The Liar, The Bitch and the Wardrobe

by Kingsley, Allie

  Presley explained, “Jax put you and me to bed before he left. He tucked us in and everything. How cute is he? I can’t believe we’ve never hooked up!”

  I mentally sighed in relief. “Where is everyone?”

  “Well . . . I know Phoenix Rising starts their European tour tomorrow, so Prince Charming is probably halfway over the Pacific by now.”

  “Atlantic,” I corrected before taking a second sip of coffee.

  “No, I think they’re with Jive. But anyways, the girls left to go shopping and my assistant drove Stefano home about an hour ago . . . Do you need a ride?”

  “Actually, I think that I’m going to walk.” Stefano did only live just down the road and I felt weird being an assistant, having another assistant assist . . . me.

  “Babe, nobody walks in LA!” Presley teased.

  “I know, but I have a few phone calls to make and the fresh air is just what this hangover needs.” I put the warm mug to the side of my head.

  Presley took the phone from my hand and entered her number, saving it as “P.D.” “Call me, bitch!”

  We air-kissed as I exited Presleyland and made my way to the gates surrounding her estate.

  I called Julie immediately. No answer. I called Sebastian. No answer. I called Julie again. Straight to voice mail. I knew I had really messed up.

  After a few minutes my cell phone started singing the song “Girls Just Want To Have Fun”—Julie’s ringtone! I opened my phone. “Hi!”

  “I don’t even know why I’m calling you back.”

  “You have every right to be mad at me. What I did, forgetting to call, is inexcusable. But in my defense I was still technically working . . .” I knew it was a stretch, and even as I said it, I regretted it.

  “What does that have to do with treating your friends like shit? Let’s not forget that you missed my birthday party for the first time . . . ever. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tried to connect with you in the last three weeks?”

  “No. I . . .”

  “I’ve called you six, maybe seven times, and you haven’t so much as texted me back to let me know you still exist—or that I still exist to you.”

  “But you . . .”

  “I suspect you’re too busy with your fancy new friends to bother with your old ones. We’re not cool enough for you anymore, is that it?”

  “No! That’s not it at all . . .” Okay, so I knew that those people weren’t my friends. I met most of them only twenty-four hours ago. It’s just that I didn’t understand why she couldn’t let me have these experiences and be happy for me. “Look, I am allowed to have other friends . . . You don’t have to be jealous.”

  After a long silence, Julie’s voice grew angry. “Jealous? Take a good look around and ask yourself what is real. People out here have a shelf life shorter than milk and you’re no different! When they get tired of you, you’ll be dead to them. Then what will you have?”

  I didn’t have an answer. I regretted the jealous remark as soon as I said it and was disappointed in myself for being such an outright bitch. All that I could say was, “I didn’t mean that. I’m really sorry.”

  “Your apology will be accepted when you get off your high horse and meet me halfway.”

  “Fair enough. I will fix this, Julie. Promise.”

  “Don’t forget what you came here to do: photography. The rest is all hype.” With those words I winced, noticing that I didn’t have my camera on me. I stopped walking and felt around my neck even though I knew it wouldn’t be there. Where had I left it? How could I leave it wherever I had? Oh, that’s right, it’s at the studio in my messenger bag. Phew! “Have fun at work, Lucy. Sebastian is waiting for me in the car and we’re heading to the beach.”

  Fun at work? How badly I wished that I too was in that car. “Thanks. Tell Sebastian that I’m sorry.”

  By the time that we hung up I was at Stefano’s front door. I wanted to cry and felt very much on the verge of a breakdown. It wasn’t like me to let down my friends. Things needed to change. I went inside and straight to the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water and leaned my back against the sink. I just needed a minute to myself.

  “That fucking guava tree spits out sap like a goddamn viper, I swear . . .” Roman walked in through the back door and tossed a paper bag full of guavas on the counter. He dismissed the fact that I was wearing yesterday’s clothes, likely because that was par for the course when working for Lepres. Except when it came to Roman. I had yet to see him wear the same thing twice. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re about to . . .”

  Before he could finish his sentence I started wailing. I don’t know if it was the guilt of what I had done to Sebastian and Julie, the disappointment I caused my parents, the lack of sleep or the overwhelming sensation of everything happening so quickly and at once. Whatever it was, it all came out right then and there.

