Because Fat Girl

Chapter Three

Immediately, I was impressed. Which was probably the point of hanging a massive Jackson Pollock painting in the foyer.

“Holy shit,” I swore, taking in the masterpiece.

“No big deal,” Janelle said. “I’ve got a Warhol in my entryway.”

“The postcard I sent you from MoMA doesn’t count.”

We passed under a mobile hanging from the ceiling that was very likely an Alexander Calder.

“It’s got sentimental value, ups the price,” she insisted as we made our way into a large, open living room. Chris’s subtle black-and-white furniture allowed the modern art covering the walls to be the center of attention, each piece perfectly lit and framed.

“I’ll be damned,” I blurted, looking around. “Chris Stanson has taste.”

“Or his decorator does,” Janelle countered, grabbing two champagne flutes off a passing tray.

“Salud!” We clinked our glasses together as Mindy Kaling walked by.

“Was that…?” Janelle asked.

“Yep,” I replied.

“I’m gonna need a stiffer drink.” Janelle walked toward the bar.

“And some food,” I called out, following a waiter with a tray going in the opposite direction.

When we met back up, Janelle was carrying two tumblers of bourbon, and I had a couple small white spoons with some kind of liquid inside of them. She looked at my findings, disappointed.

“This was the closest thing to food I could find,” I said as we awkwardly tried to hand each other our bounty.

“Bottoms up!” Janelle downed her spoonful of broth in one gulp. “Dammit, that just made me hungrier.”

“I should have known there would be no real food at an event full of actors,” I said between bites of the side of olives Janelle had convinced the bartender to give us.

“Is that why this party is so boring?” Janelle asked as she leaned against the railing of an upper patio.

“Even the celebrities are hungry.” I pointed to some familiar faces gathered around a waiter, whose tray was rapidly emptying. “That’s how you know there isn’t enough food.”

“I feel stupid for not eating beforehand,” Janelle said.

“I feel stupid for choosing fashion over the ability to carry snacks,” I added, lifting my tiny Kate Spade clutch that adorably looked like a monster but sadly had very little room inside.

“Rookie mistakes.” Janelle sipped her bourbon. “We’ll do better next time.”

“Here,” I said, biting my last olive in half and handing it to her.

“Aww, you shared your last olive with me!”

“Ride or die.”

“Which might come sooner than we think if we don’t distract my body from eating me alive,” Janelle replied, her stomach growling.

“Let’s play I Spy,” I offered as a distraction. “It always keeps the kids busy when they’re cranky. We can do it adult style—you’ve gotta take a drink if you guess wrong.”

“I’m in.” Janelle perked up.

“I spy with my little eye,” I said, looking around for someone we’d both recognize, “an action star with a nice ass.”

“Hmm.” Janelle scanned the room. “Tom Holland?”

“Does he have a nice ass?”

“I think so.”

“That’s not who I meant, so drink!”

Janelle took a sip of her bourbon and returned to scanning the room. “Ooh, Drew Williams!”

“Ding, ding, ding!” I clinked my cup with hers, both of us drinking.

“This could get dangerous,” I said, observing how low my drink had gotten and remembering our lack of food.

“Here.” Janelle reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a box of some super-fancy electrolyte water the celebrities were all drinking right now. “I grabbed these off a waiter earlier. Much safer, still fun.”

“Brilliant,” I said, opening it up like a milk carton. “Now, your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye,” Janelle said, scanning the room once again, “someone whose ex-wife will be there for you when the rain starts to pour.”

“That might’ve been harder if you hadn’t practically sung the Friends theme song when you said it.” I pointed to Brad Pitt down by the infinity pool.

He was standing next to rock star Kali and Broadway and film star Beanie Feldstein—two queer women I’d admired for years and longed to befriend—apparently saying something hilarious because they were all laughing. There seemed to be a stratum of fame at this party, and we were stuck on the nobody level. Still, it was fun to look out onto the garden below and see some of my idols.

“I spy with my little eye…”

“Some real food!” Janelle shouted, grabbing my shoulder and dragging me toward a waiter with a tray of sushi. We pounced on the poor woman, taking all that we could before she ran away.

With our bellies somewhat appeased, we made our way toward the silent auction area to see if there was anything good to buy.

“What kind of event starts bids at one thousand dollars?” I asked, glancing at overflowing gift baskets and magazine-quality photos of potential prizes.

“Ones that offer things like courtside seats to the Lakers with Leonardo DiCaprio,” Janelle read off the sheets. “Or staying at Robert Downey Jr.’s home in Aspen.”

