Georgina leaves, and Alexis and I go to lunch at the Ivy, this fancy restaurant on Robertson where, I gather, celebrities go to get photographed. Charles Rider is sitting two tables over with the girl he left his wife for. He’s been a major Hollywood player for twenty years, and yet the paparazzi are barely evenpretendingto acknowledge him. All they care about is us.
Alexis never breaks a smile.
“Arch your back,” she says. “It makes your waist look smaller and your top look bigger. And don’t smile with your teeth. It never turns out well.”
I do as I’m told. I pick up my water glass. “Stop,” Alexis says. “Hold the glass to your lips. Now put it down and wet your lips.” I hear the flashes go off. “Good. Hand through your hair.” Alexis shakes her mane out. I do the same with significantly less success.
“Now just talk,” Alexis encourages. “Be normal.”
Normal. I look down at my chopped salad, something not on the menu that Alexis ordered for me. I’m beginning to understand that there is an L.A. behind the L.A.—one comprising unlisted menu items, back rooms, and secret doors. Things only accessible, seen, by a select few—us.
“Trying,” I say through my teeth.
“Relax your jaw,” Alexis says. “That’s where that nickname is coming from. You look like you’re ready to clock me.”
“Maybe I am,” I say.
She smiles at me. “Don’t be so neurotic. They can’t hear us.”
She’s right. They’re not too far away for photos, but they are too far for sound.
“We haven’t really had any time to get to know each other,” she says. “I thought we could both use some girl talk.”
“Now?”
“Why not?” She winks at me. “It’s good practice for you. You need to start to learn how to hold your own when you’re not tucked under Rainer’s wing. Don’t get me wrong; he’s a great accessory, but you’re not a package deal.”
I bristle at this. It’s not her right to judge how and in what way I’m dealing. Plus, the last thing I feel like doing is sharing girl talk with her in front of the paparazzi. Sit here, be photographed with lettuce in my teeth, and talk to her about 101-degree, scorching-hot sex with Jordan Wilder? Pass.
“You know, I’m friends with Britney,” she says before I have a chance to share any of this.
I cough on my water. She flicks her eyes upward. “I’ve known her forever. Since I was twelve, maybe.”
Despite playing my younger sister inLocked, Alexis is actually a full four years older than me. But I’m beginning to see in Hollywood that doesn’t mean much. Friendships are determined more by what age you play, than what age you are.
“Were you onBacksplash?” I ask.Backsplashwas the TV show Rainer and Jordan and Britney were on as kids. It’s how they all met and became friends.
Alexis shakes her head. “No, but I knew her then. I knew them together.” She looks at me, but I can’t quite read her expression.
I think about what Georgina said at her house. About Britney not being there for them.
“She’s not a bad person,” Alexis continues. “I mean, sometimes she’s just not a very good one, either.”
“It must be hard,” I say, picking up my knife and absentmindedly spreading some butter on a piece of bread. “I can’t imagine going through something like this in such a public way.”
“How is Rain doing?”
“You mean with his dad?”
Alexis nods.
“I’m not sure,” I start. I’ve been so cautious of this, him, of what I say. But I know he’s not totally himself. Rainer has always wanted to protect me, but now it’s like he wants to protect me fromhim. Which is crazy. The whole point of uniting ourselves in front of the world was so that we could support each other, help each other. “He hasn’t been sharing much with me,” I say cautiously.
Alexis perches her sunglasses on top of her head. Her eyes are golden, highlighted by the faintest hint of liner. “That must be hard,” she says.
“I don’t know why he thinks he has to do it on his own,” I say. “He has it in his head he’s protecting my image or something.” I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“I get that,” Alexis says. She tilts her head, thoughtful. “That’s Rain. He’s always going to put you first.”
