Secret Celebrity

chapter three

Jennifer came in the other day. Usual day. After working out. Sipping hard on the straw of her iced mocha. She looked like she was in a hurry. Always does. I wanted to say, "Ease down, you're just grinding metal." A line from Aliens. But what's the point? She's probably just another L.A. case of A.D.D. I'm beginning to think no one can focus on anything for more than thirty seconds anymore—except, of course, themselves.

She stopped in front of the tabloids, zeroed in on the latest gossip. "You into that stuff?" I asked her. "Just seeing if my friend is in there this week." Translated that means boyfriend. Translated further—famous boyfriend. Any guy who's been in L.A. for more than a few days can figure that out.

"Who's your friend?"

"Oh, just somebody," she said. I know her type. Celebrity obsessed. The Hollywood virus. Stick around a little while and she'll be dropping clues about mystery guy. If I took her out for a drink I might get her to cough up his name after a few sips. Or, at least his initials. For most of these girls, there's no point in fvcking a celebrity unless people know you're fvcking a celebrity. "So is he in there?" I asked her.

She was scanning the Star's two-page gossip page. Scanning the names in bold type. "Nope. Thank God," she said. She folded the paper closed and put it back on the rack. "Not that they ever get it right." She then picked up a copy of People and went right to Startracks. I wondered what she'd do if she saw a photo of mystery guy with another girl. She might want to rip it out and throw it away or rip it out and save it. When you've got the Hollywood virus these things are always a toss-up.

So why am I into this girl? Yeah, she's pretty. Nice body. But so what. Lots of those around. And I'm not one of those guys who likes a girl more 'cause she's bonking some big shot. I do have a weakness for girls who are trouble though and Jennifer is a walking T-zone. But this is more than a weakness. I know the girl's license plate number. I hate to admit this, but I started paying attention to her the day she came in with her dog. I'm not a dog person. I couldn't tell you what kind of dog it was. But she was like another person with that dog. She was playing with it and talking to it and kissing it, like she might actually have a heart underneath those fake tits.

Christine would be able to figure Jennifer out in a minute. They were both at the newsstand the other day, but Christine was on her way out when Jennifer got there. Got to get them together though 'cause Christine's radar when it comes to girls, when it comes to anyone, is awesome. She denies it. She says, "To tell you the truth, I don't always know where intuition ends and paranoia begins."

Which reminds me, I got to tell Christine I found some interesting stuff on the Internet on Richard Gault. I'll tell her Thursday. Vogue and the new weeklies arrive then. She'll be there. Wait till she sees the cover of this new magazine that just arrived. The big headline is "Hillary Clinton Opens Up." Yeah, like that's ever gonna happen. She's a fvcking politician. Then they've got an article about Gwyneth Paltrow and they got her to pose all decked out in this leather getup that's supposed to be, what? Dominatrix? Yeah, I want to meet the person who came up with that idea. Here's my idea: Why don't they get a dominatrix to dress up like a dominatrix. Or, better idea: Why doesn't someone start a magazine called Lies. A civilian's opinion—for whatever it's worth.

Christine laughs when I go off on this stuff. We both get into it. I like her. I had a dream about her last night. She was wearing this tiny kilt and a T-shirt that said "caliente". I wonder if she's got a boyfriend. Even if she doesn't, I bet she's unavailable. It's like she's living in some parallel reality. No wonder she loves Richard Gault.