“Or afternoon tea with Meryl Streep!” I squealed, way too excited at the idea of sipping tea with my hero to keep my cool.

“Girl, you gotta!” Janelle grabbed a pen and wrote my name and number down for three thousand dollars.

“I cannot afford to spend three thousand on tea!” I protested.

“If you win, we’ll figure it out. Host a GoFundMe or some shit.”

“I’m going to cross it out.” I grabbed the pen from her hands.

“Hear me out first,” Janelle said, pulling me away from the table. “You’re probably going to be outbid, and if not, you can tell them it was a mistake and not pay. But this is Meryl Streep we’re talking about. You’ve idolized her since film school. Putting your name down on that sheet of paper tells the universe and your brain that you’re the kind of person who bids on your own dreams.”

“That’s some hippy-woo shit,” I said.

“You know I’m right.”

“Okay.” I sighed. “But if I win, you’re paying.”

“I can’t. I’ll be too broke from my ten-thousand-dollar tennis lesson with Serena Williams.”

“Bourbon makes you reckless.” I pulled her away from the tables. “Let’s get out of here before you bankrupt us both.”

I steered Janelle toward the bar, where I ordered us fancy pink non-alcoholic cocktails and two more boxes of water, knowing that neither of us should have more booze tonight.

“I spy with my little eye,” I said, picking up our game from earlier, “someone who tripped and fell getting golden.”

“Jennifer Aniston,” Janelle said.

“Drink!”

“I meant Jennifer Lawrence!”

“Too late, you already said Jennifer Aniston, drink!”

“Dammit, I meant J-Law. I know J-Law! I love J-Law! Why did I say Aniston?” Janelle said.

“Probably because she’s speaking to Brad Pitt,” a voice next to us said.

I turned around to see who it was and rammed right into him, spilling the frilly pink drink in my hand all over my brand-new designer clothes.

“Shit!” I cried, looking down at the mess on my shirt.

“I’m so sorry.” The man pulled a handkerchief out of his lapel pocket. “Here.”

“We’re going to need more than that,” Janelle assessed, heading toward the bar and returning with a handful of napkins and some club soda.

“I hope it doesn’t stain,” he said, standing there awkwardly.

“It’s definitely going to stain,” I replied, blotting my top, praying I was wrong. I tried to remember it was just an outfit, but my eyes started watering anyway.

“We’ll get it out,” Janelle tried reassuring me as she patted club soda on my shirt.

“How are you spotless, wearing all white, and I’ve got pink drink all over me?” I asked her.

“Blame me,” the man said. “This was all my fault—I snuck up on you. I’m really sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” I lied, not wanting to admit to a total stranger that he’d just ruined the most expensive thing I owned.

“Hi, I’m Andy.” The man extended his arm to me.

I looked up from blotting my shirt to shake the offered hand, only to realize it belonged to Drew Williams. Great, not only did I ruin my very expensive outfit, but I just made an ass out of myself in front of the man whose face I saw every time I drove down Sunset Boulevard, a man who was famously best friends with Chris Stanson and probably as big of an asshole as he was.

“Hi, I’m Andy?” I mimicked, suddenly very annoyed and angry. “Like, no big deal. I’m Andy.”

“Hi, Andy.” Janelle shook the hand he’d extended to me and glared my way. “Nice to meet you.”

“What’s wrong with my name?” he asked me.

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just, you’re a celebrity. Everyone knows you’re Drew Williams. Why introduce yourself as Andy?”

“I was striving for humility.”

“Pretending you’re not famous isn’t humility. It’s like rich people pretending they’re poor. It’s insulting.”

“I’m sorry,” Janelle said, stepping between us. “Usually she has better manners than this. You must forgive her. She’s hangry.”

“I’ll be back,” he said, leaving us alone.

“What’s with that guy?” I glared at his receding back.

“What’s with you ?” Janelle shot back. “Why are you being an asshole to one of the biggest stars in Hollywood?”

“He ruined my shirt!” I cried, pointing down at the stain that hadn’t come out.

“It’s a fucking shirt.” Janelle grabbed me by the shoulders. “Don’t ruin our chance to network with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars over an item of clothing!”

“Famous people are overrated.” I pouted.

“I know this look. You’re crashing. We gotta get food in you, stat.”

As if on cue, Drew Williams showed back up, guiding two waiters carrying trays full of food our way. “All I could find was shrimp and sushi. I hope you eat fish.”

“You’re a lifesaver!” Janelle grabbed some sushi for both of us.

Within a few bites, I instantly felt better.

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking up at the famously fit celebrity watching me eat. “I kind of get mean when I’m hungry. No offense meant.”

