2: In Which She Has a Slumber Party

2: In Which She Has a Slumber Party

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“So after countless baby mamas appearing on our doorstep, I’m just wondering if this whole bullshit is even worth it,” whined Rhonda from Newtown, her voice dropping several octaves.

“Well, Rhonda, has he claimed responsibility for all those kids?” I didn’t even bother to caution her about cursing on local radio.

“Well, yeah. Every paternity test came out positive.”

“And these kids were all conceived before he met you?”

“I guess so.”

“Then what’s wrong? Be grateful you have a man who steps up to the plate without shrugging and muttering ‘Uh, I don’t know if it’s mine’.” I paused, taking a deep breath. I was yelling. “If you love him, you’ll appreciate that he’s being responsible about it. It’s not like he’s going to jump back into bed with –”

“Excuse me, but how do you think it feels to know that he was running around town fucking without protection?”

“I can imagine that you’re hurt and disgusted but think about it – when you two decide to have your own children, at least you know that you can depend on him.”

“This show is bullshit.” Rhonda from Newtown cut off, leaving me hanging.

Just another day at the radio station.

I need to assess my life.

The rose-coloured glasses I’d been wearing for a long time were starting to fall from my face and smash to the ground in a dozen pieces. Being an agony aunt to a town full of unappreciative bitches was only going to take me thus far.

I took one more call (a teenager wondering if she should ‘give it up’ on prom night) before saying goodbye and removing my headphones. Roxanne, my producer, quickly met me on my way out the booth, grabbing my arm.

“And what the hell was that?” she asked, running a hand through her mane of long blonde hair. There was a twitch under her right eye that told me that she was stressed the heck out and was trying not to explode at me, her cash cow.

“What do you mean?” I knew perfectly well what she meant.

“You practically called that listener an ingrate, Amor. You raised your voice at her and because of that, you’re probably going to get a lot of flak from Upstairs.”

I shrugged her off me. “I’m going home. I’m tired.”

“Not so fast.” Roxanne’s pretty face was set in determination. She folded her arms across her voluptuous chest. “You have a dinner tonight. Promoting the show. And I am going to make sure you attend. Amor, this is important.”

“Are you kidding me?” I checked my wristwatch. “It’s almost six, Roxy.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“And you want –”

“It’s a black-tie event, babe. Bring your boyfriend.”

“I’m bored as fuck,” Ashton mumbled, grabbing his fifth glass of Shiraz from a passing waiter.

“Could you stop drinking?” I hissed. “You won’t be able to hold a decent conversation.”

“I thought I was supposed to keep my mouth shut.”

“You know what I mean,” I muttered, tugging at the hem of my dress. Roxanne had insisted that I look ‘sexy but not trashy, y’know?’ at tonight’s radio show promo dinner, hence the Slutty McSlut-Slut outfit I had on.

“Seriously, this isn’t worth the money,” Ashton said loudly, referring to the handsome cheque I’d written before we’d met up at The Willis-Tomlinson.

“Keep your fucking voice down.” I was cursing more and more lately. Maybe I had a brain disease.

Victor had been discreet when it came to our faux relationship but Ashton was the complete opposite. I had the sinking feeling that, in a drunken stupor, he’d blurt out that I was paying him for his company. And that would be the final nail in the coffin that was my social life.

“Amor, there you are!” Roxanne’s chirpy voice sang as she approached us. She looked amazing. I was the first to admit that Roxanne was gorgeous. Unlike me, she looked more than comfortable in her gold sequinned dress and with her hair tumbling to her shoulders in a mass of golden curls, she looked like a movie star.

Ashton gave a low wolf-whistle. “You one of my sweetheart’s friends?”

Roxanne gave me a puzzled glance. “Um, I produce her show. Amor, is this...your date?” She leaned in towards me. “What happened to Victor?”

Stupid accident-prone Victor.

“Yeah, she’s my goddess.” Ashton pulled me towards him, his arm around my waist. “The goddess Amor.”

I forced a laugh, trying to extract myself from his embrace. “He’s a little tipsy. What did you want, Rox?”

“I want you to meet Kenneth Lesner. You know him, right?” Rox’s voice was excited. “He sponsored Tyra’s show once upon a time.”

“Lovely,” I said through gritted teeth, wrenching Ashton’s hand from my ass.

“Well? You can leave Ashton at the bar.”

“Oh, I think he’s had quite enough to drink. I’ll be with you in five seconds.”

I smiled until Rox sashayed away, before shooting Ashton my darkest glare. “The agency specifically says you’re limited to one glass of alcohol and you’ve –”

“Babe, no one tells me what to do. Not even you.” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m not drunk, ma’am. Pissing you off is just entertaining.”

