Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [38]
“Oh, okay. So what about it?”
Something inside warns me not to continue with what I’m about to do but I feel strangely powerless over my ability to stop now.
“Look, here’s the thing. Linda won’t say her age—”
“She has to say her age. It’s company policy.” The guy clearly has no issue with repeatedly cutting me off.
“I know, but here’s the thing. The interview was amazing. I mean, she cried. She talked about stuff she swore she’d never tell anyone. I really think it could be an outstanding story.” I’d normally never use the word “outstanding,” but Bruce seems like the kind of guy who might respond well to it.
“So go find out her age. Call the DMV.”
“Well, she said she’d rather have the story killed than have her age run, and I just—”
“So let’s kill the story. Or, if we’ve already photographed her, let’s not waste valuable film and a photographer’s time. Just find out her age and print it. Screw what she wants. Personally, I think she sucks, anyway. I mean, ‘Sinner’? Are you kidding me?”
Even though Bruce is insulting Linda, I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. For a brief second, I want to be outraged by his ridiculous lack of empathy for the human race but the truth is, my outrage seems, like most things, to be all about me.
“Well, it’s a ridiculous policy,” I snap after a stray tear manages to escape from each eye.
“Excuse me?” For the first time in the conversation, I seem to have inspired something more than an indifferent response from him. I’m about to respond with a snippy explanation for exactly why I feel the policy is insane when suddenly Brian appears at my cubicle.
“You need to come to Robert’s office,” he says. He has this look on his face that I’ve never seen before, like he’s somewhere between scared and furious.
I nod at him that I’ll be there in a second, hoping he’ll walk away so I can finish my conversation with Bruce.
“Now!” Brian yells so loudly that I jump out of my seat and about three feet in the air.
“I have to go,” I say to Bruce and hang up, not even waiting to hear if he says good-bye. I suddenly know exactly what’s about to happen and start passionately wishing for that mammoth earthquake everyone says is going to come and wipe out all of California.
“Follow me, please, Amelia,” Brian says. The word “please” sounds formal and uncomfortable coming from him.
As I follow Brian down the hall, heads poke out of office doors and then back inside. Nosy motherfuckers. Brian bypasses his own office, me just a step behind, and walks straight into Robert’s. It’s only my second time in Robert’s office and I’d forgotten just how austere and uncomfortable it was. I sit down on the corner of a brown couch while Brian sits opposite me in a cushioned seat that’s the same color. Robert leans back in his Herman Miller chair. Nobody says a word and for one brief, horrific second, I think I’m actually going to have to be the one to start this conversation.
“We know what you’ve been doing today,” Robert finally says, staring at the ground.
“In the bathroom,” Brian, who now looks pink with anger, adds.
“Apparently you weren’t very subtle,” Robert says, his gaze still fixated on some small stain in his carpet. I’m about to defend myself, to tell them that what I’ve been doing today is practically de rigueur in Hollywood, but I seem to have lost the ability to speak.
“And do you know how much trouble you’ve gotten us in lately, Amelia?” Brian continues, looking like he literally might cry. “This thing with Amy Baker. What the hell did you say to her?”
I should have known that anorexic, soulless wench would call someone above me to complain, I think. I’m about to defend myself and explain that she was the one who falsely accused me of misquoting people, but I seem to have lost the ability to speak or even, for that matter, focus. I try to keep my mind on what’s going on in this room but my head seems to have other ideas.
“And this ridiculous drama with Kane—telling me you’re going there during the day for a follow-up interview when really you