“None taken.” Drew Williams smiled. “My mom is the same.”

“Do people really call you Andy?” I asked, but before he could answer, Chris Stanson appeared at his side. He looked gorgeous in his coral suit, the colors perfect for the tone of the party, and I felt a burst of pride at having picked it out for him.

“I heard you were assaulting some of my waiters,” Chris said.

“You really should have more food here,” Drew replied.

“The key to a successful fundraiser is providing enough food that the attendees don’t barf on the art, but not enough that they sober up before spending godawful amounts of money on shit they don’t need at the auction.”

“That’s your idea of a good party?” Janelle scoffed. “No wonder everyone looks bored and miserable.”

“I have a question for you,” Drew directed at Chris. “What’s the name you have for me in your phone?”

“Cocksucker,” Chris replied.

“Inside joke,” Drew explained, looking at us.

“Sure it is,” Janelle said.

“If we were across a room full of nuns,” Drew continued, “and you were shouting for me to come over to you, what name would you use?”

“Drew,” Chris said.

I looked up at him, smirking.

“Okay, but what does my mom call me?” Drew prodded further.

“Andy,” Chris replied.

“See!” Drew smugly shot a look at me.

“My mom calls me sweetie, but I don’t introduce myself as that,” I retorted.

“What do other people call you?” Drew asked.

“She’s Coffee Girl,” Chris said before I could answer. “She works for Emmy at Roussard’s.”

“I have a name. And I work with Emmy,” I corrected, shocked Chris remembered me but annoyed he only saw me as the person who got his coffee. I turned back to Drew. “I actually chose your friend’s outfit here for tonight.”

“Nice look,” Drew said. “Very not Chris.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I beamed.

“Hey, Coffee Girl, where’s Emmy?” Chris asked.

“Tragically, her cat has fleas, so she couldn’t make it,” I said, mockingly serious. “But lucky for all here, I brought with me the award-winning cinematographer Janelle Zenon.”

“Nice to meet you, Janelle.” Drew shook her hand again while Chris scanned the crowd, probably looking for someone more interesting to talk to than two shopgirls.

“And you are?” Drew said, turning back to me.

“You don’t know Diana Smith?” Janelle chastised, her voice in outraged shock. “I’m very surprised you haven’t heard of her. She’s quite an accomplished writer, director, and actress.”

“A triple threat, huh?” Drew’s eyebrows perked up.

“Hey, Kali’s downstairs,” Chris interrupted, grabbing his friend’s elbow and giving him a pointed look, probably trying to convey how not worth his time us lowly servants were. “And she needs our help with something.”

Drew turned back to us. “Duty calls. But it was nice meeting you both.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said as Chris dragged Drew away to hang out with the rock star I’d idolized since I was a kid. I watched the duo go down a set of stairs off the kitchen that was blocked by a bodyguard and sighed. “And they’re off to go hang out with someone way more fun than us.”

“Look around you.” Janelle pointed her finger out into the milling crowd. “See anyone more fun than us? No. We’re the best.”

I didn’t feel very confident, having once again been put in my place by Chris Stanson and still wearing a bright pink stain down my shirt, but I decided to borrow some of Janelle’s cocky flare and rally my self-esteem, even if I had to fake it. “So what you’re saying is we’re the coolest people at a party full of cool people?”

“Was there ever any doubt we would be?” Janelle smirked.

“There was that one moment when a drink spilled all over my shirt, but then I realized it adds to my mystique.”

“Oh yeah, now that shirt is officially one of a kind,” Janelle said, looping her arms through mine. “Just like you.”

“That’s a cheesy line,” I shot back, squeezing her into me.

“Mmm, cheese.”

“Come on.” I pulled her back toward the living room. “Let’s go see if we can steal something edible off the auction table.”

We weaved our way through crowds of polite chatter, everyone looking as bored and hungry as we were. Chris Stanson, it turned out, took the fun out of fundraiser. It was kind of nice knowing he wasn’t perfect.

“Sad news.” Janelle directed my attention to tea with Meryl Streep. “You’ve been outbid.”

“Is it wrong that I’m disappointed?” I asked, looking down at the $9,800 most recent offer. I hadn’t expected to win, couldn’t afford it even if I had, but still, I felt weirdly heartbroken at having lost the chance to talk with my hero.

“You hoping to have tea with Meryl?” Drew Williams probed, sidling up next to us at the auction table.

“Oh, hey there, Mr. Andy,” Janelle said. “Chris let you mingle with us common folk again?”

