Hollywood Hills Read Free

Margaux stuck out her tongue, which had a little round steel ball in its center. Alexa, who’d always wished she had the guts to pierce her belly button, was both impressed and jealous.
    “I hate it when people try to foist their expectations on you,” Alexa said, thinking of her mother, and how she’d always assumed that Alexa would pursue a career in fashion.
    Margaux blinked at Alexa, her face lighting up. “Ex- actly ,” she said. “Hey, have a seat over here.” She motioned to the empty chair beside her. “You smoke? They’re clove.” The tiny skulls on her white-gold charm bracelet jangled as she reached into the black seashell clutch at her feet. With a small jolt, Alexa recognized it as the Heatherette “Margaux,” which had been designed in honor of the actress.
    “No, thanks,” Alexa replied as she settled into the chair. “I decided to officially quit after my last trip to Paris.” Paris was also where Alexa had had her most recent brush with celebrity, so it was no wonder she was now able to feel chill around an A-lister like Margaux.
    “Cool,” Margaux said, lighting her cigarette and casting an approving glance at Alexa. “You seem like a girl who always does her own thing. I’m trying to learn how to be more like that from Kabbalah. I know Madonna’s kind of made it passé, but I still think it’s totally inspiring.” She gestured excitedly to the red string tied around her delicate wrist. “You should stop by the Centre for Shabbat services if you’re ever in LA.”
    “Um, sure,” Alexa said, biting back a laugh; she found the whole Hollywood-Kabbalah obsession kind of funny. “What’s it like, living in LA?” she added. “I was there only once, with my dad, when I was eight.” All that Alexa remembered of the sun-splashed, plastic-fantastic West Coast city was putting her tiny sandaled feet inside Marilyn Monroe’s dainty footprints at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Even that brief visit had felt somehow enchanted. Alexa wanted to ask Margaux what it was like to be in movies, but that question would definitely be filed under “insanely dorky.”
    “It’s nothing like living in New York, for one,” Margaux replied, exhaling a perfect O of sweet-smelling smoke. She glanced up at the cloudy night sky and the blinking lights of tall buildings in the distance. “There’s more…space or something. There’s the desert, the blooming flowers, the hills. That’swhere I live—in Hollywood Hills. My wedding’s gonna be at home.”
    I know , Alexa almost said, but she held her tongue again. She had seen the photos online of a pale blue mansion perched high up in the hills, a stone’s throw from the fabled Hollywood sign. “Sounds divine,” was all Alexa said, meaning it completely.
    Margaux sighed and gave Alexa a rueful smile. “Yeah. I’m not that homesick, though. Everyone out there’s kind of self-obsessed and faker than their boobs.”
    “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s plenty of self-obsession in New York,” Alexa replied, and felt a warm glow when Margaux burst out laughing. It was bizarre, but kind of thrilling, to be bantering with a girl Alexa had so recently seen up on a flickering movie screen. “Which leads me to ask,” Alexa went on, feigning nonchalance, “what brings you to this gathering?” Imagining LA—the white sweep of beaches, the air perfumed by fresh oranges, the constant presence of movie stars—Alexa wondered why anyone would want to leave.
    “Paz Ferrara designed my wedding gown,” Margaux replied, rolling her eyes. “Had to show up to pay my respects—or so my agent said.” When her Kickflip buzzed, she looked at the caller ID and grimaced, notanswering. “Speak of the devil,” she groaned. “It’s only six in LA so everyone’s getting their work done now. I’ll tell you something,” Margaux went on, waving smoke away from Alexa. “I’m fed up with the wedding gar- bage. At this point I’m sick of every soul