Hollywood Hot Mess Read Free

behind me. I smile back, thinking maybe she is trying to be my friend now that she knows I’m going to be famous again. The only upside of fame is that everyone sucks up to you whether they like you or not.
    The overhead bathroom light buzzes to life and shines down on a rusted-out porcelain toilet, complete with a red ring around the bowl. Nice. I search for the door to close behind me, and let out an audible groan when I see nothing but bare hinges.
    “What? Were you expecting a door?” Moira asks from her desk, which is perfectly positioned to watch everything that goes into a toilet. “This isn’t New Horizons, Hollywood. I gotta be sure the pee in that cup actually came out of you.”
    Absolute and total mortification washes over me. Other than the toilet, there is nothing in the bathroom but a half-used roll of toilet paper. How am I supposed to pee in a cup with a stranger watching me and not touch anything in here? I so want to bail on this entire situation, but that’s not an option. So I hold the plastic cup between my chin and my chest and gingerly lay about ten layers of toilet paper over the seat, knowing people like Homeless Man and Ghetto Queen are the typical squatters over this toilet.
    When I’m done nesting I pull my skinny jeans down the tiniest bit, squat over the toilet and after what seems like ten minutes manage to squeeze out a trickle of pee.
    “Is that enough?” I ask, staring at the floor while I hold the cup where Moira can see.
    “Yep,” she says, and I am beyond relieved.
    I set the cup on her desk and dig through my bag for lip gloss. Or a piece of gum. Anything to take my mind off the utter embarrassment of being forced to piss in front of someone I don’t know in a bathroom that belongs in a gas station. Ugh!
    “You’re done,” Moira announces after she records my sample. “Same time next week.” She nods and I make a beeline for the door without a word. “Hey, Hollywood.”
    I stop in the doorway and turn.
    “I can be your friend if you let me.” For the first time since we met, her look is seriously sincere. Her eyes have softened and there is a spark of genuine concern. A moment of silence passes, but I interrupt anything she might’ve said with a defensive chuckle.
    “Who needs a friend for four weeks?”
    “You’d be surprised.” She leans back in her chair and tucks her hands behind her head. “I’ve been doing this a long time. You aren’t the first Hollywood that’s walked through my door. In my experience, it’s people like you who need a friend the most.”
    “Right.” I bite my lip and fidget with the red leather cuff wrapped around my wrist. “Next week.” With that I’m out of her office, down the hall and through the waiting room into the warm sunshine as fast as my feet will carry me.
    Outside I can’t find my damn pack of cigarettes. Leaning against the building, I’m about to dump my purse on the sidewalk to find one. A wrinkled hand and a brand new box of Marlboro Reds come into my line of vision. I jump and look up to see Homeless Man offering me one of his smokes.
    “Thanks.” I take it and his lighter with trembling hands. After the first drag, I feel instantly better.
    “First time?” he asks, leaning against the wall beside me.
    “Yeah.” I hold my breath and move upwind from him. My phone buzzes. It’s a text message from the chauffeur asking if I’m ready to be picked up. I reply and move to the sidewalk’s edge to wait for my ride.
    “Why was Mama calling you Hollywood?” Homeless Man asks. At the corner, a sleek blacked-out Tahoe turns onto the block. I wait until the car stops in front of me and the driver gets out to open my door. Homeless Man stares with openmouthed wonder like I’m the Queen of England. I pull a purple Sharpie from my bag and autograph his pack of cigarettes—dotting the i in my last name with a purple heart like I always have.
    “Once upon a time, I was Pigtails,” I say with a smile, handing