BECOMING THE FABULOUS MISS C
By Angel Sentier and Lady Parsley
Chapter Three
Chloe's digital bedside clock read 3:35am in bright red numbers when the phone rang that night. Dimly, she tried to register which one it was... It took her two more rings before she realized it was her home phone, the one that never rang.
Not bothering to pull her head out of the covers, she reached over to the nightstand, groped around a bit, and finally picked up the receiver. "Hello?" she mumbled.
"You vindictive bitch!"
She blinked. "...Dad?"
"No, not 'Dad!'"
"...Jason." Her brain clicked. "...Heh heh heh..."
"You planned the whole thing, didn't you?" he accused her, loudly.
"No, but I sure as hell wish I had!" she said, sitting up and folding her legs under her, very awake now. "Did you have fun with feeling the we-ness, Jason? Because that's why you're calling, isn't it? Well, I guess you're right. We-ness is something I could never give you!"
"That's not funny!"
"Oh, are you going to have your boyfriend come beat me up?"
"Laugh all you want, Chloe, but just think. While you were sobbing into your ice cream with your two friends--"
"I was not sobbing."
"I was out with what I thought, at least, was a woman."
"Oh, yeah. That's WAY better."
"The point is... I've moved on, which is more than I can say for you!"
Chloe bit her lip. He was kind of right. But she had enough sense not to let on that what he said had gotten to her. "I'm not so sure that you should go around bragging about what exactly you've moved on to, Jason. That is, unless you want to come out of the closet--"
"Good-BYE, Chloe!" The receiver was slammed in her ear.
She hung up the phone and looked at it for a moment. So, she hadn't moved on yet. So, what? It had only been a week. Of course, he was over it. He was the one who had ended it! By law, she was entitled to, at the very least, several weeks of bitching, complaining, and crying, coupled with insane amounts of ice cream. Glancing at the clock, she groaned and snuggled back into the covers. Ginger wanted her at the office early, again, to proof-read the proposal on the ad campaign for an upcoming movie release. At the moment, sleep was way more important than worrying about her crappy ex-fiancé.
As Philip settled himself into the chair, he caught the hairdresser staring at him in the mirror; the cloth he had been about to drape him in was forgotten in his hand. It was a look he had been receiving somewhat more often, now that he had gotten the award; the 'oh-my-fucking-God-aren't-you-Philip-Carter-Grayson' look. He smiled his 'go-ahead-I-know-you-want-to-ask' smile as the fruity-looking man opened his mouth.
"Aren't you--?"
"Yes, I am."
Philip smiled as the man went into a short appraisal of his work on the big screen and stage. For the sake of the people he met, he let them talk about his celebrity as though he wasn't already aware of it. He didn't like to cut their opinions short, and sometimes he was rewarded by a refreshing new view of his work. Nothing really new from this man, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He would eventually remember he was there for a hair cut, and Philip wasn't in a huge rush.
"So, then, if you don't mind my asking," the stylist said as he rinsed Philip's hair in the sink. "How are things with your girlfriend? Or is she your fiancée now?"
He rolled his eyes. "Wait until Friday; it'll be all over the tabloids."
"Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good. Who broke up with whom?"
"She with me. By fax."
"That bitch!"
"I guess she had her reasons. Never been broken up with by fax before, though... It kind of sucks. But, well, that's Erika for you."
He paused in the act of finding his shears. "Um... You mean, Emily, don't you?"
"Right, right... Emily." He glanced at him in the mirror. "Oh, don't read too much into that. I can't remember a name to save my life."
"Oh... Yeah, I think I heard that rumor about you a while back. So, it's true?"
"Yeah, but the part about the director slugging me in the face is a lie. I still have no idea what that man's name is..."
He set to work with the shears. "Well, you and Emily had a good run. Wasn't it almost six months that you were together?"
Philip sighed. "Yeah. That's practically forever in terms of most Hollywood relationships. Although..."
The trimming paused. "Although?"
"No, it's nothing."
"Come on, what?"
