The Bachelorette Party Read Online Free PDF

Grandma Davis was legally blind. A compliment from her was always questionable. “Denise, my goodness, you’ve put on weight.” Maybe not so blind.
    “I’m six months pregnant, Grandma.”
    “But you just got married—one, two”—she counted it out on her fingers—“five months ago.”
    Zadie whisked Grandma over to the buffet before she had time to hear Denise’s response. “Grandma, how’re you feeling?” Grandma had taken a mighty spill last year and was still in physical therapy. She’d been watching a Ginger Rogers movie and insisted on following along in her living room. Ginger was thirty in the movie. Grandma was eighty. And a little drunk at the time, quite frankly.
    “I’m fine. It was no big deal.”
    “It was a broken hip, Grandma. That’s a big deal.”
    “If Chester had been there, I’d never have fallen.”
    “Well, I’m sure Grampa Chester would’ve been there if he wasn’t—you know—dead.”
    Grandma Davis took Zadie’s face in her hands. “See what happens to women who’re alone, Zadie? This is why you have to find a man.”
    Right at the moment that Zadie was ready to clock Grandma Davis in the jaw, Grey swooped over, saving the day. “Grandma, look at you!” He gave her a twirl, letting her skirt billow. “Are you sure you’re not here to steal me away from Helen?” Grandma Davis squealed with laughter as Grey steered her toward the meat tray, giving Zadie an I’ll-be-back-as-soon-as-I-get-some-prosciutto-in-this-woman look.
    As Zadie waited, she saw her parents walk in the door. Now the night was complete. She’d been unsuccessfully avoiding them
since her “wedding” day. All they wanted to do was smother her with compassion, but their own disappointment seeped through so abundantly that it made Zadie want to cry each time she looked at them. Like she’d let them down somehow by being the girl that Jack didn’t want to marry.
    Her parents lived in Ventura, where Zadie had grown up. A two-hour drive from this fine restaurant. Dad was a balding CPA who watched NASCAR on the weekends. Mom was an insurance adjuster who did at least fifteen crossword puzzles a day and never missed a manicure. A stable, steady life for a stable, steady couple. Married for thirty-seven years. No concept whatsoever of what it was like for a single girl in L.A. trying to find a man who doesn’t want to fuck actresses.
    If you took a survey among those in the know, Los Angeles would surely be voted the worst place in the world to be a single woman, Zadie felt. Every prom queen and head cheerleader from every shit town in America comes to L.A. to be discovered. Talented or not. And when they instead discover that every other girl with a fast metabolism and clear skin has moved to said locale for the same reason, they are forced to take jobs making soy lattes or folding sweaters at the Beverly Center while they wait for The Man. The Man can come in many forms—a casting director, a modeling scout, Hugh Hefner, or a short, squat Persian dude with lots of money to blow. The girls without morals are easily corrupted—doing porn in the Valley, spending six months with the Sultan of Brunei as a “hostess,” or simply sitting around a West L.A. apartment, waiting for The Man who pays the rent to come have sex with them once a week while his wife is getting her bikini wax. Sometimes dreams of stardom are easily traded in for a steady flow of cash.
    The ambitious beauties are harder to nail. Unless you’re in The Industry. The men in The Industry are able to entice the young lovelies with promises of connections. “Hey, baby, I can introduce you to my friend Dave. He’s directing a movie for New Line next month.” Connections are hard to get, so if Balding Bob
knows Director Dave and Pretty Polly wants to be a star, Balding Bob is gonna get some tail. Broken down into its simplest terms—men who would kill to fuck you in Topeka are able to fuck the hottest girls in Los Angeles. So any