evening. Could it have been Rebecca’s? What were the odds of that? Smack dab in front of me, beckoning for a peek, Santa Monica’s chillest chill lounge, the place to see and be seen in the city, and only the hippest city in the world at that. . .
Then it hit me. “They didn’t,” I whispered. “They wouldn’t.”
My stomach was in my throat. The only thing between me and the answer was a wall of thirty-foot timber bamboo.
I heard the buzz of animated discourse wafting up from the patio. I imagined beautiful, chiseled women swilling mojitos while equally beautiful men lit their cigarettes and downed dry martinis.
“This is crazy,” I said under my breath. “Keep walking.”
I shook my head and turned away. But the pang became a wallop. I stopped again. I had to know. I had to find out if that sick feeling my body felt was there for a valid reason. Would these women who I so admired, who had befriended me, who were to be my new colleagues, bully me out of their evening? Not possible.
I crept up to the bamboo with my fingers shaking and my breath shallow. I didn’t notice the line-up behind me, or the bouncer giving me the once-over. It was as if time had stopped. I reluctantly pushed the bamboo apart and peered into the patio: a wall of people, with so many heads and bodies that, in the dim light, I couldn’t make out the faces. I let out a deep sigh. Not there. You’re being ridiculous.
Just as I released the bamboo, I noticed a familiar shape. Triangular. It was a bob—a shimmery, copper bob. A cold shiver ran through my body. I looked closer. There, legs crossed, arms flinging in pulsating conversation, and outfitted head-to-toe in Lucy’s garb, was Corinne. Then I saw boobs—big, fake melons tugging away at a red- and gold-striped bustier. Lucy. Then chomping away on crunchy, gourmet deep-fry. Rose. Leftovers my ass. Then long, bony fingers taking a big fat draw on a cigarette. Toni. Finally, I saw the make-up girl and Lucy’s clothing stylist. Everyone from today’s shoot was sitting comfortably, drinking, laughing, enjoying—everyone but me.
I felt an overwhelming urge to throw up. My body became feverish; my face turned fire-engine red. It was complete and utter disgrace.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. I wondered how to reverse the day, undo whatever I’d done. What could I pull off to make them like me, to make them take it all back, to make it all better?
Fight or cry? Fight or cry? Fight or cry? Adrenalin pumped through my body as I teetered: knock their faces in or bawl my eyes out? Tears welled up in my eye sockets, curtailing any conscious decision. I felt crushed, defeated, pummeled, all before the end of the first inning.
Then it came to me: Nobody messes with a prairie girl!
My legs moved me forward. The decision was made. No turning back now.
“Excuse me,” I said to the bouncer, my heart pounding.
“Sorry, Blondie, we’re full.” He moved into the doorway.
Why the hell is everyone here suddenly calling me Blondie?
I smiled a sadistic smile. “I have a reservation on the balcony with Lucy Lane of The Purrfect Life. You might have heard of it.” I almost sounded sweet, but for the eerie screech of claws bursting from my cuticles.
“All right, they’re on the balcony.” He waved me through.
“I know,” I said, practically bull-dozing his ape-like body.
The music pounded. Legs, torsos, and arms attached to sticky drinks flew across my path as if providing a shield to the enemy. But my mind was still. Only one thought consumed me. Confront.
Suddenly, I was before them, stone-faced at the end of their table.
“Oh. . . s. . . h. . . i. . . t,” Rose, the first to spot me, said in slow motion.
Everyone froze. I trembled, folding my arms across my chest to mask my weakness. My lungs tightened as I gasped for breath. “Why?”
Nothing. Toni dropped her head in embarrassment, unable to look at me.
“Why would you do this?” My eyes went to Corinne and Rose. My lips wavered.
Silence. Nobody moved.
“Well?” If I said one more word, I’d cry.
Corinne spoke first.
“It’s my night!” she spat. “I’m the one leaving. I wanted a night out alone with my friends.”
I fully expected red horns to sprout from her skull.
“What?!” This was total horror.
Where could I go with that? I expected an apology, sympathy, an appeal for forgiveness, not Mean Girls the movie. I mean,