‘He gon’ drunk the Kool Aid,’ says Fifi. ‘Totally Hollywood now. Gross.’
Unable to get on to Alice Andre’s private Instagram page, Maxi, Juliet and Layla have already released some of their ire on to her Twitter page.
‘You fucking skinny whore, do you ever stop throwing up your green tea?’ Layla has already posted.
‘I could snap your twig arm in two seconds’ flat, dick for brains,’ Maxi has posted.
‘Keep away from Ted Levy. You are completely poisoning him with your sick anorexic bullshit,’ Juliet has tweeted at her. ‘Take your control freak ass somewhere else and make someone else’s life a misery you cunnnnnt. #fucksforfame.’
I’m drawing a certain weird comfort as I watch the girlstake down Alice Andre in public. But something approaching shame soon snuffs it out.
I go back on to the fan page on Facebook. ‘OK, Den Mama here,’ I write underneath their comments. ‘TIME OUT. Everyone needs to calm down. Ted will still be the same guy, kale or not. Just healthier as well as talented.’ I’m not sure I believe it myself, but I too need convincing that this new person isn’t such a bad thing.
Sam Blum, one of the guys who has shown up in Ted’s basketball-playing photos on Facebook, has a mid-century furniture shop on Davies Avenue. I recognize him the second I walk in the door.
‘Hi,’ I say, a little too brightly and loudly, making him start as he reads a magazine over his morning coffee.Like me, like me, please like me.
‘Hi,’ he says, making just about enough effort to not seem rude. ‘If you’re looking for anything, just…’ He points his two thumbs at himself.
‘Just browsing,’ I tell him, trying to gather myself. The word is enough to make him retreat right back into his magazine.
‘Actually, do you have any of those spider coffee tables, the teak and glass ones?’ I prattle away. I’ve come prepared.
‘I do not,’ he says, the mere sniff of a sale enough to lift him off the stool. ‘But maybe I could try talking to some of my suppliers, see what’s coming through.’
I panic that I’m about to commit to buying an antique against my will. ‘Well, I’m just visiting here, I don’t really have anywhere to store one. I just like the look of them, really.’
‘Cool accent,’ Sam finally says.
‘Aw, thanks,’ I coo sweetly. Maybe meeting Ted through a friend is a better idea than meeting him through Naomi. ‘I’m here just trying some playwriting for a while.’
Sam nods, blankly.
‘In fact, I am brand new here and just trying to break in to that whole theatre scene. If you know of any companies that are any good, I’d love some pointers.’
‘I think the Roadhouse Players are meant to be OK,’ he says falteringly.
Bingo. I’ve seen Ted there in old YouTube clips.
‘Well, I might give that a go,’ I say, trying to put my allure on full-blast. He nods blankly, glad to be of service.
I push further. ‘I don’t know too many people in this town yet…’
‘Oh.’ He holds up his left hand. ‘I’m married.’
‘Oh no no, I don’t mean it like that!’ I laugh. ‘But if you do happen to know anyone who goes there, or knows more about it…?’ Yet more blank staring. This absolute fucker. ‘It can be kind of hard to walk into those places if you don’t know anyone.’
He grimaces. ‘What little I know about actors, they have no problem walking into a room full of strangers. It’s kind of the job, no?’
I smile sweetly and paw a few sideboards before I leave, making a mental note to laugh about this with Sam much later on, when I meet him through Ted.
‘He has this ex…’ Naomi is talking about Stevie over breakfast and getting plenty worked up. I’m back in therapist mode, which makes me feel a little more useful. ‘She’s just a horrible person, you know? Just constantly on his case about not seeing enough of his two daughters.’ She thenlaunches into a spiel about how the Ex, she who will not even be given a name in this instance, is constantly wanting money, wanting paperwork, wanting court appearances, wanting him to see more of his kids.
‘Honestly, that’s a real bitch, right?’ She’s near foaming at this point.
‘You don’t even know the woman!’ I tell her. I keep forgetting that Naomi has next to no experience with dating, or with other people’s baggage.
‘I’m just going on what he’s saying about her. I mean, he knows her pretty well.’
