Most Hated, page 13
Sabrina yawned and pushed off the Coeurs Pink D. Porthault sheets she’d bought the second she didn’t have to worry about her husband and his taste.
“Ooh, lovely tan,” said Budgie.
“Thank you, I bought it yesterday.”
“The crew will be here within the hour, your hair and makeup are waiting in the foyer. Better start getting ready, you don’t want them seeing the actual whole process, do you?”
Budgie herself was in a pale violet blouse with a high collar, a low chignon bun, sparkling lilac earrings, and a pair of purple, high-waisted pants. Her shoes were the same lilac as the earrings. She looked as though she had rested for forty-eight full hours.
Not like Sabrina, who had spent the last few days in a romantic whirlwind with a man she never would have thought she’d like.
Within an hour, Sabrina was ready, which Budgie commented on with admiration as usual. People always told Sabrina she was naturally pretty, but whether that was true or not, what she did specialize in was looking drastically different with or without makeup—not worse and then better, but different. She got a lot of press for being a chameleon when she was young. One second, she was Heroin Chic, the next she looked worthy of Grecian royalty, the next she was straight out of old Hollywood.
That was the choice for today.
Her hair was curled in what she always thought of as the Grace Kelly look. Her makeup was subtle.
The Grace Kelly look was not quite right.
At her request they adjusted things for a few minutes; she asked for a few extra curls here and there, and ended up with something closer to Veronica Lake.
The crew arrived and set up, and Zoe was absent, having been replaced for this shoot by Fiona. Sabrina was not a fan. Between the deliberate insertion of British expressions into the conversation and the encyclopedic knowledge of the minutia of Sabrina’s life, she reminded her of those pandering journalists Sabrina endured when she was first married.
After a monologue with content of zero interest to Sabrina, including a reference to how knackered she was feeling today, how that’s the price for producing factual programs, and how she was missing her lover back home, whom she hadn’t seen in a donkey’s years, she took Budgie and Sabrina through the breakdown of the scene.
They were to talk about the other ladies, specifically Mariana and Dahlia.
“What are we supposed to say?” asked Sabrina.
“The two of them sort of get into it, don’t they? Dahlia said Mariana looked like she’d gotten a whole rack of plastic surgery done? And Mariana hasn’t,” she put the last word in sarcastic air quotes. “There was that. Oh, also feel free to talk about Lexi’s thing with her man, that whole … arrangement. Also, how was it spending time with Dahlia at the book party?”
“Is there an arrangement?” Budgie asked, looking delighted.
“On camera please.”
Sabrina and Budgie got into position on the settee on the balcony. The wind was blowing a little, and the sun was at its most golden.
When they got the go-ahead, Budgie began. “I have always loved it up here. You ever think about the fact that you’ve got a monopoly on sunshine, while half that city is in the dark?”
“I do, actually,” she said, scrambling to think of something to say that wouldn’t come off as elitist. “I don’t think I’d have the strength to live in this city if I couldn’t have a little nature like this.”
“You couldn’t live in the city if you weren’t rich as sin?”
She wanted to bite back you are too, Budgie dear, but instead she gave a polite laugh. “I guess not.”
“And that’s coming from someone who was born here. What are all these transplants doing living in broom closets if even you can’t stand the idea?”
“Trying to make their dreams come true, I suppose,” said Sabrina, tone sharpened. “For a lot of them, it’s up to you if they do, isn’t it?”
“Sad, but true,” Budgie acknowledged. “The worst outcome is when all those fresh-faced kids off the bus from Minnesota start getting themselves all faked up in an effort to keep up. The only thing that ever makes a star is if they stand out. All these kids start blending in with all the others. It’s not as big in theatre, but it’s still a problem.”
Sabrina nodded, understanding it was her cue. “You say that, but wasn’t it you who had a plastic party?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think there’s anything wrong at all with getting yourself done. But it should be about yourself, not about trying to succeed or fit into some mold that’ll change in two hours.”
