Hollywood Punch (5 page)

“Figured what out?” I say back very quickly, suddenly squirming in my office chair. This will be so much more embarrassing if he's figured out what I've done before I get to fess up to him and maintain at least one tiny shred of dignity.

“You're pregnant!” he says, jumping up from his chair and running around my desk to give me a hug. “That's why you're not wearing your ring! I knew you looked a bit bloated today. But, you're pregnant, aren't you? Aren't you?!? You can tell me.”

Note to self: Must go home immediately and burn this entire outfit. And then murder my ex-boyfriend.

“I. Am. Not. Pregnant.”

“Oh, man,” he says, arms falling down to his sides as he releases his grip on me. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yes,” I say. “I'm sure. Not pregnant, just bloated.”

“I don't know what to say, Brooke.”

And with that, those old feelings are gone.

“Get out,” I say, and Trip finally leaves my office.

Chapter Five

“What's great about this film is that I don't have to lose weight for the part,” Ava says to Nancy O'Dell. “In fact, they're encouraging me to gain more!”

Nancy O'Dell nods back knowingly. I can just picture the two of them out to dinner now—
I can have even
more
edamame?! And I can actually leave the rice on my sushi rolls?! Oh, happy day!

“Now, that sounds like my kind of shoot!” Lara says and she and Ava break out in giggles.

My ex-boyfriend's wife is on
Entertainment Tonight
today to talk about the new movie she's starring in. That my ex-boyfriend wrote. About my life. Yes, my ex-boyfriend has taken the single most humiliating moment of my life, attending his wedding, and is turning it into a major motion picture, set for release next summer.

You can catch it when it comes out on the big screen, but please just do me a favor and don't tell me if you go.

Oh, please. As if you're not
dying
to go and see it now that I've told you all about it.

I roll my eyes at my best friend, Vanessa. She rolls back and takes a handful of popcorn. We both rushed home from work tonight to watch Ava's appearance together. We're at her apartment in comfy sweatpants, with a huge bowl of popcorn between us and a pitcher of margaritas to help wash it down. The pain, that is. Not the popcorn. (But it works on the popcorn, too.)

“Obviously they're not talking about you,” Vanessa says. “They probably just want Ava to look more like a real woman. Not the stick figure that she is.”

Since Vanessa is a bit of a stick figure herself, this is not exactly a compelling argument from her. Now, it's true: Vanessa stays thin because she's five foot eight and runs six miles a day, but still, it's annoying.

But Vanessa's right. It's not actually all about me, since Trip doesn't know the whole story involved with my coming to his wedding. He thinks it's just your normal girl-goes-to-her-ex-boyfriend's-wedding kind of situation. Thankfully, he doesn't know about the part where Douglas broke up with me mere minutes before the wedding, forcing me to drag my friend Jack in his place. Since Douglas was a Scot, I made Jack dress in a kilt and speak with a faux Scottish accent for the whole evening. I even wore a fake engagement ring to really sell it.

“Thanks,” I say to Vanessa and we both look at the television. I take a big swig of my margarita. Maybe we should have cut to the chase and just had shots of tequila before watching this?

“So,” Lara says, putting on a serious expression, “tell us more about the film.”

“Well,” Ava says. “It's the story of a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend's wedding.”

“Wow,” Lara says, “that sure sounds like quite a story!”

“It is, Lara,” Ava says, leaning in to Lara as if they're sorority sisters or something. “It is. And lots of single women everywhere can relate to it.”

“I don't know about that,” Lara says with a laugh. “You couldn't pay me enough to go to an ex's wedding.”

“It's going to be a funny movie,” Ava says. “I can personally guarantee lots of laughs. And maybe even a tear or two.”

“They're going to be lining up in droves to see this movie!” Lara says.

And she's probably right. Why couldn't they be making a small art house film about my life that no one would ever see? Why must it be the movie that's slated to be the biggest blockbuster of the summer? Why oh why must my life be so darned interesting that a major motion picture studio has greenlit a production about it?

“Is it a concern,” Lara says, putting a grave expression onto her face, “that people won't think that the story is believable? I mean, what woman in her right mind would actually go to her ex-boyfriend's wedding?”

“That's the great thing, Lara,” Ava says, eyes sparkling, clearly ready for this question to have been asked. “It really
did
happen! To my husband's ex-girlfriend.”

“You mean to tell me that your husband's ex-girlfriend actually came to your wedding?” Lara says and gives the camera a look of shock. Oh please. As if this whole interview wasn't pre-rehearsed. Who does she think she's kidding?

“Yes!” Ava says. “She's actually an attorney right here in Manhattan. And she's very nice.”

“Nice or not, I can't believe you let one of your husband's exes come to your wedding!” Lara says, still doing the shocked expression thing. I mean, doesn't Lara have any other expressions in her arsenal? What does she do when she interviews someone who actually reveals shocking things? I guess this is why they pre-record all of their shows.

Ava nods in response.
Yes, I am so wonderful that I allowed my husband's ex to come to our wedding. I also do all sorts of other types of charity work.

“They're making me sound like a stalker,” I say to Vanessa and she shhhes me. I finish my margarita and lean over to the pitcher to re-fill my glass.

“But,” Lara quickly says, “it's not as if a woman like you has to worry about any sort of competition. What man would ever choose another woman over you?”

“Oh, God,” I say, “is that what everyone's going to be saying at the premiere? Why would he want to be with
her
when he could be with Ava?”

