Beaches Read Online Free PDF

an envelope and go to sleep.
    WRITE MORE , I LOVE YOUR LETTERS . C.C. BLOOMCECILIA BLOOM CEE CEE BLOOM SEE SEE BLOOM SI SI BLUE M.
    Los Angeles, California, 1983.
    Within an hour, Cee Gee was getting out of the car at LAX . She’d asked Jake, the limo driver who usually drove her to an exercise teacher’s studio at lunchtime, to drive her home instead. While he waited, she packed and called the airlines. Shit. There were no seats available to Monterey. Not that afternoon, or that evening.
    “How ‘bout outta Burbank?” she asked.
    Why had she let her lousy secretary take the day off to go see her goddamned parents in San Diego? And there was no way she could call her pain-in-the-ass business manager to try and get the airlines to bump somebody and give the seat to her. Because then her business manager would know she was leaving town, and he’d try to stop her. She had to get on a plane. Had to. Now. She’d never tried this before, but maybe it would work.
    “Hey, this is Cee Cee Bloom, for chrissake,” she yelled into the telephone, “and I gotta get to Monterey. Today. Now.”
    “Sorry, Miss Blue,” the dumb bimbo on the other
    end of the line said. Blue. The vacuum head didn’t even get who Cee Cee was.
    “But sometimes people change their plans and don’t show up, so you could come to the airport and stand by, or-”
    “The name’s Bloom, you stupid dipshit. Bloom,” Cee Cee said, and slammed down the receiver. A cigarette. She lit a cigarette and paced. What could she do? Connections. She needed connections. Who were her connections? Cee Cee dialed the number at Burbank Studios.
    “Burbank Studios.”
    “Ray Stark,” Cee Cee said.
    “Ray Stark’s office.”
    “This is Cee Cee Bloom.”
    “He’s in Europe, Miss Bloom.”
    “I need to borrow his airplane.”
    “Why don’t I have him call you when I hear from him?”
    “When will that be?”
    “Tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
    “Thanks anyway.” Cee Cee slammed the phone down. Jesus Christ. She started to shuffle through her address book for more ideas, but finally slapped it shut in frustration. “Ahh, why not,” she thought and grabbed the small overnight suitcase she’d packed and ran down the steps.
    “Hey, Jakee,” she hollered out to the limo driver. “Let’s hit the road, pal. I’m gonna pretend I’m a real person and fly standby.”
    Jake, he was okay. She’d make him swear he’d never seen her leave CBS . Say that she’d gone out a back door and that he didn’t know where she was.
    “There’s five hundred bucks in it for you, Jake-o,” she said just as they were driving onto the San Diego Freeway going south. “Buy somethin’ for your kid.”
    “Fuck you, Cee Cee,” Jake said. “You think you have to buy my loyalty? I never saw you since I drove you in this morning at eight, even if they cut my balls off.”
    Cee Cee’s eyes filled with tears of embarrassment. Why were people so nice to her even if she was such an asshole? How could she be so stupid to offer Jake money? God, she was a klutz.
    “I’m sorry,” Cee Cee said, and she was silent for the rest of the ride. Thinking about how dumb she was. So friggin’ dumb and crass, and all the money and clothes and chauffeurs in the world couldn’t take that away.
    It took her till she was twenty-one, for chrissake, before she figured out why, when you ate in a restaurant, they put all those forks next to your plate. Who needed more than one fork? She always figured the forks were there to give you a choice of what size you liked the best. God knows Leona never taught her stuff about forks, and J.P., well he didn’t know much more than Cee Cee did. Even though he always pretended he did, the phony.
    And tipping. Christ, she never knew anything about tipping. She always gave too much or not enough, or gave it to the wrong people. Once she got off an elevator. She was with Bertie that time-where the hell were they? maybe in Hawaii-and when they