They both took a sip of rosé at the same time, and as the pink liquid caught the rays of the sun, they exchanged an undocumented look that meant they had both done about a hundred things in their past to keep up with the Joneses, including Sabrina’s nose job at fifteen. She would never let Aubrey do that. How had her mother?
It made her cringe.
That the camera probably caught.
“What do you think, is Mariana full of it?” asked Budgie.
“I think she’s a bitch.”
Budgie almost spat out her wine, and Sabrina’s gut plummeted. It had come out of her like water from a geyser. It was the wine on an empty stomach, it was the cloud-high head she still had from last night, it was the way she felt compelled to defend Dahlia.
“Ha! Well tell me how you really feel, kiddo.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. She…”
“Is?”
“Is.”
Budgie laughed. “Ah man, remember when you were younger, you never used to hold back.”
“Got into a lot of trouble for that.”
“You sure did. Such a sweet kid, and then puberty hit and you had a tongue like a razor blade.”
“Would that were true, I would be less worried about Robbie being out there in the world right now. If you catch my drift.”
Budgie’s eyebrows looked like they might disappear into her hairline. “Ha!”
“Great, great, that’s great stuff,” said Fiona halting everything that had, for a moment, flowed naturally. “If you could talk a little bit about Lexi and Tom’s weird relationship, we’ll have everything we need.”
Sabrina and Budgie paused before trying to get the rhythm back.
“You went to Lexi’s? What was that about?”
“I did.” Sabrina said. “It wasn’t what I expected. It’s her partner’s home, not hers.”
“Did you meet him?” Sabrina nodded and took a sip of wine. “And?”
“He is a terrible, despicable man. I can’t say much more than that, because he is not worth the breath. Quite truly.”
“Considering how many words you had for Rob, I’m surprised.”
“They are cut from the same cloth, I promise you. And that girl deserves better.”
“I didn’t get the feeling you were all that fond of Lexi.”
“I’m not not fond of her. I see myself in her. An absolute reflection of modern times, like I was, except perhaps I dislike where modern times have taken us. Or perhaps I’m angry with myself, and that’s all it is. Or none of that.”
Sabrina paused after that, wishing perhaps she had kept it lighter, and Budgie took the opportunity to try for her.
“We all feel that way, sugar, but I guess when you’re the icon of a generation it’s easier to feel more than the rest of us. Lexi’s the kind of kid I want to kick in the rear and make her start thinking for herself.”
“Especially not to be a sugar baby to a chauvinist asshole.”
“Sugar baby? I thought her boyfriend was some blonde guy with a bun and the abs.”
Sabrina’s lungs felt like they collapsed, her stomach turned. “No, that’s her yoga teacher, or spiritual coach. Her boyfriend is an older man.”
“Spiritual coach?”Budgie teased. “She has a private yoga teacher?”
Sabrina shook her head yes. “He’s a good-looking guy. His name is Leo.”
“Leo.”
“Leo.”
“Did you … meet Leo too?”
Sabrina tossed her a glance that told more than she meant to. “I did.”
“And how was he?”
Sabrina fought the girlish smile that was threatening. “He wa—he seemed very nice. It was brief.”
“Aw, too bad.”
“I only met him for a moment. That day. I mean, that day, I met him briefly.” Sabrina explained.
“Mm.”
The conversation went dead. Sabrina knew Budgie had figured out Leo was the blurry face from the Post. She avoided eye contact with her cousin. She’d always been a terrible liar. It was something she had wanted to scream at the press when they accused her of dishonesty. All she wanted was to tell them that she could not lie to save her life.
After what seemed like five minutes, but was closer to fifteen seconds of dead air, Fiona broke the silence, “Okay, we have everything we need here. Let’s head to the party. And Sabrina, before you go, might I grab a word with you?”
When Sabrina agreed, Fiona asked the crew to pack up.