  Roman dumped out the guavas from the paper bag, pressing the bag to my mouth as he pushed me against the kitchen counter. “Just breathe!” he told me with authority.

  “But I don’t need . . .” I wanted to tell him the bag really wasn’t necessary.

  “Shhh . . .” He looked behind him over each shoulder to ensure the coast was clear. “Look, he’s an asshole, I know. I’ve been there.” The bag inflated and deflated with every breath. I stopped crying because I was in shock. Roman had never expressed any animosity toward Stefano. He whispered emphatically, “You are under great pressure and I feel for you. But, you’d better get it together, sister”—he put his forefinger and thumb an inch apart—“’cause you are this close to being promoted into the studio.”

  My eyes widened and I made some happy sound through the bag. Roman shook his head and said, “You heard me . . .” Oh my God! It was all happening! Yes!

  Stefano bounded into the room and spotted me breaking down into the bag. “That’s an interesting look . . .” Holding up his house phone, he announced, “Bella Blackstone. She wants to know if she can steal you for the day. Poor thing is having a hard time finding a decent assistant.” He rolled his eyes while handing me the phone. “Which I can fully relate to.”

  I pulled my face away from the bag and took the phone, covering the mouthpiece with my palm.

  Irritated, Stefano demanded, “Roman, are you ready? What is taking you so long? Are you taking me to brunch or should I call a cab?”

  “555-1212,” Roman snapped.

  “What? What is that?”

  “The number for Yellow Cab.”

  “Well, aren’t you clever?”

  “Not as clever as that knockoff Rolex.” Stefano quickly covered his wrist with his other hand, scooting Roman from the kitchen to the front door.

  “In the car . . . Now . . .”

  Once they left I answered the phone. “Bella, your timing is impeccable!”

  “Will he cut you loose for a few hours?” Her upbeat demeanor was like a breath of fresh air.

  “Are you joking? Who’s going to say no to you?!”

  “Great! Meet me at the Bungalow Hotel in Malibu. I signed in as Minnie Mouse.”

  “I’ll see you there!” I didn’t waste another second in Chateau Crazy. I quickly ran home to change and found a substantial, expensive-looking floral arrangement at my door. Who would send me flowers? Sure enough, the envelope had my name on it. The card was typed out and read: XO, J. Jax Phoenix had sent me the flowers! Was this for real? How did he find my address? I suppose that he could have had his agent or someone like that contact the studio or something. The details didn’t really concern me because I was so excited that I could jump out of my skin! This was really happening!

  I changed into a Bella-bought Rebecca Taylor sundress, put the card in my purse and headed to the hotel. I wondered what Bella could possibly need from me.

  The Bungalow Hotel is a posh haven overlooking the sea. It is known for its private pools and lush gardens. It is a frequent retreat for celebrities who need a refuge from the prying public e
ye. As I went through the simple modern entry, a kind looking man approached me. “Welcome to the Bungalow, miss. How can I assist you?”

  ”Actually . . .” I smiled and felt a little ridiculous stating, “I’m looking for my friend . . . Minnie Mouse.”

  The man laughed, motioning to the large French doors leading out to the garden. “Miss Mouse is lying by the pool. Follow me.” He led me through a maze of small trees, aromatic blossoms and fountains, passing several private pools. At the last pool, he gestured toward the cabana. There I found Isabella topless, face down and glowing in coconut-scented oil. Her luscious blonde hair draped over the side of the padded lounge. A tray of strawberries and a bottle of iced champagne were by her side.

  “Lucy! Come sit!” I sat on an adjacent chair.

  “This place is amaaazing!” I exclaimed with enthusiasm.

  “It’s my home away from home. I couldn’t live without it.”

  “So, are you working from here today?”

  “Yeah . . . working on my tan!”

  “Oh. It’s just that Stefano mentioned you needed my help with something.”

  “I do need your help. I need you to help me lie by the pool. Always have a swimming buddy—pools can be dangerous!” We broke into laughter. I was so happy to get away from Stefano that I could cry again, this time happy tears. Bella handed me her room key.

