Chapter 11

FredsAngel

A/N: A chick fight is a must, Ashliegh? Well, far be it for me to disappoint a loyal fan. If it's a chick fight you want, it's a chick fight you shall get. I only hope it's believable. (Ashliegh, I worship at your feet. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't get one.) And Angie's conversation with KeVan Monét, a.k.a. Kevin Sledge, is dedicated to everyone who has had to have a variation of that conversation. (Maybe you should e-mail this chapter and all of Colorblind [which, Teda, is brilliant BTW] to Tyrell.) I would, but he wouldn't get it. (Doesn't he start grad school next fall?) Doesn't change fact that he's a moronic git.

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Alex is waiting for us outside the limo. He spins me around and kisses me like he hasn't seen me all day, while the chauffeur helps Ginny and Hermione into the auto. Just before they get in, I glance over Alex's shoulder and see Ginny make a gesture. A gesture that involved her finger moving across her throat. Say anything about Ginny Weasley that you want, but there is no doubt that she's loyal to her family. I'm just glad that the slit throat motion was aimed at Alex and not me.

He finally releases me. "Where's your coat?" he asks, finally taking in my appearance.

"I don't need one. It's the middle of July, Alex. Have you gone mad?" Shit. By the time I finished the sentence, I'm speaking in a British accent instead of the upper class French one I've been carrying for the last two years. Damn my talking to Hermione and Ginny in my old voice; it caused my slip.

"Well can't you at least get a pashmina or something? I'm not sure I'm up for fighting every guy in the industry for looking at you in… in that," he says, gesturing at my dress. Thank Merlin he didn't notice.

"Don't be silly; pashminas have been out of style for a good three months now. Besides the only one I have eyes for tonight is you." Now tomorrow is another story.

"It's not YOUR wandering eyes I'm worried about. You know that Tom and Nicole have been having problems, right?"

"It's all over the tabloids. But I don't see what that has to do with us."

"Tom's a very handsome guy."

"He's also married and way too short for my taste." We both laugh. "If anyone should be worried it's me, Mr. Empire's–Sexiest–Celebrity–and–People's–Most–Beautiful–Person," I say, making sure to use the accolades the top UK and US magazines bestowed upon him recently.

He kisses me again. "You have nothing to worry about." Then a cheeky grin appears on his face. "Unless Thandie has some ideas."

I untangle myself from his arms and punch him in the arm. "You know, for someone who's been harassing me all day about being on time, you don't seem to be in much of a hurry to get there."

"You're right. Why don't we just send your friends and we can stay here and pick up where we left off last night, eh?" he says cocking his eyebrow suggestively.

"Let me think about it." I pretend to ponder my boyfriend's enquiry. "Nah. Let's go before you get any hornier." He looks down in confusion as I walk towards the limo snickering to myself. Apparently he didn't notice the erection that he was displaying. Men.

"Why, you little witch." I stop snickering and whirl around. What did he just say? I swear if Daniella told him anything, I'll kill her. Just because she's a witch…

"What did you say, hun?" I ask in as calm a voice as I can muster.

"I said, 'Why you little wench…' You didn't think I said bitch, did you? I'll have you know I'd never say that about you. I might think it on occasion, but I'd never SAY it."

"You're scared of me, aren't you?"

"Very," he answers with mock seriousness.

"Well, we're running beyond late and if you don't want a reason to be really be scared of me, then we need to get going."

"I thought you wanted to be 'fashionably late'."

"Fashionably late is twenty minutes; not an hour. I don't want to miss any of the movie."

"Yeah, you just want to be late enough to avoid Joan Rivers."

"Damn straight," I reply as I climb into the limo. "The woman is sixty-seven. What on earth makes her think she's an authority on today's fashion?"

"Who are you two talking about," asks Hermione, who is sitting directly across from me.

"Joan Rivers," Ginny answers for me. "Wasn't it obvious? But I thought she was about twenty years older than that." We all laugh before she then turns to me. "For what it's worth, Toni, I agree with you. She's too old to discuss red carpet fashion. And her daughter isn't much better at it."

