Absolutely True Lies Page 7

  So I made my way downstairs and out onto the dance floor, completely sober but wishing I was blackout drunk. I was tempted to grab a drink—Axel and Sharla sure seemed to be mixing business with pleasure—but I didn’t really know the rules for this sort of thing. If there were any rules. I was also afraid of getting wasted and calling Jameson a weirdo or, worse, telling Daisy I was starting to think she was a moron.

  I was dancing for less than five minutes when a sweaty guy with a ponytail and a shirt open to his navel sauntered up to me and starting grinding against my leg. I resisted the urge to vomit on him, but the floor was so packed, I really had nowhere to go. It was even hotter out on the floor than upstairs, and as my body swelled a bit, I suddenly couldn’t catch my breath. People began looking wavy and out of focus, and their crazy gyrations didn’t help.

  Axel spotted me trying to squirm away from Mr. South Beach and fought his way over. Without a single look to the other guy, Axel wiggled between the two of us and began dancing with me. He had just put an arm around my waist when everything went black.

  • • •

  “O-M-F-G, we are already on TMZ.”

  These were the first words I heard, and while I recognized it as human speech, I had no idea what it meant. I slowly opened my eyes and discovered that I was on the couch in Daisy’s hotel room, completely encircled by the group. The second I moved, all four people leaned in and stared down at me intently.

  “She’s awake,” Daisy said.

  “Thank you, Daise, we can all see that,” Jameson replied.

  I struggled to sit up, but Jameson shoved me back down. And I don’t mean that he gently moved me back to the cushion, he literally thrust me down.

  “You shouldn’t move,” Jameson told me, in what was possibly the worst bedside manner I’d ever seen. “The club’s medic said we had to keep you lying down.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but didn’t get a chance.

  “I can’t believe that photographer managed to get the whole thing,” Sharla said, shaking her head. “I thought they weren’t allowed into the club.”

  “There’s always some vulture with a cell phone pic or hidden camera,” Axel said.

  “Oh, come on.” Sharla snorted. “You’re the one who’s always trying to get pictures with those MTV kids.”

  “You look so thin in this picture,” Daisy said, holding up her tablet for me to see.

  I moved my head around so that I could get a good look at the screen. I did, in fact, look quite thin, but I also looked like a strung-out inebriate being carried off the dance floor. It took only a moment longer before I saw the headline: SOMETHING ROTTEN IN DAISY’S ENTOURAGE???

  “I am so sorry,” I said, certain that I was about to be fired. So much for staying out of trouble.

  “Why?” Daisy asked, laughing. She put the tablet back in her lap and started looking up other websites. “This is awesome. I want to see if X17 has the pictures yet.”

  I struggled to sit up but only made it about halfway. I was still strapped into the tiny dress and felt breathless and dehydrated. “I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. “How is this a good thing?”

  Before anyone could reply, Jamie’s cell phone chimed and he answered it in the middle of the first ring.

  “Yeah,” he said, his tone clipped. Jamie stared off, listening to the voice in his ear. I think Bluetooth devices are ridiculous, anyway, but it’s times like these that I really hate them. If Jamie just had the phone pressed to his ear, chances are we would have been able to hear at least some of the conversation. Instead, the four of us leaned in closer, waiting for some clue as to what was being said, but pretending we hardly even noticed the call. “Sure. . . . Of course not.”

  “Perez Hilton is saying you’re my alcoholic cousin,” Daisy whispered to me. “Is this like the coolest thing that has ever happened to you?”

  “Ugh, Perez is over,” Axel said. “No one reads him anymore.”

  I know I lead a pretty sheltered life, but I’ve still had plenty of experiences that rate above passing out in a sweltering Miami nightclub and having the pictures plastered all over gossip websites. Call me crazy.

