Confessions Of The Jaded

I sit uncomfortably at a table surrounded by the rich and famous but all I want to do is go home. Gossip may never sleep but I sure as hell do and it’s way past my bedtime. The woman next to me seems to be having a much better time than I am as she drinks her third glass of champagne, “Don’t you just love parties?” she giggles.

This girl is in a fucking stupor. I could probably blow on her she would fall over.

“Not really,” I say, taking another sip of my drink.

“Who are you with?” she asks, leaning far enough over so I can see strait down her barely there dress. I do feel secure in the fact that mine are bigger and real.

“Justin.”

She smiles, “He is so hot. I don’t see him anywhere around you though,” she says, lazily moving her finger in a circular motion over and over like at any point she might pick a destination on a map.

“That’s because he’s performing. You know, the whole reason they call it performers night at his own restaurant?”

“Really?” she says too drunkenly to be sarcastic and too stupid to be joking.

“Mmm,” I say, looking away to pretend that I never made contact with her.

I watch for the waiter to possibly grab a drink when someone on stage introduces him. He comes out a little cheesy, acting like the clapping isn’t inflating his already oversized ego. The girl tugs on my arm until I look at her, “There he is.”

“Really, that’s so nice,” I respond, pulling away from her grasp and getting up from the table, heading for some peace and quiet. I find a corner area not occupied by anyone since you can’t see the stage or get anything to eat since the waiters only watch the tables. I put my feet up on the wall and lay back, pushing my hair out from under me and letting it hang over the edge of the couch thing I’m laying on.

I hate it here. I hate my job, my boyfriend and my life at the moment. I mean, I won’t give my job up because I’ve poured so much of my sweat blood and tears into getting where I’ve gotten, but I always assumed it was temporary. I was a kid fresh out of college and thought it was just a stepping stone into my next job. I never thought it would be this hard to get out of. There was no warning label on the job application.

“Who are you hiding from?”

I open my eyes and sit up, trying not to flash the guy as I do. Not only are Justin’s clothes expensive but they are short, “No one.”

He puts his hand out, “I’m Marty.”

I shake it hesitantly, “I know.”

“Of course you do, you’re Paige Jenkins.”

“Glad to see my reputation proceeds me.”

Something about him remains aloof and I’m not altogether sure that the published reports on the cuddly teddy bare he’s portrayed as is accurate. He points to the front of the stage, “How come you’re not up there with all the other girls?”

“I’m not a groupie.”

“I thought it was your job to write on stuff like this?”

My thoughts run wild with what he’s trying to do, bust me on the job or something else, “My job is to write on him, not how he performs. I was just taking a breather.”

“Don’t get defensive, I was just trying to get it strait.”

“I’m not defensive.”

“Okay,” he says sarcastically.

I glance back at the backs of people, blocking the view of anything, “How come you’re not up there?”

Marty looks back with a smile like the answer should be the most obvious one ever posed, “Do you have any idea how many shows I’ve seen? How many tours I’ve sat through and choreographed? I could probably do the singing myself at this point.”

“Maybe you should upstage him,” I quip.

“No one upstages that man. He’s a legend.”

Before I can stop myself, I let out a snort. Marty turns to me with a comical look on his face, “Not how you would classify him?”

“You want me to be honest?”

“Yes.”

“No, I don’t think he’s a legend. He’s only proven himself a real artist in the past four years. Four years. That’s how long the Spice Girls were together and people called them legends on the nineties. You only earn that real title if in twenty years people still love your music.”

“You’re obviously not swayed by his charm.”

I shake my head no and he smiles, “You’ll do okay kid.”

________________________________________________________________________

My eyes scan the packed room until I find Paige sitting at her table talking to Marty. He should know that interfering with her isn’t part of the deal. I go over steadily and lean over Paige’s shoulder, taking a sip from her glass, “Marty, you’re not telling PJ stories that I wouldn’t want printed are you?”

He raises his glass at me and smiles reassuringly, “Nothing that would unravel anything major.”

I pull the chair out next to Paige and undo the napkin around the utensils, “Good.”

My arm goes out and rests on the back of PJ’s chair, “So what did I miss?”

Trace points at Paige, “She was just telling me about the wonderful articles that were printed about me.”

“She got you too huh?”

“I turn out that lovely beauty and the beast article was her inspiration.”

My hand goes over my mouth to hide the smirk, “Masterful. No one else is that clever.”

Paige gently slides her fingers down the necklace she’s wearing, probably without knowing she’s modeling her cleavage in my dress. Nothing has ever been sexier, “Thank you, the magazine thought so too.”

