Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [100]
“Next thing I know, you’re dangling from massive champagne glasses in magazines,” Adam continues, ignoring me. “And dancing on bar tables with, like, bisexual teenage nymphos. And here I am, the sucker who actually believed you were telling me the truth.”
“Adam, I was telling you the truth. The wedding was a long time ago—before I got sober. And the photo shoot, and dancing in the bar—all that is me just trying to play the ‘Party Girl’ part.”
He looks confused. “So you clean up your life and tell me you’re thrilled about it, meanwhile you’re trying to convince the world at large that you’re still wild and what’s more, being wild is the most glamorous thing imaginable?”
“When you put it like that, it does sound a little crazy,” I admit. “But it’s just a column. It’s what I write. It’s not me.”
He looks angrier than he has the entire conversation. “So I’m supposed to believe that you would attach your name to something, go on TV shows and get in gossip columns publicizing something that’s ‘not you’?”
And now I’m pissed and sick of being judged by him. “Christ, Adam. It was an opportunity. I took it. No, I’m not the girl I write about in the column anymore, but I’ve lived that life, and no one’s ever made a big deal about anything I’ve ever done before. So if people want to give me money and make me famous for writing something that comes very naturally to me, what’s so wrong with taking them up on it?”
He seems to consider this, and takes a breath. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. It just seems like—”
Just then, I feel a large, sweaty hand clasp my shoulder. And, next thing I know, Jeremy Barrenbaum—an extremely drunk, exceedingly sweaty Jeremy Barrenbaum—is embracing me from behind.
“Party Girl!” he shrieks, forcing large, fleshy lips directly onto mine. I pull away but he keeps a damp, possessive arm around me.
“Jeremy, this is Adam,” I say, giving Adam a “please help me” look, which he either doesn’t see or completely ignores. Jeremy notices Adam standing there, and holds out one hand while the other stays firmly clasped to my shoulder. “How are you, man? Jeremy Barrenbaum.”
Adam shakes one of Jeremy’s hands as he eyes the other one, which is in the process of snaking its way from my shoulder to my waist. “Adam Tencer,” he says, somewhat coldly. Hearing the tightness in Adam’s voice, I actually feel physical pain. Is he telling the truth? Am I really “this girl he always thought would be perfect”? And who the hell is the wannabe Playmate girl?
“Um, Jeremy. Adam and I were actually in the middle of a conversation,” I say, removing his hand from my waist.
“Hey, no problem,” he says, but he has “bad drunk” written all over his face and doesn’t move. He surveys the room, spies a waitress carrying a tray of Jell-O shots, and motions her over. Grabbing two cups off her tray, he leers at me. “What do you say, Party Girl? Want to do shots and get crazy like last time?”
“No!” I snap. This is all going so horrifically wrong. I turn to Adam to explain things, thinking he may even laugh about how I tricked people into thinking I was doing shots, but the look on his face tells me not to bother.
“Excuse me,” he says to Jeremy, not even looking at me. “I’ll leave you two to your shots.” He glances at me as he starts to walk away, and I start following him.
“Adam! Stop! I need to explain.” I grab his arm and he turns around to face me.
“No you don’t, Amelia. Seriously. I don’t know what game you’re playing here but I really don’t want any part of it.” He shakes me off and keeps walking.
Tears sting my eyes as I start to follow him but I suddenly realize that there’s no point. As I watch him make his way over to Stephanie and Lizzie near the bar, I feel Jeremy enter my personal space yet again. Adam whispers something to Lizzie while Stephanie gives me a questioning look. I shrug as Jeremy envelops me in a hug.
“Forget about that tool,” Jeremy says, and for some reason this seems incredibly soothing. “He probably thinks he’s hot shit because he’s on some sure-to-be-canceled series about real