“Because what I’ve got to say has to be said in an actual conversation.”
My heart stops.No.In a flash, my brain hurtles back to that drunken night in the Hamptons. How long ago was that? I wore a condom that night, didn’t I? I’m positive I did... Oh, God,pleasetell me I wore a condom... and that it didn’t break.
“I’m getting married,” Isabel declares, and every hair on my body wilts in relief.
“Did you just sigh with relief?” Isabel shouts, going from zero to sixty on a dime.
“I sighed, but it was with happiness for you. So, who’s the lucky guy?”
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“I call you, out of the blue, to say I’m getting married, andthat’syour reaction?I’m happy for you, Isabel, who’s the lucky guy?”
I chuckle. “How should I have reacted? I know you’ve always wanted to get married.”
“To you, dumbass!”
“Well, we both know that was never going to happen, so it’s good you’ve found your Plan B. Now, are you going to identify the lucky man you’re going to pledge yourself to for eternity, or not?”
She pauses for a long beat, before saying, “It’s Howard.”
“Devlin?”
“Obviously, Reed.”
Holy fuck. Even lying here on my bed alone, I make a face like I’ve just swallowed a bite of rancid yogurt. Howard Devlin is a sixty-something-year-old blow-hard billionaire movie producer/studio head whothinks his shit doesn’t stink. He’s always had an obsession with Isabel. That’s not a secret. Ever since she first met him at her first big audition. But she’s never given him the time of day. And now, suddenly, she’s agreed to marry him? It was Howard’s studio that signed Isabel to her four-movie deal a couple weeks ago. Did Howard make this engagement a condition of the deal? Is this a PR stunt? It’s got to be. Isabel can’t possibly love him. And she certainly doesn’t need his money. She’ll probably net upwards of fifty million by the time those four pictures are done, assuming they hit as big as hoped. Was fifty million Isabel’s price to slip a ring on her finger? Or did Howard sweeten the pot, on top of that, to coax her into saying yes to his proposal?
“I didn’t want you to find out online,” Isabel says. “I’m going to post a photo of Howard and me tomorrow, with my rock on full display.”
“You’re making it ‘Gram official, huh? Wow. This is serious.”
“I want you to comment on the post. It’s important people see we’re still good friends, and you’ve got no hard feelings about me dumping you and moving on.”
I chuckle. She didn’t dump me. And I definitely don’t have hard feelings. But what I say is, “Fine with me.”
She sighs. “Thanks.”
Oh, shit. I shouldn’t do it. I don’t give a fuck what she does. But that “thanks” sounded so damned defeated, I can’t resist. “Are you okay, Isabel?”
“Of course, I’m okay. I just got engaged. I’m on Cloud Nine.”
She sounds resigned. Detached. Just plain sad. But, unfortunately, I’m not the guy who can make her happy. Surely, Howard Devlin isn’t, either. I’m not sure anyone could make Isabel happy, actually. Her online avatar is the happiest woman alive. But the real Isabel? She’s got a gaping hole in her soul she’s never been able to fill—though, God bless her, she keeps trying.
“So, Gary said you’re throwing a partyon Saturday night,” she says, referring to Gary Pembroke, her agent, the top guy at the top talent agency in Hollywood. A guy who represents the highest echelon of A-listers, some of whom have already RSVP’d for my party.
“Yeah, my entire roster will be there, other than RCR and a couple others. Plus, a pretty impressive crowd from your world will be there, too.”
“Yeah, Gary said it’s going to be the coolest party of the year.”
Well, clearly, she’s trolling for an invitation. Which isn’t going to happen. Hell no. Indeed, I open my mouth to say as much, when an idea slams me.Georgina.I bet she’d give her right arm to interview Isabel forDig a Little Deeper!In fact, I bet Georgina would pick the world’s current “It Girl” as an interview subject over me, any day of the week, if she were forced to choose only one of us. Granted, CeeCee sent Georgie to peelmyonion, but I can’t imagine CeeCee would complain if Georgina came back, instead, with an in-depth interview of the world’s biggest movie star!
The only problem with this plan? Isabel’s a notoriously wooden interview subject. She’s renowned in the industry for giving great soundbites—which is a skill in itself—but, otherwise, giving rote, formulaic interviews filled mostly with PR talking points. It’s actually a fantastic thing when Isabel’s on a press junket, where she’s tasked with answering the same questions over and over to plug her latest movie. Or on a talk show, where the goal is being superficial and fun. But ask the woman to let down her guard and provide thoughtful, honest answers to less predictable questions, and she’s a fucking train wreck.
But, still, I think this idea is worth a shot. I can’t imagine a better “get” for Georgina than somehow managing an exclusive, in-depth interview of Isabel Randolph. Talk about something that will take the sting out of Georgina’s disappointment at the end of the summer, if I wind up nixing most of her article about me. Of course, I’m not stupid. I’m only willing to invite Isabel to the party—a party attended by Georgina—if Isabel will be bringing the great love of her life as her plus-one, to ensure Isabel isn’t all over me like a cheap suit.
“Hey, why don’t you and Howard come to the party on Saturday?” I suggest. “If you want buzz about the engagement, then this party is the perfect place to get it. Photos of you two partying with rock stars and Hollywood A-listers will go a lot more viral than an Instagram post.”