“You would have been a wonderful sports agent, busting guys balls and all,” Trace says, clinking his glass with hers.

“I would have been a great many things, but yet here I am with you two.”

“You’re enjoying our company,” I add, gently pushing Paige’s hair to the other shoulder.

She doesn’t say anything as she takes a shrimp off her plate and takes a bite, “Are you almost done?”

Marty seems a little too pleased at Paige’s cool demeanor, “Yeah, I’m just going to finish up my plate.”

“Then I’m going to go the ladies room, excuse me.”

We watch Paige make her way to the bathroom as Marty whistles, “Damn. She’s really beautiful. I can’t believe she works for UCS. If I had known that I would have staked her out a long time ago.”

“Put your tongue back in your mouth,” I say, pouring myself some champagne from the bottle set on the table for me.

“I don’t know man, I think she’s too smart for you.”

“It’s not about how smart she is, we all know she’s smart. It’s about seduction which has nothing to do with logic. You just sit back and watch the show.”

Marty pauses as he moves his plate to the side, “After the few minutes I’ve been sitting here talking to her, you don’t have a chance in hell. You had better step up your game if you’re going to get her into your bed again.”

Anxiety hits me, “Why? What did she say?”

“Nothing much about you except for the fact that she doesn’t consider you a legend. She’s a real pistol. I wonder if she has any sisters,” he jokes.

“Maybe you’re just not picking up on her signals,” I counter.

He just shakes his head, “Pick up you’re game dude.”

We both shut up as Paige comes back and sits, “What did I miss?”

“Nothing worth writing down, don’t worry.”

________________________________________________________________________

I inch the car up through the lanes and lanes of traffic. Paige’s head is leaning against the glass pane and fogging it up every few seconds when she breathes. Its two thirty something and I can tell she just wants to close her eyes and go to sleep but won’t. Whether it’s because she’s not comfortable with me in the car with her I don’t know.

“You want to use my jacket as a pillow?” I ask, seeing that the position of holding her head up is not a comfortable one.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“Don’t be a martyr PJ, it’s not an attractive quality.”

She smirks and takes the leather jacket, putting it under her head, “Thanks.”

“So are we going to make conversation or what?”

“Sure,” she says turning her head to me, “what do you want to talk about?”

“Did you grow up in New York?”

She laughs, “With this blonde hair and carefree attitude? No, that would be southern California’s doing.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep, my mom’s house is right near the water so I used to surf before school most days.’

“What does your mom do for a living?”

“She’s in the pharmaceutical company. Lots of money.”

“And you’re dad?”

“I’m an in-vitro baby,” she yawns.

“Are you serious?” I asked surprised.

“Yeah, both me, my two sisters. My mom decided she was getting to the point when she wanted one and the guys she was seeing weren’t daddy material, so she went out and did something about it. Then it turned into three before she was done. Mom likes to brag that she did it before it was in vogue.”

“Wow. Do you guys all have the same father?”

Paige nods, “Yeah, she chose the same donor for all of us.”

“Did it ever bother you, not having a dad?”

She runs her fingers through her hair, “Sometimes. But I love my mom and my sisters.”

“And where do you fall in line in the birth order?”

Her hand goes up, “Baby.”

I chuckle, “I probably could have guessed that.”

“How about you? You’re parents are divorced right?”

I nod, “But their divorce wasn’t something that ever bothered me since I still see them often. It was pretty friendly.”

“That’s nice. It’s good for the kids.”

“Well I turned out normal, don’t you think?”

“Sure, if you consider everything in perspective.”

“Everything?”

“There is nothing normal about what you do, sorry to break it to you. As a person I would say you turned out fine, well adjusted even.”

“Is that a compliment PJ?”

“Take it however you feel it should be taken.”

“Will do,” I assure her. I shift gears in the car as we come to a halt once again, “So how did you and Scott get together?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles, “We met at a party for his radio show, and we fell for one another. We decided after a year that we would get engaged. Over the year we were planning the wedding, he became more distant so I called it off. He quit his job, bought out the magazine and became an editor to spend more time to me. Prove that he really loved me,” she laughs bitterly. What a fucking joke.”

I reach out and take her hand which she surprisingly doesn’t pull away. Her skin is soft as butter as it rests on mine, “You going to be okay?”

“I suppose so. Who really knows these things anyway?” she says, glancing back onto the street as the lights pass overhead slowly. But her hand remains in mine. And that’s what I will remember out of that night. Not the performance, not the girls but the fact that one jaded columnist could trust one jaded superstar, even if it was only for a moment.

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