  “Go on up to the room. I have everything up there . . . bathing suits, sunscreen, whatever.”

  I took the key and bounced out of the chair. “Bella! I would hug you . . . but you’re topless and all greasy.”

  “If I had a nickel for every time someone said that . . . !” she quipped.

  I skipped to the elevator.

  * * *

  The scorching Southern California sun gleamed down on the Bungalow pool. We sailed next to each other on floating lounges. Blended strawberry margaritas filled both lounge cupholders. “How is work going?” Bella asked me. “Has Stef eased up on you at all?”

  “Not really, although he didn’t call me ‘Ugly’ once yesterday! I’m guessing because I was wearing those beautiful clothes.” I smiled.

  “That’s a good start. I totally understand what it’s like to be degraded by men. Every guy I’ve ever married did that to me. Next time, things will be different.” Bella, a true romantic at heart, had a habit of falling in love quickly with the wrong men. Her last three marriages were highly publicized disasters. Her relationships had created so much fodder for the tabloids that VH1 had created a show titled Bella’s Blokes. The program might just as well have been called Bella’s Blunders. Bella’s lovers had been chronicled and analyzed by gossipmongers and sex therapists as everyone offered their opinion of “what went wrong.”

  “I don’t know why guys get off on putting us down. I guess, in a way, I get off on them putting me down. Otherwise, I wouldn’t keep going back to the same type, right? That’s what Dr. Dumb Bitch said on that bullshit Bloke show, anyways. What about you? Any boyfriends?”

  “No, not me. Guys don’t see me like they see my girlfriends. I’ve always been one of the guys, everyone’s geeky little sister.”

  “You don’t look like one of the guys!”

  “Well, I’ve never been the hot girl, the one that guys fall head over heels for. That would be my best friend, Julie. I’ve always been the pretty girl’s friend that guys like to pal around with. It’s hard to explain, especially to you!” I sipped my margarita.

  “In a weird way, I think you’re totally lucky. I’ve never had any guy want to be my pal. I’ve never been friends with a guy, ever. No man ever wants to talk to me. They only want to sleep with me.” She took a sip of her margarita.

  “So we’re both screwed,” I conceived.

  “Actually, it sounds like I’m the only one getting screwed here!” We laughed as I splashed Bella with my foot.

  I asked, “Don’t you have two daughters?” Anyone not living in a cave for the last decade knew about the celebuspawn children of Bella and her second husband, the infamous Noah Sierra. Noah is the Food Network’s bad-boy chef, who keeps their censors working overtime with his rock-and-roll style cooking segments. Mr. and Mrs. Sierra’s marriage owed its demise to Noah’s never-ending addiction to drugs, alcohol and other women.

  “The twins are great. They’ll be six years old next month. It’s unreal. I can’t believe I’m a mother of two at thirty-two!” Thirty-eight, I mentally ticked. Bella went on, “So, explain to me how you are becoming a master photographer by slaving for Stef.”

  “Well, I thought that being his assistant meant that I would be assisting with actual photo shoots. I didn’t realize that you had to start off where I am, fetching coffee and pretending to turn down fountains . . .”

  “As odd as the job is, you do have it easy as far as Hollywood goes. Think about all of the models and actresses who have to sleep their way to be where you are . . . With scruffy directors and sleazy agents . . . On top of their ugly, itchy casting couches in the valley . . .” Bella drifted off and began unconsciously scratching her upper arm.

  “Well, how did you get started?” I naively questioned.

  “Certainly not by running into Spielberg while serving him cocktails, I’ll tell you that much!” Bella laughed at her own joke. “Cheers to that!”

  We clinked the empty glasses together and signaled an attendant for refills.

  “Excuse me, Miss Blackstone, your five-o’clock massage is ready in the spa.” A pretty blonde hotel clerk placed a plush white robe inside the cabana.

  Bella slipped over the side of the lounge and sauntered out of the pool. “I almost forgot I booked one! I’m going in—feel free to stay here, keep drinking, whatever!” I sat up in the float and found I had more than just a minor buzz going on. “Yeah, I’ll lay out for a while. Thanks for everything. Today has been so great.”

