scandal out there that I’m sitting on.”

  “Actually … it is. You’re friends with Holiday Hall.”

  “Yes,” I murmur in confirmation.

  “Then why didn’t you tell me about this?” Victoria sharply swivels her chair to grab something off a pile behind her desk and places it in front of me. It’s the red-light camera photo of Holiday and me. I haven’t seen it yet. It usually takes six weeks to arrive in the mail.

  “Where did you get this?” I’m barely able to get the question out because I’m flabbergasted by what I’m looking at.

  “Not that it’s important but I have sources everywhere, Ella. Everywhere. I have one at the LAPD who runs celebrities’ license plate numbers a few times a week and you can imagine my surprise when he sent me an incriminating red-light camera photo of Holiday Hall and you in the driver’s seat.” My jaw is agape and I want to say something, but my brain and mouth are too shocked to communicate with each other and create speech. “The only place I haven’t been able to penetrate yet is the hospital but I’m working on it and I’ll find someone. Anyway,” she continues, “I need a story to go along with this photo and if you want to save your job, you’re going to help me tell it.”

  I’m paralyzed by fear.

  “What do you see in this photo, Ella?” she prods. I swallow and take the deepest breath I can without her noticing. Victoria folds her arms. “Because I
see Holiday holding a box and something that looks like a pregnancy test. Now, it’s blurry and I’m not positive that’s what it is but I ran it by legal and we’re gonna take the chance and go with it.” I gulp.

  “The question is, why is she holding a pregnancy test? Now the test could’ve been yours, since you’re in the car with her, but nobody logs onto our Web site or reads our magazine for you because nobody cares about you, so that storyline is out.” She rattles on. “I suppose it’s possible she was buying the test for someone else but it’s around midnight according to the timestamp on the photo and the box is open. Plus that wouldn’t drive traffic to our site.”

  My legs tremble.

  “Ella, if you don’t help me with the details, I’ll have to figure them out on my own and I don’t think you or Holiday will like what I come up with.” She leans into me, piercing my body and soul with her eyes.

  “So here’s my working headline, ‘Holiday Hall Pregnant with Tristan Bailey’s Child? Spotted Drinking at the Chateau Marmont. Is She a Bad Mom-to-Be or Did She Have an Abortion?’”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Oh, but I can,” she snickers. “The box and object look reasonably enough like a pregnancy test so the chances of an attorney advising her to sue us for negligence or libel are slim, and if she wants to pursue litigation it will be a long and expensive process. I know she can afford it but I doubt she’ll want to drag this out in public any longer than she has to. Come on, Ella. Help me help you help your friend. Tell me what really happened.”

  I cough on the air because the shock makes it difficult for me to swallow and breathe. I feel like every cell in my body is shaking. I can’t let Victoria ruin Holiday’s reputation.

  I blurt out, “None of it is true! Holiday never got an abortion because she wasn’t even pregnant. She had a scare but it was a false alarm and she didn’t even know if the baby would’ve been Tristan or Seth Rubin’s!”

  Victoria cackles and it’s only then I realize what I’ve just said. “And now you’re back in the game. See how easy that was.”