  “Uh-huh,” Jamie continued. He rolled his eyes, but I couldn’t tell if it was for our benefit or his. “Yeah, I’m on top of it. . . . I’ll start making calls at nine A.M. . . . Talk to you tomorrow.” He hung up the phone and then sighed, throwing Daisy a look of irritation. “Your mother is a pain in the ass.”

  “That’s not nice,” Daisy said, not moving her gaze from the tablet screen. “I’ve asked you not to talk about her like that.”

  “The day she earns a single goddamn dollar of her own money, she can tell me what to do,” Jamie shot back, grabbing a remote control from the coffee table. “Until then, Faith can shut her mouth.”

  If anyone else was shocked by this exchange, they didn’t show it. In fact, Axel yawned broadly and leaned his head on Sharla’s shoulder. When Jamie flipped on the television, I used the screen as an excuse to look somewhere else.

  “B-T-dubs, we made it on to CNN,” Jamie tossed out as he reached the channel. “Faith saw the teaser about five minutes ago.”

  Axel snorted. “And how would your mother know what’s happening on the Communist News Network?”

  Daisy shrugged. “She likes to know what lies the lefties are telling.”

  I was momentarily distracted by Jamie’s idiotic text-speak, but it took me only a few seconds longer to realize what was going on. Pictures and/or video of me passing out in the club were about to be splashed all over the giant plasma screen. And watched in millions of homes in America—including my mother’s. The dizziness washed over me again and I had the urge to vomit on Daisy’s lap.

  “I have to go,” I said, struggling to sit up. I attempted this a few times before I realized that the corset was too tight to allow me to bend at the waist, so I was forced to roll off the couch. “I can’t watch this.”

  “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t be standing,” Sharla said, getting up and putting her arms around my shoulders.

  On TV, CNN came back from commercial and a well-coiffed reporter smiled blankly at the camera. I tried to move quickly, maneuvering out of Sharla’s grip, but I was sick, exhausted, and trussed up like a pig—and about as fast as a Christmas ham.

  “As we reported before the break, a member of Daisy Dixson’s entourage passed out tonight at a club in Miami, and we have the exclusive footage.”

  I felt the bile rising in my throat and just made for the door, somehow having the sense to grab my purse on the way out. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I managed to say between hyperventilating breaths.

  “Do us a favor and don’t die in your sleep,” Jameson called after me. “This level of publicity helps us, but a death would really cramp Daisy’s Oscar chances.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Dating in Hollywood can be tough. We all work insane hours, but that isn’t even the hardest part. It always seems like everyone wants something from you. So when you find someone who really likes you for you, it’s important to hold on to them. I look at my mom and dad’s marriage, which has weathered twenty-three years, and I have hope!

  My cell phone started ringing at seven the next morning. I had been asleep for barely four hours and hadn’t thought to turn off my cell when I collapsed into my wonderfully comfortable bed. I knew who the caller was even before I glanced at the phone; there was only one person who couldn’t care less if I was tired or sick.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, pulling a pillow over my face to block out the sun. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol last night, and I still felt like I was completely hungover. It wasn’t fair.

  “Holly Ann Gracin,” my mother said. Her disappointment was audible. I immediately pulled the phone away from my ear and pressed the speakerphone button. The last thing I needed was Mom’s Western New York accent boring a
nother hole in my already throbbing brain. “You have thirty seconds to explain yourself.”

  “It’s not what you think—”

  “You do know that I have to show my face at work Monday?” Mom continued, sounding very sorry for herself. “Do you know what people are going to say? Hmmmm?” This time I didn’t even bother; she wasn’t asking my opinion. “They’re going to point and whisper behind my back that I have the druggie Hollywood daughter who got carried out of a nightclub in Florida!”

  I wondered if she was more concerned about drugs or about the possibility that I might have gone “Hollywood.” “Mom, if they’re talking behind your back, they’re not really your friends.”

  “Excuse me, young lady? Do you think this is funny?”

  Actually, I did. “Of course not,” I reassured her. “But I swear to you, I’m not on any drugs. I wasn’t even drinking. I was just overheated and wearing a really tight corset.”

