SLEAZE: A Hollywood Comeback Story (Book #1)

Chapter 16

The insistent rattling of my phone against my nightstand’s tabletop jolted me from my dream that night. Sleep had crusted over my eyelids and it took a moment of furious blinking for the vision in my left eye to focus.

Sunlight had still filtered in through the shades when I’d gotten home from work, too tired to bother changing from my slacks and stained shirt before collapsing on my bed. Now, as I rolled my right eye from side to side in an attempt to realign my contact, I was startled to find my room plunged into a deep stage of dusk. The few pieces of furniture that I could make out were illuminated by my phone’s screen, a different corner of the bedroom made visible with each one of its violent vibrations.

What time is it? I wondered and then cursed as the contact that I’d been trying to fix popped out, momentarily sticking to my cheek before becoming lost in my rumpled down comforter. I reached for my lamp’s on switch and swore again as I was blinded by the sudden glare, my eyes again struggling to adjust, though this time to the sudden brightness. Groaning and unable to see, I fumbled for my phone, prepared to chew out the caller if he or she turned out to be a telemarketer.

“Hello?” I reached up to my left eye and plucked out the remaining contact, rolling it between my thumb and index finger before flicking it to the floor. I’d probably find it stuck to something the next time that I did laundry, like a shriveled piece of sand glass ready to crack at the slightest touch.

“Parker?”

I frowned at the voice on the other end of the line, reaching under my bed and feeling around for the pair of glasses that I knew I’d dropped a week ago. “Sophie,” I said as my palm grazed the cool metal leg of my bedpost. I sighed. No luck. Where had the damn things gone? “What’s going on?”

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You kind of sound like you have a head cold.”

“I just woke up.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean... It’s only eight o’ clock,” she pointed out and I grunted.

“It was a long day. How ‘bout you? You seem, uh, happier.”

“Yeah, I’m over it, I guess.” A pause. “So I was thinking.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not a huge fan of Michael’s plan either, you know.”

“Why’s that?” I asked, sliding off my bed. Mounds of discarded clothes cushioned my hands and knees as I crawled around looking for my glasses. So this is how Velma felt.

“I mean, no offense, but it would probably be awkward, right?”

“Obviously,” I said, throwing socks and boxers from the floor to my bed. One pair of underwear bounced off the mattress and landed on my shoulder. I flung it off in disgust and resumed my search. “So are you saying that you aren’t coming? Where are you going to go instead?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted and I stopped rummaging, her confession making me sad. How was it possible that someone famous had no friends or family that she could visit during the holidays? “I asked Vinny if we could stay with his brother in Miami but he’s touring in Asia through January, apparently.”

Good, I thought, surprised she’d forgiven him so quickly.

“Then just come,” I replied after a moment, once again padding along on my knees. “It’s no big deal, my parents are chill.” And it'll be easier than explaining your absence to Michael.

“But you don’t want me there, do you?” she asked.

“What makes you say that?”

Another pause. “I heard you arguing with Michael.”