L. A. Candy

by Lauren Conrad

  Scarlett turned to the guy. “You always bring reading material with you to sports bars?” She had to raise her voice to be heard above a loud group of girls behind them.

  The guy stared at her. “Well, how would I know that I would meet someone as sweet and charming as you to keep me company?”

  Scarlett blushed. Very few people ever sassed her back. “Touché.”

  He studied her and Jane for a second, then extended his hand. “Braden.”

  Scarlett shook it, hard. “I’m Scarlett.”

  The bartender slid two large plastic cups toward the girls. “That’ll be fourteen,” he said. Scarlett reached for her purse.

  “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think your money’s any good here. Drinks are on me,” Braden said, pulling out his wallet.

  “Actually, I’m buying,” Scarlett started to say, then decided to drop it. How could she explain to this stranger, Braden, that she had promised these drinks to Jane? That she had been an ignorant jerk this morning and teased Jane about her ex, Caleb? She could buy those drinks for Jane anytime. Besides, either way, Jane wasn’t paying.

  Oh right—Jane! Jane was standing next to her at the bar, entertaining herself with a bent straw. “This is my friend, Jane,” Scarlett said to Braden.

  Jane reached across Scarlett and shook Braden’s hand. “In case you didn’t notice me, I’m the less attractive friend to the right,” Jane said with a little wave.

  Scarlett mentally cringed. Why did Jane always do that? Scarlett loved her to pieces, but the self-deprecating crap had to go. Jane was often putting herself down. Anyone could see how pretty Jane was—except, sadly, Jane herself.

  Braden smiled. “I noticed you. And I think you’re selling yourself short.”

  Now it was Jane’s turn to blush. This guy was good.

  While Braden paid for the drinks, Jane leaned over to Scarlett. “Okay, so I guess I’m gonna be playing unnecessary wingman to you again,” she whispered.

  “Oh, please—”

  “What’d I miss?” Braden interrupted, slipping his wallet into his pocket.

  Scarlett turned to Jane. “Jane was just wondering if you come here often.”

  Jane smiled awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. Do you frequent Big Wangs, Braden?”

  Braden laughed.

  Scarlett fished the cherry out of her drink and watched Jane twist a lock of hair around her index finger. Wow, was Jane flirting? It wasn’t good—did she really just say “frequent Big Wangs”?—but it was flirting. It had been too long since Jane had shown any interest in a guy, and she was long overdue for some quality male attention. Now all Scarlett had to do was get Jane to trade spots with her without seeming too obvious, like some sort of matchmaker-slash-pimp. She didn’t mind letting Jane have Braden. There were plenty of other possibilities here tonight.

  “Big Wangs? Yeah, I work nearby from time to time, and I like to walk over here to meet up with friends.”

  “You work around here?” Scarlett asked. She glanced at the manuscript he’d shoved into his back pocket. “Starving writer?”

  Braden chuckled. “Close. Starving actor. I’ve got a big audition next week.”

  “What kind of audition?” Jane asked.

  “It’s a sci-fi pilot. It would be so cool to get the part. I love sci-fi. I was one of those Star Trek geeks in high school—you know, the kind that girls like you probably avoided like the plague?”

  “It’s not that we were avoiding you, it’s that we were shy about our bad Klingon accents,” Jane joked.

  Go, Jane! Scarlett mentally cheered. “So have we seen you in anything?” she asked Braden. She leaned back as a guy wedged himself between her and Jane to get another drink from the bartender.

  Braden shook his head. “I just signed with an agent, like, six months ago. I did a walk-on for this Sundance Channel drama that kind of never went anywhere. And a play you’ve never heard of, and you never will, because it closed after two nights. My agent’s been trying to persuade me to get into commercials. But I just don’t see myself selling cough syrup or life insurance, you know? I’m one of those ‘principled’ actors who holds out for low-paying, high-prestige indie jobs. My agent’s ready to kill me. I think I’ve made him, like, twelve dollars in commissions.”

  “Maybe you’d better let me buy those drinks, after all,” Scarlett offered.

  “Next time. By the way, I think I just turned into one of those people who start every sentence with the words ‘my agent.’ Ugh.”

  “Forgiven,” Jane assured him.

