by Gayla Twist
“I’m sorry,” Crystal said. “Ms. Bl… Ophelia didn’t tell me. I would have been more careful, but can I please just have the diamond now, and I’ll be out of your life.”
Margot narrowed her eyes. If she gave Crystal the ring, then she would never see Ophelia again, and she would never have the chance, albeit slim, to ask her to help fight slavery. She lifted her chin and said, “No.”
Ophelia’s assistant did a double take. “Wh…” she stammered. “What?”
“Did your boss tell you why I lent her my mantón to begin with?”
“Not exactly,” Crystal said. “But I do take her laundry to the cleaners, so… I kind of pieced it together.”
“Don’t you think lending a complete stranger your most valued possession warrants, at the very least, a face-to-face thank you when the item is returned?”
“Well… I do…” Crystal said, her face a bit flushed on Ophelia’s behalf.
“Please tell your employer that I’m sure a star of her caliber would want to do the gracious thing and return my mantón to me personally so that she can properly thank me and show the good manners that I’m sure are deeply ingrained in her character,” Margot said, her face pulled back into a strained, polite smile.
Crystal started shaking her head rather rapidly. “I can’t do that. I can’t say that to her. She’ll fire me.”
“What if I write it down for you?”
“She’ll still fire me for knowing that you actually said that to me and I did nothing about it.” Crystal’s complexion went from flushed to pale. “And I really need this job. I’ve got a ton of debt. And I majored in English lit.”
“Okay.” Margot gave it some thought. “What if I just hand you a sealed envelope. You have no idea what’s in it. I saw the state of my grandmother’s mantón, got really upset, and refused to let you in.”
“That might work,” Crystal said, chewing the side of her lip and ruining the lipstick on her perfectly lined mouth. “But tell me, why is this such a big deal to you?”
“Because America is running short on manners, and a big star like Ophelia should really set the standard. Don’t you think?”
“Definitely,” Crystal agreed. “And as soon as I sell my screenplay, I’m going to tell her that.”
Margot did her best to stop her mouth from twitching while simultaneously thinking that Crystal might be working for Ophelia for a bit longer, given the number of assistants in Hollywood trying to sell their screenplays. “Let me just type up a quick note for you to deliver to your boss,” she said.
“Really give it to her.” Crystal couldn’t help but giggle, sounding more like a naughty child than a professional assistant. “Ophelia is so going to totally lose it.”
“I’m sorry your boss doesn’t care enough to treat you better,” Margot said, thinking Crystal really hated Ophelia underneath her desire for a paycheck—and probably the prestige that came with working for such a well-known star. Whatever kept her working there, it certainly wasn’t a sense of loyalty.
“That’s just the way it is,” the assistant said. “That woman doesn’t care about anybody but herself.”
Crystal left, taking the mantón with her. Margot tried to fight her on it, but Ophelia’s assistant insisted. “I can’t exactly show back up with nothing. I want to live, you know.” After that, Margot went about her day. She had breakfast and some coffee. Lots of coffee, actually. She went through the rest of the gift bag, discovering some cashmere slippers that she hid from Babs so she could give them to her mother for Christmas. Then she tried on the moon earrings and spent some time admiring how they sparkled in the bathroom mirror.
Getting cleaned up, Margot headed to the office to file some paperwork and give the good news that Noah Donavon had agreed to attend the fundraiser on Friday. He had, after all, confirmed that he was going to attend right as he was making a break for it. Probably afraid she would glom onto him like a human suckerfish. Maybe at the benefit, Margot could at least apologize to him for unwittingly farting, or whatever she’d done to ruin a wonderful evening. Either way, the women at her work were very excited. Almost everyone picked up a telephone and started dialing. Harassing friends on a Sunday afternoon to attend a fundraiser was one thing, but letting friends know they could be in the same room as a super hot celebrity was a completely different situation.
