Reality Jane Read Online Free PDF Page A

Needing to check my phone every minute or so was further proof I was an industry mogul, or so I told myself.
    The sky was turning a brilliant psychedelic pink, making the sidewalks glow orange. Faces, each blessed with their very own heaven-made spotlight, took on a golden hue. The street reminded me of a scene from Some Like it Hot , with the retro hotels sitting sweetly on the boulevard and the ocean twinkling out to the horizon. Palm trees shuffled their fronds as the scent of salt air swept me away into full surreal mode. I imagined meeting my very own Mr. Hollywood.
    “Hey, babe!” the Clark Gable type would call. “You, me, dinner, and candlelight.”
    “Fiddle dee dee, naturally,” I would reply with eyelashes fluttering.
    Then I would co-star in his next movie, we would turn up at the Oscars, with me in Valentino and he in Prada, and I would enjoy a cushy ride to the top—driver, personal assistant, et al. Stranger things have happened.
    These thoughts, miles away from my day, made me giggle and I nearly began to skip when I noticed a sign jutting out from the corner of a building. Its sharp metal edges caught the slivers of light from the street lamp and made it glisten.It read: Rebecca’s.
    I stopped. The street went silent. I thought about the lounge Lucy had mentioned earlier in the evening. Could it have been Rebecca’s? What were the odds of that? Smack dab in front of me, beckoning for a peek, Santa Monica’s chillest chill lounge, the place to see and be seen in the city, and only the hippest city in the world at that. . .
    Then it hit me. “They didn’t,” I whispered. “They wouldn’t.”
    My stomach was in my throat. The only thing between me and the answer was a wall of thirty-foot timber bamboo.
    I heard the buzz of animated discourse wafting up from the patio. I imagined beautiful, chiseled women swilling mojitos while equally beautiful men lit their cigarettes and downed dry martinis.
    “This is crazy,” I said under my breath. “Keep walking.”
    I shook my head and turned away. But the pang became a wallop. I stopped again. I had to know. I had to find out if that sick feeling my body felt was there for a valid reason. Would these women who I so admired, who had befriended me, who were to be my new colleagues, bully me out of their evening? Not possible .
    I crept up to the bamboo with my fingers shaking and my breath shallow. I didn’t notice the line-up behind me, or the bouncer giving me the once-over. It was as if time had stopped. I reluctantly pushed the bamboo apart and peered into the patio: a wall of people, with so many heads and bodies that, in the dim light, I couldn’t make out the faces. I let out a deep sigh. Not there. You’re being ridiculous.
    Just as I released the bamboo, I noticed a familiar shape. Triangular. It was a bob—a shimmery, copper bob. A cold shiver ran through my body. I looked closer. There, legs crossed, arms flinging in pulsating conversation, and outfitted head-to-toe in Lucy’s garb, was Corinne. Then I saw boobs—big, fake melons tugging away at a red- and gold-striped bustier. Lucy. Then chomping away on crunchy, gourmet deep-fry. Rose. Leftovers my ass. Then long, bony fingers taking a big fat draw on a cigarette. Toni. Finally, I saw the make-up girl and Lucy’s clothing stylist. Everyone from today’s shoot was sittingcomfortably, drinking, laughing, enjoying—everyone but me.
    I felt an overwhelming urge to throw up. My body became feverish; my face turned fire-engine red. It was complete and utter disgrace.
    This isn’t happening. This isn’t real . I wondered how to reverse the day, undo whatever I’d done. What could I pull off to make them like me, to make them take it all back, to make it all better?
    Fight or cry? Fight or cry? Fight or cry? Adrenalin pumped through my body as I teetered: knock their faces in or bawl my eyes out? Tears welled up in my eye sockets, curtailing any conscious decision. I felt crushed,