"Well..." He glanced at him again, but figured what the hell. The only person better to talk things over with than a hairdresser was a gay hairdresser. "Eleanor--"
"Emily." The snipping began again.
"Right, Emily, she was the third girl to break up with me this year. All of them were poised, beautiful, and charming. But there was nothing there, no chemistry between us. According to the rags, Esmeralda--"
"Emily."
"Emily, right, that's what I said. To them, she and I were practically engaged. But in reality, we were little more than friends."
"Friends that screw, right?"
"Well, yeah, don't get me wrong..."
The stylist laughed, it was a pleasant sound.
"Anyway, I'm kind of getting tired of all the... the..." He searched for the right word for a moment. "You know, all the fake."
"Fake? They were actresses. It's all they are. You're an actor, you know that."
"Right. But sometimes I want something permanent. Really permanent, not just Hollywood permanent. Something real."
"That's a tall order, Mr. Grayson."
"Tell me about it."
"Speaking of Hollywood, why are you all the way out here and not there? On location?"
He smiled. "Actually, I'm here for a premiere. It was filmed here, so it's premiering here. We've even hooked up with an advertising company that's based in the city."
"Really?" The man smiled broadly as he took out a hair dryer. His teeth were very even and white. "Could you get me tickets to the show as my tip?"
He grimaced. "I think I'd rather pay you to stay away. This movie is going to suck, big time. And I should know, I'm in it."
"It can't be that bad. What's it about?"
"It's an action/comedy/adventure/romance called For So the Night Will More Than Pay the Hopeless Longings of the Day. I'm a retired Interpol agent with a gambling problem and a weakness for poetry working as a lawyer in the states, my wife and children are kidnapped by some guys, I have to go after them, my family gets killed, I blame myself, some hot chick shows up, she says she can help me find the guys, we do some screwing, shit gets blown up, throw in a car chase, blah, blah, blah..."
"Why would you make a movie that's that bad?"
He shrugged. "My agent contracted me into it."
"Well, you might find something out here that will make up for your crappy movie and even crappier love life."
"What?"
He removed the drape and flourished with the handheld mirror. "A fabulous haircut, of course."
Philip checked out his hair from a few different angles and grinned. "Wow, you did a great job! No wonder you came so highly recommended."
He smiled confidently. "I take great pride in my work."
He rose from the chair and paid the man, tipping him generously. "If you're ever interested in hair and makeup for film..."
"Thanks," he said, shaking his head. "But I've got a side business that keeps me pretty busy as well as the salon work. I appreciate the offer, though. I'm flattered!"
"Sure. Well, thanks, Dave."
He tapped his name badge. "Dennis."
"Right, Dennis."
After a long hard day of running Ginger's errands, typing up Ginger's proposals, answering phones and mail, and trying to manage her own work, Chloe was sleeping like a rock. Ever since this movie PR package came up a week ago, she'd been worked twice as hard by the Triumvirate, and she hadn't thought that was possible. She wasn't sure when she was finding the time to eat, but since the only thing she kept in her refrigerator now was ice cream, she was still gaining weight. She was still pondering how exactly she managed to hold thirty-six cartons of ice cream in the little fridge, left over from her college days. The restorative powers of Ben and Jerry's was a slow process, but she thought it was working. While under the influence of several pints of chocolate and caramel swirl and buried in her work, she was unable to think about Jason.
At least, not until the phone rang at 3:29 that morning. This time, it was the theme from Titanic that woke her.
She moaned. No... Please, no, she pleaded, but the phone was relentless, so she reached over and flipped it open. "Whaaaaat?" she groaned.
"Chloe. You need to come pick me up," said Staci, the tall, brunette social butterfly of the Triumvirate, in that clipped tone of voice she always used for people she considered beneath her. Never want to waste valuable speaking time on the underlings, after all.
"What?" said Chloe. "What about Tessa?"
"I called her. She's not home. In fact, we haven't heard from her since last night when she took us out." Her tone suggested that she was already pissed that Tessa wasn't at her beck and call.
"Why don't you call a cab?"
