Chapter 4 Glamour and Deception

"You know, I can't begin to tell you the hypocrisy of what's happening right now," I remarked in response.

Sophia and I were seated in a hair salon in Beverly Hills, being pushed and fussed over by a swarm of gay guys and one severely primped woman. The bitter odor of nail paint remover made me feel almost lightheaded. But I remained vigilant as Raphael charged at me with a dozen different aerosols and one or two lethal-looking tools that appeared to be designed after those used during the Spanish Inquisition.

I sank into a sticky fog as he let go with one of the bottles, only to emerge seconds later, stiff and miserable, feeling like an unfortunate Botox survivor.

"There go the Wetlands," I mumbled, wondering how many pounds of poisons had just been discharged into the atmosphere.

Sophia moved uncomfortably to look at me, her head wedged beneath something that appeared to be attempting to extract her brain. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing." My chair tilted back on its own, and I found myself looking up at the ceiling. "Was that supposed to happen?" I asked anxiously.

"Silencio!" Raphael ordered, pushing ahead with another comb. I closed my eyes grimly as he twisted and pulled what was remained of my hair into a tight knot on top of my head. When he was done, he shot me upright again before disappearing into the back to retrieve more supplies.

I exhaled. "So tell me a little more about the party. But first, let me tell you that I'm having a terrific time just preparing."

Sophia snorted and waved her nails to dry the thick, gold-dusted lacquer. "I heard about it at that casting-you know-the one where my entire life changed for the better?"

"The dystopian Western?" I guessed. I had heard a lot about it, actually.

"Yes, Tony requested me to go. Said the agency needs representation at this playboy trillionaire's house party."

"Right. A trillionaire. "Is that even a word?"

"Of course it is."

"You made it up!"

"I sure didn't. Lucas Sterling, I believe, is his name, and he is really stunning! I wish I could land him. But, from what I've heard, no woman can. "He is untamable."

"Hmm. Untamable? "Is that a challenge?" I asked. "I mean, I did tame our mean cat."

She laughed. "I bet you could lasso in the wild buck."

"I am just kidding. I'm not in the mood to tame a wild millionaire.

"Why not?" "Are you still thinking about that cute coffee guy you mentioned?"

"Hang up?" I just met him this morning.

She chuckled. "Yeah, Lucas Sterling might not be as attractive as the guy you keep talking about. But I'm certain he's a hunk. I want to say hello to him before the party ends. I'm sure he's an excellent host who will meet each and every one of his guests."

"I haven't been going on about coffee guy."

"Yes, you have."

"C'mon! "He was hot!"

"Then you should have bought him the damn coffee too."

"I should've. Boy, I screw everything up. "If I could travel back in time."

"I am sure you could take another shot. Simply strike up a discussion the next time you see him at the coffee shop.

"He's absolutely stunning, but he's too wealthy for my taste. He refused to talk to me."

"Forget about him for the time being. Think about Lucas' lavish party. He's hosting it at his fancy mansion!"

"Sounds like fun."

"Lucas loves women, so he'll be very approachable. Simply grin and flirt.

"And why do I want to approach some stud who has his choice of a million women?"

"To discuss the agency, of course. I'm getting a huge, fat bonus. If somebody indicates they came to the agency through us, we earn a $1,000 referral bonus. "Isn't that awesome?"

"Sweet!"

"Apparently Lucas just got back to LA from like, Nepal or somewhere, and it's the social event of the season."

I snorted in amusement, earning me scandalized looks from every corner of the salon. "I'm sorry, it's just-is that a real thing? Does our season have social events?"

Sophia faltered, but then proceeded with confidence. I could see she had certainly read this somewhere credible like the Internet in anticipation of my opposition and was ready for any query I could throw her way.

"Of course it does." Her voice took on a somewhat louder, hollower tone-vowels sagging weakly from all the weight she was placing on them. "There's a ribbon cutting at Tiffany's in the Grove, Barneys' opening on Rodeo-and no, Shay, if you make a joke about a dinosaur exhibit it won't be funny-Karl Lagerfeld is launching his new line so it's looking for models, and then there's that huge Los Angeles Diabetes Fundraiser Gala."

