means you don’t get to order me around like this anymore.”
“I’m not firing you, loser. We’re going to Starbucks.”
“I told you, she said—“
“I don’t care what that idiot said,” Simone said. “Now drive me to Starbucks.”
We turned right off of Mullholland. “God, Edie, I can’t believe you drive this tin can.” She wiped her hands down her face tiredly.
“It’s all I can really afford, and it gets me where I need to go. I’m saving my money.”
“Saving your money? Why?”
“Uh, well, that’s what most people do. They budget and save so one day they have nice things and can travel or afford to send their kids to college.”
Simone shook her head. “Whatever. You don’t even have kids.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence until I pulled into the Starbucks parking lot. Simone grabbed the handle and threw the door open.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I am going to get my fucking pumpkin spice latte. You stay here.” With that, she was out the door and marching into Starbucks wearing nothing but her pajamas.
I groaned, certain it wouldn’t be long before the paparazzi showed up or someone whipped out a camera phone. All I knew was somehow this was going to end up my fault.
Less than five minutes later, she strolled out with two coffees in hand. She got into the van just as a crowd started gathering, handed me one of the cups, and said, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I turned off of Sunset and floored it, as ordered. Once we’d reached cruising speed, I glanced over at Simone and asked, “What did you say in there?”
“Oh nothing much. Just let them know the next time my assistant comes in and asks for a pumpkin spice latte, they better fucking well give it to you. They gave me two. What do you think?” She motioned to the coffee.
“I think you should stop using the ‘F’ word.”
“No, what do you think about the latte?” She rolled her eyes.
I took a sip. I wasn’t really partial to super sweet coffee, and I really don’t like pumpkin, but I figured now was not the time for honesty. “It’s great.”
She laughed. “You’re a fucking liar!”
“No, I’m not.” Then I started laughing, too. As obnoxious as Simone can be, there are times when she cracks me up.
“So you think I should stop using ‘the F word,’ huh?”
“Yes. It’s just, well, it’s not, um . . .” How to put this without ticking her off? “It just doesn’t fit your image. You know, you’re a song-bird. You’re glamorous. And I don’t think vulgarity is really your style.”
She nodded, pondering. “Hmmm. Okay.”
“Really?”
She took a sip of her latte and swallowed, then looked over at me. “Fuck, no, Edie. The ‘F’ word is the only word I know that suits me to a T. Now take me home and put my make-up on.”
I sighed. An hour and a half later, she looked gorgeous as usual, and she managed to increase the number of F-bombs, if that were even possible. My ears were numb, but the photographer and his crew didn’t seem to notice. They told her how beautiful she was, what a great voice she had, and on and on. It made me nauseous.
As the photographer clicked away, my cell phone rang. It was Nick’s cell number. Oh God. He had to be pretty irritated with me. Here I’d run out on him last night and hadn’t even had the courtesy to call. What if that producer had stopped by? I was such a jerk. I picked up on the second ring.
“Hello? Hello? Nick? I am so sorry about last night.” No response. Boy, he must be more upset than I thought. “Hello? Nick? Look, I am really sorry.”
I paused, and that’s when I heard a faint gurgling sound. What the heck? The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Something was not right. “Nick? Is that you?”
“Help me.” It was barely a whisper but I heard it loud and clear. I was certain it was Nick. And then the line disconnected.
I didn’t tell Simone I was leaving. I just left. All I kept thinking was
“I’m not firing you, loser. We’re going to Starbucks.”
“I told you, she said—“
“I don’t care what that idiot said,” Simone said. “Now drive me to Starbucks.”
We turned right off of Mullholland. “God, Edie, I can’t believe you drive this tin can.” She wiped her hands down her face tiredly.
“It’s all I can really afford, and it gets me where I need to go. I’m saving my money.”
“Saving your money? Why?”
“Uh, well, that’s what most people do. They budget and save so one day they have nice things and can travel or afford to send their kids to college.”
Simone shook her head. “Whatever. You don’t even have kids.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence until I pulled into the Starbucks parking lot. Simone grabbed the handle and threw the door open.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I am going to get my fucking pumpkin spice latte. You stay here.” With that, she was out the door and marching into Starbucks wearing nothing but her pajamas.
I groaned, certain it wouldn’t be long before the paparazzi showed up or someone whipped out a camera phone. All I knew was somehow this was going to end up my fault.
Less than five minutes later, she strolled out with two coffees in hand. She got into the van just as a crowd started gathering, handed me one of the cups, and said, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I turned off of Sunset and floored it, as ordered. Once we’d reached cruising speed, I glanced over at Simone and asked, “What did you say in there?”
“Oh nothing much. Just let them know the next time my assistant comes in and asks for a pumpkin spice latte, they better fucking well give it to you. They gave me two. What do you think?” She motioned to the coffee.
“I think you should stop using the ‘F’ word.”
“No, what do you think about the latte?” She rolled her eyes.
I took a sip. I wasn’t really partial to super sweet coffee, and I really don’t like pumpkin, but I figured now was not the time for honesty. “It’s great.”
She laughed. “You’re a fucking liar!”
“No, I’m not.” Then I started laughing, too. As obnoxious as Simone can be, there are times when she cracks me up.
“So you think I should stop using ‘the F word,’ huh?”
“Yes. It’s just, well, it’s not, um . . .” How to put this without ticking her off? “It just doesn’t fit your image. You know, you’re a song-bird. You’re glamorous. And I don’t think vulgarity is really your style.”
She nodded, pondering. “Hmmm. Okay.”
“Really?”
She took a sip of her latte and swallowed, then looked over at me. “Fuck, no, Edie. The ‘F’ word is the only word I know that suits me to a T. Now take me home and put my make-up on.”
I sighed. An hour and a half later, she looked gorgeous as usual, and she managed to increase the number of F-bombs, if that were even possible. My ears were numb, but the photographer and his crew didn’t seem to notice. They told her how beautiful she was, what a great voice she had, and on and on. It made me nauseous.
As the photographer clicked away, my cell phone rang. It was Nick’s cell number. Oh God. He had to be pretty irritated with me. Here I’d run out on him last night and hadn’t even had the courtesy to call. What if that producer had stopped by? I was such a jerk. I picked up on the second ring.
“Hello? Hello? Nick? I am so sorry about last night.” No response. Boy, he must be more upset than I thought. “Hello? Nick? Look, I am really sorry.”
I paused, and that’s when I heard a faint gurgling sound. What the heck? The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Something was not right. “Nick? Is that you?”
“Help me.” It was barely a whisper but I heard it loud and clear. I was certain it was Nick. And then the line disconnected.
I didn’t tell Simone I was leaving. I just left. All I kept thinking was
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