Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [79]
“Do you think the modern-day woman should be able to sleep with whomever she wants to?” Meredith Viera asks me.
“Well, I guess that depends on how often she wants to,” I say, smiling. “I don’t think anyone should look at sex like it’s an all-you-can eat buffet.” Meredith and Matt crack up.
I’m shockingly calm and composed on TV. I’d sort of assumed that I’d be filled with the same neuroses that used to plague me before I did anything where a lot of people would be watching me but I can only imagine that being at Pledges—where I’d grown accustomed to regularly sharing my most personal details with a group of strangers—has eviscerated any nervousness I used to feel about being the center of attention. With the camera on, I feel witty, attractive, and charming—qualities that I only occasionally feel I possess in real life. I think of my first three colicky months of life and the toothless grin I gave the photographer who came to photograph me. Turn on the lights and watch me shine, I think, as I answer one of Matt’s questions.
While I field a question Meredith asks me—if I’ve heard from either guy since the column came out (That would be no, I’d said, which was met with extensive laughter)—I marvel at how easy this TV thing is. It feels like being at a party where the entire focus is on me, and everyone else is just dying to laugh and be entertained by what I’m saying.
“Let’s just say that I wouldn’t mind if either of them disappeared into the ether,” I add, and again, I’m rewarded with the sound of laughter. How come my friends and family have never been so appreciative of my sense of humor?
Even though it feels like we just started, before I know it, Meredith turns to the camera and says, “If you know what’s good for you, get yourself down to the newsstand, grab Chat, and check out Amelia Stone’s Party Girl column. If anyone represents the modern-day woman we all want to be, it’s her.”
And then it’s over. I shake each of their hands, feeling as close to high as I have since getting sober, and make my way to the green room where Nadine is waiting.
“Honey, you were brilliant!” she shrieks. “Who knew you were so funny?”
Even though her question is clearly rhetorical, I feel somewhat compelled to fill the silence that follows. Silence between two people tends to terrify me, sending me into a full-blown panic that the other person is in the process of discovering how uninteresting I actually am. But I’m so buzzed from the TV shoot—feeling like serotonin is suddenly dashing through my veins with stormlike speed—that I decide it doesn’t matter. And then Nadine says something that makes me feel even more confident that I probably don’t have to do much else for people to think I’m interesting now.
“There’s virtually nothing you can do to stop yourself from becoming huge now.”
For the next few hours, my BlackBerry rings nonstop—apparently everyone and their mother watches the Today show because as soon as I clear out the congratulatory messages that have gathered, the voicemail fills up again. I’m getting ready for dinner and am just about to toss the damn device out the window of my hotel room when it rings again.
“Hello?” I sort of say and sort of shriek.
“Amelia? Is this a bad time?” When I realize whose voice it is, I want to dance a jig across the room.
“Adam!” It’s the first time I’ve heard from him since the day we spent together and I don’t make any effort to hide how happy I am to hear from him. “How are you?”
I expect him to launch into the same speech everyone else has been giving me about how funny and natural I was on TV, but he doesn’t. “Good,” he says. “Just been in back-to-back interviews for the show. The only problem is that I’m completely distracted.”
“Distracted? Why?” I smile as I lie down on my king-size bed.
“Honestly? Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Hooray, I think. I wish for superhuman powers that could allow me to break through the phone and touch