"Yeah, they both dress like they throw things together that they found at thrift shops," Hermione breaks in. The three of us stare at her. "What?"

Ginny pats her knee. "Nothing, Jane. Just try to stay out of fashion-oriented conversations, will you?"

"Gin!" I exclaim. "That's evil."

"No it's not. Miss Know-It-All here needs to learn that there are things that she doesn't know everything about. And fashion is definitely one of them."

"Good point."

"Hey!" Hermione exclaims before turning to my boyfriend. "You're on my side, aren't you Alex?"

Ginny and I each send him a glare, but I have feeling that they were unwarranted. Alex is rather…fashion conscious. All right, he loves shopping more than any guy, straight or gay, ought to. The boy practically lives in too-expensive preppy stores.  "Uh… Actually, Jane, I kind of agree with your friends."

I give him a peck on the lips and pat his head. "Good boy."

Gin and Mione look at each other then look at Alex. "You are so whipped," they say in unison.

"No, I'm not. I merely acknowledge the fact that Toni is the dominant person in this relationship." Ginny raises her eyebrow. "Have you ever seen her angry? She scares the hell out of me."

"Whipped," they chorus again in a sing-songy voice, this time making the sound and gesture.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," I say.

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8:15 PM

We step out of the limo and onto the red carpet. Immediately, the cameras start going off. I glance around; I don't see any signs of that old bag or her too-tanned elf look-alike daughter anywhere. I let out a sigh of relief.

The light bulbs flash all around us. My mouth is starting to hurt from all the fake smiling. It sort of makes me wish I was on the runway and I could look angry. Ginny looks right at home up here and Alex is always at ease at these functions. Hermione, on the other hand, looks completely out of place, like she doesn't belong in this setting. Which is the truth, actually. But she's not supposed to let them know that. I hate these things too, but you can't tell. It's all about the confidence.

A photographer that I know quite well comes running up to us and I let a low groan. KeVan Monét (his professional name; his real name is Kevin Sledge) is a photographer and columnist for Spin magazine. He's a brilliant artist and writer; unfortunately, he's also a faux militant who claims he's working to resurrect the 'Revolution' against 'The Man.' He's been taking pot shots at me and my relationships in his columns because they are always with Caucasians. And my current relationship with Alex has given him all kinds of fodder and ammunition to blast me with. But since my publicist and public relations people have warned me against firing back, he uses my silence as evidence of his claims.

"Toni," he says in that syrupy sweet voice of his, "how good it is to see you and Alex again." My boyfriend cringes; he hates the bastard almost as much as I do. "Would you be willing to grant me an interview?"

I don't want to, but past experience has taught me that he'll follow me around all night if I don't. And then call me a stuck-up bitch a week later in his column. "Kevin, hi," I say emphasising his real name. "Sure I'd love to." The look of surprise on his face is priceless. One point for me. "Walk with me, talk with me." I lead him away from my friends (and Alex, who can only contain his anger for so long).

"So, Toni…" he begins before I cut him off.

"You can stop with the facade, Sledge. You don't like me and you know that I loathe you. So get to the point."

"Why do you continue to degrade the African-American community by having sexual relationships with them?"

"I don't see how I can degrade the African-American community if I'm not African-American."

"Your skin tone says otherwise."

"First of all, get your facts straight: I'm not African-American; I'm French-English-African."

"It doesn't matter what country you're from; you still make yourself out to be a whore, in every sense of the word, for the white-controlled entertainment industry every time you step out with one of them."

"That's not possible when I'm biracial myself." He starts to say something, but I continue before he can even get a word in. I've been waiting for this confrontation for a year-and-a-half and I'm finally going to speak my piece. "And for someone who hates whites so much, I don't see you leaving your cushy job at Spin, which I might add, is owned by 'The Man' for Afro-centric magazines like Ebony or Jet. And you can quote me on that, my Brother." And with that, I whirl on my heel and stalk off to find my companions.

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8:27 PM

"So what did that snake want to talk to you about?" Alex asks when we meet back up on the red carpet.

"Nothing he hasn't said before."

