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She listened to his message all the way to the end. She heard the guilt in his voice, the entreaty, the pride he wasn’t a good enough actor to conceal. He still wanted her to forgive him for leaving, to forgive him for lying to the press about how she hadn’t wanted a baby. Lance was an actor, with an actor’s need for everyone to love him, even the woman whose heart he’d broken. He wanted her to hand him a free pass on guilt. But she couldn’t. She’d given him everything. Not just her heart, not just her body, but everything she had, and look where it had taken her.
She sank down against the couch. It had been a year, and here she was. Crying again. When was she going to get over it? When was she going to stop acting exactly like the loser the world believed her to be? If she kept on like this, the bitterness eating away inside her would win, and she’d turn into a person she didn’t want to be. She needed to do something—anything—that would make her look—that would make her feel—like a winner.
Chapter 2
What would Scooter Brown do? That was the question Georgie kept asking herself, and that was how she ended up crossing the outdoor patio at The Ivy to a table right by the restaurant’s famous white picket fence. Scooter Brown, the spunky orphaned stowaway who’d hidden in the servants’ quarters of the Scofield estate to keep herself out of foster care, would have taken charge of her own destiny, and it was long past time for Georgie to do exactly that.
She waved at a big-name rapper, acknowledged a talk-show host, and blew a kiss toward a former Grey’s Anatomy star. Only Rory Keene, the new head of Vortex Studios, was too absorbed in her luncheon conversation with a C.A.A. honcho to notice Georgie’s arrival.
Item number one on Georgie’s new list: Be seen with the perfect man. With that humiliating photograph of her staring at the sonogram of Lance’s baby plastered everywhere, she had to stop hiding and do what she should have done months ago. Today’s lunch date needed to be big enough news for everyone to forget her stricken expression.
Unfortunately, the perfect man she’d chosen for her first date hadn’t arrived, forcing her to sit at an empty table for two. Georgie tried to look as though she was happy to have a few extra minutes to herself. She couldn’t get mad at Trevor. Maybe she hadn’t been able to convince him to get married, but at least he’d agreed to step into her media circus for a few weeks.
The Ivy was an L.A. institution, the perfect place to see and be seen, with an army of paparazzi permanently camped out in front. Celebrities who dined at Ivy and pretended to be annoyed by the attention they received were the world’s biggest hypocrites, especially those who sat outside on the patio where the weathered picket fence ran alongside the sidewalk and busy Robertson Boulevard.
Georgie settled under a white umbrella. Drinking wine at lunch could signal she was drowning her troubles in alcohol, so she ordered iced tea. Two women paused on the sidewalk beyond the picket fence to gawk at her. Where was Trevor?
Her plan was simple. Instead of avoiding publicity, she’d court it, but on her terms—as a single woman having the time of her life. She’d spend a few weeks with one perfect man, a few weeks with another. She wouldn’t date any of them long enough to suggest a serious love affair. Just fun, fun, fun accompanied by lots of photos of her laughing and enjoying herself—photos that her publicist would make certain were well distributed. She knew a dozen great-looking actors who were anxious for publicity and understood the rules of the game. Trevor would kick off her campaign. If only he weren’t so averse to being on time.
And if only the whole idea of voluntarily encouraging publicity weren’t so repugnant.
Five minutes ticked by. She’d dressed exactly right for the occasion in the outfit her talented stylist had picked out for her—a black cotton sundress with wide scarlet piping at the bodice and a scatter of free-form tan and brown leaves tumbling down the short, narrow skirt. Matching ankle-wrapped brown wedges and amber earrings completed the look of casual, offbeat sophistication that suited her better than either frills or slut-clothes. She’d had the dress skillfully fit to camouflage her weight loss.
Eight minutes had passed. Rory Keene finally spotted her and gave a friendly wave. Georgie waved back. Fifteen years earlier, during the second season of Skip and Scooter, Rory had been a lowly production assistant, but now she was the head of Vortex Studios and one of the most powerful women in Hollywood. Since Georgie’s last two films had been box-office flops and her newest one promised to do even worse, she hated having someone so influential see her sitting here looking like a loser. But then, what was new about that?
She never used to be a defeatist, and she had to stop thinking like one. Except ten minutes had elapsed…
Georgie pretended not to notice the stares she was receiving, but she’d started to perspire. Being alone at The Ivy was tantamount to a public shunning. She debated flipping open her cell, but she didn’t want to look as though she had to track down her date.
Across the patio, a group of thin, painstakingly stylish young heiresses with beautiful, vacant faces had gathered for lunch. They included the vapid daughters of a fading rock star, a studio mogul, and an international soft drink tycoon. The girls were famous for being famous—icons of everything that was trendy and scrumptiously unaffordable for the ordinary women who poured over their photos. None of them wanted to admit they lived off Daddy’s money, so they tended to list their occupation as “purse designer.” But their real job was being photographed, and their leader, the soft drink heiress, rose from the table and glided like a sleek Ferrari toward Georgie.
“Hi, I’m Madison Merrill. We haven’t met.” She angled her hips for the long lenses of the paparazzi across the street, giving them a flattering view of her Stella McCartney trapeze dress. “I just loved you in Summer in the City. I don’t understand why it wasn’t a big hit. I love romantic comedies.” A crease dented her perfect forehead, and she hastily added, “I mean, I love serious stuff, too, like, you know, Scorcese and everything.”
“I understand.” Georgie offered up her perky smile and imagined the paparazzi clicking away, getting great photos of the fabulously photogenic Madison Merrill standing by an emaciated Georgie York, who was seated alone at a table for two.
“Skip and Scooter was great, too.” Madison moved a few steps back so the table umbrella didn’t shadow her face. “It was my favorite TV show when I was like nine.”
The girl was too stupid to be subtle. She’d have to work on that if she wanted to stay ahead in L.A.
Madison gazed at the empty chair. “I’ve got to get back to my friends. You could like sit with us if you don’t have anybody to eat with?” She made the statement into a question.
Georgie tugged on one of her amber earrings. “Oh, no. He got held up in a meeting. I promised I’d wait for him. Men.”
“
I guess.” Madison waved at the photographers and trotted back to her seat.
Georgie felt as if a flashing neon arrow was pointing at the empty chair across the table. Thousands of men all around the world—millions of them—would give anything to have lunch with Skipper Brown, but she’d had to pick her unreliable former best friend.
Georgie’s server popped up for the third time. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to order now, Miss York?”
Georgie was trapped. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t leave. “Another iced tea, please.”
The server disappeared. Georgie lifted her wrist and gazed pointedly at her watch. She couldn’t put it off. She had to pretend to be getting a call. It would be her date telling her he’d been in an automobile accident. First she’d pretend to be concerned, then she’d be relieved that no one was hurt, then she’d be totally understanding.
Stood Up! Mystery Man Ditches Date with Georgie
She could already see the photo of herself alone at a table for two. How could such a basic plan have backfired so quickly? She should start traveling with an entourage like every other celebrity, but she’d always hated the idea of being surrounded by paid companionship.
