Impossible Glamour (4 page)

I walked out of the dressing room and stood on the pedestal. Choo and Amanda turned to me.

“Why do you insist on wearing those bags you call clothes when you have a Maserati hiding beneath the cloth?” Choo asked.

I blushed and dropped my gaze. The seamstress kneeled on the floor to examine my hem.

“Seriously, Ellen, you look gorgeous. Choo’s right. You’re the whole package. Spectacular looks and brains to back it up.”

“I want to be comfortable.” Which was only partially true. Invisibility
was protection. I’d worked since childhood to not stand out in any way other than my brains. “I don’t know,” I mumbled and turned for the seamstress. “I don’t have time. I get up at five, I take Drummond for a run, then it’s a quick shower and I’m off to the hospital. I get home at night and I’m whipped. I mean, why put in all that extra time to look good when I could be sleeping or studying?”

“Because that extra time can make you
feel
good.” Choo walked over to me. He tilted his champagne glass and took a long drink. “Doll, you do whatever you want, and as long as you aren’t hiding who you are, I couldn’t care less what you wear. But it feels like, sometimes at least, you don’t want to be seen.”

I cringed. Heat flushed my chest. I glanced in the mirror and pink rolled up my neck. How did Choo know? Sometimes not being seen was the easiest way to survive, or it had been when I was a kid. That and bringing home the good grades. With the good grades came Daddy’s attention. I’d always had something to show Daddy when he came to visit us…his
other
family. He’d loved my papers filled with As. While Rhett and Sophia had to fight for things to talk to Daddy about, I’d always had school and grades.

“I like who I am and what I wear.” My voice was soft. Could Choo and Amanda hear the lie in my voice? What I wore wasn’t simply because it was easy. No, there was the part about never wanting to be noticed.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about finding the time next weekend,” Choo said. “Prep begins at seven a.m., and by the time the team I’ve assembled gets finished with you, this wedding party will be the most spectacular-looking group on planet Earth.”

“Better be.” Amanda took a sip of her champagne. “Anna won’t be pleased if the pictures don’t turn out.”

“Anna?” I turned away from the mirror and looked at Amanda and Choo. A sinking sensation claimed my chest. Sophia, my sister, often spoke of the most fabulous Anna. Were Choo and Sophia referring to the same woman?

“The wedding is being featured in
Vogue
,” Choo said. “Plus we’re selling the first pics to
People
and donating the bucks to Pawtown.”

I took a long breath. The last thing I wanted was to draw more attention to my famous family. Kazowski probably didn’t read
People
magazine, and from the looks of her limited wardrobe, which mirrored my own, not
Vogue
either, but those magazines were all around the hospital and usually lay dog-eared at the nurses stations. I didn’t need the blowback and whispering that came with pics of my family and friends.

“You look a little green,” Amanda said.

“Do not get sick in that dress,” Choo said.

“I’m fine…I just…I didn’t know about the pictures.”

“Oh, sweetie, I know you hate this stuff, but we’re making a ton of money for Pawtown by selling the photos. And, well, Anna? We struck a deal. Sophia gets another cover next year if we do an interior spread of the wedding. I hate to tell you, lovey, but your family? Kind of a big deal.” Choo smiled.

Right. I knew all that came with having a famous family. They all craved and cultivated the attention that gave me hives. A quiet life that included medicine, academics, and sick children I could help was what I wanted. So much for that. My family members were pros at sucking people into the spotlight.

“Looks like Sophia will finally get her wish,” I said.

“What wish is that?”

“She’s wanted us Legends to do a spread together. Even tried to get Choo to convince me once. I’ve always said no. Now I have to be in both magazines.”

This was Choo’s wedding, and if he wanted pictures in
Vogue
and to sell the photos to tabloids to help the no-kill rescue shelter in Idyllwild founded by my soon-to-be brother-in-law, I couldn’t fault him really. I just wished I didn’t have to be a part of the celebrity facade.

“We’ll put you in back,” Amanda offered and handed me a glass of champagne.