“What are you, five?”

“Thirty, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Look, just...mingle. In silence. I’ll be back soon.”

I flounced off, wanting this night to be over already. Roxanne and Lesner were huddled in a corner, laughing like schoolchildren.

Lesner might have been attractive once upon a time but Botox overkill had turned him into a Real Housewife. His hairline was roughly two centimetres from the crown of his head and, dyed an electric gold, it looked like the tail of a Shetland pony. A while back, he probably had eyebrows but laser surgery, perhaps in the hopes of erasing an unfortunate uni-brow, had taken away the hair in that area. My first impression of Kenneth Lesner was a mildly overweight metrosexual.

“Amor Page, how nice to finally meet you,” he said, stretching out a meaty hand. For a small guy, Lesner had a deep, powerful voice.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lesner.” It hurt to smile these days.

“Please – call me Ken. I love your show.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I was pretty sure that Lesner didn’t tune in every Friday afternoon to listen to people complaining about their love life. I was very sure that all he saw were the ratings. In this industry, ratings were everything. I was willing to bet that if I had a popular show about the wonders of two-ply toilet paper, Lesner would kiss my ass. It was all about ratings.

“Thank you.”

“Ken was just talking about expanding Ask Amor,” Rox cut in, a wide smile on her face. She looked like a size four shark.

“Expanding?” I arched a brow.

“A book, Amor.” Kenneth attempted a smile and failed. His Botoxed jaw simply wouldn’t cooperate. “Think about it. Your advice could be available to –”

“And where am I supposed to find the time to write this book?” I couldn’t help my snarky tone.

Roxanne laughed weakly, attempting to diffuse my sudden annoyance. “Come on, Amor. You have plenty of time.”

“You could start it now,” Ken chimed in. “And be done in...maybe four months? Five? I could begin talks with publishing houses.”

“You’re forgetting my community service, Rox. What am I supposed to do? I’ve made a commitment.” I wasn’t going to be pushed around just for Lesner to make money off me.

Lesner turned to Rox. “Community service? Did she go to jail?”

Idiot. “It’s an orphanage. I help out there whenever I can,” I said quietly. “I can’t just hunch up over my desk and start writing. I’m fine with the show.”

“Amor, think about all the money you’ll make.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

Lesner’s sky-blue eyes went hard. “Roxy, talk to her. I want an answer by Monday.” And he turned and left.

“Are you crazy?” Rox exclaimed, shaking me. “Do you know what you’ve just passed up?”

“Are you crazy? You know how full my plate is! Besides, I’m not a writer. At all.”

Rox released me, sniffing. “I’m going to talk to Upstairs about this.”

“Go ahead.”

She stormed away, probably thinking of ways to end my life. Ashton chose that exact moment to appear, drink in hand. Wordlessly, he handed it to me. It was down my throat in two seconds.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, handing him back the empty glass.

“Don’t mention it. I happened to hear that proposition. Congrats.”

I glared at him. “Eavesdropping is very childish.”

“So is SpongeBob. But hey, I still watch it.” He paused, gauging my poker face. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Please,” I said, taking his hand.

***

“Amor, are you...hung over?” Grace’s nose wrinkled in disgust. She was swathed in the most putrid ankle-length maternity dress I’d ever laid eyes on, all shades of green and pink.

“No,” I lied, reluctantly stepping aside to let her into my apartment. “It’s seven o’clock, Grace. Why are you punishing me?” I had been passed out on the couch until she began fist-bumping my door.

“Punishing you?” She sniffed the air, her eyes pointedly on my striped boxers and vest. “Looks like you’re doing that to yourself. I smell pot, Amor. I can’t believe you.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what pot smells like.” I winced, rubbing my temples with my index fingers. My eyes landed on empty bottles of Smirnoff. “I don’t remember drinking last night. At least, not this much.”

“Clearly.” Grace set her handbag on my couch, surveying the disaster that was my living room. “You had a little party, didn’t you? What were you celebrating?”

Someone groaned from my bedroom and we both froze.

“Amor?” Grace’s eyes met mine. “Who’s that?”

“Search me,” I whispered, grabbing her arm. “I have no idea.”

“He’s in your bedroom!”

I let go. “It could be a she.”

“Hello?” Grace called out, her voice steady. “Come out.”

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Grace. Why don’t you –”

The rest of my rhetoric died on my lips when Ashton padded into the room, hair dishevelled and topless.

“Damn,” he said, rubbing his neck, “I feel like that goddamn princess on that goddamn pea.”