Your Perfect Life

by Liz Fenton

  We’re getting what we’ve always wanted. It hadn’t occurred to me until now that this decision would affect more than just me, or Casey. Of course this is huge for Destiny. She’s been Casey’s assistant for over a decade. Just another reason I can’t screw this up.

  She studies my face. “What’s wrong? Why don’t you seem excited?”

  “I’m going to grab those drinks. Destiny, you want something?” Charlie asks.

  “No, I’m good. I’m high on adrenaline right now!”

  “I’m just taking it all in,” I say before Destiny can press further.

  “Uh-huh. I know you. You’re never this quiet unless something is wrong. Does this have something to do with Charlie? I heard they are thinking about offering him the executive producer job.”

  I try to hide my surprise. Why hadn’t he told me such huge news? “No, it’s not that.” I spot Fiona across the room glaring at me and whispering something to Dean. “It’s just Fiona. She gets to me when she makes comments about my age. What if she’s right? What if they realize I’m too old for this?”

  Destiny crosses her arms over her chest.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I’m waiting for you to stop bullshitting and to start telling me what’s really going on here.”

  CHAPTER 25

  * * *

  casey

  They say it takes twenty-one days to create a habit. But as I bounce Charlotte on my hip outside the Santa Monica hotel we’ve chosen for John’s surprise party, I think it’s far less than that. In the time I’ve been Rachel, I’ve created so many new habits that I’m not quite sure how I’ll shake them if I ever get back to being myself. Like the way I’ve learned to feed Charlotte and make the girls’ lunches and John’s coffee all at the same time each morning. Or how my favorite part of the day is when Charlotte and I curl up on the couch and watch Yo Gabba Gabba together. Or how I sit on Audrey’s bed each evening while she models outfits for me. During these moments I wonder if I’ll ever be the same Casey Lee again.

  I glance at my watch. Rachel texted me that she wanted to meet, but we still haven’t spoken since I hung up on her in New York. I wasn’t angry anymore, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to call her. Maybe I couldn’t bear to hear about all the success she was having, how incredible she was when she interviewed Daisy McKnight, how I couldn’t silence the little voice inside me that said I wouldn’t have been as good. There’s also the fact that being part of her real life and her real family has made me long for one of my own.

  A town car pulls up and Rachel steps out wearing oversized sunglasses and holding her cell phone. She eyes me cautiously before pulling a small plastic bag from inside the latest Gucci satchel. The wardrobe department must have just gotten it in, I think as I adjust Charlotte’s diaper bag on my shoulder. “Peace offering,” she says as we make an exchange, the baby for the bag.

  Tears fill her eyes as Charlotte grabs her face and laughs, clearly recognizing her mother, even though she has my face. “I’ve missed you so much, baby girl.” She squeezes her tighter.

  I open the bag and discover my favorite facial cream and mask. “And I’ve missed you so much, my love,” I say as I caress the jar.

  “I know how close you and your La Mer are. I thought you might be in withdrawal.”

  “I was,” I say as I rub my cheek. “And no offense, but you could really use it!”

  “Bitch,” Rachel replies playfully before turning serious. “Are we okay?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “But can we not talk about it?” I plead. “Can we just chalk it up to body-switching stress?”

  “Agreed!” Rachel looks relieved. “I’m sorry, Casey. I shouldn’t have been so careless with your life in New York.”

  “Hey! We’re not talking about it!” I tease.

  “Right, sorry. I just had to get that out. Moving on.”

  “Hey, Casey, where’s your boyfriend?” A man wearing worn jeans and holding a long-lens camera aimed at us jumps out from behind the valet stand.

  I glance at Rachel, who’s pursing her lips. What will she say?

  “I don’t have a boyfriend!” she shouts defiantly.

  “Easy, killer. I was just asking.” The photographer puts his hands up in front of him.

  “Look, buddy, we’re just trying to have some girl time. Can you give us a little space please?” I say with a smile.

  “Whatever. I heard Snooki and JWoww are just around the corner, which is a bigger story anyway,” he says between gritted teeth, but still snaps a bunch of photos of us before he scurries off.