Ginny looks at me expectantly. I chuckle; she looks rather like a child trying to convince her mum to let her open her Christmas presents early. "So did you finally tell the bastard off?

"Yeah, I did. It was a long time coming."

"That's my girl," Alex says, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. His show of possession in case anyone is watching, especially KeVan Monét. He has this ridiculous notion that the rat secretly wants me.

Hermione breaks into the conversation. "Will someone please enlighten me as to what you are all talking about?"

Ginny laughs. "Forgive her; she doesn't read Spin."

"Lucky her," Alex muttered.

"Look, don't worry about it, Jane. He writes for a magazine and has been using his column to make some personal attacks on me in general, and on my relationship with Alex in particular."

She lets out a low whistle. "Harsh."

"It's been taken care of." I sigh. It's going to be worse now that I've responded to him. But I'll burn that bridge when I get there. "Now on to more important issues. Has anyone seen Joan or Melissa yet?"

"Nope," Alex says, giving me another peck on the cheek. Thankfully, he didn't notice the glare Ginny sent him. "The elf and the witch are nowhere to be found." Again, I thank my lucky stars that he didn't see the three of us cringe when he said 'witch'.

We start walking toward our seats when Hermione groans. "Ugh. Speak of the devil."

Alex, Gin, and I follow her gaze. "DAMN!" we all swear in unison, not bothering to hide the fact that something's annoying us. And that something (or rather someone) happens to be Joan and Melissa Rivers. Directly in front of us. There's no way to get into the theatre without running into them. The only way we could get to our seats without them noticing is to Apparate. But we can't because Alex isn't a wizard. And even if he was, Apparating in front of a lot of prominent Muggles is a definite no-no. So the only thing to do is suck it up and hope they don't see us.

We continue walking straight and fortunately, my prayers have been answered. They're too busy talking to Thandie Newton and her husband, writer Oliver Parker, to notice us. We don't say a word, until we're inside the theatre, that is. Once we reach our seats, the discussion of the outfits begins. Starting with fashionista Ginny. "Did you see the elf's dress?"

I answer first. "Yes. I can't believe she had the nerve to wear tangerine."

"And with her bad fake tan, she looked like a big orange blob. If it wasn't for the hair, I wouldn't have known where the dress ended and she began," Alex finished.  We all burst out laughing. And ignoring our conversation in the limo, Hermione made a worthy contribution to the discourse.

"Or what about Joan's dress? She was wearing even less than Toni."

Gin looks at her best friend. "What did I tell you in the car, Jane?"

"Oh piss off, Gin, and let me finish. The whole Spanish dress thing would have worked if she weren't so old and wrinkled. Even with the thousands she spends on plastic surgery a year, there's no denying that. She and Melissa should've switched outfits." We stare at her open-mouthed. "What?"

"That was…" I begin.

"Exactly what…" Alex continues.

"We were…" Ginny proceeds.

"Going to say!" we finished together.

Hermione blushed crimson. Even though she didn't get to marry Ron, you'd swear she was a Weasley (minus the hair, of course). "So who doesn't know beans about fashion now, huh?"

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After the Movie…

"Thandie is my new favourite actress," Mione says as we walk out of the theatre and head to the limo to go to the official after-party at the Four Seasons Hotel. Which happens to be my home in the City, so we can change clothes afterward. Even though celebrity etiquette dictates that we should all wear exactly what we wore to premiere, all of us are sick to death of these fancy garments. Besides, we're going clubbing, not to the Academy Awards post-show.

"She's been my favorite for quite some time. I saw her in Flirting a while ago and just fell in love with her," Alex added.

"You hear that, Toni?" Hermione asks with a cheeky grin. "Sounds like you might have some competition."

"Good," I hear Ginny mutter under her breath. I'm starting to think that she's taking this more seriously than Hermione. And that's just scary.

"You are sadly mistaken, Jane. It's common knowledge that Ol Parker is extremely overprotective of his wife. And if Alex here tried to make a move on Thandie, he'd be buried six feet under," I say.

"Sounds good to me," Gin mutters again.

