they’d never see them again, which was probably très smart of them. I didn’t feel at all Kate Hudson-ish either, which was definitely a handicap in the current surroundings. My murderous dress was totally wrong for tonight—way too New York. What was I thinking wearing black in Los Angeles? I just wanted to go home.
“Oooh! Mmmm! There’s Charlie Dunlain,” said Daphne, dragging me toward a young guy sitting alone on one of her huge white sofas. Then she added in a whisper, “He’s so cute and he’s a genius youngmovie director. Well, that’s what Bradley says, I haven’t actually seen any of his movies but don’t tell him that because Bradley’s trying to sign him. Can you go talk to him while I check on the chef?”
Daphne introduced me and then disappeared to obsess about the canapés or something. Even if Charlie was as cute as Daphne thought, I didn’t notice: no one was as cute as my personal Jude Law, speaking of whom, I couldn’t see anywhere. Hopefully Zach was having a wonderful time with the mogul types elsewhere in the party, even though it was freaking me out that he was being so utterly evasive tonight.
“Are you okay?” was the first thing Charlie said to me when I sat down. He looked concerned. Was I that transparent? My paralytic smile was obviously très unconvincing.
“Yes, I…” I couldn’t think what to say.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
People can be really rude sometimes, can’t they? I mean I hardly know this guy three seconds and already he’s asking personal questions. It’s hideous, absolutely hideous.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, collecting myself. “I’m having a wonderful time. I’m so happy tonight I can’t eat a thing!”
“Not even Daphne’s incredible desserts? Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t look very happy.”
“I am fine . One hundred and fifty percent totallygreat, fine,” I said, attempting to close that particular line of inquiry.
“So, how’s New York?” said Charlie, getting the hint.
“How do you know I live in New York?”
“The dress. It’s pretty serious.”
“Actually, I call it my Homicide Dress because it’s so dangerous ,” I teased, perking up a little. “Thank god for Azzedine Alaia!”
“As in Clueless ?” asked Charlie, chuckling.
“Totally!” I laughed. (One of my favorite movie moments is when Alicia Silverstone freaks out in Clueless about her Alaia dress getting dirty.) “How do you know about that?” I asked.
“I’m a movie geek. Everyone in the movie business worships Clueless . You have to study that film if you work here, I’m not kidding.”
Maybe Charlie was kind of cute. I mean, he knew about Azzedine Alaia, which is a major plus. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t a patch on Jude Law, but you couldn’t deny he had a great smile. His dark hair was sort of messy, he had unusually blue eyes, and he dressed kind of untidily, in jeans and a rock’n’roll T-shirt and old sneaks, but he sort of looked cool with it, like most LA boys do. Then he had these funny schoolteacher glasses on that he occasionally pushed up on his head. He was a little tan, as though he’d been surfing or something in Malibu. He seemeddisarmingly frank and open. Of course, I like something rather more complicated, like Zach, I reminded myself.
“You wanna see something dumb and clueless for real?” said Charlie, grinning.
“Sure,” I said, relieved that my mood was lifting.
“Okay, so here’s what happened the last time I met a girl as pretty and happy and underfed as you. I took a sip of my drink like this”—he sipped his Coke through a straw—“and what happened was this.” Somehow, the straw bounced out of the glass, hurtled through the air spraying Coca-Cola on the gorgeous white sofa, and lodged, miraculously, in the side of Charlie’s glasses, sticking out at a right angle. I laughed and he said, “And that’s why I am officially the Biggest Loser Ever when it comes to
“Oooh! Mmmm! There’s Charlie Dunlain,” said Daphne, dragging me toward a young guy sitting alone on one of her huge white sofas. Then she added in a whisper, “He’s so cute and he’s a genius youngmovie director. Well, that’s what Bradley says, I haven’t actually seen any of his movies but don’t tell him that because Bradley’s trying to sign him. Can you go talk to him while I check on the chef?”
Daphne introduced me and then disappeared to obsess about the canapés or something. Even if Charlie was as cute as Daphne thought, I didn’t notice: no one was as cute as my personal Jude Law, speaking of whom, I couldn’t see anywhere. Hopefully Zach was having a wonderful time with the mogul types elsewhere in the party, even though it was freaking me out that he was being so utterly evasive tonight.
“Are you okay?” was the first thing Charlie said to me when I sat down. He looked concerned. Was I that transparent? My paralytic smile was obviously très unconvincing.
“Yes, I…” I couldn’t think what to say.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
People can be really rude sometimes, can’t they? I mean I hardly know this guy three seconds and already he’s asking personal questions. It’s hideous, absolutely hideous.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, collecting myself. “I’m having a wonderful time. I’m so happy tonight I can’t eat a thing!”
“Not even Daphne’s incredible desserts? Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t look very happy.”
“I am fine . One hundred and fifty percent totallygreat, fine,” I said, attempting to close that particular line of inquiry.
“So, how’s New York?” said Charlie, getting the hint.
“How do you know I live in New York?”
“The dress. It’s pretty serious.”
“Actually, I call it my Homicide Dress because it’s so dangerous ,” I teased, perking up a little. “Thank god for Azzedine Alaia!”
“As in Clueless ?” asked Charlie, chuckling.
“Totally!” I laughed. (One of my favorite movie moments is when Alicia Silverstone freaks out in Clueless about her Alaia dress getting dirty.) “How do you know about that?” I asked.
“I’m a movie geek. Everyone in the movie business worships Clueless . You have to study that film if you work here, I’m not kidding.”
Maybe Charlie was kind of cute. I mean, he knew about Azzedine Alaia, which is a major plus. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t a patch on Jude Law, but you couldn’t deny he had a great smile. His dark hair was sort of messy, he had unusually blue eyes, and he dressed kind of untidily, in jeans and a rock’n’roll T-shirt and old sneaks, but he sort of looked cool with it, like most LA boys do. Then he had these funny schoolteacher glasses on that he occasionally pushed up on his head. He was a little tan, as though he’d been surfing or something in Malibu. He seemeddisarmingly frank and open. Of course, I like something rather more complicated, like Zach, I reminded myself.
“You wanna see something dumb and clueless for real?” said Charlie, grinning.
“Sure,” I said, relieved that my mood was lifting.
“Okay, so here’s what happened the last time I met a girl as pretty and happy and underfed as you. I took a sip of my drink like this”—he sipped his Coke through a straw—“and what happened was this.” Somehow, the straw bounced out of the glass, hurtled through the air spraying Coca-Cola on the gorgeous white sofa, and lodged, miraculously, in the side of Charlie’s glasses, sticking out at a right angle. I laughed and he said, “And that’s why I am officially the Biggest Loser Ever when it comes to
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