  “So what do you two do in L.A.?” Braden said. “And you have my permission to use the words ‘my agent.’ I promise I won’t leave.”

  “Scar and I don’t have any agents,” Jane said before giving them the brief summary of their L.A. life.

  Braden nodded. “An event planner, huh? Cool. And U.S.C., that’s awesome.” He took a sip of his refreshed Guinness. “Santa Barbara is one of my favorite places in the world. My friend has a beach house there. It’s beautiful.”

  “Did you grow up in California?” Scarlett asked him.

  “Yup. Pacific Palisades, born and raised. I thought about moving out to New York City after high school. Maybe someday.”

  “Scar and I went to New York City with our school, senior year,” Jane said. “Remember, Scar? We got separated from the group and ended up in Times Square.”

  Scarlett smiled. “We didn’t get separated, Janie. That bitch Jenn Nussbaum offered to hold our backpacks for us while we went to the bathroom at Toys ’R Us, then she took off and left us there without our cells and wallets. She was getting back at us…well, me, actually…for that little incident involving her boyfriend, Doug, at his birthday party. Anyway, we were stuck in Times Square without our phones, and, like, three dollars for dinner.”

  “We split a pretzel,” Jane recalled. “I was so hungry. It was the best meal I’d ever had! And it was Dave, not Doug, you slut.”

  “Whatever. Then we rode the Marriott Marquis elevators up and down about a hundred times,” Scarlett went on.

  “That was so much fun,” Jane murmured. In the dim light of the bar, Scarlett could see the smile on Jane’s face, as though she were lost in the happy memory of New York City. Or in the happy moment right here and now, basking in the attention of a new boy. “New York City is so awesome. We have to go back sometime,” Jane went on.

  “Well, if I ever end up moving out there, you can come visit me,” Braden said. “I won’t leave you stranded in Times Square.”

  Scarlett listened to the long, loaded pause as Braden’s words hung in the air, sizzling and simmering between him and Jane. Maybe this would be a good time to pretend that I need to pee, she thought.

  She stepped back from the bar and was about to excuse herself when she saw a red-haired girl walking toward them. The girl was short, curvy, pretty. She was wearing a flowered sundress and flip-flops. Her gaze was fixed on…them. Her, Jane, and Braden. Or more specifically, Braden, who didn’t see her coming because he was busy talking to Jane about puppies or something.

  “Hey, you,” the girl said, touching Braden’s shoulder. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Braden glanced up sharply. “Oh! Hey!”

  He kissed the girl on the cheek. She leaned back slightly and went back in for another kiss—on the lips.

  Braden broke away from the kiss, looking flustered. “Hey, guys! Um, this is—”

  “Willow.” She smiled at Scarlett and Jane.

  Scarlett instinctively moved closer to Jane. Jane tugged at the lock of her hair stuck around her index finger. Her happy, mellow, I’m-in-a-bar-and-I-just-met-an-awesome-new-guy vibe had totally died.

  “I’m Scarlett, and this is Jane,” Scarlett said quickly. “We were just on our way to a party,” she fibbed. “Do you two want to come with us?”

  Being the actor he was, Braden knew his line well. “Actually, it’s kinda late. I have that audition next week, and I need to get up early to rehearse. Maybe next time?�
��

  “Sure,” Scarlett said cheerfully. “Nice to meet you, Willow. Bye!”

  “Bye!” Willow said, leaning possessively into Braden.

  “Bye,” Jane said with a small wave. Scarlett noticed that she avoided Braden’s eyes.

  Scarlett linked her arm through Jane’s as they made their way out of the packed bar. Outside, the air felt warm and velvety, and the city glittered against the dark sky. A guy and a girl were making out under a streetlamp.

  Jane stared wistfully at the couple for a moment. Then she turned to Scarlett. “What was up with that?” she demanded.

  Scarlett rolled her eyes. “I was saving you. Do you really want to hang out with that guy and his girlfriend?”

  “How do you know she’s his girlfriend?” Jane snapped back. “He said he likes to meet friends here. Maybe she’s just a friend,” she added, studying her nails.

  Scarlett shook her head.