“Nice job,” her boss, Kathy, told her, actually clapping her on the back. “How’d you land such a great guest?”
“Wore him down,” she replied. “We sat next to each other from Bangkok to LA.”
Kathy nodded. “That would do it.”
Walking along, half a block away from home, Margot spied a huge, very fancy car parked in front of her building. It was a convertible and obviously an antique. Exactly the kind of car she suspected someone like Ophelia would drive. It was the kind of car that screamed for attention hence making it possible for the actress to put the back of her hand to her forehead and wail, “I just don’t know why the press won’t leave me alone.”
Ophelia was sitting in the automobile looking like she was ready for a Vogue cover shoot. Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, and her makeup was flawless, if not a little heavy for an afternoon outing. She wore a strapless sundress that showed off her trim frame. Margot thought the driving gloves were a bit much, but the star did look very nice.
“Why, hello!” Ophelia called out pleasantly once Margot was in range. “I was hoping to catch you at home. I wanted to return that darling little shawl you lent me the other night.” She gestured to the passenger’s seat where the mantón was covered in plastic, having been recently dry cleaned.
After a moment of confusion, Margot realized the actress was putting on a show. Glancing around the street, she wondered if there were paparazzi hidden somewhere, but all she could see was just one guy cleaning up after his dog. Finally, she said, “Oh, hi, Ophelia. I didn’t see you there. Why don’t you come on in for a minute? I have something of yours you might want back, too.”
Ophelia looked a little surprised. Margot had to assume that when the star planned out her little drama, the entire exchange took place without her leaving her car. Margot smothered a small laugh. It’s not like she was the kind of person who would be wandering around Venice Beach with a huge diamond glinting on her finger.
Oh God, here we go, Margot thought as she unlocked her front door. Either Ophelia is going to be gracious, or she’s going to rip my head off like a praying mantis that has finished mating and is in need of a snack.
Chapter 11
Ophelia swept into the apartment like she was Gertrude Bell entering an Arabian fort forbidden to women; she held her head at regal height as if daring anyone to question her legitimacy to be there. Margot wasn’t sure what the star was expecting, but she knew putting her any more on the defensive would not be helpful to her cause.
“Would you like some coffee?” Margot offered. “Or maybe lemonade?”
A sharp look was shot across the room, as if Ophelia somehow suspected her hostess was mocking her, but then the star’s expression softened, and she said, “A glass of room temperature water with no ice and just a splash of lemon would be perfect.”
“Have a seat,” Margot said as she crossed the room to the kitchen area to get some water from the tap.
Ophelia regarded the couch cushions with a great deal of suspicion before she settled, perching on the very edge. “Do you have any pets?” she wanted to know.
“No,” Margot assured her, with a somewhat confused look. Did she see any pets?
“Oh, good,” the star said, scooting back another inch to be more comfortable. “I have allergies.”
“To dogs or cats?” Margot asked, just to be polite.
“To everything,” was the movie star’s response. “Everything covered in fur.” After a moment’s thought, she added, “Except for mink, of course.” Ophelia looked up with an expectant smile, wanting her little joke to be acknowledged.
Pasting on a rec
iprocal smile, Margot put a tray down on the coffee table. It had a glass of tap water and a lemon wedge on a tea saucer. “I wasn’t sure how much lemon you liked.”
“Thank you,” Ophelia said, making no move toward the glass or the lemon. Apparently, she just wanted her hostess to have to clean up some extra dishes.
Margot took a seat in a chair, not feeling comfortable enough to sit on the couch. “So, what project are you working on next?” she asked, just to get the conversation going.
“I don’t like to talk about my films until we’re doing publicity,” Ophelia said. There was a finality to her words, like a door slamming shut.