We all pile into the waiting limo. "So what can we expect at these parties?" Gin asks.

Alex answers, even though the question was directed at me. I don't really care, though. To be honest, this is more of his element anyway. "At this one, you can pretty much count on there being more of the same thing you just saw: dressed up celebrities and annoying photographers and gossip columnists."

"What about the other ones?"

"Pulsating beats, open bars, drugs…" Hermione cut him off.

"Drugs?" She seemed shocked. "What kind of drugs?"

"Weed, X, the usual. Sometimes you'll find some people doing a couple lines of coke in VIP."

"You two don't do those types of things, do you?"

Gin elbows her. "Does it really matter?"

I answer Hermione's question, anyway. "We both drink and I pop an E pill every now and then. But other than that, nothing."

Ginny pipes up. "That's kind of surprising. In the magazines, everyone talks about how hard and how much you guys party."

"I think you're talking about Mandalynn and Brandon. They're into everything: pot, H, acid. You name it; they've done it. Unfortunately, the rags tend to lump Toni, Daniella, and I in with them."

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11:30 PM

"Angie, this isn't healthy," a voice says beside me at the bar.

"You sound like Hermione, Gin"

"Well can you blame her?" another voice comes on my other side. "We're worried about you."

"Why? I've only had one pill and I've only had one drink."

"Yeah, but everyone knows that the worst thing to do on ecstasy is drink alcohol. And you won't tell us what's wrong."

"Thank you, Dr Granger. Look, I'm fine now. I just felt a bit on the depressed side."

"Why?" she presses on.

"Actually, I think I know," Ginny says. Hermione follows her gaze and sees Adrienne in the corner, talking on her mobile. "It's been nine years, Ange. Let it go."

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4:13 AM

My companions and I stroll (okay, more like we staggered) into Club Edelweiss drunk, exhausted, and (in the case of Ginny and me) more than a little hopped up on ecstasy.

"So are you guys ready?" Alex asks, more to Ginny and Hermione than to me.

"I was born ready," Ginny says. Boy, if Fred could see her now… Actually, I don't think he'd be that surprised that she's such a party animal. Boy, if Mrs. Weasley or Percy could see her now… All hell would break loose.

Hermione on the other hand answered with a very slurred, "I...guess…so." I need a camera. Who would've thought Dr. Hermione Jane Granger would be this drunk? Fred would get a kick out of this if he were here. Dammit! Stop thinking about him! We'll deal him tomorrow. Er – later today.

Alex elbows me. "What about you, sweetie? You ready to dance the night away?"

"Isn't what we've been doing?"

"No, that's what you were doing. I was busy thinking about how to get you out of those clothes."

"I doubt it's going to happen." Alex gave me a look of mock disappointment. "It took forever to get into these things," I say, gesturing at my too tight Seven jeans. $157 and they're too painful to sit in. (A/N: Name one person besides Courtney Cox who can actually get a comfortable fit out of those things.)

"I think I could manage," he answers with a smirk and starts to pull me toward the dance floor.

As my boyfriend and I move in sync to the heart-pounding rhythms vibrating through the speakers, I chance a glance at Hermione and Ginny. My two companions have the attention of many of the club goers. Gin's over there embracing the attention, dancing with four guys (one on each side). Mione, on the other hand, simply seems too drunk to even care. It's about bloody time she dropped the whole know-it-all persona and learned to live a little. Maybe Gin and I will have to get her drunk more often.

Ginny's shoulder-length black hair whips about her as she dances. She's really good; she definitely takes after the twins. Both Fred and George were good dancers (as was Bill), but her other brothers all had two left feet. Her gold-sequined halter meshes well with her tight leather pants. But unlike mine, her trousers aren't cutting off her circulation. (Note to self: stick with Diesel. Or go shopping with Gin.) And her simple, black Gucci stilettos complete the outfit and manage to put my intricate Fendi shoes to shame. Actually, now that I think about it, she wears a lot of Gucci. How can she afford all that stuff? I wear it on a regular basis and even I think it's too damn expensive.