  “That’d better be true,” she said, still all kinds of wound up. “Because if you’ve fallen in with those weirdo L.A. types, I will hire the best deprogrammer money can buy.”

  No, she wouldn’t. My mother won’t pay extra for guacamole at Chipotle.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” I told her. “If you want to blame anyone, blame the rich people who didn’t let me eat dinner last night. Listen, Mom, I have to go.”

  “You have to go? Because you have better things to do than talk to your own mother? Honey, if these people don’t even let you eat—”

  Oh, geez. “Mom, I always love to talk to you but I do have to work,” I lied. “Busy day ahead of me.”

  “Fine,” she sniffed. “You just remember that I’m the only one who cares about you, Holly. Those famous people are only using you for your brain.”

  “Yes, Mom.” I sighed. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “You’d better believe you will—”

  I like to think I hung up on her at that moment, but I suspect that’s not the truth. Though she never mentioned it again, I think I fell back asleep.

  • • •

  That’s the last thing I remember until noon, when my room phone rang. I rolled over and picked it up, yawning into the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “I hope I’m not calling too early” came the cool reply from the other end of the phone.

  “No, Minka, not at all.” I could hear the judgment in her voice, and it made me want to push her smug little face into a brick wall. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was thinking I could perhaps be of assistance to you,” Minka said. “I would be happy to send up Tylenol and a glass of orange juice or Gatorade. Or maybe you’d prefer an eye-opener? We make a lovely Bloody Mary.”

  “No, thank you,” I replied, my voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. Of course she’d seen me on the news; she was probably monitoring every gossip site for news about Daisy and her precious Jameson. I resisted the urge to call Minka a sanctimonious bitch, though it was a close one. “What I would love is a cheeseburger. With fries and a chocolate milk shake. And loads of whipped cream.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I was pleased to think I’d momentarily stymied Frau Minka.

  “Of course,” she said finally. “I’ll have the kitchen prepare that straightaway. I’ve just put in an order for Miss Dixson; I’ll have everything sent up to the Presidential Suite when it’s ready.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I added quickly. I desperately needed some time alone before heading back into the Dixson Dramarama, just to watch twenty minutes of some awful CSI rerun and collect myself. Not to mention take an hour-long bath and scrub the funk off my skin. “Just have my food brought to my room.”

  “It was Mr. Lloyd’s suggestion,” Minka stated, intimating that I had no choice in the matter. I could choose to stay in my room, but going upstairs was the only way I would ever see my food.

  “Fine.” I threw off the covers and reluctantly got out of bed, knowing that—for the second morning in a row—I hated the day just minutes after it began. “Thank you for your help, Minka.”

  “Of course, Ms. Gracin.” She hung up.

  I sighed and headed into my amazing bathroom, ready to longingly admire the tub from my view inside the glass-enclosed shower.

  • • •

  Twenty minutes later, I stepped into the Presidential Suite, the room service cart about a foot behind me.

  “Yay,” Daisy cheered, jumping up from the couch. “Holly and yummies!”

  I was immediately dismayed to see that she was wearing practically nonexistent cutoffs and a bikini top. Did this girl have an aversion to being fully clothed?

  “Any fallout from last night?” I asked, cringing.

  Daisy shook her head. “No, we took care of it. Jamie issued a statement and it seemed to shut everybody up. Don’t even worry about it.” She ran up and hugged me tightly, before turning around and bounding toward the tray. “I thought you were never going to get here, Holly, I totally missed you!”

  “She really did,” Axel said from the couch, painting his toenails black. “The first thing Daisy said when she opened her eyes was ‘Do you think Holly’s up yet?’ ”

  While I was fast growing accustomed to the epic weirdness, I still did a double take. “I’m sorry, do you sleep with Daisy?”