  “Bottom feeders!” I huff.

  “Thanks for getting rid of him. I don’t know how you deal with that all the time,” Rachel says as we walk into the lobby of the hotel.

  “No problem. I’m used to it. C’mon, I want to show you what we’ve got planned for John’s party.” Inside the elevator, I push the button for the top floor. “I think he’s going to love it!”

  “I bet he’ll be very appreciative.” She looks skeptical.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing!” she responds and I decide not to push it.

  • • •

  The elevator doors open to reveal a beautiful ballroom. “It’s gorgeous!” Rachel exclaims as she steps over to the window to take in the view of the beach below. “This space is perfect.” She sets Charlotte down and we both watch her crawl over to a chair and pull herself up easily. “She’ll be walking soon,” Rachel says quietly, turning back toward the windows, the waves crashing into the sand.

  “You’ll be back by then,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

  “How’s Audrey?”

  “Good. She’s getting so excited about the winter formal. You should see how poised she’s becoming! Are you going to come dress shopping with us?”

  “Yes, just as long as something doesn’t come up at work,” Rachel says as she checks her email and for a minute I’m shocked at how much she sounds like me. Or rather who I used to be.

  “I’d think you’d move mountains to be there,” I say lightly. “She really wants you to come, you know.”

  “Of course I don’t want to miss it. But let’s be honest here; she wants her fabulous Aunt Casey with her, not me. And you, of all people, know how it is. I can’t control when the next celebrity is going to fuck up and cause a huge scandal.” She waves down a passing waiter and asks him for a Diet Coke with lime. A flash of irritation passes his chiseled features before he realizes it’s Casey Lee asking and quickly replaces it with a wide smile full of blinding white teeth. “Right away,” he says before returning in record time with her drink.

  “Yes, you’re right. I see exactly how it is,” I say pointedly.

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Come on. You know what I mean. Don’t be like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you don’t understand what I’m going through right now. How much pressure I’m under! The decisions I have to make.”

  “Decisions? What decisions?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” Rachel says, backtracking.

  I’m about to push her more on this when I see someone out of the corner of my eye. It’s Brian. The bartender.

  I grab Charlotte off the floor. “Come on!” I say to Rachel as I start to run toward the door.

  “What?”

  “I just saw Brian!” I call back to her as I pick up speed and see him turn a corner toward the stairs. “Wait!” I scream. “Brian!” I reach the stairs and start climbing, heaving as I struggle to carry Charlotte, remembering Rachel’s words from early on, that I’d feel out of shape in her body. But as I attempt to take the steps two at a time, feeling the strain of muscles I didn’t even know I had, I think of my trainer, Hans, who sculpted Jennifer Aniston’s killer abs and trained Jennie Garth for Dancing with the Stars. I push myself to go faster and I can see the back of Brian’s head as he’s racing up the stairwell in front of me, heading out the door at the top. I look back. Where is Ra
chel?

  I burst through the door and find myself on the roof of the hotel. Brian is standing to the side, casually smoking a cigarette. “You!” I call out as I walk toward him.

  “Hi, Casey,” he says and winks.

  “Don’t wink at me, asshole.”

  “So harsh! I thought Rachel’s life was chilling you out a bit.” He takes a drag and exhales, blowing a smoke ring that disintegrates inches from my face, and I move my body to shield Charlotte from the smoke.

  “Please,” I gasp, out of breath from chasing him. “Please tell us how to change back. We’ve learned our lesson.”

  “Have you?” He laughs. “It didn’t sound like it just now in the ballroom.”

  “Seriously, what kind of magic is this? Is it a curse? Tell me how to make it right. Please,” I plead, choking back tears. “I just want my life back.”

  “Do you? Do you really want it back?” He throws the cigarette down and stubs it out with his Vans tennis shoe. “Was it really so great? Were you really so happy?”

  “It wasn’t perfect. But it was my life.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “ But . . .”

  “But, what?”

