Retail Therapy (24 page)

Authors: Roz Bailey

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women

BOOK: Retail Therapy

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Hailey

“N
ot to imitate Donald Trump or anything, but, Cruella, you're fired.” There, I'd said it, now I just had to say it to my agent's face.

I took a sip of my grapefruit martini and checked the time on my cell phone. I was early; those old habits died hard. When would I remember that bad girls keep other people waiting?

Cruella was right on time, smiling that brittle, cheeky smile of a skeleton whose lips are starting to stretch away from its teeth. “Hailey? You're looking well. I almost didn't recognize you. You've changed so. Is it your complexion has cleared, or you've lost that midwestern innocence?”

This time I refused to cower at her insults. “I thought I'd give you one last chance to buy me a drink before I hit it big and move on to another agent.”

She tried to fake cool, but I could see the skin tighten above her eyes. “Yes, I guess you have lost that midwestern innocence. Waiter? A vodka mart, with three olives.”

“So ... not to point out your lack of accomplishment, but what have you found for me?” I asked her, feeling almost as if I were possessed by Marcella. “I wasn't joking about that deadline. With the way my face is in the press, I know I'm a hot commodity in daytime TV. Sometimes it just takes an agent who's willing to exert a little muscle, make a few calls, beat the bushes, as they say?”

Cruella got her drink and tipped half of it back as if it were water. “I think I've got something, but I wasn't sure you'd want it. They need a villainess to kill off one of their lame story lines, but you need to think long and hard about taking that sort of turn in your career.”

“Who's looking?”

“One of the networks.
Days of Heartbreak
.” She popped an olive in her mouth as if it were the last piece of Lembas bread in Hobbiton. “They need a player fast for a two-week commitment.”

“When do I start?”

“But dear, think about it. You could be acting yourself into permanent villainy. Typecast forever.”

Did I have a choice now that Deanna had typecast me as a kleptomaniac?

I picked up a toothpick and stabbed an olive from Cruella's martini. I took my time swallowing, then smiled. “Bring it on.”

I tucked my silver Fendi bag under my arm, pushed the check in front of Cruella, then walked out of the restaurant.

Funny, but being bad felt kind of good.

“I'm telling you, the bad girl act worked like a charm. Cruella almost choked on her olives when I left her with the tab,” I told my friends later at LA Minute, where Alana had gotten us a piece of prime real estateâa large round table near the foot of the fountain, so close that the occasional breeze kicked up cooling fizz from the base of Oscar's gold feet. “So I start tomorrow on
Days of Heartbreak
!”

“You're going to be on
Heartbreak
!” Rory clutched his chest. “I'm smitten with jealousy. Take me with you!”

“It's great news, Hailey.” Alana's dark eyes glimmered with mischief. “But I'm a little sorry you didn't get a chance to fire her ass. Cruella sounds like she needs a little attitude adjustment therapy.”

“Good for you, honey,” Marcella said. “You went for it and you got it.”

“Thanks to you, all of you. I've gotten so much mileage out of Alana's wardrobe, Marcella's advice and Rory ...” He preened. “Well, you always make me laugh.”

“Is that it?” Rory flicked a drop of condensation from his water glass my way. “That's like getting an honorary award at the Emmys. One of those âwe don't know how to thank you, because we don't know what the hell you did' awards.”

“You know what I mean.” At the moment, I was feeling high on my success, giddy and happy and light. It was a gorgeous August evening, my friends were enjoying my victory, and the restaurant around us was buzzing with word that a celebrity was in the house. They were talking about me and this time I was thrilled. I was going to be in the limelight again, on a show. Just a two-week stint, but certain to lead to other things.

A photographer came over to take our picture, and Marcella made sure they spelled my name correctly and noted that I'd be appearing in
Heartbreak
. It was exciting to think my picture might join the other celebrity photos lining the hallway outside the first floor restrooms.

“Look at it this way,” Marcella pointed out. “At least it's not
in
the john.”

“OK, now for the bad news,” Alana said. “The kitchen tells me they're out of scallops, and the cold lamb salad has mint in it.”

“Oh, the trauma,” Rory pined. “Who can count when they're accompanied by mint jelly?”

