“Publicly, obviously. I issued a statement that we split amicably. They’ll probably think it has something to do with you, but it’s been enough time that it shouldn’t be too terrible.”
“Wow,” I say. I take a breath and ask what I want to know. “Alexis…isthere someone you want to date?”
I hear Alexis clear her throat. “I just want to start limiting the lies, you know?”
“Yes, I know.” I think of Rainer and me on the plane. It may suck now, but in some ways it’s better. At least we’re finally being honest. “I’m proud of you,” I say. It seems a silly thing to say, but it’s true. I all at once feel an overwhelming affection for Alexis.
She laughs. “You’re so terribly American,” she says. “All feelings. Anyway, I have to run. I have a meeting with the Do Something people. Did I tell you I’m doing their new anti-bullying campaign?”
Do Something is one of the largest organizations for young people. They cover every social cause, and I know Alexis has been gunning hard to have a bigger role with them.
“That’s amazing!” I say. “Congrats. They’re lucky to have you.” I make a mental note to e-mail Jake about this. Maybe she can help him cast a wider net with his environmental outreach.
“I’m lining up a ton of school visits and events and even some counseling sessions. I’m excited about it.”
“That’s so great, Alexis.”
“Thanks. Anyway, head out to the beach if you want to. It’s supposed to be a gorgeous day. Might as well capitalize on it while we can.”
“I can’t,” I say, smiling to myself. “I have an audition.”
“Ah! Keep me posted, gorgeous!” she says, and hangs up.
I finish my coffee and get dressed. I put on a white lace top and jeans. I blow-dry my hair and apply a little mascara and a thin layer of lip gloss from one of the makeup kits in my suitcases.
At eight thirty I get in the rental car and drive out. There are a few paparazzi there, and they get some photos, but it doesn’t really bother me. I’m too excited about today to care.
I call Sandy from the car. “Ask for James Santiago,” she says. “They’re expecting you, of course. And make sure you go in the Galaxy Gate. The lot can be confusing.”
“Thanks.”
“I hope you kill it!” Sandy says.
“I don’t totally believe you.”
“Hey,” Sandy says. “I want what you want.”
Studio lots are confusing, to put it mildly. I find the Galaxy Gate, but it involves making, like, two and a half illegal U-turns, and by the time I actually locate a parking spot I feel like I’ve been circling for half my life.
They gave me some VIP access pass, but I couldn’t find any of the VIP spots, so I end up in a parking garage the size of my old high school.
I write the floor level of my spot on the inside of my wrist with a Sharpie from the center console and take the elevator down to the ground floor. I end up outside, in a grassy area with some scattered tables. There is a café off to the side, and people come in and out, ferrying coffees.
A few of them glance up but then go back to meeting or talking on their cell phones. That’s the nice thing about Hollywood—once you’re inside the gates, no one cares that you’re famous.
I ask a passing girl carrying a stack of scripts for directions to suite 400, and she offers to walk me over. Her name is Ireeka. She’s wearing a name tag, but she introduces herself, anyway. She’s short, with brown hair that is knotted at the base of her neck. “I’m surprised you’re here alone,” she says as we walk.
I shrug. “People think you become famous and then incapable of walking.”
Ireeka raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you?”
It makes me laugh, which is good, because the closer we get to suite 400, the more nervous I am becoming.
“What are you here for?” Ireeka asks me. She directs me with her arm to make a left.
“Audition.”
“You still have to do that?”