  “I guess I’m just wondering why there’s only one of you standing up here right now.”

  I look back toward the door, wondering again where Rachel is. And when I turn back, Brian’s gone.

  • • •

  As I walk carefully back down the stairs holding Charlotte tightly, wiping the tears from my face, I hear my own voice carrying up the stairwell. “Fantastic! No, no, that’s great news.” I walk into the ballroom and see Rachel, phone to her ear. “Okay. I can’t wait to see you either.”

  I freeze. Is she talking to Charlie?

  She hangs up and turns to face me. “Hey, sorry about that.”

  “Sorry about what? The fact that you didn’t move a muscle while I hauled Charlotte up two flights of stairs chasing the one person who can help us switch back? Or sorry I just heard you talking to Charlie like you’re some lovesick teenager? How many times do I have to tell you not to get involved with him?”

  “Calm down. It’s not what you think.”

  “Then please, enlighten me.” I move Charlotte to my left hip.

  “You just tore out of here, I wasn’t sure who or what you were chasing. And then I had to take a work-related call.”

  “Do you want to switch back?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Do you even want to switch back? Do you want your old life back or have you decided that mine suits you better?”

  “What kind of question is that? Of course I want my life back!”

  “Do you?” I ask again. “Because you seem to be getting quite comfortable in Casey Lee’s life.” I sit down at the nearest table, pull out a bottle for Charlotte, and hand it to her.

  Rachel takes the empty seat next to me. “Do I really have a choice? Would you rather be out of a job right now?” She shakes her head. “And please, let’s not forget that you seem to be pretty comfortable playing house with John and the kids.” She points to Charlotte, half asleep on my lap. “Don’t you think that’s hard on me too? Even Charlotte seems to like you better than me.”

  “Stop,” I say.

  “Come on, I’m not stupid. Audrey’s never been happier since you’ve been there.” She sighs. “John, too.”

  “How would you even know? You haven’t been around. If you really wanted your life back you wouldn’t have let a silly fight with me keep you away from your family. Just be careful. You know how much I’ve given up to be where I am. I’d hate to see you make the same mistakes.”

  Rachel starts to say something, but stops.

  “Speechless, huh? That’s what I thought. And for what it’s worth, it’s not better without you around, it’s just different. And if it makes you feel better, Sophie still seems as wildly unhappy as she did before.”

  “Now, that I believe.” Rachel laughs and puts her hand on mine and squeezes it lightly. “Tell me. What did Brian say?”

  “He thought it was pretty interesting that I was the only one who chased him down like her life depended on it.”

  Rachel doesn’t answer. “Did he say anything else? Anything helpful?”

  “No. Nothing,” I say and run my hands through Charlotte’s hair. “We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?”

  “Yep.”

  CHAPTER 26

  * * *

  rachel

  I lean into the plush leather seat in the back of the limo and take a drink from the bottle of Fiji Water the driver left for me, next to a copy of USA Today. These perks used to make me feel uncomfortable, but I’ve started to look forward to them. I curl my legs underneath me and watch the ocean slowly disappear from view as we turn onto the freeway and head toward the studio. I wonder: Why didn’t I chase Brian too?

  Casey’s question has been gnawing at me since the moment she asked it. I grab the newspaper and bypass the front page, and go straight to the Life section. Sandwiched between a quote from Jennifer Lopez about her divorce from Marc Anthony and the latest fashion faux pas made by Rihanna, there’s a short blurb about Gossip TV ’s five-hundredth-episode party next to a small picture of me posing with the McKnights.

  That night at the party, I’d searched the crowd for Ryan and Daisy, finally locating Daisy, trapped next to a table covered with picked-over platters of food, being held prisoner by the creepy audio guy. Her eyes pleaded with me to save her and just as he was launching into a story about the inappropriate things that happen when people forget they’re wearing a microphone, I whisked her away. I led her into the restroom where we both exploded into a fit of giggles as the door shut behind us. As she reapplied her lipstick to her perfect collagen-free lips, she’d confessed that she’d never gotten used to the Hollywood parties, the movie premieres, the press junkets, and that she always felt like a fish out of water, dressed in millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds. I stared at Casey’s reflection in the mirror, and I’d wanted to confess that I knew exactly how she felt, that I was someone completely different on the inside too.