“Deal with it,” Marcella told him.

“I'm so glad you were able to reserve this table for us tonight,” I told Alana. “It's nice to have reason to celebrate. And after this, I'll need to keep a low profile for two weeks. I've got a job to go to in the morning!” I felt so giddy with joy; nothing could ruin this evening for me.

Then I saw Alana tense. “What is it?”

One of the hostesses came over to our table, pushing her headset aside. “Houston, we have a problem,” she told Alana, then whispered something to her.

“Oh, no, she doesn't.” Alana tossed down her napkin, stood up from the table, and took the transmitter off the other girl's head.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

Marcella sniffed suspiciously. “What's going on?”

“Looks like they're patching through someone important,” Rory said. “David Geffen? Ryan Seacrest? Mary-Kate and Ashley?”

“It's Deanna. She's here, and she wants seating on the first floor.”

I let out a brittle laugh. “Oh, great. She wants to join us.”

She pressed the button on the headset. “This is Alana. Make sure Deanna Childs is annexed to the caves. Do you copy? Deanna to the caves.... What do you mean, you can't?” Alana glared up at Oscar. “OK, fine. I'll seat her myself.”

“Alana ...” the hostess called after her. “Ms. Childs always gets a seat in the fountain room.”

“Don't worry, Sage. I'll take full responsibility,” Alana said as she hustled toward the door.

But she was too late.

Deanna Childs already stood poised at the entrance to the first floor dining area, sucking the life out of the room with one of her trademark mincing expressions.

Just the sight of her gave me a little cramp in my stomach.

Then my eyes glommed onto her escort and I nearly choked on my cosmo. “Watch out,” I said to my friends. “Any minute, steam is going to shoot out of my ears.”

Marcella groaned. “Holy shit.”

Antonio Lopez stepped closer to Deanna and linked his arm through hers. I could tell he was unaware of the controversy brewing on our side of the dining room, until he noticed Alana heading toward him.

Like falling dominos, he and Deanna got the big picture. Antonio's gorgeous tan face went yellow, while Deanna seemed to suck more power from the promise of a confrontation.

“Oh, dear,” Rory sighed. “Looks like Mom and Dad caught us out with the Caddy again.”

“Are you OK, honey?” Marcella asked.

“I just want to kill him, the snake,” I said. “But first, I'd have to torture him. Years of torture. Somewhere secluded, with no cable or Starbucks.”

“You know, this is all beginning to sound uncannily similar to a story arc we did in the late eighties,” Rory said. “I really must get out of daytime.”

Alana was talking to them a mile a minute, but Deanna shook her head, pushing past my friend.

“Hailey?” Deanna said in a snotty voice. She hustled within spitting distance, then paused, as if I were supposed to bow or curtsy. “I take it you're the reason these girls are reluctant to seat us here?”

“Do you think?” I rolled my eyes. “Because honestly, I don't give a rat's ass whether they seat you here or down in the Columbus Circle subway station. I'm beyond you, Deanna. Yup. I'm moving on to
Days of Heartbreak
, and it's going to be interesting, playing in a show that runs opposite yours.”

“You don't have a chance,” she said, dismissing me with a wave.

“Maybe. Or maybe I'm going to kick your sagging butt right out of the time slot.”

It was satisfying to see her hand slide down, as if checking the sag of her ass. The power of suggestion.

“Guess I should thank you for giving me the kick in the pants I needed on
Tomorrows
,” I said. “But you know what? I don't really like you enough to be that civil.”

Deanna lifted her chin to answer, but without writers, I think she was at a loss for a dramatic rebuttal. Instead, she just huffed.

“So ... move along. Go on,” I said gently. “Scat, you two. Bye, bye, now. We're having a little celebration here, and I hate for you two to suck up any of the love flowing so freely here.”

Deanna pivoted and stomped away, but instead of leaving the dining room, she wove around to the other side of the fountain.

Alana tossed up her hands. “What a piece of work!”

“Would you just go?” I asked Antonio.

He shrugged. “I can't control her.”

“That's no surprise,” Marcella observed.

Meanwhile Alana followed Deanna around the fountain. We all craned our necks, trying to watch the action.

