Considering
how cranky and old she felt by the time she reached Heaven, it was a
shock to be carded. The bouncer at the door asked for her ID—hers only,
and Bob and Charlotte were the same age. He squinted at her DMV-issued
California identification card; she half-expected him to raise a stink
that it wasn’t a driver’s license, but he handed it back and let them
inside without another word.
“It’s
because you look so young, Chuck,” Bob said as soon as they were past
the door. She couldn’t hear him over the blasting sound system; only by
looking at his lips could she make out what he was saying.
“Clean
living,” she shouted back. She shouldn’t mind getting carded—if it
wasn’t apparent she was closing in fast on thirty, so much the
better—but she suspected it wasn’t so much a case of looking in the
first bloom of youth as looking unsophisticated. Unformed. Out of place.
The bouncer let her know she didn’t belong.
Bob
said something she couldn’t hear and headed off in another direction,
the crowd opening around him and swallowing him whole. And the only
person she knew in the place had vanished.
She
made her way to the bar, three-deep with well-dressed clubgoers. She’d
had never been here before, but this was a trendy spot in Hollywood, and
cocktails would be priced accordingly. Even with half-price drinks, she
needed to be careful. One drink only, and she’d pay in cash, and she’d
make sure to reserve enough for the bus home. When the bartender finally
turned his harried attention to her, she ordered a glass of the house
red. The free hors d’oeuvres Bob mentioned consisted of a tray on the
bar lined with grease-stained doilies and a single sad triangle of
cheese toast. Too bad. She was hungry.
She
should network. That was what this was about, wasn’t it? She didn’t
have any idea how to network. If she did, she’d be having a much better
time of things.
There
was a familiar face down at the end of the bar. Familiar as in
personally known to her, and also familiar as in kind of famous, which
was the networking double whammy. She angled her way through the crowd,
careful not to jostle her wine glass, then reached over and tapped a
young woman on the shoulder. “Rachel. Hi.”
Rachel turned away from her male companion and looked at her. Her expression was blank.
“Charlotte
Dent. From USC.” She managed to not make it sound like a question. They
knew each other, damn it. Rachel would remember her.
“Charlotte!
Oh my God. It’s good to see you!” Rachel looked like she meant it, too,
like she was half-thinking of giving her a hug despite the bodies in
the way. “How’ve you been? It’s been forever.”
“I’m
good. You look fantastic.” Having been welcomed, Charlotte deemed it
acceptable to slide a little closer to the bar. “I saw you on The Tonight Show a few weeks ago. You were really great.”
“Thanks.”
Rachel slid over to give her more room. She turned to the man seated
beside her. Expensive haircut, expensive tie. “Charlotte, this is my
husband, David. Charlotte and I were in drama school together.”
David’s cool hand clasped hers. “Charlotte. Great to meet you.”
“We got married in March. In Malibu.” Rachel turned a little pink. “David’s also my agent.”
“That’s great. Congratulations.”
Rachel smiled. She looked happy and in love. “Thanks. Wow, it’s great running into you. What are the odds?”
“It’s alumni night.” Rachel looked blank. “The drama school alumni are meeting tonight. I guess it’s a monthly thing.”
“No kidding?” Rachel looked around, then exploded into giggles. “I thought a lot of people looked familiar.”
Charlotte
laughed along with her. They leaned their heads together so they
wouldn’t have to shout over the music. Rachel placed her hand on her
wrist. There was something so convivial about their body language, like
they were close friends instead of acquaintances who hadn’t seen each
other for the better part of a decade, that Charlotte felt a little
melancholy.
When
struggling actress Charlotte Dent is cast as a leggy killer robot in a
big, brainless summer blockbuster, the subsequent hiccup of fame sends a
shock wave through her life. The perks of entry-level celebrity are
balanced by the drawbacks: destructive filmmakers, online ridicule,
entitled costars, and an awkward, unsatisfying relationship with the
film’s fragile leading man. Self-aware to a fault, Charlotte fights to
carve out a unique identity in an industry determined to categorize her
as just another starlet, disposable and replaceable. But unless she can
find a way to turn her small burst of good fortune into a durable
career, she’s destined to sink back into obscurity.
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Genre - General Fiction, Chick Lit
Rating - PG
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