Citizen Girl (28 page)

Rock music comes on with a commercial I instantly recognize from late-night channel surfing. Shot after shot of dangerously inebriated co-eds lifting their tops to expose their breasts. ‘Chicks Gone Senseless!’ Kat screams as the title flashes over two teenage girls, uninterestedly making out, their bloodshot eyes rolling back.

Kat leaps up and strides to the front of the room,
standing before the screen, the distorted angles of the topless twosome projected across her torso as she speaks, ‘This man, Jed Devlin, is a bloody genius – fun and spirit and liberation all in one brand! He’s got the videos, the parties, the restaurants, the respect of all these celebrities – he’ll have a cereal in another week.’ She points the remote and whizzes along the tape. The ads segue into an interview clip from
Primetime
. Jed Devlin reclines in a car, his dimples and skater attire making him look all of twenty, but his swagger ages him another decade. ‘Here, listen to his philosophy.’

‘
The rape charge is total bullshit. She was all over me, man
—’

‘Oh, that’s not it, hold on.’ Kat fast-forwards.

‘
The lawsuits are total bull—(bleep). I get subpoenaed every time some spring breaker’s old man freaks out to find he’s whacking off to his own piss-drunk daughter
—’

‘Nope.’ She aims the remote again until Jed puffs up, openly glaring into their rolling camera.

‘
Yes, I’m conducting business
.’ He spits the last word, punching the ceiling of his Hummer. “
I’m a businessman. I didn’t just wake up one day as the ‘Chicks Gone Senseless” Billion-Dollar Emperor. I wasn’t just lucky. I’m so sick of hearing that. I made this happen. And it’s pure genius. Look at Hefner, look at Flynt, look at their overhead. I get this material without paying a cent of royalty. And I get no (bleep)-ing props
.’

‘Kill it.’ She points to Faux-hawk and the projection disappears. ‘He doesn’t get props. And he should. Jed Devlin’s billion-dollar market is contriving the moment of innocence lost, popping the cherry, if you will. I get fifty Spams a day, as I’m sure we all do – “barely legal”,
“hot teens”, “wet virgins”, blah, blah, blah. Young and innocent is hot. The hottest. Yet
your
dominant brand, Vicky’s Secret, markets a gal who’s waaay too knowing. She exudes over-the-hill-kept-woman-Zsa-Zsa-Gabor with one good innings left in her. They’re ignoring the psychology of the
tremendous
market that Jed Devlin’s tapped into with “Chicks Gone Senseless”.’

Dear God, are you listening? I’m in a small white stucco building on Melrose with a certifiably insane, albeit well-dressed, woman. And if you could just, I don’t know, start a fire drill or something—

‘So first we outfit his co-eds in unicorn knickers and rainbow bras and then once we’ve established our brand, we take the revolution to the next generation. Bottom line, I want to walk into any boardroom in America in six months and have these forty- and fifty-year-olds –’ Kat points back at Faux-hawk and ‘Chicks Gone Senseless’ reappears, life-size across her petite frame – ‘want to flash me their tits like a bunch of crazy, carefree teens!’

‘Close your fucking mouth,’ Guy growls low in my ear.

‘Oh, Kat, it’s …’ Jeffrey gushes, ‘it’s so new and just so… so–’ WRONG?!
Wrong, wrong, and WRONG?!
‘– fresh. I think the working women of America have been waiting for
just
this type of revolution.’

I recover my voice. ‘Do you plan to continue your European business model here? Giving a portion of the proceeds to women-based charities?’

‘Maybe.’ Kat shrugs.

‘No, no, definitely,’ Liz enthuses.

Kat shoots her a look before reaching over the table
to grab a handful of Skittles. ‘Honestly, though, what’s more fun than childhood?!’ Liz darts her eyes about woefully. ‘Well, for most people, darling.’ Kat pats her silk shoulder. ‘We’re going to take career women back to their pre-teen years!’ Skittles are flying as she waves her arms. ‘And that’s the Bovary charge. Think you’re up to the job?’

‘Unquestionably,’ Jeffrey says, slapping his Smythson notebook closed. ‘We’ll draw up a timetable for the rollout and fax it over to you by the end of the day.’

Everyone stands and my hand is shaken repeatedly, with the bonus accolade of a cheek-kiss from Kat.

‘You’re all fab!’ she cries as she struts out of the room. ‘I
love
LA!’

