This was the second time she’d caught herself doing that.
She shook it off. She did have plans. That was true. She was going to have dinner with three of her oldest friends.
Suddenly, she was nervous.
What if they didn’t hit it off? What should she wear? Would they think she was inept, just like Joe the Toolman did?
Well, only one of those issues was really under her control. She walked back to the room she’d claimed. She opened one of her suitcases and selected her wardrobe for the night. Even this, figuring out what to wear, had been outsourced for her. In L.A., she had a stylist, a groomer, like a prized poodle, for any scenario where she’d be photographed.
Away from Hollywood, Goldie was coming face to face with the fact that all she knew was Hollywood.
The trappings of her fame had truly trapped her.
Chapter Nine
Goldie
She heard a whistle as she stood in the driveway of the hotel, the sun was setting, and the whistle was clearly a man, not a bird.
“Pardon me?”
“You clean up nice.” There he was again, her new best friend. Also, somewhat cleaned up.
“You have no idea.”
“The customary response to a compliment is thank you.”
“Ah, well, thank you again. Seems like I’m racking up the thank yous with you, Joe Cassidy.”
“Yes, well, I like to keep useful.”
“You’re sort of clean now, too. What’s the occasion? The opera?”
“You’re kind of a snob, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Goldie said. And she realized she was giving a hard-edged L.A. attitude in a soft corner of Michigan. She tried to let herguard down a bit.
“So, waiting for someone?”
“I’m unable to get the Uber app to open or get a car and driver out here.”
“No Uber in Irish Hills and our limo services are abysmal.”
“Of course.” Goldie looked around. Now what? She had promised Libby she’d be there for dinner and not to worry about getting her there. Irish Hills was more backward than she’d realized. Getting a car was easy in just about every city on the planet.
“Can I take you somewhere? You know, on my way to the opera?”
“Stop, ugh, actually yes.”
“Okay, get in the truck. Your eye looks like it’s doing okay.”
“Yes, I sent a picture to my plastic surgeon, and he agreed with you.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No, I’m serious.”
“Well, I guess it is good to get a second opinion. But with a face as pretty as yours, it’s going to take a lot more than a little scrape to ugly you up.”
