Map to the Stars Read Online Free PDF Page B

down in the paneled hallway. Finally Mom made a weird “Oomph”noise and pressed the button to summon the elevator again.
    â€œYou’re going to march straight up there and go whole hog on an apology.”
    Before I could even compose my rebuttal, she amended: “No, scratch that. It’s probably better if you stay here until things have had a chance to blow over a little. I’m going to go up there and see how bad the damage is. Let’s find out if you’ve actually managed to beat our record firing time.”
    The elevator doors slid open with a tasteful ding and Mom fired a disgusted look over her shoulder as she stepped on. For my part, I stomped off to our room, maneuvering my way around suitcases and plopping facedown on my bed. I focused on trying to identify the different city sounds outside my window, which helped me calm down a little, but I was still way too steamed to consider resuming my nap.
    Revenge. That’s what was on my mind.
    I mean, fine, the guy held our paychecks and LA future in his hands, so it’s not like I could actually carry out any of my fantasies, not like I had it in me to seriously do anything anyway. But just daydreaming about sending room service doused in cayenne pepper to His Highness made me feel a little better. Thinking about the inconveniences that would arise from tweeting his current location and the name he booked his room under (Peter Parker? Really, dude?) to all 26,595,901 of his Twitter followers? Even better.
    Mom was totally defrosted by the time she came back to the room three hours (THREE FREAKING HOURS!) later. I’d had time toread my entire Illustrated Guide to London Art and Architecture , assuming with each passing minute that Mom had managed to defuse the bomb and our trip to London was still on. After all, as we knew oh so well, it didn’t take three hours to fire someone. However, I didn’t expect her to be downright giddy when she tripped into the room, chuckling at some private joke.
    â€œYou know, honey, I have to say, I think you got Graham pegged all wrong. He was completely adorable with me. We all had a good laugh once I was able to explain the whole situation. He wanted me to assure you he has no hard feelings and he’s looking forward to meeting you properly.”
    â€œYou all had a good laugh? He has no hard feelings? Well, that’s great, Mom. Just great. What about my hard feelings?”
    â€œBabe, I really think you may be the one blowing this out of proportion. You have to put yourself in Graham’s shoes for a minute. Who knows all the crackpots he must have to deal with. You’ve heard those crazy stalker stories. Remember that group last year that got arrested for breaking into movie stars’ houses as part of some pledging ritual? I mean, imagine you’re minding your own business, not causing anyone any harm, and just because you happen to have a household name, you get on a list like that.”
    I was not swayed. “Poor baby movie star. It must be sooo rough to be him. I’ll bet it just sucks so much when his chauffeur forgets to pick up his nonfat, no foam, no water, six pump, extra hot chai latte.” I placed my palm against my forehead and pretended to swoon, flopping onto my bed. “Oh, and can you even imagine how horrible itmust be when the surround sound system breaks down and there’s no way to watch the VMAs on the hundred-and-six-inch flat screen?”
    â€œSarcasm is very unbecoming, Annie,” said my mother with a shrug, reaching across me for the TV remote. “To be honest, I’m a little surprised at you. I don’t understand why you’re letting this perfect stranger get you so worked up.”
    â€œBecause, Mom. You should have seen the way he looked at me. Like I was a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe. He was so . . . so . . . smug . I just don’t get why people in Hollywood think they’re so much better