“Okay,” Margot said. There really was no seamless way to launch into a conversation about slavery. But it was her only chance. She hardened her resolve. If Ophelia wasn’t going to be gracious enough to ask her the simplest questions about herself, like what she did for a living, then she would have to bludgeon her way into the conversation. “Actually, I work for a nonprofit. Thank you for asking,” she began. The actress gave her a peculiar look, but Margot ignored it, plunging ahead. “We’re working to end world slavery.”
Ophelia made a little snuffling sound. “You’re too late,” she said. “Lincoln already did that. Haven’t you ever heard of a little thing called the Emancipation Proclamation?”
“That was to end the owning of slaves here in America. It had nothing to do with ending slavery worldwide. And besides, there are about a million slaves in America right at this moment.”
“There are not,” Ophelia said, sounding indignant.
Margot shrugged. “Look it up.”
The actress sighed, annoyed. “I really don’t have time to chat. Do you have my diamond?”
“Of course, I have your diamond,” Margot assured her. She got up and went to her bedroom to grab it out of the old tennis shoe where she’d hidden it for fear that somehow thieves would sense there was a ridiculously expensive diamond in their cheap, rundown apartment building and stage a daring daylight robbery.
Slumping on her bed for a moment, Margot was ready to give up. Ophelia was just so rude, so cold, so selfish. Margot thought about simply handing over the ring and getting on with her life. She was pretty sure that Noah would at least make an appearance at the fundraiser, and that was the best she could leverage out of her brush with celebrity.
As she resignedly got to her feet, her gaze fell across some of the promotional literature for her organization sitting on the nightstand, and she felt a little sick. All those poor girls and she couldn’t even face down one spoiled movie star. But how could she make someone so self absorbed actually care? The tabloid paper was on the floor next to the nightstand, showing Ophelia posing with the mantón like her fashion consultant had hand selected it. Crystal’s words came back to her. “That woman doesn’t care about anybody but herself.”
A light went on in Margot’s head. That was the way to get to Ophelia: her ego. After all, Margot didn’t need the star to actually care that there were girls and women all over the world who were enslaved into prostitution; she just needed Ophelia to appear to care. Snatching up the pamphlets and the scandal rag, she marched back into the living room.
“Ophelia,” Margot said, standing directly in front of the movie star. “There are twenty million people on the planet who are slaves. Twenty million. At this exact moment. The number might even be as high as thirty million. And a huge percentage of those slaves are women and girls who are held prisoner in brothels and forced into prostitution. Girls as young as six years old being raped multiple times a day. Doesn’t that make you sick?”
“Money?” Ophelia let out an exasperated sigh, obviously disgusted. “Is that what this is about? You’re shaking me down for a charitable gift?”
“I’m not shaking you down for anything,” Margot said, feeling meek and foolish. She was obviously blowing it, quite badly.
Lifting her chin into the air, Ophelia said, “I don’t make charitable gifts. I give people the gift of entertainment.”
Bile started building in the back of Margot’s throat. “Are you serious with that answer? Do you think people can eat the gift of entertainment? Do you think little girls locked in a brothel fall asleep at night comforted by the fact that some rich white lady is out there making movies?” Margot couldn’t keep the tone of disgust out of her voice. Was there any way to get this spoiled movie star to actually care?
Ophelia’s eyes narrowed. She obviously felt cornered, bullied into actually having a heart. And she wasn’t enjoying the experience. “You did me a small favor, and now you’re holding me hostage until I write you a check. Is that it?” The actress got to her feet. “Well, I didn’t get to be who I am by letting little twerps like you intimidate me. Now give me my damn diamond, and let me out of this hell hole.”
Ophelia thrust out her hand, and Margot dropped the diamond onto her palm. The actress turned to go.
“It’s not about money,” Margot insisted in a small, defeated voice. “It’s about using your superpowers for good instead of evil.”
Ophelia was halfway out the door, but this comment stopped her. “My what?”
“Fame is a superpower,” Margot told her. “You have the ability to set trends. Without even trying.” She held out the tabloid paper and waved it at the star. “Do you know how many young women are running out to the store right now to get an embroidered shawl, just because you’re period showed up unexpectedly? You set trends without even trying.”