I walk in tight circles around my hotel bed, fists clenched, freezing every few minutes as scraps of the meeting come back in torturous flashes. I sit to kick my shoes off, but stand back up. I begin to take my earrings out, but stop halfway to my lobe. I reach down for the phone and stare at the keypad. To call whom? Hello, is this the UN? Yes, I’m calling from Sunset Boulevard to report the SETBACK OF CIVILIZATION! I toss the portable onto the bed and it bounces off the pillow, deflating the duvet.

I’m so—

I just—

I can’t—

‘FUCK! Fucking fuck.’ I slide onto the floor in a rage. I never signed up for this. Not even a little bit. I picture
Grace giggling with Chatsworth’s benefactors, tugging up her shirt. Or Julia. I’m sure flashing her boobs is exactly what would help her with INS. Don’t we
ever
get to grow up?!

I lunge for the phone, tugging it from under the bed where it’s landed.

‘This is Guy. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you at
my
earliest convenience.’

‘Hi, it’s Girl. So quite a meeting today – interesting direction. We should, um, talk —’ I erase and start over. ‘Hi, we need to talk about this – this new direction. Today’s meeting has really thrown into question your – and MC’s – mission – value – ethics – just how evil your – it’s so evil —’ Erase again. ‘Yeah, I was wondering if we could work out a system? Because I actually work best when I’m not being lied to all the time. LIIAAARRRR!’ ERASE! ERASE!

The phone rings still in my hand. ‘Ma’am, this is the hotel operator. You have a message waiting from a Mr Jeffrey Wainwright.’

‘Thank you.’ I look down at the red light on my phone, blinking like a beady little Cyclops. I can only imagine:
Girl, meet me out front at noon with a gag in your mouth and a dirty diaper on your head – Jeffrey. Girl, meet me out front at noon with cymbals strapped to your knees and a kazoo up your ass – Jeffrey. Girl, meet me out front at noon with Gloria Steinem’s still-beating heart in your hands and your integrity on a spit – Jeffrey
. I slam down the phone and hunch my shoulders as tears of frustration stream out. Crawling into the bathroom for a tissue, I drop my wet cheek down to the
cold white tile and am comforted by the melodramatic alignment of my position and predicament.

Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the egg-white crescent the toilet bowl makes against the metallic ceiling. Desperately in need of advice, I spy the phone hanging just above its seat and reach up to dial …? Kira? God, if only. Grace? Way too much. I need baby-steps.

‘What?’ Luke answers.

‘Hi,’ I sniffle. ‘Can I speak to Buster?’

‘Maybe.’ We have an audio stare-down. ‘BUSTED, PICK UP THE PHONE!’ I yank my head away.

‘Yeah, got it.’ Buster picks up.

‘You mean “getting it”,’ Luke sneers to his audience as he hangs up.

‘Ignore him. Hey, what’s up?’

I roll onto my side under the towel bar. ‘The account we’re trying to land is a lingerie company, only they want to rebrand as some “Chicks Gone Senseless” lifestyle thing to make every woman in corporate America feel like a twelve-year-old and flash her breasts at her boss—’

‘Chicks Gone Senseless?’

‘Yeah, and somehow I wrote the script for the whole thing.’

‘And this is bad, right?’

‘Buster, this is
not what I was hired to do
! As soon as the plane lands in New York, I’m quitting.’

‘Whoa, whoa, quitting?’

‘Yes, I can’t be a part of this. I can’t.’

‘Girl, you make more than my parents.’

I sit up. ‘And that makes this okay?’

‘No, but you’ve been out there. It’s
really
bad right now. Luke’s unemployment ran out. He’s moving back with his folks in Binghamton. You think that was his plan?’

‘No.’

‘Everyone’s compromising. My aunt lost her entire retirement fund last year and my cousin can’t go to college now. It’s worse than it’s been in our lifetime.’

‘But I, I —’

‘Listen, we’re heading out for send-off beers for Luke. Can I call you later?’

‘Please, I need to figure this out.’

‘Don’t do anything rash. Miss you crazy.’

‘You too, bye.’

I pick myself off the floor and rummage in my purse for the last of my emergency cigarettes. Pulling the kazoo out of my ass, I dial the room’s voicemail.

‘Hi, this is Jeffrey. I’m calling to tell you what a stellar job you did today – Kat just
loved
you. Now, she may seem a wee bit over the top, but just like the runway is the fantasy version of what hits the racks, her ideas will be toned
way
down for the real marketplace. You hear me, Miss Doom-and-Gloom? Brainstorming means talking in extremes and I want your assurance that you’re not going to go pull the emergency brakes. In fact, and this is an honor for someone of your experience, Kat actually requested that you be assigned to her starting Monday –
ooh
and Liz loved your refugee thing! There could be some extra money if you play her right. Soooo… treat
yourself to a fun meal and I look forward to seeing you back in New York!’

