Hollywood Is Like High School with Money Page 16

  in front of me, grinning and chewing her M&M's--"could you put in a good word for me?"

  "Yeah, of course," I said, dabbing at my sweater with a paper towel. I tried to keep the

  dejection from my voice, but it was impossible.

  "You all right?" Julissa asked. "Do you want an M&M?"

  "God no," I sighed. "I want to go lie down in the nap room."

  Julissa shook her head, looking very serious. "You know what they say about that--it doesn't

  look professional."

  I drank down most of the soda and tossed what was left into the sink. "I was the one to tell you

  that, you know."

  Three months ago, I would have been thrilled at the prospect of being promoted to first

  assistant. But the problem with that now, of course, was that it meant that Kylie would become

  a CE. Hello, domino effect: Kylie would have even more pull with Iris and the rest of the

  execs. She'd use her new power to shoot down my ideas in meetings, and she'd try her best to

  turn the other execs against me. She'd have her own assistant--one she'd have to share with

  another junior CE, but still--and she'd make sure the assistant hated me too. So pretty soon no

  one at Metronome would hear anything nice about me. And even if I managed to overcome

  Kylie's ill will to finally become an exec one day, Kylie would always be just one step ahead of

  me--and more than happy to remind me of it.

  "Taylor?" Julissa asked, waving her hand in front of my face. "Hello?"

  "I have to get back to work," I mumbled and left her there, her plump little cheeks full of

  M&M's, just like a hamster's.

  When I got back to my desk, Kylie stood in her beige cashmere coat, gathering up some

  memos and scripts.

  "I'm off to Ingenuity for a meeting," she announced without looking at me.

  It was amazing: a day and a half without a word from her, and now she was acting like I was

  there simply to record her comings and goings. Kylie leaned down and blew out her vanilla

  votive.

  "Have a good one," I muttered, obviously not meaning it.

  With her nose firmly tilted toward the sky, Kylie shook her head to herself, as if my childish

  behavior were just oh-so-amusing. She stalked out of the office.

  I sat motionless in my chair. I knew as well as anyone that life wasn't fair, but this was just too

  unfair. I was the one who spent all night reading scripts while Kylie went off to Socialista or

  wherever it was she went. I was the one who actually helped Iris do her job while Kylie merely

  pretended to. I came in earlier than she did, and I stayed later. I didn't know how Kylie had

  managed to package this deal of hers, but it certainly didn't come from working that hard. She

  was smart, but she was also beautiful and had the confidence that only comes with being told

  your entire life that the world is your oyster.

  Just do your best and you'll beat the rest. That's what my dad always used to say to me--on the

  tennis court, in math class, whatever. But I'd never been more convinced it wasn't true.

  I stabbed my pencil into my Bad Things list ( Dana totally harassing me to read script; still

  can't keep Weinsteins straight) and broke the tip.

  From across the room, I heard a soft little chime from Kylie's computer. An IM from Luke, no

  doubt. Maybe I just wanted to drive the knife deeper into my gut, but I couldn't help but

  wonder what sweet, loving things he was writing her.

  I looked guiltily around the office. Iris was in a meeting with Peter Lasky--probably being

  yelled at, as usual--and wouldn't be back until after lunch. Glancing out toward the hallway to

  make sure no one was about to walk by, I slowly crossed the four feet to Kylie's desk. An IM

  from Netboy had flashed onto the screen.

  Just finished my 11:30. How's your day going?

  Luke's photo appeared to the left of it. My stomach did a little flipflop, even just seeing him in a

  thumbnail jpeg. Then a second IM popped up.

  You there?

  Impulsively I bent over her keyboard. Good--how are you? I wrote, my heart now joining my

  stomach in gymnastics. I hit Send.

  A few seconds later, he sent a response.

  Want to see u. What's your plan tonight?

  Oh, this was a really bad idea. Why had I written back? There was no way he wouldn't find

  out. Just then another IM popped up across the screen.

