Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [72]
I took the magazine out of her hand, rolled it up, and thwacked her over the head.
“Ow! Why did you do that?”
“I’m trying to knock some sense into you!”
“Her people called my people!” she said, repeating the line I’ve heard a bizillion times. “She, like, totally wanted me! Not vice versa!”
“I told you not to audition,” I said. “I warned you.”
But Bridget hadn’t heeded my advice. Nope, she let it all go straight to that bubblegum, bimbocious, blond head of hers.
It all started last June, when Bridget’s agent informed her that she had gotten a call from the agency that represented Cinthia Wallace. After seeing her work in the Hum-V video, Hy had specifically requested that Bridget Milhokovich audition for a very specific role: Gidget Popovich.
“Isn’t that, like, so cool of her?”
“Bridget Milhokovich. Gidget Popovich.” I had paused, hoping it would be easier to get through to her. It wasn’t. “Doesn’t this sound the least bit weird to you?”
“What?”
“She’s asking you to audition for the role of you!”
“She’s not me.”
The scary thing about Bridget’s inability to lie is that it means that she actually believes every idiotic word that comes out of her mouth.
“Describe her, then.”
Bridget instinctively picked her ponytail off her shoulder and started chewing on it, a sure sign of guilt.
“Okay. Like, Gidget is really beautiful on the outside but super-insecure on the inside.”
“And?”
“And, like, her parents are divorced.”
“And?”
“And . . .” She continued gnawing. “Like, she’s got this boyfriend who cheats on her.”
“Oh no, Bridget. Gidget doesn’t sound like you at all.”
She spit out the ponytail. “Okay,” she admitted. “She is kinda, like, inspired by me.”
“Inspired? She is you! Don’t you think that’s messed up?”
“Why should I? Like, Hy is playing the role of debutante-turned-reporter Rose Karenna Williams.”
That’s when I started to lose it. “Hyacinth Anastasia Wallace is portraying Rose Karenna Williams?”
Bridget continued, unfazed. “My agent said it’s, like, the next step of this whole reality-entertainment trend. It’s all about getting the real-life people who, like, inspired the characters to play the characters in the movie.”
I let this comment dangle in the air for a moment before cutting it loose.
“If that’s true, why hasn’t anyone called Sara to play the role of Tara, the, uh, gossipmongering rich girl with severe body-image issues? Why haven’t they called Manda for the role of, uh, Panda, a big-boobed feminist who thinks promiscuity is the best way to battle the patriarchy?”
“Actually, the characters are named Kara and Randa,” corrected Bridget, totally missing the point as usual.
“Why haven’t they called me to play the role of my alter ego?”
Bridget looked away.
“What’s her name, by the way?”
“Whose name?”
“My alter ego’s name. There is a character inspired by me, right?”
By then, Bridget must have trimmed an inch off her ponytail, so thorough was her chewing.
“Bridget! I’m going to find out eventually,” I said. “You might as well tell me now.”
Bridget sighed. “There is a character named . . .” She paused. “Jenn Sweet.”
Jess Darling equals Jenn Sweet. My God. That was all I needed to hear. There was no escaping it: Hy had turned my life into a bad low-budget indie flick. Though I’m sure her crafty lawyers advised her to disguise me enough that a defamation of character suit would never hold up in court. (Kind of like the person behind Pinevile Low.) Still, anyone who knows me will know. I’ll know, and that’s one person too many. This is why I refuse to read it. No way will I contribute to her royalties.
Maybe Hy had originally intended to get metafictional, then changed her mind after seeing Bridget’s lackluster audition. Or perhaps Hy planned all along to humiliate Bridget by telling her she wasn’t talented enough to play herself. All I do know is that as bad is it will be in four days when the book hits stores, the movie is going to be even