“I wanted to check on the bids before they close.” He pointed to a gift basket touting rare, high-end wines down the table.

“This stuff is so ridiculous,” I said, more to Janelle than to him. “Spend an afternoon on a yacht with Kim Kardashian—do you even get to go anywhere, or do you just sit there looking pretty?”

“If you’re looking for a more active outing,” Janelle said, “you could go for surfing lessons from Chris Hemsworth.”

“Can he even surf?” I asked.

“He’s Australian. Don’t they all surf?” Janelle replied.

“We could find out for eight grand,” I said. “Or we could pay $5,800 for this one here. Play a round of golf with…” I stopped, seeing the name on the prize.

“Drew Williams,” he finished for me.

“I’m sure it’ll be a great time,” I lied, trying not to show the embarrassment on my face. “If only I had an extra six grand.”

“If only.” Janelle sighed dramatically as Channing Tatum pushed past her. She turned to me, wide-eyed. “This place is surreal.”

“Surreal, but nice.” I nodded.

“That’s from Notting Hill , right?” Drew smiled.

“What can I say”—I shrugged—“I’m a sucker for a good rom-com.”

“Wait.” Drew stopped, recognition dawning on his face. “Are you the Diana Smith from Lalo’s Lament ?”

“How do you know my movie?” I asked, completely shocked that someone as famous as Drew Williams had seen my short film, much less remembered my name from it.

“I saw it at the L.A. Film Festival years ago and loved it.”

“Ah, the L.A. Film Festival, may it rest in peace.” Janelle bowed her head in mock mourning.

“RIP.” I placed a hand on my heart in reverence. “It died after our film was featured.”

Just like my brother and my career , I thought, my heart aching.

“That shot of Lalo stepping onto the stage to finally sing,” Drew said, “Breathtaking.”

“That was all Janelle’s cinematography.” I smiled, proudly motioning to my best friend. “She makes me look good.”

“Not only on film,” she replied, pointing to my outfit.

“I actually had my agent try to set up a meeting with you after watching it, but you were swamped with other offers,” Drew said. “What are you working on now?”

I looked at him, stunned, not knowing what to say. Henry died right after Lalo’s Lament came out, and I fell into a deep depression, unable to answer any calls, especially from my agent. She told everyone I was swamped with offers, when really I was crying on my sister’s sofa.

Buying myself time before answering Drew, I reached up to fix a strand of loose hair and realized my left ear was naked.

“W-where’s m-my earring?” I stammered, patting my shoulder, hoping it was stuck in my shirt.

“Shit.” Janelle looked at the floor around us. “When did you last see it?”

“Your house,” I said, desperation in my voice, realizing the earring could be anywhere now.

Janelle and I searched the area as Drew asked the staff if they’d found anything, but it was no use. The earring was gone. I’d planned on returning them the next day before the charges could even go through on my card. Now, I was out money I didn’t have to waste, and all I had to show for it was a stained outfit, Chris Stanson belittling me again, and Drew Williams awkwardly asking me questions with no good answers.

I officially wanted to go home. “We should head out.”

Janelle sighed and looked around. “Yeah, this party is a bust, and I’m hungry.”

“I’ll make sure Chris orders more food next time,” Drew assured us, like we’d be invited back to this house or anywhere near Chris Stanson ever again.

Still, my heart jumped a bit at the idea of seeing Drew Williams once more, some leftover remnant of a girl who used to swoon over dimple-faced boys in Teen Bop magazine until she hit puberty and replaced their photographs with deep-voiced androgynous rock stars like Kali. I’d dressed a few of the now-grown teenage stars from my childhood, and all of them were pompous pricks like Chris. Drew was the first I’d met who seemed legitimately kind. I suddenly felt bad that I’d been mean to the only friendly person in Hollywood. “Sorry I was a hangry bitch earlier.”

“I blame Chris.” Drew smiled.

“Good life plan.” I chuckled.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Andy.” Janelle shook his hand.

“Nice meeting both of you,” Drew said, letting go of Janelle’s hand and reaching for mine. I took it and met his gaze, those bright eyes so familiar from the movies staring back at me, even kinder in person. “Surreal, but nice.”

I laughed at his reference while Janelle shook her head. Dropping hands after an awkwardly long embrace, we said our last goodbye, then headed down the steep driveway, trying to enjoy Chris’s spectacular view one final time while we waited for our ride.

“We gonna talk about that little Andy moment back there?” Janelle asked when the car arrived.

“Oh yeah, all night long.” I giggled, opening the door and getting in. “But first, fries.”

“Fries before guys, always,” she agreed, climbing in next to me.