The F List - Alessandra Torre Page 0,17

a Breakdown of Cash Mitchell’s Dream Girl or… 5 Hollywood Starlets Cash is Dying to Date. And they were always the same. Polished and perfect porcelain dolls, the kind you tripped over daily in Beverly Hills. But the journalists had it all wrong. Just because I’d dated women like that didn’t mean that they were my ideal—they were just the most common occurrence in my world. Emma was different. I meant what I said to her at my party—she was beautiful. Raw. Wild. Untamed. You don’t see a woman like that and forget her. And that night of the movie awards, she was stunning.

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#EmmaattheEmmys

EMMA

We started campaigning for the award show season a year in advance. Which was tough because my numbers were weak though my name recognition was growing. The first few shows we faked. I posed in outfits before a green screen while Vidal’s photographer snapped me from different angles, then photoshopped me into the red carpet shots. It’s funny that my most popular Getty image shot—one where I’m winking into the camera at the Emmys—happened at an after-hours studio three streets off Sunset. The after-parties were next to impossible to fake, but a ticket could be easily bought, assuming you knew who to call.

It was at the HBO Emmy afterparty that I first brushed elbows with Margot Robbie. We literally touched, me turning sideways to squeeze past her as she chatted with a bearded guy who looked familiar but I couldn’t place. She said “excuse me,” and I fought the urge to dance in place like a crazy woman and tell her how much I loved her. Instead, I gave a polite smile and moved on, as if it was normal to be next to a movie star, as if that happened to me every day. There were so many stars there, but also… so many people like me. Loners gripping a glass of punch, their eyes nervously darting about, trying to look at everyone without being noticed. Even the stars were a bit awkward. They stood in line for a drink and fidgeted with earrings, adjusting the neckline of their gown as they searched the area desperately for someone they might know. When they spotted one, there were overdone hellos, air kisses, the same conversations about Los Angeles heat, and compliments on the show, and general ass-kissery until the line moved up, and they were able to secure a drink.

After the first painful party, I recruited Bojan to join me. He could care less about the celebrities but liked “banging posh bitches” so he agreed, with the understanding in place that he would abandon me at the first chance of getting laid. He made an impressive date, with the right clothes, the right watch, the right swagger—and my nerves immediately relaxed as he reclined comfortably on the corner of a sectional that I would have never dared to sit on.

“Come on.” He patted the seat next to him. “Cozy up. Take off those ridiculous heels and rest your feet.”

I awkwardly perched next to him and smoothed the hemline of my dress. He watched me and laughed. “Emma, you’ve got to get that stick out of your ass.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and his grin widened.

“Here.” He held out his drink. “Take this and down it.”

I took the heavy tumbler and looked over the Emmy afterparty. “We should take a video. Something for my channel.” Vidal had given me a strict schedule to follow, one that had mandated a post every fifteen minutes, at minimum.

“We’ll take the video in a bit. You’ve got to start having fun first.” He nodded at the glass. “Go ahead.”

I tilted back the glass, then recoiled at the taste. “Disgusting,” I spat out. “What is this?”

He moved closer, his legs brushing against mine, and pushed gently on the bottom of the glass, bringing it up to my mouth. “The best bourbon money can buy. Just sip it slowly. Try to enjoy it. You’ve got a thousand dollars in that glass.”

I widen my eyes at him, but took the long sip, trying not to shudder at the sharp bite. I pushed his hand away and coughed, my chest burning as the hot liquor moved down my throat. He chuckled and watched as a model-thin brunette in a mini-skirt walked back. I snapped my fingers in front of his face, and his dark eyes came back to me. “Uh-uh,” I cautioned. “Don’t leave me yet.”

“Emma,” he chided, throwing a heavy arm around my