Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [81]
22
“Here we go,” Tim says as the Town Car pulls up outside the Roosevelt Hotel. “You’re on.”
We’ve just had dinner at Mr. Chow’s and are on our way into Brent Bolthouse’s night at the Roosevelt, where Paris and Jessica Simpson are regulars and the paparazzi wait outside knowing that they can make their week’s worth of money on this one night. It’s all part of Tim and Nadine’s plan to have me “out there” more, and while part of me loves the attention, this other part of me is exhausted by it. It’s a full-time job keeping up the persona of Party Girl, I think as the driver opens the door and helps me out.
As we approach the throng of people gathered outside, the doorman, Andrew, lifts the velvet rope to let us through. “Hey, Amelia,” he says, as I walk past, Tim and John on my heels. I spent years introducing myself to Andrew and he never gave me the time of day. Having people know me now is, while wonderful, also surprisingly unnerving. It makes me feel like I’m constantly under observation. But I smile at him and smooth down my cleavage-revealing Marc Jacobs silk dress.
As we walk toward the bar, I wonder if Adam is going to be here. It’s been over two weeks since we talked in New York, and I’m shocked he hasn’t called but I know there has to be a good reason. I keep seeing promos for his show and torturing myself with the idea that he’s fallen for the main girl on it—a former Miss Teen USA in her acting debut—and forgotten all about me. And even though I know that I could call him, I can’t seem to bring myself to. A connection, by its very definition, can’t be one-sided, I keep thinking. Of course he’s going to call.
When we get to the bar, Tim asks me what I’d like. It’s our first time out together and I’ve been preparing for this question for many days. Rachel has said that I don’t need to tell anyone why I’m not drinking if I don’t want to and that if somebody really wants an answer, I can always just say that I’m on antibiotics. Just tell him you’re sober now, my mind says, as I scan the bottles lined up in front of me. What’s he going to do, take the column away?
Instead I ask for a cranberry and soda and he just nods and orders that, along with vodka tonics for himself and John. I’ve been noticing lately that a lot of people just don’t seem to think about alcohol all that much, and Tim could be one of them. He probably thinks I’m just wild twenty-four hours a day, drunk or sober, I think, and I can’t decide if that’s something I should be horrified by or relieved.
“So what have you gotten up to lately?” Tim asks as we settle into a booth. John looks up from his drink expectantly, and I suddenly feel enormous pressure to be all that they think I am. Think of something, my mind says, quick. I go over the past few days: Monday night I went to a meeting at Pledges to meet Justin but he didn’t show, Tuesday I played with my cats, obsessed over Adam, and read the Pledges book. Wednesday? I can’t remember what I did on Wednesday and I get momentarily excited, thinking that I’ll surely have an exciting story to share with them when I remember that I’d randomly flipped to this show on Animal Planet about polar bears and had become instantly riveted. I start to panic, thinking I’m surely going to disappoint them, when I remember the night I went to Guy’s with Chad Milan and left with Rick Wilson. It’s not like I’m making it up,