“You’re an idiot,” I slurred. “And what’s worse, you’re boring.”
“But I thought…” Her voice trembled. She brought her shaking hand to her heart. “I thought you were the one.”
I burst out with an evil villain’s laugh. Did I really laugh like that? More of a cackle, really.
“I’m out of here,” I declared, standing up and kicking over my chair like a twit. “Go crying home to Mommy.” My sorry ass stumbled on out of the frame, leaving Mandy alone at the table for two with silent tears of pain traveling down her perfect face.
The girl deserved an Oscar. It had been staged, all of it. I knew that the second I saw it. I’d been in the media spotlight long enough to know, no one held a camera phone that steady, at that perfect an angle, with the sound quality so excellent at exactly the right moment without it being a set up. It had all happened, that I knew as well, but she’d arranged the whole thing right down to having someone seated nearby to film it.
“Have you seen it?” my agent asked. I’d forgotten he was still on the phone.
“Yeah.”
“This is a disaster.”
“It was a set up.”
“You and I know that, but the rest of the world doesn’t. And don’t act like you didn’t say all that shit. You know you did.”
Sure, I’d said all that. I remembered now, all of it. Mandy and I had had a rip-snorting fight earlier that evening. It had started out stupid, something about how I’d said she looked pretty in a dress instead of amazing or breathtaking or some over-the-top shit like a character out of a Harlequin romance novel. It had escalated into a tantrum over how I didn’t appreciate her enough. She’d thrown a glass vase against a wall, screaming that a miserable, washed-up hack like me was lucky to be with a bonafide superstar like her. No camera phone had caught that, though.
It was genius, really. Mandy had obviously known I was going to break up with her. She’d realized she’d milked all of the press she could out of our relationship. So she’d decided to go out with a bang. She had a new album coming out filled with love songs and this would give her just the boost she needed to score a few out-of-the-gate chart-toppers. Hats off to her.
“Mandy Monroe is America’s sweetheart,” my agent told me. Like it was news.
“I know.” I rubbed my brow.
“You just broke her heart.”
“Yup.”
“You tore it up and threw it in her face. And it’s all on video. This is bad, Ash.”
“People love it when I’m bad.” I tried to defend myself, but even to me it sounded weak.
“Not this kind of bad. This is not going to go over well.”
I had nothing to say to that one. I could practically see Joel shaking his head in frustration.
“You had to dump the coalminer’s daughter. On YouTube.”
“Shit, you have to put it like that?”
“Listen, there’s going to be backlash. It’s going to be big. We have to figure a way out of this one.”
“That’s what I pay you the big bucks for, Joel.”
“You can’t make a joke out of this, Ash. You fucked up good. Clean up, fly back and meet me at five o’clock.”
“I’m supposed to head to New York today.”
“Why? Your next show isn’t until next week and it’s in L.A.”
“Family stuff.” This coming weekend I had my family’s huge holiday party. It wasn’t the kind of event I normally went in for. Black tie, so that was a big strike against it. Plus it involved my family, which guaranteed that it would suck. But my grandmother required mandatory attendance at the annual Kavanaugh holiday party. Even a rule-breaker like me had to comply. She might be the only person I really listened to. If you met her, you’d get it.
“Well, come to S.F. today. Go to New York tomorrow. We have to get a plan in play. I’ll have Lola and Gary meet us and…aw shit.” His voice trailed off.
“What?”
“You’re the number one hashtag trending on Twitter.”
This wasn’t going to be good. “What is it?”
“#HatePlayerAsh.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d inspired my own personal hashtag. #DoMeAsh #HotAsh, #FuckMeAsh. I was used to those. But this, though? This was new. And it was blowing up.
With a groan, I sank my head into my hands. I didn’t mind making messes so long as I didn’t have to clean them up. But now I stood with a sponge and a bucket and knew I’d have to get down on my hands and knees and scrub.
CHAPTER 2
Ana
“Is this the one where they fly? I really like it when they fly.” A little girl wearing a giant snowflake sweater and fairy wings looked up at me. She couldn’t be more than four years old and she couldn’t pronounce her ‘r’s so “really” came out “weely.” She was perfect.
Kneeling down, I studied the book jacket. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. “Well, the reindeers fly, if that’s what you’re thinking about.”
“Are they mean?” She turned to me with gravitas, the weight of the word “mean” filling her brown eyes.
I could not tell a lie. I nodded. “At first, the other reindeer are mean to Rudolph.” She frowned in response. “But it ends happy.”
After another moment of consideration, she grabbed it. “Yes,” she declared. “And the fuff-flies.” I’d also helped her find a book about a family of butterflies. She marched off in her boots to a young woman engrossed in her cell phone. Her nanny, I assumed. In this part of SoHo I met a lot more nannies than parents coming into the children’s wing of the library. We were in an extremely affluent corner of the city, tucked into an amazing brownstone with gargoyles and lions sculpted into the edifice. Too bad our branch was so short on funds we were on the chopping block to close.
I’d already been furious over the cutbacks on our hours. How could a library with a children’s wing not open until noon? Didn’t they know how early in the morning little kids woke up? They started their days at six, sometimes five a.m. The very latest we should open our doors was nine o’clock. Even by then, I bet we’d have a few exhausted caregivers standing outside with strollers desperate to come in and give the kids something to keep them entertained.