  Hey gorgeous. Can't wait for tonight. Chateau at 7?

  This one also had a photo. A smug half-smile, intense dark eyes, preciously tousled hair.

  It was Mark Lyder.

  Maybe this time we get a room???

  Really, I almost sank to my knees from shock. Mark Lyder and Kylie. She was cheating on

  Luke, the supposed love of her life.

  And then it all fell into place. Mark was Kylie's Ingenuity connection. He was the one who had

  gotten her to Troy Vaughn. He was her industry contact. And--oh my God--she was sleeping

  with him, which was exactly what she told me not to do at Iris's benefit. So much for her policy

  of "look but don't touch"!

  She wasn't just a liar. She was a hypocrite. And no wonder she'd been so surprised when Mark

  had asked me to Koi.

  I was about to shut off Kylie's computer and pretend I'd never seen any of this when I heard

  Quinn's voice in all its raspy teen glory. She'd do it to you.

  It was almost too easy.

  I wrote Mark first.

  Absolutely! See you there!

  I hit Send.

  And then I clicked on Luke's message.

  Meet me at Chateau Marmont at 7:30.

  And then I hit Sleep on the computer and got up. Nobody had seen me. It was as if it had never

  happened.

  You just did something bad, a small but distinct voice inside me said as I eased back into my

  seat. Really really bad.

  An unbidden, uncontrollable smile spread across my face. All I could think was, Quinn would

  be proud.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Where's Kylie? Is she sick?" Iris craned her neck to glance at Kylie's empty desk. "Have you

  heard from her, Taylor?" She stood in the center of the room with her hands on her hips and

  her brow furrowed in annoyance. (An expression, incidentally, that Tom Scheffer could no

  longer make, thanks to a recent high dosage of BOTOX.)

  I shook my head. I'd been guiltily averting my eyes from Kylie's dark computer monitor since

  I'd gotten in this morning, an hour and a half ago. Kylie liked to sleep in, but she was always in

  the office by nine-thirty. And if she was going to be late, she'd call or send a text. So the

  silence, and her empty chair, were eerie.

  "Please give her a call," Iris said. Her exasperated look softened. "Something might have

  happened."

  Oh yes, I thought, I'm pretty sure something happened.

  As I dialed Kylie's cell, I was acutely aware of Iris staring at the top of my head. I was on the

  third digit when Iris put out her hand to stop me.

  "Wait," she said.

  I looked up to see Kylie trudge into the office holding a venti Starbucks and staring at the

  ground, as if she knew that two pairs of eyes were boring into her skull. "Sorry I'm late," she

  mumbled. With her back to us, she unbuttoned her sweater coat to reveal a tent dress in a dark

  blue jersey knit. Normally, I knew, she would have belted it, but today it fluttered out around

  the waist unflatteringly. Her hair sat in two big clumps in the back, as
if it had just left the

  pillow.

  "Are you sick?" Iris asked, obviously concerned.

  "I'm fine," she said vaguely, over her shoulder.

  Iris gave me a questioning look, and I shrugged.

  We watched her light one of her vanilla votives and slowly fold herself into her chair. When

  she finally swiveled to face us, I literally gasped and then covered it with a very fake-sounding

  cough.

  Kylie looked as if she had spent the night crying or drinking--maybe both. Her eyes were red

  and swollen, with pink puffy bags beneath them that she had tried--and failed--to cover with

  concealer. Her normally golden complexion was blotchy and uneven. Her lips, too, seemed

  swollen, and they looked pale and strange without the usual berry tint. The fluorescent light of

  the office made her look older, harder.

  I'd wanted to take Kylie down. But I'd never imagined that I could deliver a knockout punch.

  "Are you sure you're all right?" Iris asked gently. She took a Kleenex from her enormous

  Balenciaga bag and extended it toward Kylie. Even though Iris was the seventh most powerful

  player in Hollywood, she was still a mother, and she had the Kleenex, the Band-Aids, the

  aspirin, the dental floss, and the iodine wipes in her purse to prove it.