  “I know! I’m so glad we’re friends. We’re going to have to make a weekly habit of you assisting me!” Bella wrapped herself in the robe, refilled her margarita and headed into the hotel. I climbed out of the pool to refill my glass before retiring to the shaded lounge inside the cabana. In my inebriated haze, I decided to enjoy the rest of my afternoon lying down . . . watching the palm trees sway . . . closing my eyes . . . falling into a deep . . . deep . . . sleep.

  chapter nineteen

  Crash. Boom. Bang.

  I opened my eyes to find myself alone in the cabana. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the light then discovered they were already adjusted and it was evening. I picked up my cell phone and, glancing at the time, was surprised to see it was eight thirty. I had six missed calls from Stefano. Quickly, I gathered my belongings. I attempted to return his calls but his cell phone had been turned off.

  Pulling into Stefano’s driveway, I was relieved to see Roman’s car. A soft light coming from the house exuded a serene vibe. The sound of crickets chirping and a calm and peaceful breeze filled the air. I wondered if Roman got Stefano to sit down and complete an edit. I made my way up the steps toward the front door. As I fit my key into the lock, the door swung inward.

  Roman was on his way out and he looked miserable. His bow tie was undone, his face was flushed and his red eyes were tearing up. “I can’t do this anymore. He’s all yours. I mean, really. It’s a fucking phone charger.”

  I was afraid to ask. “What do you mean, it’s a phone charger?”

  “He can’t find his cell phone charger. Do you know where it is?”

  I shook my head slowly from side to side. Roman held the door open for me and, after I entered, he slammed it shut behind him. I stood there frozen, looking at the living and dining areas. Cushions, pillows and books were strewn about. Chairs were turned over on their sides and a destroyed and expensive-looking sculpture was in pieces on the floor. “Hurricane Stefano,” I whispered to myself. From where I was standing, I could see a sizable amount of cocaine cut into lines and spilled across the dining room table. I had become so used to such chaos that all it meant to me
was that I’d have a hard time putting Stefano to sleep. Crash, boom, bang! Noise erupted from upstairs. “Fuck!” Stefano’s voice echoed down. I carefully snuck up the stairs on the balls of my feet, one foot slowly following another, balancing on the edge of each step. Bang crash, thump thump! I froze midstep at the turn of the stairwell. I rested my hand on the wall as I strained my upper body around to get a glance of the upstairs hallway. Creeeeeek—the stairs loyally alerted the man of the house. “Lucy? Lucy!” Should I turn around and make a run for it? The hairs on my arm went straight and I became frightened. “I know you’re there. I saw you pull up! Get your ass up here!” I took a deep breath and decided to just find the stupid phone charger and get the hell out of there. Stefano was pacing in figure eights around the sparse master bedroom, throwing and kicking everything in his path. I hesitantly entered the room. He glared at me as if I had done something unimaginable. ”Where is my fucking phone charger, Lucy?” He said my name as if it were the most repulsive word he’d ever uttered.

  I swallowed. “I . . . I don’t know. The last time I saw it . . . I put it in your backpack.” The satchel had been dumped out next to the bed and its contents scattered on the floor. I fell to my knees and checked the pockets with my trembling hands.

  “My iPhone is dead and I want to call my mother. You’d better find it.” This was the first that I had ever heard of Stefano’s mother. Without looking up at him, I timidly suggested, “Why don’t you use the house phone while I look for the charger?”

  “Fine,” he sulked. I briskly exited the room and went downstairs. I stopped in the bathroom to splash water on my face. My hands were now noticeably shaking and I attempted to shake them steady while trying to calm my nerves. I squeezed my gold Love bracelets tightly, as ridiculous as it sounds, and wished that I wasn’t alone with Stefano in that house. I gave myself a good look in the mirror, staring into my sorrowful eyes. I glanced at the reflection of the mountain of cocaine on the dining room table. My eyes indecisively glanced back and forth from my own reflection to that of the drug. Biting my lower lip, I stopped to contemplate the demons. Proceeding into the dining room, I carved two large white lines, quickly vanishing them into my nose through a straw. I thought that it would help numb the intense emotions I was experiencing. I retrieved the portable phone for my manic boss.