Once alone on the balcony, Fiona leaned against the banister. “Listen, can I be honest with you?” She didn’t stop to give Sabrina time to answer. “You have to let your hair down. Be yourself, even if it isn’t yourself, find a self to be. Remember the it girl you always were? We need you to be that Sabrina Verroye. This girl here, who called Mariana a bitch? We need more of that.”
“That’s because you want someone to throw a drink in my face.”
“No, it isn’t! If you do that, that’s you, that’s what Aleksandr wants. The truth, not all the posturing. Find the old Sabrina that Budgie was talking about. Let loose.”
“If you want her, I hope you have about a pound of cocaine and a time machine.”
“I can’t get my hands on the time machine, but—”
“God, I’m kidding. A hundred percent kidding. I hear you.”
“But more than that, we need you to do something.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“We need you to be the confidante. Get the others to tell you their secrets. We know they’ve got them, but we can’t do anything with it unless they tell someone.”
Sabrina waited for the ethical pull downward of her gut, but nothing came. Perhaps she could no longer feel very much.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because we want to make you look good. If we want to do that, we need other people to look like they’ve lost the plot. That’s how this works. Reveal or be revealed.”
“That doesn’t sound like you’re working hard on anyone’s side.”
“Oh, I am. You have no idea. You’re the star here, and they can make you go one way or the other, and I feel very strong about everything you stood up against.”
Sabrina scanned Fiona’s face for deceit but found nothing but her blank stare, a tinge of hope.
“You’re going to look trustworthy, like a good friend. Any prodding you do to get them to tell you, of course we can edit that out. We get—Aleksandr gets—what you’re going for. You want redemption, and you will be redeemed. Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Why wouldn’t you lie to me?”
Fiona shrugged and smiled. “You were one of my idols growing up over there. I loved you. I hated the way the press made you out. Trust me. I’m going to see if my mom has any pictures of my room to send me, I made this whole wall collage of Sabrina’s Style. It’s embarrassing.”
It always made her feel strange when people said that sort of thing to her. It always gave her a shade of discomfort and violation, but a much bigger part of her…
“That’s still not quite…”
“Look, Sabrina,” Fiona was very serious now. “The truth is they decide how you look. They do. If you want to look like anything other than a malicious wanker, you’ll help them get what they need. Otherwise, you,” she leaned in close enough that Sabrina could smell her coffee-breath, “you don’t always come off that great. You need to either play along or stand by your principles and look like the bitch everyone already hopes you are.”
The blood drained from Sabrina’s face.
“It’ll be far easier to be against you, Sabrina. And eventually, you aren’t even love to hate. That’s when you’re done … finished.”
Sabrina had gone stiff and numb.
It was too hard to even think, to admit to herself.
She had loved it. She wanted it back. She needed it. And it made her sick to imagine those days were gone forever.
20
Zoe
Fiona texted Zoe and told her Sabrina was down to extract as much information as she could from the other women. No reply, but then Zoe sent the group chat a text sharing her good news—they had all the women’s phone passwords. It took some trickery. It was a group effort. Milo filmed Lexi using a “literally amazing” face mask and hand treatment, a promo for one of her brand partners, then waited a few seconds for her to need her phone, which she could not use facial recognition or touch ID to open. Boom. Budgie simply gave it to Zoe when she had to borrow her phone. Mariana did too, when her nails were drying, and Zoe asked if she had any photos of her dog. Nicole couldn’t get her touch ID to work half the time and had an old phone; eventually, one of the crew members saw the code. Sabrina had been the hardest since she rarely touched her phone. But when they filmed a phone call with Mariana, she put it in, and Fiona had seen it.
Zoe also let Aleksandr know and texted him: Taking the ladies’ phones away later, got all the passcodes. We’re in.
Aleksandr sent back a double thumbs-up. That was all. No text, no affirmations.
It disappointed Zoe and wasn’t enough. She needed more. He was such a withholding douchebag. She couldn’t believe she had to clamber for his approval.
