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Some of our friends held out their glasses, and others took their places around the TV, which was currently muted on Charmed. Not everyone was so easily sidetracked, though.
“They put up a billboard on Sunset Boulevard,” Roger said, holding out his glass for champagne. “You’re like goddesses gazing upon us mere mortals.”
Bree handled the attention better than I did, so I slipped into the crowd as she whipped a disposable camera out of her purse. “I already took a whole roll of photos this afternoon.”
I disappeared into the kitchen to prepare the appetizers I’d brought. I was setting the oven as Val floated in. Tonight, she was Bohemian Val, Sienna Miller-meets-Stevie Nicks with heavy bangs and straightened blonde hair. She’d paired an off-the-shoulder floral dress with a wide leather belt and fashion cowboy boots.
“What’re those?” she asked over my shoulder as I stood at the island.
“Homemade bagel bites. Just like the frozen kind, except I made these.”
“You are such a good mom.”
I smiled a little, tossing the foil wrapping into the trash. “I’m doing whatever I can to keep the nerves at bay.”
“Well, then I should probably keep what I know to myself,” she said, leaning her upper half on the island, “but you know I won’t.”
I glanced up at her, arranging the food. “Okay . . .? What?”
“Listen.” She checked over her shoulder. “Corbin and I fought for an hour about this, but in the end, I couldn’t talk him out of it—and I couldn’t explain to him the depth of why this was a bad idea without revealing the truth about your history with your sister.” She made a face. “Corbin flew in today.”
“Wait—really?” I grinned. “All the way from New York? What’s that got to do with Tiffany?”
“She called him and asked if she could come tonight.”
I stopped fussing with the platter and stared at her. “What?”
“I guess she wanted to surprise you, because—duh—if she’d asked you, you’d have told her to take a hike.”
Would I have? Tiffany and I hadn’t spoken since last Christmas, and even then it’d been a cursory, five-minute conversation. She didn’t even live in the area. She’d have to drive in from Orange County. “Did she say why?” I asked.
“I think it’s just because she wants to grab onto your coattails, I mean, could she be more obvious with her timing? You’re going to be on TV tonight.” Val picked a diced tomato off one of the bagel bites and popped it in her mouth. “But Corbin seems to think Tiffany’s making an effort and deserves a chance you’d never give her otherwise. He felt bad that Tiffany couldn’t even bring herself to call you.”
“Well,” I said, my posture sagging. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” Val lifted a shoulder. “I couldn’t exactly tell Corbin that there might be a catfight over he-whose-name-makes-me-gag.”
I looked out the kitchen window, where palm tree silhouettes painted the dusky, indigo sky. Did I want to see my sister after all these years? No. She wasn’t just the cruelest reminder possible of Manning, but she’d intentionally hurt me. I’d done the same to her, though. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to face her, but she was making an effort. After going years without hearing from my dad, that spoke volumes. Tiffany and I had kept in touch, but I hadn’t seen her since she’d left for her honeymoon. “Thanks for warning me,” I said. “Even though I’m twice as nervous now.”
“Don’t be. You’re older and smarter. She can’t get to you anymore.” Val turned to get a bottle of Veuve Clicquot from the fridge before I could protest. “And the show will be fan-fucking-tastic. You’re the sweetheart, so you have nothing to worry about. Bree on the other hand . . .” She grimaced before taking a champagne glass from a cupboard. “I’m worried she’s the village idiot and doesn’t know it.”
I laughed. “Or she knows it, and she’ll get more screen time because of it—which would make her the shrewdest of all.”
“Touché. So how come instead of being excited, you’ve been moping around all week like you just found out you have chlamydia?”
I shrugged. According to my agent, castmates, and the media, I was the industry’s next “sweetheart.” I had “something,” the “it factor” and “the right look.” I was going to be someone. But aside from the few low-budget, hardly attended plays I’d been a part of in New York, nobody had seen me act yet. The cameras didn’t even follow me into the auditions I attended during filming, just the preparation before, and getting rejected or called back after.
“Val?” I said, sliding the tray into the oven. “You’re around actresses all day on set. Do you think I’m any good?”
“You have a certain quality,” she said.
“What quality?” I asked.
“The one you have. It’s indescribable.” She waved me off. “Anyone can learn to act, but not anyone can be a star.”
