19
Istepped out of the Gallery Bar and Cognac Room after the accusation of being a mama’s girl. Everyone who really knew me was well aware that nothing could be further from the truth. I was very much a daddy’s girl.
“Thanks for always having my back,” I told my friend Amelia as I answered her phone call. Her incoming communication had given me the perfect excuse to leave the room where Gary Firth was treating the Troubelmakr way too nicely.
“Not sure if you’ll say the same after I tell you why I’m calling,” Amelia said. “Also, are you okay? You sound flustered.”
“It’s been—a day,” I said, not quite sure how to phrase what had happened to me. “I’ll tell you all about it, but I think I need to get drunker for that.”
“Drunker? Elena, you know I don’t like to judge, but it’s not even noon. Well, I guess it’s Friday and the internet is buzzing about you and your sex habits...”
“Is it really? Buzzing?” I walked through the Beaux Arts, paneled-ceilinged galleria outside of the bar and made a right at a random corner.
“A bit yes, haven’t you checked it out? Do you want me to lend you my publicist?”
“No need,” I said. I preferred not to know what the internet had been regurgitating. “I’m sure it’ll die down by tomorrow.”
“Keeping my fingers crossed.” I knew she was physically crossing her fingers when she said that. Even her toes. She was that nice and that much of a good, superstitious friend. “Listen, that’s not why I called. I have bad news.”
“Did something happen? Are you okay? Is Brenda okay? Are Bimbo and Troglodita okay?”
“We’re okay and the dogs are as dumb and cute as usual. Everyone is healthy and happy—ish,” Amelia said. “My dad decided to surprise us with a visit though.”
“Lucky you!” Sarcasm rang through my tone.
One thing I had managed to leave out of my conversation with Detective Clooney when I told him about the many things that I had in common withLA Misconductsalumna Amelia Sanchez: we both have difficult relationships with one of our parents. For me, it’s my mother-turned-political-animal. For her, it’s a father who keeps pushing her toward a more ambitious career and still doesn’t understand why she’d decided to slow down a bit for the past two years and be more choosy about her projects.
“My dad is adamant, and he wants to be my plus one tomorrow for the SAG Awards,” Amelia continued. “And I really don’t know how to tell him no.”
“Is it that bad? Going with him, I mean? At least the SAG are one of the short-ish ceremonies. Of course, you still have to do the damn red carpet...”
“So is it okay if I go with him?”
“Yes, of course. I mean, if you feel comfortable.”
“Please don’t think that I don’t want to be seen with you because of that stupid article! In fact, since my dad has a strict eight-thirty bedtime, you could come to the afterparty with me instead,” Amelia said. She sounded a bit anxious, and I was starting to understand why. “Brenda, of course, doesn’t want to hear about changing out of her pajama pants or separating herself from the dogs to come either to the ceremony or the party and being repeatedly photographed, but I’d like to have some support there. You know those things are all work and no fun, and that way they can take lots of pictures of us together. The press loves it when the lesbian actress leaves her wife at home and takes her friend instead.”
“Don’t forget the part where the friend is the mayor’s daughter,” I said, joining in on the joke and stopping my random walking through narrow halls, brimming with old memorabilia, before I got completely lost.
“It’s difficult to forget it. So do you mind terribly that I won’t be able to take you to the awards, and would you like to come with me to the party instead?”
I jolted. “To be completely honest, I had forgotten I was supposed to be your plus one for this. I’m not even sure I have a dress,” I told her because it was true, but mainly because I wanted her to stop feeling bad about it. Iknewshe wasn’t telling me she had to go to the ceremony with her dad because I was publicly toxic. She couldn’t care less about that. She just couldn’t say no to her demanding father.
“Elena, cariño, eres lo peor,” she said, and I knew that, at least, I had managed to appease her.
“That’s why you like me,” I joked. “I have a question for you, actually. A professional one.”
“Dale.”
“Fred Appleton has been pestering me to take this job that I know I don’t want.”
“Is it theLA Misconductssequel? He’s also tried signing me. I told him no,” Amelia said. “Even if I enjoyed working with him in the movie we did together, I think it’s only because of Archie.”
“Archie Eisenberg?”
“Yes. He’s Fred’s producing partner and knows how to keep Fred on his toes. Nice guy.”
I narrowed my eyes in thought. “Really? I’ve been told he tried shutting down David’s story about Dashing Henry.”