“What about that table?” Deanna shouted, pointed over diners' heads. “Or that one. You know, usually they reserve a table for me. In fact, I wouldn't mind the one where your friend is sitting.”

“I have a lovely table for you,” Alana said. “On the third floor.”

Deanna trudged on around the fountain, almost full circle now, like one of those figurines that circle a clock face on the hour before they get slammed back inside a little door.

“Young lady, I hate to have to do this to you, but I guarantee you, if you cannot find us seating by the fountain, you will not be working here tomorrow.”

I started to stand up, but Marcella pulled me down. “Alana can fend for herself,” she whispered. “Don't insult her.”

With a big, gracious smile, Alana glanced around the room, then clapped her hands together. “Oh, look at that! There is a spot by the fountain.”

When Deanna crossed her arms smugly, Alana stepped forward and gave the actress a firm shove.

“Waaaah!” Deanna shrieked as she fell back into the fountain, the spangled hem of her gown and her gold lame sandals flopping over the side like a fishtail.

“Holy fountain of youth, Batman!” Rory exclaimed without moving. “The diva is taking a dive.”

Marcella and I grabbed each other's shoulders in shock.

“I don't believe it!” Marcella gasped. “I'm happy I was here to see it, but I don't believe it.”

Antonio rushed forward to help her out, but a photographer was already there, snapping away at the many faces of Deanna as a drenched rat.

“You ...” Deanna wiped her drenched curls back and rubbed her eyes. Mascara dribbled down her cheeks in an ashen fade, and one fake eyelash was hanging loose. “You!” She pointed at Alana. “You will pay for this!”

Alana crossed her arms and tossed off a shrug. “Yes, probably so,” she said. “But it will be well worth the price.”

Alana

J
oe Allen's. I knew that. I was at the bar, with Trevor and Xavier.

How had I gotten there? That part wasn't so clear.

Not that it mattered. Here I was. Hailey was home asleep. Had to sleep for her job in the morning. Marcella and Rory, too.

Me? Don't need sleep. May never sleep again. May never work again.

And I liked that job at LA Minute. I really did.

Mr. Minute Man. What a pip. Nice guy. He hadn't fired meâyetâbut he hadn't been there tonight. Took his wife and daughter to a baseball game. Nice guy. Wasn't there to see Deanna take a bath.

I started laughing. It was pretty funny. But not good for the restaurant. I knew that. Oh, what had I done? There's a moron inside me.

“I think I really fucked up,” I said. “Oops!” Hand on my mouth. “Did I say that too loud?”

Trevor turned to me. “Did you say you are fucked up? Or that you fucked up? 'Cause there's a difference, though I think both of them are true.”

“Don't talk to me about drinking, you ... Mr. Buddy.” I pinged the pint glass in front of him on the bar. “Downing that stuff all night long.”

“It's ginger ale. I'm done with all those addictive things. Well, everything except women.”

“And women are the worst kind of addiction,” Xavier added.

“I hear you,” Trevor said.

I looked up at Xavier. Teeth so white ... dark, chocolatey skin. Dimple in his chin.

“Yeah, we're talking about you,” Xavier teased me.

And I wanted to cry. Xavier, my loyal friend. My pal. He'd always wanted something to happen for us. I pushed him away. Why? Why did I?

Again, the moron in me.

“You've always been there,” I said. “And I wasn't. I'm so sorry.” A tide of emotion swirled up and bowled me over.

“Aw, man, is she crying?” Trevor asked. “Is she crying? She's crying! Alana! What's the matter, girl?” He turned away. “Can't stand it when they cry.”

“Come on, now.” Xavier hoisted my left arm up over his shoulder and started walking me. The door opened and we were outside but he was still holding me up.

“Think you can stand?” he asked.

“Sure.” And he released me and I turned and let myself fall against him, his lean, hard body, so solid and good.

I love you. I have always loved you, but I was too stubborn to let it show, too stupid to recognize the signs.

Had he heard me? He didn't answer, except for the deep sound of his breath.

“Oh, girl, we need to get you home,” he said.

“Come home,” I murmured.

“Yeah, yeah, don't worry.” His arms pressed into my back. My support.

Something about a cab. And my bed ... how I loved my bed.