“No they won’t,” I said and took a long drink. “I’ll be all dolled up and Sophia and I will look the same, so they’ll definitely want us side by side for the photos. This isn’t my first rodeo. Mom used to dress us up identically when we were kids. People can’t get enough of the two of us looking the same. Sophia hated it.” I handed the glass back to Amanda. “Hated me because of it.” I walked off the pedestal and headed toward the dressing room. I had to shed this dress. I’d promised to have dinner with Choo and Amanda, but then I had to get home. I needed to study. Next week would be brutal, and next weekend with the wedding and all the events I wouldn’t get any work done.

I closed the dressing room door and looked in the mirror. Being a Legend was more work than I had ever bargained for.

Webber

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I flipped the page in the three-year extension of my employment contract at CTA. “Jeff, big guy, these are
not
the numbers we agreed to, not even close.”

Jeff sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers. Oh no, I’d watched him negotiate enough deals to recognize that move. The finger thing was the precursor to someone getting schtupped on a previously-agreed-upon deal point, and today, the guy getting the schtupping was me.

“Webber, it’s been a tough year for the agency.”

“Bro, come on,” I said and my eyes continued to glance across the number that was half of what I’d thought my new contract would contain. Half of what I needed as Mom’s necessary care escalated. Half of what I was willing to accept. “It might be a tough year, but
my
list? The roster of clients
I
have? Steve Legend? Sophia Legend? Rhett Legend? Dillon MacAvoy? Ryan Sinclair? They are earners, dude. I’m pulling in big bucks for this place.” I looked up and met Jeff’s gaze. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Where’s the paragraph about my becoming a partner?”

Jeff took a long, deep breath. “Webber, I couldn’t get it past the other guys.”

“What? I thought my partnership was a done deal. Remember that late night at Soho House? The one that included cigars and two young beauties from Russia looking to get an indie financed? Culminated in a long night at the London? If memory serves, and maybe it doesn’t because, you know, there was a lot of bourbon, but the words ‘Webber you’re the newest partner’ came out of your mouth just before you upchucked in the parking lot.”

Jeff’s nostrils flared. Maybe he wasn’t loving the fact that even when drunk, I remembered every detail of my life. A gift, really, especially in entertainment, because people said a whole lot of things they hoped you’d forget. But I didn’t forget, ever. A little trait that had served me well. “I’ve got the hottest list going of clients at CTA, and this is what you hand to me?” I tossed the pages of my new contract onto Jeff’s desk. “No bueno, compadre. No bueno.”

Jeff leaned back in his chair. Again with the finger pyramid. “Webber, I can’t get the partnership through this time. There are a couple of partners that just don’t want to add anyone right now.”

“Add anyone or add me?” The question didn’t come from a place of fear as much as a place of strength. There were three of twelve partners who hadn’t sorted out that Webber was an acquired taste, and while I’d tried to get to their good side, I hadn’t been able to turn the curve on them just yet.

“You really want to know?”

“Have you ever known me not to?”

Jeff’s crooked smile belonged to a thief, but he was an honest thief. He’d tell you what he was trying to steal and why. “Okay. Webz, it’s Selena, Rick, and Gregory. Are you surprised?”

“Nope, not at all. Selena’s pissed I wouldn’t bang her at the last company retreat. Rick is a wet shirt, and Gregory has no sense of humor. Seriously, the guy looks like he’s half-dead all the time. This is the roadblock? Those three?”

Jeff nodded. “The partnership vote has to be unanimous, or at least fewer than three nos. If there’s only one holdout, they can usually be persuaded. I’d throw them some kind of bone. But three? Not happening.”

“I’d let the numbers in that piece-of-shit contract slide if I could get the partnership with the year-end profit share.”

“I bet you would, because that year-end profit share would more than make up for the numbers.”

“Thought you said it was a tough year?”

“For the agency,” Jeff said. “Not the partners.”

Crafty motherfucker. Of course.

“Look,” Jeff continued, “we’re having another vote after the retreat. Don’t sign the deal yet, see what you can shake out. I’ll stall them.”

“Wow, I’m touched. You’ll stall, do nothing, and then when I get them to vote yes on my partnership, I owe you?”

“We all owe somebody Webber. You might as well owe me.”