21
Dahlia
When I arrived at Mariana’s party stone-cold-sober, I intended to stay that way. I was pretty sure I had never quite shaken the hangover from the outing with Nicole. Zoe comforted me by saying I didn’t say or do anything embarrassing that night, but frig—I hadn’t had such a horrible experience since college. What was it about drinking on this particular job that made it that much worse?
Maybe I had rounded some age curve and my body was unwilling to take it anymore. Or perhaps it was because this whole process was sketchy.
Mariana had a penthouse in the top of one of those old apartment buildings that looked like it would be at home in one of those sappy seventies tragedy romances that still had enough old-school glamour but was starting to pick up the tasteless details of coming decades.
The crew with me had to take the elevator before and after I did, since it was the size of a coffin. Zoe rode up with me, doing something that felt a lot like coaching. She was telling me that the party was going to have a surprise twist and that Mariana was surely going to be a bigger bitch than usual, but not to let her get away with it.
Things were still rocky with Mick at home, but I wished he was with me. Instead, he was having another meeting with Regan. Regan, the cool girl who was undoubtedly ripping the meat from a chicken wing with her perfect veneers and ordering another pitcher of cheap beer.
I am, “I can’t drink cheap beer.”
She is, “let’s fucking go.”
I used to be the “let’s fucking go” girl. What happened?
The elevator opened once we arrived at the PH, and I swear that apartment looked familiar. Like it had been in a thousand movies. It had a long hallway as a foyer with a mirror and decorative table that had a picture of Mariana and others who I supposed was her husband and child. I hadn’t considered that she had either of those things.
The crew was filming my entrance.
“Welcome,” said a girl in a stiff white button down, a little black bowtie, unflattering black pants, and shiny black shoes that looked like they came from Mickey Mouse’s closet.
“Champagne?”
“Sure.”
Dammit. Okay, I’ll have to be careful.
“The hostess requests all shoes be left by the closet there. New carpets.”
I looked at the girl. “Did you ever see that episode of Sex and the City?”
The girl smiled, then hid it like she wasn’t supposed to, but nodded. I smiled back, hoping I came off human, instead of elitist and trying in some misguided way to connect with the people.
The apartment looked decorated by a previous generation, stately, untouchable, as if Mariana and her family had merely moved in when it was vacated by some rich old grandmother. A grandmother with taste, but the sort of taste that involved a zillion crystal candy dishes and ornate gold framed mirrors, uncomfortable looking furniture that was Lilliputian-sized.
It didn’t have a touch of the modern aesthetic whatsoever. If I had ventured a guess at what Mariana’s place might have looked like, I would have pictured bright colors and abstract art (possibly of herself partially clothed or naked altogether). Maybe some animal print pillows or crystal chandeliers. But instead, there were no shoes allowed inside and I was sure that was a Fabergé egg on the mantle.
The others were already there, along with a few people I didn’t know; rookies who were sitting uncomfortably and trying not to look at the camera. That had been me only a small time ago, now I felt a bit like the pro.
In other words, I was being smug. I guess that meant I was in a good mood. You can’t be smug in a bad mood.
Sabrina and Budgie were looking über-Verroye with their timeless style. Lexi was in a cropped top and a matching skirt with a high slit and had a sky-high bubble ponytail. Mariana seemed to be channeling Sharon Tate in a kaftan and a half-up half-down, teased hair. She even had on the black liner and pale lipstick.
Nicole wasn’t there yet.
“Ah, there’s Dahlia, come on in, love,” said Mariana, sweeping over to me, her flowing dress out like wings.
“Hi, this place is so nice!” I said, through double cheek kisses.
“Oh, thank you! Yes, okay, now come, come—oh, there’s Nicole!”
Nicole got the instruction on the shoe rule, looked confused and irritated with the poor catering girl, snatched a glass of champagne from her tray, and came in smiling.
