Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [82]
“Well,” I say, “I went out with a CAA agent the other night.”
Tim nods politely but looks a little disappointed.
“And left with this random, out-of-work actor I had a crush on when I was sixteen years old.”
“No!” Tim shrieks disbelievingly, suddenly wearing a huge smile. He glances at John and adds, “You naughty girl.”
“Well, I was looking for a way to get out of having to kiss the agent guy goodnight,” I say, shrugging, like I think a modern, sexually evolved woman would. Channel Angelina Jolie pre-her humanitarianism, I say to myself as I continue to tell John and Tim about making out with Rick in the car, leaving the message for Chad and then being busted by him at the gym the next day.
“This is why she’s so good,” Tim says to John as he sips his drink. “She sees what she wants and goes after it, while the rest of us get mucked up in always trying to do the right thing.” I nod and smile, thinking, I am a total fraud. I can’t stop thinking about Adam and don’t do a damn thing about it, but I sit here and act like I’m some kind of warrior woman. I will Tim and John to stop talking about me, and then marvel at the fact that I’m even thinking such a thing.
Suddenly, the music gets turned up louder. Tim and John continue to talk but because they’re sitting next to each other and I’m across the table, I can’t really hear them anymore so I pretend to look like I’m completely wrapped up in the scene around me, while inside I’m thinking about how I’d much rather be in a bubble bath.
Just then, the waitress stops at the table and deposits a tequila shot in front of me, motioning her head toward the bar where Jeremy Barrenbaum, a producer with a Sony deal, stands and smiles at me as he holds up his own tequila shot. I smile at him and look down at the shot.
“From a fan?” Tim asks, as he leans over and I nod. I glance down at the lime and salt the waitress is depositing on the table and when I look up, Jeremy Barrenbaum is standing right in front of me.
“Party Girl, would you do me the honor?” he asks, slurring his words slightly and holding out his shot. When I don’t respond, he says, “Okay, fine—if you insist on doing body shots with me, I’ll acquiesce.”
Years ago, I’d had a crush on Jeremy. Someone had pointed him out to me at one of the first Hollywood parties I went to, mentioning that he had produced these two movies I’d liked and had dated this actress on Melrose Place. I’d thought he was cute, but knew for a fact that if he were a plumber and not a successful producer, I wouldn’t necessarily think so. Later that night, someone introduced me to him and he spent the whole time we were talking glancing around, giving me the distinct feeling that he was simply killing time until someone more important or famous came along. Eventually, he excused himself to go talk to Rachel Hunter. After that, when we saw each other, we would do the sort of Hollywood head nod, that I-know-we’ve-met-but-maybe-one-or-both-of-us-don’t-remember-the-other’s-name, and when someone started to introduce us at a premiere last year, I explained that we already knew each other while he held out his hand expectantly, looking like he’d never laid eyes on me before. I’d wondered at the time if he just walked around doing that Hollywood head nod to everyone or if he was pretending not to know me as some kind of a power move. Was being introduced over and over and only occasionally acknowledging it a distinctly Hollywood tradition or did this happen in other cities?
“Here’s to the best little wedding guest out there,” he says, clicking his shot glass against mine. I watch him pick up my salt and pour it on his hand, lick it, take the shot and then reach down for a lime wedge and bite into it. The smell of tequila is so strong I feel like I’ve practically ingested it myself. “What’s your problem?” he asks, gesturing to my still-full shot glass.
I glance at Tim and John, who are watching us with interest, and introduce everyone, after which there’s an awkward pause. “Got sick on tequila in high school,