  As she sat down at the dining room table and somehow managed to cross her legs Indian-style on the chair, Daisy giggled again. “Of course he does! I’d get so lonely if I slept by myself!”

  “Don’t you have three dogs?” I asked.

  “Yeah”—she nodded—“but it’s like, a monster bed. It can fit six people.”

  I didn’t bother to ask how she knew that. I approached the table and sat down, trying not to bite the bellman’s hand off as he arranged the food at an infuriatingly slow pace. The silverware had barely left his grasp before I snatched up the utensils and removed the plate cover. As soon as the mouthwatering cheeseburger was revealed, Daisy gasped.

  “What is that?”

  “A cheeseburger,” I told her as I crammed a handful of French fries in my mouth.

  Daisy lifted the cover from her meal, and I tried not to choke as I saw what she’d ordered. Or didn’t order. All I can say for certain is, nothing on that plate resembled food. From the couch, I heard Axel tsk obnoxiously in my direction. This prompted me to pick up my burger and take the largest bite I could possibly manage without choking.

  “Holly, I just cannot believe you,” Daisy exclaimed, seemingly truly upset. “Who eats beef anymore?”

  “It’s so 2004,” Axel agreed.

  “I love beef,” I said with my mouth full. “I pretty much worship steak.”

  Daisy began picking at her own plate, clearly disgusted by my lack of enlightenment.

  “You’re a vegetarian, then?” I asked. To be honest, I didn’t really care, but I realized this was good fodder for the book. Since she wasn’t interested in talking about any other part of her life that didn’t involve shopping or celebrity vendettas.

  “Yes.” Daisy nodded. “But I’m also insulin-resistant.”

  “And gluten-resistant,” Axel chimed in.

  I took a long slurp of my heavenly milk shake while absorbing this. “So you don’t eat sugar . . . or bread.”

  Again, Daisy nodded. “And soy does funky things to your thyroid, so I avoid that . . . Mom and Daddy prefer I stay away from nuts, just in case there’s an issue there. And nobody should be ingesting dairy.” She looked pointedly at the milk shake clasped tightly in my hand. I took another long, loud drink.

  “What is that you’re eating?” I asked, nodding toward the red, soupy concoction on her plate. I’d been staring at it for the last few minutes and I still hadn’t figured out what it was supposed to be.

  “Tomatoes and onions.” Daisy gr
inned, smacking her lips. “I’m so lucky I’m not allergic to nightshades.”

  Lucky wasn’t the first word that came into my mind. “Did a nutritionist recommend that for you?” I asked.

  Daisy shook her head like I was being absurd. “No, it’s like a really famous diet.”

  “From who?” I didn’t want to admit this out loud, but I’ve tried every diet known to man. I’ve eaten nothing but cabbage soup for three weeks, tried only bananas and milk, and subsisted on eleven pounds of Atkin’s-approved bacon slices. And I’d never heard of the tomatoes-and-onions diet.

  “Um, only that gorgeous Brazilian model that died of starvation,” she told me. “It was all over the news. It’s a great diet, but obviously, she wasn’t eating enough of it.”

  There were so many things I could have said in response to that, but I knew I’d be wasting my breath. “Did you order anything, Axel?”

  He waved me away dismissively. “Today isn’t my day to eat.”

  Since I was now devouring my carnivorous feast mostly to prove a point, it didn’t taste quite so good anymore. And knowing that Daisy and Axel were undoubtedly thinking about what a big, fat tub of lard I was made each bite a little more forced than the last. I finally gave up halfway through the burger, but I refused to abandon my milk shake. No dessert left behind.

  Jameson and Sharla walked in the door, both talking rapidly. At first I thought they were arguing with each other, but then I realized Jamie had his Bluetooth in his ear and Sharla was talking into those iPhone headphones. These days, it’s so much harder to tell when someone’s a crazy person talking to their invisible Martian friends.

  “Six dozen pink teacup roses—”

  “The makeup trailer had better be fully stocked by the time we get there—”