As usual, Hermione isn't as concerned about fashion as Ginny and me. Her cinnamon hair cascades down her back onto the denim Sergio Valente jumpsuit that she's wearing. As Alex said when she emerged from the bathroom dressed, she looks übersexy. Even though her outfit would be considered fashionable by anyone's standards, Hermione confessed that she chose it because it left everything to the imagination. A pair of plain black Candies boots completes her ensemble.

A jerk on my arm disrupts my thoughts. A grin has appeared on Alex's face and he starts dragging me toward VIP. "What's up?"

"I saw a friend and I want to introduce you."

I balk when I see his 'friend'. "Alex! Long time, no see!" the familiar voice squeals and encircles him in a tight embrace.

"Adrienne! How's my favorite record exec?"

"Trying to make sure we all get paid and that your brother and cousin stay the hell out of trouble so that the lawyers don't have to be."

Alex turns to me, a goofy grin on his face. "Adrienne, this is my girlfriend, Toni Toussaint. Toni, this is Adrienne Johnson, head of Soulless Records. And, essentially, my boss." My backstabbing bitch of cousin gives me a weak smile and holds out her hand. I shake it as hard as I can (maybe trying to break it), given my current state of mind. I'm already close to crashing out and seeing the Squib has definitely put a damper on my night – um, morning.

"We've met," I say in as cold a voice as I can muster.

I need a fix badly. And maybe something else to relieve my tense feeling. Like some hash. I absolutely refuse to inject myself with that poison they call heroin and I've seen enough of my fellow models become snowbirds for the weight loss. I watch my relative throw herself at my boyfriend (again) and I stalk off. I think I saw 'The Silver Fox' head up to the third floor earlier.

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5:07 AM

Adrienne corners me in the third floor Ladies Room. "You're high," she says matter-of-factly.

"And you care why?" My voice is laced with acid and malice.

"I promised an old friend that I'd keep an eye on you. He's worried and so am I."

"You can tell my ex-husband that I don't need a goddamned baby-sitter."

"No, but you need detox." She takes a step forward. "If you'd only let me help you…"

"Help me what?"

"Help you get better."

"Oh, okay. So while I'm in rehab, getting better, you can help yourself to my boyfriend. It wouldn't be the first time."

"Dammit, Angelina! It's not like that!"

"And what, exactly, is it like?"

"Alex and I are just friends."

"Bullshit! You want him. I can see it in your eyes."

"I'm not going to play these mind games with you. Not when you're this out of it."

"Tell me you don't want him then." She remained silent. "That's what I thought. Once a whore, always a whore."

That finally broke the skank. She lunges at me, but I'm ready. I duck her punch and deliver a well-timed right cross to the side of her face. She counters with jabs to my well-toned midsection. Thankfully, it doesn't hurt as badly as it would have if I hadn't played so much Quidditch in my youth. She uses each jab as an accent to her sentence.

"I'm…*punch*…sick…*punch*…and…*punch*…tired…*punch*…of…*punch*…fucking…*punch*…apologizing …*punch*…for…*punch*…that…*punch*…damn…*punch*…kiss…*punch*. It…*punch*…was…*punch*…nine…*punch*…years…*punch*…ago…*punch*. Get…*punch*…over…*punch*…it…*punch*."

I manage to sneak in an uppercut, which stuns Adrienne long enough for me to go on the offensive. "Never!" I get in quite a few punches. The fight goes on like this until we're both bruised and bloody. There's a cut above my right eye that's making it kind of hard for me to see my target. Out of my good eye, I can see that my cousin has an identical cut above her left. But it doesn't stop us; we continue to swing blindly at each other.

I'm exhausted, but I have to go on. I have wanted to do this ever since I was thirteen and now that I can, I'm not going to stop. Next thing I know, two arms grab me from behind and press an odd-smelling cloth to my face. I am going to kill her. And, suddenly, everything went black.

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Yeah, I changed some things, but don't worry; the F/A reunion will still be next chapter. It might go a bit a different then expected, so stay tuned for the next instalment of this never-ending saga. (Okay, so it has an end [which we've already written]. You knew what I meant.) As usual, read and review.