“Oh, don't be silly, sweetie,” Vanessa says, looking at me. “We're not going to be invited to the premiere.”

“My husband, Trip, was so inspired by the story of his ex coming to the wedding that he decided that it would make a great movie.” That Ava doesn't answer Lara's question and begins posturing makes me think that maybe Trip gave her a script for this interview. “She came with her gorgeous Scottish fiancé, so everything worked out in the end. It's a story about love and friendship. And life's special moments.”

“This is beginning to sound like a tampon commercial,” Vanessa says, taking a ladylike sip of her margarita. She's still on her first of the night. I'm already pouring number three.

“This is so humiliating,” I say, “I can never leave my apartment again.”

“No one's even going to see the stupid movie,” Vanessa says, “don't be ridiculous. This whole thing will blow over in minutes.”

“Maybe the movie will be bad,” I say. “Maybe no one will see it!”

“I'm sure no one will,” she says, and clicks the television off. “And it will be forgotten before you can even say ‘straight to VOD.'”

“Really?” I ask. “You really think that?”

“Sure,” Vanessa says, filling up my margarita glass. “Of course I do.”

“I guess I should be looking on the bright side,” I say, taking a handful of popcorn. “My one saving grace is that Douglas hasn't found out. It's bad enough that I've been humiliated in front of Jack. In fact, this whole thing has actually been a test of how much he truly loves me.”

“And he still wants to marry you after all this. He passed,” Vanessa says. “With flying colors.”

“True,” I say. “But if Douglas found out about this whole mess…. Well, let's just say that Douglas doesn't have as good of a sense of humor about things. He would really torture me about this.”

“You don't have to remind me about how awful Douglas was,” Vanessa says. “I remember.”

“Well, then, can I remind you about how wonderful Jack is?”

“Let's just make a toast,” Vanessa says, and raises her margarita glass. “To Douglas never finding out about all of this.”

“Here, here,” I say.

So, now all I need is for Douglas to never watch
Entertainment Tonight
or deign to go see a chick flick. Piece of cake, right?

Chapter Six

“Excuse me, miss, but do I know you?” a handsome man asks me just as I'm about to enter my office building.

“No, I don't think so,” I say with a smile. Normally, New Yorkers don't talk to each other on the street, but I wouldn't want to be rude. And it's not just because he's good looking; I'm not superficial like that. You see, I would speak to a stranger even if he
wasn't
attractive. I just so happen to be the exception to that New York rule. Well, okay, I wouldn't speak to a stranger if he looked like he was deranged or something. I mean, that could be dangerous. But a stranger who was average looking? Yes, I would definitely talk to that stranger. If he was handsome and wearing a great suit and had a really really really nice smile, well, that would just be a bonus. A big, gorgeous well-dressed bonus. But, I digress.

“Are you sure I don't know you?” he asks and I can't help but laugh, as I continue walking into the building.

“Sorry,” I say, pushing through the big double doors of my laws firm's office building, “but I'm engaged.”

How much do I love saying that?! But, how typical is this? The second you're attached, you've got random hotties approaching you in the street. And since you're already involved, you can't do a thing about it. When I was single, this sort of thing never happened to me. Life can be so unfair sometimes.

“Aren't you Brooke Miller?” the hottie says to me as he follows me into the building. Did he just call me by my name? Um, how does he know my name?! Okay, so, now I've got random hotties
stalking
me in the street. I'm strangely conflicted about this.

“How do you know my name?” I ask, edging my way towards the security desk. In a split second, I formulate a positively brilliant plan for getting away from hottie/stalker, should things go awry. I will simply throw my briefcase at his chest and distract him momentarily so that I can run to the safety of the security guard. I don't think that the guards are real cops or anything, but they're still pretty darn imposing. Especially Margie Ann. That woman will put the fear of God into you with just one look. Now, if hottie/stalker actually
catches
my briefcase instead of getting distracted by it, my plan was pretty much blown. But none of that mattered in the end anyhow:

“Yes, I thought it was you. Brooke Miller,” he says, reaching into his briefcase. “You've been served.”

*

“I don't get it,” my ex-boyfriend Trip says, walking into my office unannounced (it's like there's just no point in actually having an assistant in the first place). “I thought that Douglas was cool with all of this. He seemed fine when I told him the other night about the movie we were making about a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend's wedding. We had that great dinner all together at Pastis, but now, this.”

“You mean the movie you're making about my life,” I said.

“No,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I thought we already established this. It's my story about getting married and then inviting my ex-girlfriend to come to the wedding.”

“You say tomato,” I say, under my breath as I roll my eyes at Trip. Then, in my sensible lawyerly voice, without the eye roll: “I don't get it, either. Let me give him a call and I'll call you as soon as I hear back from him.”

Trip settles into one of my visitor chairs, clearly ready to watch as I make my phone call, which confuses me. If he thinks that I'm about to call my fiancé to ask him why he's suing me, does he really think that I want my ex-boyfriend here to watch? Trip can be such a moron sometimes. Which reminds me….

“Trip, I thought you told me that I couldn't sue you for making a movie out of my life?” I ask.

“Didn't you get a A in torts?” Trip asks. “I got a C, but I still remembered that a private citizen can sue for their rights of privacy.”

“I knew you were wrong!” I said. “I just had too much wine and got confused.”

“Or maybe it's just that,” he says. “After all, you're just not really a better lawyer than me.”

I think but don't say: “No. I still am.”

“That's why I took you guys out to Pastis that night,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I had your consent. And Douglas's, too.”