that you're a control freak."
I arched my eyebrow at her as she refolded a pair of skinny jeans and carefully hung them up. "Uh, takes one to know one." I continued to pace while Tori continued to organize. Finally, I turned to her. "I'm just gonna call Lucas. I'm going to be direct and just say that I'm sorry, that I messed up."
Tori looked at me, her face pale. "I'm gonna go clean your kitchen. And give you some privacy."
I nodded grimly and watched her flee from my room. I took a deep breath and called his cell.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me, Lowell," he answered.
My heart sank. "Hey, Lucas." I felt sweat forming on my brow.
"I hired you because you were a good girl, okay? Because I thought you'd be a hard worker. Because you weren't the type to go out and snort coke and dance on tables. I fought for you—then you fuck me like this? The producers called me last night and woke me up. They are furious. They want to fire you, and I can't even come up with a good reason why they shouldn't."
"Please don't fire me," I begged. My mind, still fuzzy, tried to remember the terms of the contract and all of the scenes we'd already shot. If the producers wanted to fire me at this stage of production, they must really be livid. It would cost them a small fortune to redo the work we'd already completed. That meant they thought this movie would lose money now, big time—because of me. And they were just trying to cut their losses.
Lucas sighed. "Give me a reason not to, Lowell."
I took a deep breath. "I'll make it right. Do you want me to come in on Wednesday?"
"I don't know," Lucas said. "I really don't know."
----
T ori peeked through my door a little while later, after my sniffling had subsided.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I'm fucked. I have a catastrophic PR problem, an upcoming premiere, and a director who hates my guts. My ass is genetically designed to stay its size, my agent's about to cut me loose, and I have a raging hangover. Not to mention that little video that everyone's one-clicking. So no, I'm not so good."
She sat next to me on the bed. "What did Lucas say?"
"That the producers want to fire me and I have to come up with a viable reason why they shouldn't. By the time we shoot next."
"Which is the day after tomorrow, right?" she asked.
"That's unfortunately correct." I rolled over and put a pillow over my face. As if that could block out the ugly truth of how fucked I was.
Tori was quiet for a second. "Shirley said you need to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Right?"
"I know, I was here."
Tori hopped up, meeting her threshold of sitting time. I peered around my pillow and watched as she tore through the jeans in my closet. She appeared to be organizing them by wash.
"I think it means you need to do something drastic to distract the press and the public," she said, her brow furrowed as she inspected my denim. "It has to be something bigger than how drunk you were last night. And everything you said."
"That's a pretty tall order. It would have to be some huge news—like I'm pregnant or getting married."
Tori looked at me and smiled enthusiastically. "The press loves marriage and/or a baby bump! Let's do that!"
I scrunched up my face at her. At this rate, I was going to need another Advil. "I can't be pregnant or get married! Because I'm not pregnant, and I don't even have a boyfriend to marry!"
"So how about a hot new boyfriend?" she asked. "That you might eventually marry? And get pregnant with? That'd keep the press happy."
"That would be great. For all sorts of reasons." I winced as I thought of how long it had been since I'd been with a guy. "But there's one problem: I don't have a hot boyfriend. Or a new boyfriend. Or any boyfriend. Or any prospect of a boyfriend, for that matter."
"Well, we could get you one," Tori said. "What about Troy?"
"Troy?" I practically spit out his name. "He dumped me, remember? Right after I told him I was serious about him and brought him to all those premieres?