"Thank you, Google." I rolled my eyes. "And here I thought it was just Thanksgiving."

Sophia frowned suspiciously as Bianca Violet (who would punch you if you questioned whether that was her stage name) adjusted her locks to cascade over the back of her neck. "I don't think they have that here."

"Of course not," I replied bleakly. "Why would they?"

Sophia ignored me and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. "It's perfect, Bianca, exactly like the picture."

Bianca stepped back. Her eyes widened hungrily, and she poked at her locks as if she took her work seriously. Either that, or she was truly as hungry as she appeared. "It's perfect, isn't it? Well, there will be at least 10 other girls with the same style at the party tonight, so you can be confident that it is quite stylish."

Sophia nodded sincerely in answer, and I glanced at the two of them as if they were crazy. I was going to remark something along those lines when Raphael returned, forcing me to hide for cover.

"Actually, Bianca," Sophia frowned, "haven't we seen you somewhere before?"

"She was Confused Cashier Number Four," I said from beneath a tangle of steam and wires. Sophia didn't instantly recognize her, which shocked me.

"Number three, actually," Bianca reminded me calmly. "But who's counting?" She gave Sophia a spiteful smile before disappearing with a comical click of the heels.

"I can't believe we live in a city where that wasn't just said ironically..."

Sophia shushed me with a cautionary glance, and I drew my tired gaze back to the mirror to see what new insanity Raphael was up to.

I had wanted to relocate to Portland, not Los Angeles. It was a given that anything we wanted to live in San Francisco would be out of our price range, so I determined Portland was the next best option. The music and arts scene was on the rise, and every picture I saw online featured at least one guy with a wizard beard. I was intrigued. But Sophia reminded me that cinematic fame would not come to us; we would have to seek it out for ourselves. Unfortunately, the greatest spot to do this was in the beast's belly.

Perhaps she wouldn't have moved so quickly if she had known about Mrs. Lubanski and the three parking citations we'd receive in the first two weeks of living here. Then then, maybe she would. It was difficult to tell with Sophia. You never knew which topics she'd choose to be extremely concerned about and others she'd let slip without thought.

"Anyway," she replied to my earlier question, "you would have gotten an invite too if you'd come with me to the casting."

"I told you that some of us had to work for a living. "Not everyone can rely on their parents to pay rent." I tossed a hair tie at her and pretended Raphael had not slapped my wrist.

Three hours later, we were back on the street. Not the streets I would have chosen, mind you. Not in my beloved Westwood, where I remained a local folk hero. No, we were exploring Beverly Hills' high-end stores and oxygen bars (yes, they exist). The agency that hired us as unemployed actors had set aside some money to make a good impression with the social elites at tonight's party. Since two of the four females attending had to drop out owing to food poisoning (a fortunate break for us, according to Sophia), that 'bit of a budget' had ballooned into more money than either she or I had ever spent in one day.

Even I had to confess that once we were out of the salon's chemical stink and back into the sunshine, I began to have some fun.

"Let's grab another coffee, courtesy of the agency," Sophia drawled in a Southern aristocratic accent she'd created just to make that same request a million times. We'd already had three espresso drinks and stopped "just for a bite" at two separate sushi eateries. Nonetheless, we'd barely scratched the surface of the funds earmarked for our introduction to the land of giants.

"I can't." I grabbed her wrist and drew her away from the Starbucks she was sinking into. "There's so much caffeine in my system, I seriously feel like I'm having heart palpitations."

She rolled her eyes. "That's just your heart getting aroused, Shay. "It's jumping for you."

I froze in my tracks and glanced at her in amazement. "You are a scientist, do you know that? "The medical profession has nothing on you."

She smiled and drew me inside a boutique with the scariest-looking mannequins I'd ever seen. "Fine, if the sponsored charm is wearing off, let's get our outfits and find some shoes. It's almost five o'clock, and we're meant to there no later than seven thirty."

"Hang on." I hadn't made it past the entrance, still staring at an eyeless mannequin. "This one's trying to tell me something."

"Oh my gosh, could you just come on already?" She caught my wrist in her wiry fingers and drew me deeper inside. "And try not to embarrass me."

As we ran past, I grabbed up an equestrian riding crop labeled "business casual". "I always try."