"If you think I am going to set one of my perfectly manicured toenails, let alone my Prada shoes, inside some smelly cab, you've got another thing coming. You need to come pick me up. And don't you dare pick me up in that piece of shit you drive. You need to go down to the office, borrow a company car, and then come get me."
Chloe covered her face with her free hand. "Do you realize I have to be awake to get ready for work in a few hours?"
"Then I would think you'd be hurrying to get down here, rather than arguing with me like an idiot and using up my cell phone minutes!"
While Chloe knew Staci probably got free nighttime minutes, she also knew that Staci was just going to get bitchier and bitchier and she would have to hear about it from Ginger in the morning. "Fine! Where the hell are you?"
"I'm at Jason's apartment."
Chloe's heart stopped. Only too clearly could she hear the sneer in the other woman's voice.
"I'd give you the address, but I believe you know it. Thanks, honey."
Chloe stared at the dial-toning phone in her hand. She took a deep breath.
"Bitch!" she screamed. "Biiiiiiiiitch! BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!"
Somewhere, a car alarm went off and a dog started barking madly. Chloe only stopped screaming when she realized she'd lost her voice. She'd been screaming 'bitch' into the dead receiver for a full five minutes.
Through some merciful act of God, Jason did not come to the door when she knocked on it about forty-five minutes later. However, when Staci walked out, the bubble of rage inside Chloe's chest swelled as she realized the bitch was wearing Jason's red silk shirt.
Staci, of course, saw Chloe staring at the shirt and wrinkled her nose disdainfully. "I couldn't find my top, so he gave me this old rag to wear. He said it brought back bad memories, so I don't have to worry about getting it back to him."
While Jason could have meant the date with Denise, the double entendre was not lost on Chloe. "That's a silk shirt," she croaked out.
Staci snorted delicately. "Yeah... Nordstrom's silk. Whatever, just get me home. It took you long enough to get here. I've had no sleep, you know..."
Chloe might have said something biting to Staci about how she woke her up from a sound sleep to drive her home, but without a voice, it was rather impossible to make herself heard over Staci's loud prattling. She looked at the clock on the dash of the Beamer, 4:21am. By the time she got Staci home, dropped off the company car, and got back to her apartment, it would be time to get up. Silently, she groaned.
Just drive... she thought, gripping the leather steering wheel tightly. Don't think about swerving the back end of the car into a telephone pole, this is a company car. Just drive. Don't burst into tears. Just because you've found out who one of the girls he was cheating on you with is, doesn't mean you have to cry. It's not the end of the world; she probably didn't do it maliciously... Okaaay... Sure. Just who are you trying to kid here? Because you sure as hell aren't fooling yourself!
She bit her lip and drove on in silence. Later on, she could call Tessa and Teri. And then she could cry.
That day at work was sheer, unadulterated Hell. Staci took great pleasure in describing to Princess and Ginger, in exquisite detail, her goings on with Jason the previous night. All while Chloe was in earshot and unable to get away, of course. If Staci had been poking fun at him, as Chloe hoped she might since Jason was a bit below her normal quarry, it wouldn't have been so bad. In fact, that might have been somewhat painless. But instead, Staci described delicious things Chloe herself had asked him for during their relationship, but he'd never been game.
How could he? Or did he only tell her to say it to get back at me? She'd do it... Staci would do anything to make me cry. Or did they really...? Maybe it was me... Was it because I just never interested him that much? What the hell is wrong with me?
The second she got back to her apartment that night, she kicked off her shoes, threw herself on her bed, crushed Mr. Fuzzy the stuffed cat to her chest, and began dialing Tessa's phone number, as all the unshed tears of the day began to fall.
Hi. This is Tessa...
"Fuck!" she cried. "Why are you not home?"
Obviously, I'm not available right now. So leave a message and I'll get back to you. Beeeeeeeeeeep.
"Tessa," she began, lip quivering. "Something happened... with Jason..." A sob broke her speech momentarily. "I need to talk to you... Where are you? I need ice cream... and cheese fries... Please call me back as soon as possible!"