Admiring her own photo, Ophelia couldn’t help but let a smug little smirk cross her lips. “I really do. Don’t I?”
“So why not use that power to do some good in the world? Why not save some girls from the hell of being sold into prostitution?” Margot tried not to let her voice sound exacerbated. “Look at Angelina Jolie. She’s beautiful; she’s glamorous; and she actually cares about the world.”
Ophelia had been looking mildly interested, but as soon as Margot said the words Angelina Jolie, a dark cloud past over her face. Oh no, Margot thought to herself. That was so not the right name to mention. Quickly scanning her brain, she backpedaled with, “Or how about Princess Diana?” She noticed the star’s eyes flick in her direction so she kept going with, “There she was, beautiful, rich, a princess, for crying out loud, but did she just spend her time launching boats and knighting people?” Margot had no idea if princesses actually could knight people, but she was scrambling for glamorous princess activities. “No! She helped people with AIDS and leprosy; she helped the homeless, landmine victims, drug addicts, the elderly… I mean, she really cared.”
“And you could see it on her,” Ophelia said, looking a bit wistful. The mention of Diana had obviously struck a chord. “She had a grace, a real beauty.”
“Yes.” Margot hastily agreed. “An inner beauty that shined so brightly. You could see it in everything she did. She touched so many people’s lives.”
“She really did,” Ophelia said, nodding. For once she seemed a little softened, a little more compassionate. She seemed almost human.
“Don’t you see? You could be like her. You could be like Diana. Just you saying you support ending slavery. Just you aligning your name with the cause would help give it exposure. They’d write articles about what a great humanitarian you are. You’d probably even get a call from Oprah.”
“Oprah?” The star’s eyes fluttered a little and then regained their reserved look. “I really don’t have time to put my face out there for every little charity looking for a handout. It dilutes my brand.”
“I don’t think it diluted Princess Diana’s brand,” Margot told her. She bit back the urge to add, And I don’t think it’s harming Angelina Jolie.
Ophelia started moving toward the door again, and Margot knew she was out of time. But at least she’d given it her best shot. “Anyway, would you please at least take this literature?” she said, hopefully. “I know you’re busy, and I appreciate you stopping by to return my mantón. That was really gracious of you.
” She gave Ophelia a small smile. “It seems like something Diana would do.”
Ophelia gave her a sharp look, and Margot wondered if she’d overplayed her hand. After a moment’s deliberation, the star said, “Oh, fine. Give me the damn literature, if it’s so important to you. But I want you to know I don’t appreciate being manipulated in this way.”
“I know,” Margot said as Ophelia lifter her chin to make an elegant exit from the apartment. “Thank you for taking the time to listen,” she called after her. The actress was heading down the hall when Margot couldn’t suppress herself from adding, “And you’re welcome for borrowing my grandmother’s mantón.”
Chapter 12
As the day slipped into evening, Margot couldn’t help but notice her phone was not ringing. She had been distracted from thinking about Noah while she was tangling with the whole Ophelia thing, but that was over, and now she really wanted him to call. The lack of the ringing phone was already driving her a bit crazy. It’s not like she actually expected him to call the next day after their date. She knew that wasn’t how guys operated. But that didn’t stop her from hoping. She kept playing the end of their evening over and over in her head. It did seem like he really liked her. Right up to the point when he walked her to her door. What the hell had happened to ruin everything? Margot had no idea.
Maybe she had farted.
Margot knew from failed dating experiences in high school and college and, to be honest, her life after college, that the only way to avoid obsessing about a guy was to be extremely busy. She spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning all her travel clothes and putting her stuff away then giving the whole apartment a good scouring. She was in mid-scrub when Babs came home.
“Am I to assume from the smell of Pine-Sol that Mr. Too Cute for School didn’t call?”