  "Oh, yeah, I'm fine." Kylie waved off the tissue and pretended to busy herself with starting her

  computer. "Just had some bad sushi last night."

  Iris tossed the Kleenex into the trash. "If you're not feeling well," she said, "then maybe you

  should take the day and rest. You have that meeting tomorrow with Troy--"

  "I'll be fine," Kylie said, sniffling. "Really."

  "All right then." Iris shrugged, as if to say I give up. "Then someone just get me New York,"

  she said, and walked into the jungle of her office.

  Kylie refused to look at me as I made the call, pretending to be busy scrolling through her email. When I hung up, I knew I had to say something. "What happened?" I asked softly.

  Focused on the screen, Kylie blinked her green eyes rapidly. "Nothing."

  I got out of my chair and went to stand before her. "Kylie. I know we're not friends or

  anything, but something's clearly wrong." Even as I said this, I felt dread coming over me like a

  wave. I really didn't want to know the details of my deceit.

  Kylie's mouth began to tremble, but still she wouldn't look at me. "It's over," she whispered.

  "It's all over."

  "What happened?" I asked gently.

  "He just showed up out of nowhere," she wailed. She held her head in her hands, rubbing her

  temples. "It was like he knew or something. I don't know how. But he did."

  "Who showed up? Where?"

  "Luke," Kylie explained, looking at me with glazed, unseeing eyes. "He came to the Chateau. I

  was there with another guy. Nothing was even happening, but"--her face was about to crumple

  into a sob and she stopped herself--"we were kissing." She wiped her eyes with the back of her

  hand. "And Luke just punched him right in the face." One solitary tear spilled out of her left

  eye and dropped miserably down her cheek. "In front of everyone. And he looked right at me

  and said that he never wanted to see me again. Ever. " She sniffed loudly. "And that I had

  shown him who I really was," she said, her voice breaking. She pulled some Kleenex out of

  the box on her desk.

  Luke--sweet, laid-back, I'm-just-a-boy-from-Virginia Luke--had punched Mark Lyder? At the

  Chateau Marmont? My plan had played out more perfectly than I could have imagined. And

  yet... I didn't really feel like gloating.

  "And now he won't talk to me," Kylie continued, wiping her eyes. "He won't pick up his

  phone. He won't answer my e-mails." She sniffled into her Kleenex. "I mean, that can't be it,

  you know? He can't just dump me like that."

  "But you were seeing someone else," I said. My voice was quiet but forceful. I felt bad for her,

  but I felt worse for Luke. What a nasty shock he'd had, coming across his beloved tonsil-diving

  with another man.

  This time when Kylie spoke, her voice was flinty. "I told you, it didn't mean anything. Mark

  was just helping me. We got carried away, but it didn't mean anything."

  "Mark Lyder?" I feigned surprise, and the words felt fake in my mouth, but Kylie flushed

  guiltily.

  "Look, you know as well as I do that you don't get ahead around here by taking good messages

  and hoping someone notices," she said. "I didn't do anything wrong, Taylor. It was just what I

  had to do. So just get off your fucking high horse. It's nothing you wouldn't have done."

  "No," I said. "I would never have done that, Kylie."

  Kylie bolted to her feet and ran out the door. I heard the ladies' room door slam.

  I stared at Kylie's empty chair, the wad of Kleenex she'd left on her desk. The wreckage of

  Kylie.

  Kylie wasn't just a mess, the way Quinn promised she'd be: she was a complete and utter

  disaster. Twelve hours later, Kylie was already off the deep end.

  And yes, I felt guilty for my part in this. But I told myself that in a way, this had nothing to do

  with me. Luke would have found out eventually. Kylie would have gotten caught. And if I

  really wanted to get philosophical about it, Kylie had brought this on herself. As my dad liked

  to say, you get what you deserve.

  I thought Quinn deserved an update. I took out my iPhone, scrolled down to Quinn's e-mail,

  and began to type.