She hung up the phone, instantly dialing Teri's number and praying her other friend would be home.
"Hello?"
"Teriiiiiiiiii!" she wailed.
"Oh, God... What happened?"
The whole story came out, amidst lots of sobbing, along with the fact that she couldn't get a hold of Tessa. "I don't know where she is and I need to go out and lose myself in a huge bowl of sugar! And for that, I need you and Tessa."
"Thanks..."
"It's nothing against you, Teri... But I have to have Tessa tell me what a bastard Jason is and... well... it's just not the same when it comes from you."
"I know. Tessa and I have different styles of comfort. Well, it sounds like she was with the Bitches last. Maybe we should call them."
"I'm NOT calling them," said Chloe. "If I call, they'll just try to get me to do something for them."
Teri groaned. "I guess I'll call them. I'll call you back, okay?"
"Okay..."
Ten tissues later, Chloe's phone rang. "H-hello?" she ventured, hiccupping loudly.
"God, you sound pathetic."
"Gee, thanks."
"Ginger and Princess have no fucking clue where Tessa is. They went out to a bar two nights ago and haven't seen or heard from Tessa since." She audibly shuddered. "Ugh... I never want to call those two again. I don't know how Tessa and Princess can possibly be related or how you put up with them on a daily basis. When are you going to come to your senses and work for me?"
"You can't afford me. The company doesn't give you the budget for an assistant."
"Valid point... Well, I tried calling Tessa just to be sure and she didn't pick up then either."
"I'm worried, Teri."
"Well, then at least you've gotten your mind off of Jason."
Chloe's wailing renewed. "That fucking basta-hiccup-d I'm going to fucking-hiccup-kill him! And I'll take that-hiccup-Staci and shove a f-hiccup-ing ice pick through her fuck-hiccup-g eyes!" While her hiccups had cut off some of what she said, she had no doubt that the message had gotten through to Teri. She blew her nose, foghorn-like, into a new tissue and sobbed. "This fucking-hiccup-sucks!"
"Look, why don't we go out? I've got two tickets to that movie premiere you've been working your ass off for. Why don't we go?"
"I can't. Ginger will be there. If she sees me, I'm dead. I'm not supposed to have fun, I'm suppose to be her beast of burden."
"Fuck Ginger. You need to get out."
"She wants me at work early tomorrow morning to go over some things. If she sees me out tonight, having a good time, she'll only have to work that much harder to make me miserable the next day."
"Chloe, sitting at home with a box of tissues and thirty cartons of Ben and Jerry's is not going to work this time, I can tell. You're just going to brood over everything, getting more and more miserable, and end up somehow blaming everything on yourself the way you always do. That's not what you need right now. You need distraction."
"I need Tessa's foul mouth!"
"Fine!" said Teri, her comforting tone of voice gone. "You want Tessa? I'll be Tessa for you!"
"Teri, wha--"
"You are I are going out tonight, whether you fucking like it or not! Because you know who else used to lock himself in his room? Howard Hughes, Chloe, and look where he is. Three hundred antibiotic shots in his fucking heel, one of them breaks off, and he still dies of infection! And if you think I'm dragging your pus-filled ninety-eight pound carcass out of your over-sanitized apartment after you shoot your television, you're sadly mistaken! I'm not wearing tissue boxes on my feet, they don't make for stylish footwear! So, get the hell up, change out of your hospital gown, because it shows way too much of your non-existent ass, wash your hands forty-eight thousand times, and put on your fucking bio-hazard suit, because we're going out. And if you're not ready by the time I get there, I'll kick your sorry ass, you creepy recluse!" Click.
Chloe stared at the dead receiver in shock, wondering how she could shoot her television if she had died from an infection, for a full three minutes before she realized, "She lives ten minutes away... I've only got seven minutes to get ready!"
She jumped off the bed and hurried to the bathroom, not wanting to get beat because she didn't doubt for a second that Teri wouldn't do it. Teri enraged was a sight to behold... Chloe just preferred not to be on the receiving end of it.
To be continued...