  “Okay, so, fine. Maybe she is his girlfriend,” Jane conceded. “He seems like a really nice guy, though. After all, it’s not like we know a lot of people in L.A. Maybe we could be friends with him.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door. “Maybe we should go back and ask for his number—”

  Scarlett grabbed Jane by the shoulders, spun her around, and pushed her gently in the opposite direction. “We’ll run into him again, I’m sure. He’s in this neighborhood a lot, it sounds like. Besides, I promised I’d buy you drinks. Why don’t we find another bar?”

  Jane glanced over her shoulder again. “What did you say?”

  She hadn’t heard a single word. “Another bar,” Scarlett said firmly. “This way.”

  5

  IT’S ALWAYS BETTER TO BE THE DUMPER THAN THE DUMPEE

  “Mom, I gotta go! I love you but I’m sooo late! Bye!” Jane said, snapping her cell shut. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard as she pulled into the parking lot: 9:05 a.m. It was her first day on her new job, and she was already five minutes late.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror and saw that her hair was—well, “windblown” would be a kind way to put it. Because it was such a beautiful, balmy morning, she had rolled down all the windows of her VW Jetta and had driven just a little over the speed limit to make up for the fact that her alarm had failed to go off. Now a windblown mess lived on top of her head.

  Jane reached into her enormous orange leather tote bag and dumped its contents onto the passenger seat: wallet, two lip glosses, pen, sketchbook, notebook, protein bar, bottle of water, rolled-up Women’s Wear Daily (better known as WWD), apple, another pen, breath mints, tube of stain remover, eye pencil, another pen, and two movie ticket stubs. Aha, there it was—her favorite tortoiseshell hair clip. She quickly twisted her hair into a knot, secured it with the clip, and checked her reflection again. Perfect…ish.

  After stuffing everything back into her bag, Jane ran out of the car, barely remembering to lock it, and raced into the building. Inside the modern lobby, she signed in with the security guard and then headed up to the fifth floor.

  Fiona Chen Events reminded Jane of a fancy spa. The reception area had dark gold walls, soft lighting, and a miniature Zen garden with a trickling waterfall. Soothing New Age-y music hummed over invisible speakers. The air smelled like lavender, clean and comforting.

  Behind a long gold desk, a petite blond receptionist spoke softly into a headset. She peered at Jane from behind a massive arrangement of purplish black calla lilies and bamboo leaves and whispered, “Can I help you?”

  Jane gave her a little wave. “Um, hi! I’m Jane Roberts. I’m the new intern.” Her voice sounded really loud to her.

  “I’ll let Fiona know you’re here. Please have a seat.”

  Jane started to thank her but was stopped short by the sound of exotic birds singing. No, it wasn’t birds; it was the receptionist’s phone. Jane had never heard a ringtone like that. “Good morning, Fiona Chen Events, Naomi speaking,” the receptionist whispered.

  Jane noticed a sleek brown leather couch and sat down. She reached to twirl a lock of her hair, then remembered that she was wearing it up. She drummed her fingers on the couch and tapped her foot. Calm down, she told herself. Relax. Breathe in and out with the trickling waterfall.

  She had a good reason to be nervous though. After all, this was her first real job. The only other jobs she’d had were the usual high school gigs: babysitting, lifeguarding, waitressing. She had even worked behind the counter of an El Pollo Loco—“The Crazy Chicken”—although the only crazy thing there had been her boss, Dwayne, who carried a photo of his dead parakeet in a locket around his neck and yelled nonstop. Jane had quit after two weeks.

  And this was her first time meeting Fiona Chen face-to-face. Her interview back in June had been over the phone because Fiona was too busy to meet in person.

  Jane knew that she was lucky to have this internship, even though it barely paid anything so she would have to live off her savings and help from her parents. She owed it all to her mother, who had arranged the interview; she and Fiona had been sorority sisters back in their Berkeley days.

  “Jane?”

  Jane’s head jerked up. Standing in the doorway was a strikingly beautiful woman dressed head to toe in black, her black hair in a tight ponytail. The only makeup she wore was flawless black eyeliner that winged out at the edges.

  “Fiona Chen,” the woman said brusquely. Jane noticed that she didn’t smile. “Please come in.”

  “Thanks, it’s nice to meet you,” Jane said. She jumped to her feet and extended her hand.