I call back, but there’s no answer.

Five a.m. and the phone has been stubbornly silent. Picking it up, I dial Chatsworth. ‘Happy birthday to you,’ I sing softly into Grace’s answering machine, hoping she might pick up. ‘Thinking of you, Mom. I love you… Bye.’ I grab my toothbrush off the counter, zip it into my toiletry bag and close my suitcase. Maybe he drank too much and wandered off from his friends… Maybe he hit his head and stumbled over to the highway… God, what if he fell into the river? The phone rings and I leap across the bed. ‘Hello!’

‘This is your wake-up call. Good morning, the current time is —’ I clang the phone down and shrug my coat on over my suit. What an asshole. I hope he hit his stupid head and drowned in the fucking river.

I drop onto the beanbag chair, sinking into the silver vinyl, my knees squeezed in slow motion up to my chest. I look over the wastebasket, piled with wrappers from my minibar dinner, and out beyond the fluttering curtains at the flashing
Baywatch
billboard across the street. Leaning my head against the wall, I can feel the tension and two nights of lost sleep mix a rancid cocktail in my stomach. Rolling the last bottle of water on the floor over with my foot, I pick it up, unscrew the top, and take a long swallow. It has to be – what, at least eight there now?

Might as well call. Make sure he’s not drowned.

‘Hello?’ A groggy male voice answers.

‘
What the fuck?
’

‘Shit! Who is this?’ I recognize Trevor.

‘Sorry! Sorry, sorry. Um, is Buster there?’ The phone clanks and I try to determine whether it’s been dropped or I’ve been hung up on.

‘They’re not back yet.’

‘What?! Are you sure?’

‘Yeah.’ The phone goes dead.

‘Hello? Hello?’ I hang up. And cry. Cry as I do one last sweep around the room, cry as I get into the elevator. Cry as I check out.

Guy wheels past me to the Porsche. Despite the dark indigo sky, he’s donning glasses as well, his bride-to-be apparently not on our flight. I scrape my suitcase outside and squeeze it with me into the back where Guy’s seat falls against my knees.

Jeffrey, already fresh from the gym, drives us in silence down Hollywood Boulevard as the sun creeps up. We pass homeless men and women pushing intricately packed shopping carts, while straggling hookers duck down at each stoplight to see if we might be their morning clientele.

I awake as the plane bounces onto the runway and skids through streaking rain along the Long Island Sound. Fighting to surface from a deep haze of exhaustion, I groggily follow the tide of passengers down to baggage claim where I spot Guy beside a capped man dangling a sign for ‘Mr Mai C. Ompany’.

We weave out of JFK in a halting stop-and-go as Guy listens to his cell phone, jaw set. ‘No, Seline, that’s
not
what I meant … What do you want me to say?…
Hello?
Are you still there?… Oh, well, you weren’t saying anything… Seline, are you there?… Then why don’t you say something?… Because, I know it’s not fine… No! Don’t say
fine
when you don’t fucking mean it… Okay. Okay, then it
is
fine.’ He tosses the phone down and it hits me sharply in the thigh. He gazes out the streaked window, pursing his lips. ‘So, Girl.’ He drops his head back against the seat. ‘How you holdin’ up?’

‘Tired,’ I say, staring through the rain as we exit the Midtown Tunnel.

‘I hear you,’ he says. ‘Got a relaxing Sunday planned for yourself?’

‘Hope so.’

‘We’ve got some crazy work ahead of us …’ His voice trails off and I feel a little prickle of opportunity.

I face him, careful to keep my eyes tired and my tone relaxed. ‘So, Jeffrey’s really …’

‘Yeah,’ Guy snorts.

‘Will I have to keep reporting to him?’

He sits up. ‘Who said you were reporting to Jeffrey? Rex? Did Rex say that to you? Has he been talking to you?’

‘No! Guy, no.’ He urgently studies my eyes. ‘Not at all. Rex hasn’t said a word to me.’ I fight the impulse to pat his hand reassuringly. ‘Jeffrey just implied that I, that he – that I should discuss things with him, that’s all.’

Guy nods slowly at me as he shrinks slightly down into himself, resting his chin in his hands in a childlike posture.

‘But
I
want to talk to
you
.’ I swivel on the seat to face
him fully, leaning closer. ‘What do
you
see my role being moving forward? How exactly
is
this whole thing with Kat supposed to work? What does the whole VP promotion mean? What are
your
thoughts? God, I’m so glad we’re talking.’