of it.” It was the type of place Vanessa normally avoided like the plague. “I guess I’ll see you there.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic!” Ken enthused. “Ciao!”
Vanessa hung up and rubbed at a glop of dried sugaring paste on her wrist. Then she picked up the phone and dialed Dan’s number without even looking at the keypad.
“Hello?” Jenny answered on the first ring.
“Hey Jennifer, it’s Vanessa.” Vanessa always called Jenny Jennifer because Jenny had asked her to.
“I’m not sure if Dan will talk to you. He wouldn’t talk to
me
, and he’s been locked in his room ever since he got home. It’s so gross—there’s cigarette smoke, like,
pouring
out from under the door.”
Vanessa laughed and flopped back on her black pillows. Everything in her room was black, except the walls, which were dark red. “How do you know he’s not in there putting gel in his hair? That new haircut looks pretty high maintenance.”
The two girls snickered.
“I’ll go see if I can get him. Hold on.”
“What’s up?” Dan picked up the phone a minute or two later. He sounded distracted. “Jenny said it was an emergency.”
Vanessa lifted her leg in the air and tugged at another sugaring strip. It appeared to be glued permanently to her skin. Talk about emergencies!
“I thought you’d want to know that Ken Mogul just called. He said some designer named Jedediah Angel who has this fashion label called Culture of Humanitarianism or something is using my film essay as a backdrop for his fashion show on Friday night. Ken said I really ‘rocked’ Jedediah Angel’s world.” She snorted. “Isn’t that hilarious?”
“That’s
fantastic
,” Dan responded earnestly. “Seriously. Congratulations.”
Fantastic
? Since when did Daniel Humphrey use words like
fantastic
? Vanessa didn’t know what to say. Dan hadn’t caught the sarcasm in her voice at all. As if she’d only called him to gloat about her success.
“Okay,” she said evenly. “I just thought you’d want to know. I’ll let you get back to work now.” She thought of cracking a joke about how one day when they were both rich and famous they could buy big-ass mansions next door to each other in Beverly Hills. But then she decided against it. Dan would probably think she was serious. “Call me later if you feel like it, okay?”
“Okay,” Dan replied, obviously distracted by whatever new poem he was working on.
After hanging up, Vanessa scooted off the bed. A corner of the black towel was now glued to the back of her left knee. She waddled into the bathroom to try and shower off the sugaring crap. Maybe one day when she was disgustingly rich and famous she’d have her own personal waxing and sugaring staff, but for now she’d have to get rid of the rest of the hair on her legs the old-fashioned way—with a pink plastic Daisy shaver.
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
The flavor-of-the-month club
So what ever became of that fake-breasted fake blond pop princess with the permanently bare midriff whose songs were
always
on the radio when you woke up in the morning and stayed in your head
all day
, driving you
insane
. I’ll call her “Sally” here, so as not to offend any of her adoring fans, but I’m sure you know who I’m talking about. I heard she had a nervous breakdown and has been in rehab in Palm Springs ever since. She likes it so much there she’s buying a ranch right next door, redoing it in shades of pink, and calling it Sallyland. If we’re lucky, she’ll stay there forever, only busting out in her late sixties to do overproduced cabaret shows on the Vegas Strip to prove that she can still lip-sync with the best of them despite her advanced age and drug-addled mind.
What about our favorite twenty-something actress who got into that bit of trouble with the law—something to do with carrying shopping bags full of
“Fan-fucking-tastic!” Ken enthused. “Ciao!”
Vanessa hung up and rubbed at a glop of dried sugaring paste on her wrist. Then she picked up the phone and dialed Dan’s number without even looking at the keypad.
“Hello?” Jenny answered on the first ring.
“Hey Jennifer, it’s Vanessa.” Vanessa always called Jenny Jennifer because Jenny had asked her to.
“I’m not sure if Dan will talk to you. He wouldn’t talk to
me
, and he’s been locked in his room ever since he got home. It’s so gross—there’s cigarette smoke, like,
pouring
out from under the door.”
Vanessa laughed and flopped back on her black pillows. Everything in her room was black, except the walls, which were dark red. “How do you know he’s not in there putting gel in his hair? That new haircut looks pretty high maintenance.”
The two girls snickered.
“I’ll go see if I can get him. Hold on.”
“What’s up?” Dan picked up the phone a minute or two later. He sounded distracted. “Jenny said it was an emergency.”
Vanessa lifted her leg in the air and tugged at another sugaring strip. It appeared to be glued permanently to her skin. Talk about emergencies!
“I thought you’d want to know that Ken Mogul just called. He said some designer named Jedediah Angel who has this fashion label called Culture of Humanitarianism or something is using my film essay as a backdrop for his fashion show on Friday night. Ken said I really ‘rocked’ Jedediah Angel’s world.” She snorted. “Isn’t that hilarious?”
“That’s
fantastic
,” Dan responded earnestly. “Seriously. Congratulations.”
Fantastic
? Since when did Daniel Humphrey use words like
fantastic
? Vanessa didn’t know what to say. Dan hadn’t caught the sarcasm in her voice at all. As if she’d only called him to gloat about her success.
“Okay,” she said evenly. “I just thought you’d want to know. I’ll let you get back to work now.” She thought of cracking a joke about how one day when they were both rich and famous they could buy big-ass mansions next door to each other in Beverly Hills. But then she decided against it. Dan would probably think she was serious. “Call me later if you feel like it, okay?”
“Okay,” Dan replied, obviously distracted by whatever new poem he was working on.
After hanging up, Vanessa scooted off the bed. A corner of the black towel was now glued to the back of her left knee. She waddled into the bathroom to try and shower off the sugaring crap. Maybe one day when she was disgustingly rich and famous she’d have her own personal waxing and sugaring staff, but for now she’d have to get rid of the rest of the hair on her legs the old-fashioned way—with a pink plastic Daisy shaver.
Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
The flavor-of-the-month club
So what ever became of that fake-breasted fake blond pop princess with the permanently bare midriff whose songs were
always
on the radio when you woke up in the morning and stayed in your head
all day
, driving you
insane
. I’ll call her “Sally” here, so as not to offend any of her adoring fans, but I’m sure you know who I’m talking about. I heard she had a nervous breakdown and has been in rehab in Palm Springs ever since. She likes it so much there she’s buying a ranch right next door, redoing it in shades of pink, and calling it Sallyland. If we’re lucky, she’ll stay there forever, only busting out in her late sixties to do overproduced cabaret shows on the Vegas Strip to prove that she can still lip-sync with the best of them despite her advanced age and drug-addled mind.
What about our favorite twenty-something actress who got into that bit of trouble with the law—something to do with carrying shopping bags full of
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