  Fiona shook it quickly. Her hands were cold. She turned to the receptionist. “Naomi. Hold my calls for the next ten minutes, unless it’s our September twelfth birthday girl. She’s having some sort of existential crisis about her step-daughter’s dress, and I need to intervene personally. Also, call around to our usual rental places and see who can give us four sixty-by-sixty white silk tents for this Saturday’s wedding. Yes, I mean Saturday. Our bride decided to change venues at the last minute. Also, see if you can find us a thousand robin’s-egg-blue balloons for Sunday’s baby shower. Robin’s egg blue, not any other kind of blue. Also, reschedule my oxygen facial from six to seven. Oh, and call Anthony over at Sublime Stems and tell him to replace these dreadful calla lilies. They look like death. Please.”

  “Yes, Fiona,” Naomi whispered, writing frantically.

  Fiona turned and walked through the doorway. Am I supposed to follow her? Jane wondered. I guess I’m supposed to follow her. She picked up her bag and rushed to catch up.

  Jane trailed after Fiona through a maze of hallways. There were more dark gold walls and more New Age-y music and more lavender smells. They passed half a dozen people whom Jane assumed were employees (one of them was thumbing through a rack of tuxedoes; another was inspecting bolts of pale pink fabric; the rest were busy at their desks), but Fiona didn’t introduce her to any of them. Jane wasn’t sure, but she thought that a few people gave her looks of pity.

  They ended up in a magnificent corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked downtown L.A. There were no dark gold walls, no New Age-y music, and no lavender smells. Instead, there was a sleek silver desk (with one perfectly straight, neat pile of papers), some 1950s-style chairs (they reminded Jane of funky old diners…which reminded her that she had forgotten to eat breakfast), and a shelf full of books with titles like Your Party, Your Way! and Unforgettable Celebrations.

  Fiona sat down behind the desk and waved to one of the chairs. “Let me start by explaining our philosophy at Fiona Chen Events,” she began without waiting for Jane to sit down. “We have worked diligently to create a calm, stress-free atmosphere for our clients. Hosting a party is a huge undertaking. That’s where we come in. We take the burden off the client’s shoulders. We take care of the client. We take on all the details, big and small, so the client can just enjoy the party. That being said, you will be answering to me and only me. I am, at the moment, between assistants. But as so
on as I hire a new one, which should be very shortly, you will be answering to that person as well. As far as your duties are concerned…I like my coffee half-caf, half-decaf, with just a touch of soy milk…”

  She stopped abruptly and glared at Jane. “Why aren’t you writing this down?”

  “Oh! I’m sorry!” Jane pulled a blue Mead notebook out of her purse. Now, all she needed was a pen. She felt Fiona’s eyes burning through her skin as she rummaged through her purse. Where the hell was a pen? She had, like, three in there. Pen! Crap, it was her Winnie the Pooh pen. It was the most unfortunate option of the three, but it did write. She glanced up at Fiona with an “I’m ready to go!” expression.

  Fiona continued. “A touch of soy milk and a level, not heaped, teaspoon of raw organic honey. I believe in hard copies of absolutely everything, so you will need to learn our filing system, which is not alphabetical but chronological, and by type of event, with a separate area for filing research on vendors and locations for future reference. Until I get a new assistant, you will need to answer my phone, screen my calls, and take messages as necessary. In order to ensure that my clients receive my utmost personalized attention, I take on only one event per day, up to three hundred sixty-five per year. Which means that on any given day, I might have up to three hundred sixty-five clients calling me, along with each and every one of their caterers, florists, stylists, photographers, mothers, mothers-in-law, et cetera, et cetera. I am, as you can see, an extremely busy woman.”

  As Jane listened to Fiona go through her list of duties, she felt a frisson of disappointment. Fetching coffee? (With raw honey? Did people cook honey?) Filing? Answering the phone? When she first got this job, she had envisioned long but satisfying days of helping anxious celebrities, selecting gourmet menus, and scouting fabulous venues.

  But every career had to start somewhere, right? And “somewhere” usually meant fetching coffee, filing, and answering the phone. Jane reminded herself yet again that she was fortunate just to be here, even if she was basically the office bitch. So many girls would kill for her job. After all, Fiona Chen was one of the biggest event planners in L.A. And most of her clients were super-famous. It really was a big deal.