They came busting into my office like Bonnie and Clyde on crack. My intern followed them, trying to stop them, but she didn’t stand a chance.
“Don’t worry, Devan, it’s okay. Hello, Natalie, nice to see you again.” I was pleasant, partially because I had liked her when we met and mostly because of the tall drink of water that was her escort. I was single again, and this Latin guy was gorgeous. (Natalie and Jeremy weren’t the only couple who didn’t survive the Tab Hunter scandal, as we had taken to calling it.) “What can I do for you?” I asked, though I had a feeling this involved today’s New York Post.
Natalie was nervous, so the tall drink of water spoke for her, introducing himself first. “Hi, I’m Tomás. Natalie wants to surprise Jeremy on set but doesn’t know where that is, so we were hoping that you could tell us.” He was pretty gorgeous and definitely gay, but there was no way I was pulling back on this thing; I had leaked that photo to Page Six myself and was sticking with the illusion of Jeremy and his new girl. The caption said nothing but the name of the movie. People could assume anything they wanted.
“I’m sorry to tell you, though I think it’s pretty obvious from the picture, Jeremy has moved on. Just a happy couple kissing on the slopes.”
Tomás looked as if he would cry, but Natalie from Astoria wasn’t buying it. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “There’s no way he got over me so quickly, and I read the script for Snowbound. I remember the scene.”
She was right, of course. I’d sworn I was done staging things after the red-carpet fiasco, but when the movie’s publicist sent me the photo yesterday, I hit Forward and sent it over to my guy at the Post, partly to make it up to him for the red-carpet pix that never materialized and partly to solidify my boy’s sexual orientation among the doubters. A picture is always worth a thousand words, even if it is just a publicity still.
I hated myself for it, but I denied her denial. She had had her chance with him, and I would happily have gone with their story if it had worked out on its own—the truth is always easier than the made-up stuff. But this girl had played with Jeremy’s head—I had seen it firsthand—and he needed to concentrate on his career. It was best for me to scare her off, I was sure of it. I kissed goodbye any chance of hooking up with Tomás and stuck to my guns.
“It’s true that they’re filming a movie together, but the romance is real. He’s a big Hollywood star. What did you expect?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “But he’s not like that!” she cried. “He always made me feel like the star.”
Oh, for the love of Bette Midler, why’d she have to go and say that? She understood what was so special about him: it wasn’t his looks or his smile or his swagger, it was the way he brought out the good in everyone around him. He did it onscreen and he did it in person. She got him, and it broke me.
“He’s staying at the Inns at the Equinox in Manchester, Vermont. She’s not his girlfriend. He didn’t get over you—he can’t even say your name.” I buzzed Devan. “Devan, have the company car meet us on Third Avenue. And tell the driver to fill up the tank. We’re all going to Vermont.”
Tomás’s face lit up. “All?”
I smiled. “The more, the merrier!” adding to save face, “It’s a closed set—you’ll never get in without me.”
Natalie hugged me and kissed me all over my face. Tomás was tickled pink. She looked at him, then back at me, and winked.
“Maybe it’ll be happy endings all around!”
CHAPTER 29
#DrinkTheKoolAid
By Sophie Stiner, Brown Graduate
I was all set to attend the Christie’s holiday party that night when a text from Thea Baxter derailed me.
Be a doll and let me borrow that Max Hammer you wore to the library benefit?
I couldn’t believe she was so last-minute. I’d had my outfit set since the day she invited me. I had been careful to pick something classic and modest. I didn’t want my clothes to define me in any way. Damn. I doubted that dress was still at Bloomingdale’s.
I could have texted her right back saying that it was at the cleaner’s, but I knew that lending her the dress would balance the favor scale between us. I know that logically a dress can’t compare to a possible job, but this really was some dress. She would turn heads in it. And I needed to do whatever it took to get a job. So I decided I would run to Bloomingdale’s in hopes of finding it, buy it on my mom’s emergency credit card, and return it within the billing cycle. I would need to delay responding to her text in case my plan didn’t work. I needed an aligram.
Aligram is a word I made up: part alibi, part Instagram, an aligram is when you use social media to back up a lie. Posting a photo that serves to confirm an excuse, or your supposed whereabouts. I threw my fluffy white terry robe over my clothes, pulled my hair off my face with a thick headband, and snapped a picture.
#IHeartMassages #Bliss @Bliss