Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [21]
I lean in quickly for a kiss and then I retreat, saying, “Ask Bill for my number if you want to reach me.” I open the passenger side door, get out, and steady myself on my Miu Miu pumps, just as Rick is saying—mostly, it seems, to himself—“Jesus, you’re just about the most abrupt chick I’ve ever met!” I smile as I slam the door shut. I like being called “the most” anything, even if it is something as unexciting as abrupt.
The next morning, I wake up at about six and can’t fall back to sleep. I’m utterly useless on days like this. I know some people get tired but I get literally insane. My IQ probably drops a hundred points, I have trouble seeing clearly, and the only thing that gets me through the day is the thought that at some point all this torture will be over and I’ll be able to get in bed and sleep.
Since I’m up and have a good two hours before I’d even think about leaving for work, I decide to hit the gym. Maybe I’ll sweat the exhaustion out of me—ridiculous logic, I know, but I told you I can’t think straight when I’m in this state.
At the gym, I force myself onto the treadmill. The place is completely empty, which doesn’t ever happen to gyms in L.A., what with exercise addiction being so rampant. It must be a Jewish holiday or something. I’m so out of it that I barely notice when someone else comes into the gym. Then I look up, catch this person’s eyes, and immediately pray for a time machine and the opportunity to be anywhere else.
“Hi, Chad!” I all but scream to Chad Milan in such a fake-cheerful voice that I’m immediately shocked it’s come out of me. My head races through some shadowy reflections of coming into my apartment this morning after Rick dropped me off and rubbing moisturizer on my chapped chin. Did I freaking call Chad the way I’d planned to, or did I pass out before getting to it? Suddenly, I’m positive I did. I remember almost fainting with relief when I got his voicemail. All of these thoughts zip through my mind in the amount of time it takes me to smile winningly and ask, “Did you get my message?”
Chad nods and stops beside my treadmill. “Yeah, I did,” he says. “And forgive me for not calling you back afterward.”
I’m about to tell him that it’s okay when he walks over to the Stairmaster and adds, “It’s just that since I’d gone outside to find you and saw Rick holding your hand and leading you to his car, it somehow made your message about how you’d looked everywhere for me seem less convincing.” Then he gets on the Stairmaster and starts it up. And I say nothing. There is no retort. There is just Chad Milan, an empty gym, and my utter horror. Chad doesn’t say another word, and even in my state of complete and utter humiliation, I admire him for having the balls to put me in my place like that. Now I actually understand why a girl might be attracted to him, I think as I slink out of the gym moments later.
8
My first instinct when I see Stephanie standing at my front door, swigging from her flask with Jane in tow, is to tell her that I don’t feel like going out tonight. I just feel off—more so than usual—and could probably use a quiet night at home. But for some reason this thought doesn’t even make it out of my mouth.
“Ready to pre-party before Steve’s?” she asks and I nod.
Steve Rosenberg parties tend to be massive gatherings of successful studio executives, directors, and B-list actors at his enormous house complete with basketball and tennis courts. There’s no way tonight can happen without Alex.
“Want some Mexican food?” I ask Jane, who knows that “Mexican” refers to Alex’s coke, whereas “Italian” means getting it from this wannabe former wise guy named Joey. “Breaking the fast” is code for scoring from Vera, this Jewish woman whom I met at a party. But since