  Kylie dumped

  Having meltdown

  Can we say Britney?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A few hours later, I stored my gray suede Stuart Weitzman boots in the tinsel-decorated locker

  outside the Buddha Ball classroom and breathed in the familiar smell of jasmine incense and

  dried sweat. I'd grown to love Buddha Ball, even though I was still one of the worst students in

  class. (A woman named Kelly--porn name Nevada Blue--was the best; she could hold onelegged king pigeon pose for ages, which is the kind of thing that only professional

  contortionists should do.)

  "Hey, Magda." The tattooed blonde behind the check-in desk dropped her scowl and waved-last week we had finally bonded over our shared hatred of Pinkberry--and I threw open the

  door.

  As usual, Ted was in his nylon running shorts, in deep meditation at the front of the room.

  Kelly, in pink Lycra, was up in front (she liked to show off ), and the guy I'd come to call the

  proctologist was behind her (he always looked a little displeased, the way someone who spent

  their days dealing with people's butts probably would). I smiled at Joanna, an actress whose

  biggest credit was a TV commercial for a chat line (555-SEXY) and waved to Arthur, a

  popular voice-over man who was rolling in dough (the orange Lamborghini parked out front

  was his). The room seemed more crowded tonight, probably due to people's upcoming holiday

  trips to Hawaii and Bali.

  "Hey, Taylor," said Zena, arching her tanned back into cat pose. "Your calves are looking

  great."

  I glanced down at my legs, which were looking more toned these days, though they were still

  horribly pale. "Thanks," I said, grabbing a mat.

  "You could use a tan though," she said, sinking into cow pose. I grinned. "You don't need to

  tell me."

  "Oh, and don't look now, but guess who's here?" Zena asked, cutting her eyes toward the back

  of the room.

  I glanced over. And t
hen I blinked, just to make sure I wasn't imagining things. On a mat in the

  corner of the room, bent over his straight legs as everyone in the class pretended not to stare,

  was Holden MacIntee.

  I'd completely given up on ever running into him, and now there he was, in a faded Powerade

  T-shirt and a pair of red running shorts. I needed a strategy, stat. I ducked toward the back of

  the room and reached into my bag for the iPhone, trying not to be too obvious--Ted went

  ballistic over handheld devices.

  HOLDEN IN CLASS! HOW TO WORK IT?

  A moment later, Quinn's reply popped up.

  Lesson #1: Fake it till you make it.

  I sighed and turned off the phone. A total rerun! Where was my brilliant new advice when I

  needed it?

  I tiptoed back to my mat and Buddha Ball, picked them up, and tried, as quietly as I could, to

  maneuver my way to a spot near Holden. (If Ted opened his eyes and saw me, he'd probably

  make me lead class with him again, an experience I did not want to repeat.) Zena winked at me,

  and I winked right back. No doubt she thought I was going to hit on him. But I wasn't

  interested in Holden that way. As tempting as he was, far more tempting was the chance to

  become a CE. Iris would be making the announcement any day now.

  Luckily, there was plenty of space on either side of him. Summoning all the nonchalance I

  could, I plopped my mat down in his celebrity force field and sat down.

  I took a deep breath and went for it. "So I don't know if I'm up to this tonight," I said oh-socasually as I stretched a ham-string. "Last week they had to scrape me off the floor with a

  spatula."

  Holden turned his smoldering eyes toward me and smiled. "I haven't been here in weeks. I'm

  going to get killed."

  "You look like you can handle it," I teased, leaning over to copy his stretch.

  "Well, Ted likes me, so at least he shows me a little mercy," he replied. The lashes around his

  bright green eyes were as long as a girl's, but there was nothing else feminine about Holden.

  "You're lucky--Ted sort of likes to pick on me. The first time I ever came here, he made me

  stand up beside him, and whenever I shrieked in pain, he made the rest of the class copy me." I

  popped up into a quick downward-facing dog to stretch my calves and looked over at him. He