Hollywood Punch (3 page)

I guess this is why Ava is so thin.

“That crazy DiCaprio,” Jack says in a Scottish accent. Now, I suppose I should mention here that Jack isn't actually Scottish. But, yes, you read that correctly. Yes, tonight Jack is speaking with a Scottish accent. There really is a very logical reason for all of this.

You see, it's your typical girl-gets-invited-to-her-ex-boyfriend's-wedding-only-to-be-broken-up-with-by-her-awful-cad-of-a-Scottish-boyfriend-mere-minutes-before-the-wedding-forcing-girl-to-drag-her-best-friend-Jack-in-his-place-and-make-him-wear-a-kilt-and-speak-with-a-Scottish-accent-in-a-desperate-attempt-to-keep-her-dignity-ever-so-slightly-intact sort of story. Kind of story you hear about all the time, right? This is also the story of why Trip and Ava are calling Jack “Douglas.”

Okay, so I understand that most women don't get invited to their ex-boyfriend's weddings. And I realize that most women don't RSVP ‘yes' to their ex-boyfriend's weddings because they are dating gorgeous hunky Scotsmen and they want to show up their exes. And, okay, most women, when then broken up with by their hunky Scotsmen, don't recruit their friends to take his place and pretend to be him. And pretend to be engaged to said faux-Scotsman. But, then again, I'm not most girls.

And therein lies my charm. I think. I'm pretty sure Jack told me that once. Or at least I think he did. Didn't he? Anyway, the point is, I'm not most girls. And Jack, luckily for me, is not most guys.

And I'm lucky that he's not. Since going to Trip's wedding as a fake couple, Jack and I have actually become a real couple. Which was an easy transition since we were the best of friends before the wedding. It just took a trip to LA and seeing Jack in a kilt for me to realize that he was the one for me. And now that I have, I have no intention of ever going back to being just friends again. Because Jack is amazing. As evidenced by the fact that he's dressed up as a Scotsman once again, phony accent and all, just to save my pride. And he even remembered to bring me the fake engagement ring I wore to Trip's wedding, which I swapped out for my real one when Jack picked me up in the cab.

Now, I know what you're thinking. How can she go on like this? And really, it's easy. You see, I don't plan to see Trip and Ava ever again after tonight. And, I'm sure, after having to feign a Scottish accent for an entire evening, by tomorrow, Jack will be of a similar mind. Maybe even later tonight. We're only here in the first place to be polite (that, and the fact that I was unsuccessful in dodging Trip's calls. He had his assistant call me seven times. Yes, seven! I wonder how many times he had to call Leo to get
him
on the phone….).

Trip's assistant assured me that there was something that Trip just
had
to tell me. And I just had to know what it was. Trip and I always had a very competitive relationship, even back when we were an item in law school, but now I can't imagine there's much left for him to say to me. Still, curiosity got the best of me. But, really, what could he possibly be here to announce? I mean, he's won, hasn't he? He was married first and to an Oscar nominated star, at that. It's really not much of a contest. I get it.

Why am I at this dinner again?

“So, did he say yes?” I ask. I don't want to ask, but Trip so clearly wants me to ask more about his silly little Leonardo DiCaprio story. The man is so starved for attention. Trip, I mean.
Not Leonardo DiCaprio. I've never met Leonardo DiCaprio, but I'm sure that he's very well adjusted and nice. Although he
was
a child star (who didn't love him on
Growing Pains
?!), so maybe he's not as nice as he seems, even though he
does
feel passionate about the environment. But I digress….

“As a matter of fact, Brooke,” he said, “he did. Leo's going to be starring in Ava's next picture.” It drives me insane that Trip calls movies ‘pictures' as if he's Orson Welles or something. He's not even her director. He's just her agent. Isn't there some sort of confidentiality thing he's violating here? Note to self: write a note to the bar association to determine confidentiality implications of an agent being romantically involved with the actress he's representing.

“Great,” Jack says, “Jolly good.” I don't think that Scots say things like ‘jolly good,' but I let it slide since Jack's being so great by pretending to be a Scotsman on a weeknight. Anyway, the industry talk is probably the only saving grace for Jack this evening. Jack always wanted to be an actor but never really made a go of it. Jack's like a lot of litigators—frustrated thespians who use their dramatic flair in the courtroom instead of on the stage.

“And Ava will be playing the lead,” Trip continues, as the waiter begins clearing out plates. I say a tiny prayer that Trip and Ava won't want to order dessert and that Jack and I can get out of here. “DiCaprio will be the ex-boyfriend, whose wedding Ava attends.”

Suddenly, time begins moving in slow motion.

“Excuse me?” I ask. Surely, I must have misheard Trip.

“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Trip asks, a tiny smirk creeping onto his lips. “The picture is about a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend's wedding.”

This story is beginning to sound alarmingly familiar.

“Let me get this straight,” I say, “Ava's next movie is about a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend's wedding?”

“Yeah,” Trip says with a laugh. “You inspired me to write it!”

“
You
wrote it?” I ask. Back in law school, Trip couldn't write to save his life. Or his GPA, as the case may be.

“Well,” he says, “I'm in the process of writing it. But we already have a deal in place. And now, we've got our stars attached!”

“Who's going to play Jack?” Jack asks, Scottish accent all but gone.

“Who's Jack?” Trip asks.

“Douglas,” I say, correcting Jack. “He means Douglas. Who's going to play Douglas?”

“It's hard to find someone who can do a convincing Scottish accent,” Ava says. “That's the real obstacle we're having now.”

“You really just need someone who can
fake
a Scottish accent,” Jack offers and I grab at his knee under the table. Unfortunately for me, this does not have the intended effect. He thinks I'm flirting, and so he grabs at my waist.