I stood. If I didn’t love being an agent so damn much, I’d take my whole list and jump to management. I could still walk to another agency, and with my roster I’d take CTA’s top ten earners. The one wild card on my list was my biggest star client, Steve Legend. Steve had dumped his old agent when he’d discovered his longtime agent-compadre had been schtupping Steve’s now ex-wife. But Steve? He was slippery as an eel in grease. Not that I’d ever grabbed a greased eel, but from what I could guess.

“All right, Jeff, I’ll see what I can shake loose by the next vote.”

“Get it down to one holdout and I can deliver. Otherwise that piece of shit on my desk becomes your piece of shit for the next three years.”

“Not what I want.” I turned toward the door.

“Hey, Webz.”

I turned back.

“Banging Selena? Not so bad. You might want to reconsider her offer if you need to. How do you think she became a partner?”

Of course Jeff had bagged the Latina beauty who headed up the urban division at CTA. His dick was a homing device to every willing woman in the 310.

I walked out of Jeff’s office. I wasn’t opposed to sex for advancement, it’s just that the chica actually scared the piss out of me. She looked at me like she might eat me alive. Plus when she was around me, she talked about marriage and kids, and that was not a road I planned to travel. Way too many baggable babes in the land of LA to ever settle down with one. And I wasn’t going to be like Jeff or Steve Legend. Naw, if I ever decided to settle, which I wouldn’t, I wanted to do it right, like the five best couples I knew: Lane and Dillon, Amanda and Ryan, Rhiannon and Sterling, Tasha and Rhett, Sophia and Trick. No messing around, no piece on the side. No way I’d sit at my desk like Jeff and talk about banging women half my age while my wife and two kids looked out at me from a framed picture on my desk.

Why the hell bother? Why not just live free and die single? I’d never be alone. Nope. Unless it was by choice. The Webzie was always with a dame. I walked down the hall toward the elevators and pulled my phone from my pocket to dial my office.

“Yo, Dick Munch.” My affectionate nickname for my assistant, Roger. He loved it. “Get a lunch on the books with me and Gregory.” I stepped into the elevator. Suhweet! Alone so I could keep talking without multiple ears.

“Gregory? In the
book
department?”

“Yes, Gregory in the book department. Don’t sound so surprised. Also get me a list of his top ten clients and a copy of each of their best-selling books.” The elevator doors slid open and I exited onto the second floor.

“You?” Dick Munch asked. “You want
books
? To
read
?”

“I’m not going to read them, dumbass. Send them for coverage. I need all the info before the lunch. Then get me a dinner with Rick.”

“From Business Affairs?”

“Who are you? You don’t get to ask questions. You are the
assistant
, you do as I bid. Got it?”

“Ohhhhh,” Dick Munch said as though finally getting it. “Do you want me to get a room at the London for you and Selena too?”

“What the fuck, man?” I rounded the corner and now stood beside my assistant’s desk. I put my phone in my pocket. “In my office. Now.”

Dick Munch followed me inside and I pulled shut my office door.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I hopped onto my treadmill desk and started to walk.

“Aren’t you making a play for partner?”

“Yes, but how the hell would you know that?”

Dick Munch crossed his arms over his chest and rolled back onto his heels. A self-satisfied smirk decorated his face. Every assistant lived for the moments when they actually knew more about a situation than their boss.

“I know that you, Gregory, and Rick don’t get along. I also heard that Selena tried to bang you at the company retreat last year and you turned her down.”

I grasped my tie and pulled it loose. “She’s bangable, right?”

“Totally,” Dick Munch said. “But she scares the hell out of me.”

“Right? I’m right. She looks like she’s going to rip off my head and eat me alive once I’ve fucked her silly. But that doesn’t answer my question. How do you know all this shit?”

“Pieced it together and…” His voice trailed off as though he’d suddenly remembered it might not be the best move to divulge his source.

“Too late, buddy, you’re in waaaaay too deep now.”

The smile fell from his face. “Jeff’s assistant.”

“Which one, he’s got three. The blonde, the brunette or the gay guy? Who are you banging?”

“Not the guy. Was the brunette. But she’s a whole lot of work. Now it’s the blonde.”

“Nice. Way to work through it. So pillow talk? With El Jeffe’s assistant. That could come in handy. Keep banging her,” I said and nodded toward my door.