  If Casey’s life was really my own, Daisy and I would no doubt forge a fast friendship. I felt with her just like I had when I first met Casey. I sat beside her in English class and she’d whispered that she had a major crush on Bruce Patman from the Sweet Valley High series. And two years later, it was Casey who introduced me to John, who’d recently transferred to our high school. She’d talked a lot about him before I’d met him, but she’d never mentioned how gorgeous he was. He’d jabbed Casey in the ribs playfully and asked where she’d been hiding me. We’d stood in the same spot for what seemed like hours—so long I hadn’t noticed when Casey slipped away. I didn’t see her again until she came back to tell me we’d miss curfew if we didn’t leave soon. In those last moments before leaving, I’d memorized his face—his slightly crooked smile, his strong jaw, and those navy-blue eyes. And as I’d drifted off to sleep that night, I’d hoped that he’d memorized mine.

  More than twenty years later, I didn’t expect us to still get butterflies when we saw each other, but when exactly did the light in his eyes go out? The one that used to burn bright when he’d first see me after a long day at the office. The one I’d see when he gave me a foot rub as we watched TV, his hand working up my leg, his eyes eventually inviting me to the bedroom. Is that why I didn’t chase Brian? Because there’s someone in my life now who has that light in his eyes when he sees me?

  Destiny intercepts me as I arrive at the studio. “Change of plans for today,” she says, squinting as she scrolls through her iPad. “The Santa Barbara shoot has been moved up. We need to head up there this afternoon . . .”

  I toss my bag into one of the rigid white wing chairs on the opposite side of my desk and turn on my computer. “What happened?” I ask, releasing my feet from my four-inch heels, my toes thanking me.

  “Melissa McCarthy has to be on the red-eye to New York tonight. So you’ll only
have about thirty minutes with her before she needs to leave for LAX. Her publicist was adamant that she has a hard out at 4:30 p.m. Oh, and she reminded us again, no questions about her weight. She wants to keep the focus on her career.” Destiny rolls her eyes.

  Already used to these standard requests from publicists, I don’t respond. Plus, as a woman who has her own body issues, I don’t care what Melissa McCarthy eats for dinner and I don’t think any other women watching will care either. “Did her publicist send a rider?” I ask, referring to the list of a celebrity’s requests for his or her dressing room, which can be everything from “needing” the room to be at a certain temperature, only bottled water with electrolytes, to red roses—not yellow, not white, not any other color.

  “Nope. Says Melissa doesn’t care what’s in there.”

  “I had a feeling she wouldn’t.” I smile, thinking about her well-deserved Oscar nomination. It’s nice to see a woman who doesn’t have supermodel looks and a size negative zero body get some credit for her talent. “Is it still at the Four Seasons?” I click through my emails and notice one from Ava marked urgent, the subject line: still waiting. I don’t have to open it to know what it says; she wants to know if I’m moving to New York.

  It’s only been a few days. You told me I had two weeks.

  “Another message from Ava?” Destiny asks, noticing my strained expression as I stare at the email, neither opening it nor deleting it, like the others.

  I nod, then start my normal routine of checking the gossip sites.

  “What’s up with that anyway—why haven’t you answered her?” Destiny closes her iPad, signaling me that she needs my attention. Even in just a few weeks, Destiny and I have developed our own shorthand.

  Nothing new on Perez Hilton, nothing on D-lister. TMZ has the first mug shot of Lacey Lane, the CW actress who was arrested yesterday for shoplifting.

  “Hmm?” I look up.

  “You heard me.”

  “Can we talk about this later? I need to prep for this Melissa McCarthy interview and then we have the sit-down with Beyoncé later this week. I wonder if she’ll bring Blue Ivy? Hey, we’ll have to get a picture of the two of you together since you’re practically identical twins.”