Sometimes it's a real curse to be so darned irresistible.

“Is the point of this dinner to ask me if you can make a movie about me?” I ask. “Because, you can't. I mean, I'd prefer it if you didn't do that.” After all, I know my rights. And the second I get home, I will log onto my computer to find out just exactly what they are.

“I don't have to ask your permission to write a movie about you,” Trip says. “Remember, I went to law school, too, and so I know that I don't have to ask your permission for this. You're not famous.”

Thank you, Trip, for reminding me of that very, very obvious fact.

“Well, how do you know I won't sue you?” I ask.

“You're not going to sue me,” he says, laughing at the mere thought of it, “but anyway, even if you do, the studio has a team of lawyers.”

“Well, that's good to know,” I say. “Because it sounds like you could have a lawsuit or two on your hands.”

“Well, I thank you for your concern, Brooke,” Trip says. “But what I'd really love to do is to interview you. Get some more background information for the script. Whaddya say? For old times sake?”

“Um,” I eek out. “No, thank you.”

And really, I don't want to do it. And it's not just because Trip is my ex-boyfriend. And it's not just because Trip doesn't know the whole story behind my attendance at his wedding. Actually, those are pretty good reasons in of themselves, aren't they? Yes, they definitely are….

But, more importantly, it's because he's writing a movie about my life. And not about the good parts, either. I'm sure he doesn't have a scene about all of the charity work I do here in the city. Well, okay, fine, I don't have a ton of time for charity since I work fourteen hour days regularly, but I do attend my fair share of Black Tie charity events, so that should count. Or, say, he could write a scene about the time I helped that blind lady cross Lexington that day at lunch. That would be nice. But, I just know that that's not the kind of movie he'll be writing. No, he's going to be writing a movie about a sad single girl in New York City. Instead of scenes that showcase her fabulousness, he'll be writing scenes where she obsesses endlessly about going to her ex-boyfriend's wedding. Instead of scenes that show how hard she works at her big-time law firm, there will be scenes where she does silly thing after silly thing in a fruitless attempt to keep her dignity ever so slightly intact, and instead ends up looking like a fool. No, thank you!

And, also, when I think about what I spent this evening on hair and make-up alone, I just cannot afford having to see Trip on a day to day basis. Case closed.

I don't really know what's said for the rest of the dinner. It barely registers who paid the bill or if we even paid the bill at all. I'm in a daze for the rest of the time and all I can think is: my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about me.

Jack shuttles me into a cab and I open the window to get a gust of cool air as we head uptown.

“So,” Jack says, turning to face me, “do you think they'll offer me a part?”

Chapter Three

“Wow,” my best friend Vanessa says.

“I know.”

“Wow.”

“I
know
,” I repeat.

“Wow.”

“Okay, you're going to need to say something other than ‘wow.'”

“I can't think of anything else to say,” she says, and sinks into her chair. We're at Bernard's Gourmet on Third Avenue for lunch. I needed to convene a special counsel to discuss the fact that my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about my life. And that it's starring his gorgeous movie star wife. You'd really think that a big-time Hollywood agent and his movie star wife would have better things to do with their time than to ruin my life.

But, no.

“Maybe I should be flattered,” I say, taking a bite of my Cobb salad. “I mean, clearly, my life is so interesting that Trip thinks the entire movie-going public of America wants to know about it.”

“Don't forget Europe,” Vanessa says, her gorgeous mocha skin looking pristine, despite the heat outside. “American movies play overseas, too.” She takes a bite out of her hamburger and I silently curse her for the fact that she can eat whatever she wants and I gain weight if I even
look
at a hamburger. Maybe this is owing to the fact that she's five foot eight, and a marathon runner who religiously runs 6 miles a day, but still. And more important than the fact
that she's thin, she's so gorgeous that if
her
ex-boyfriend made a movie about her life, they'd probably be asking her if she'd consider playing herself.

Yes, Vanessa is tall and gorgeous and thin. I have no idea why I'm friends with her.

“And Asia,” she adds. “Don't forget about Asia.”

“Okay, I won't. So, my ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of the single most humiliating moment of my life.” I say. “No big deal, right? I'm sure that this is the sort of thing that happens to
lots
of women out there every day.”

“I'm sure it happens all the time,” she says. I can tell she's lying by the way she self-consciously smoothes her hand over her short hair, but I don't care. It still makes me feel better.

“And being friendly with an ex really isn't that big of a deal, is it?” I ask, taking a bite of my salad, only allowing myself the tiniest bit of dressing. I mean, so what?”

“So what, indeed,” she says and dips one of her French fries into the ketchup.

“I mean, so what if my ex decides to take the most embarrassing moment of my life and turn it into a major motion picture starring his new wife?” I say, taking another bite of salad, this time abandoning the dressing altogether. “And, so what if said new wife has to gain twenty pounds just to play me? I mean, so what?”

“So what!” Vanessa says, slamming her fist down on the table, and I can practically hear a choir rising up in the background.

“Just because I'm not married and I'm not royalty and I'm not an Academy Award nominated actress, I'm still fabulous anyway, right?”

Oh please. As if
you
wouldn't be fishing for compliments the day after you found out that your ex boyfriend was making a movie out of your life.

“Fabulous enough for them to make a movie all about you and your crazy adventures,” Vanessa says, motioning to the waiter for refills on our diet iced teas.

“Yes,” I say. “That's right. I'm fabulous.” I smile at Vanessa. Sometimes I forget just how truly fabulous I am.

“Did you convince yourself on that one?” she asks.

“No,” I say, looking down at my Cobb salad and then scooping up a forkful of bacon. I silently decide that you don't have to stay on your diet on the day after you find out your ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of how pathetic your life is. “Did I convince you?”