The Prada Paradox Read Online Free PDF Page B

say, the second I hear her pick up.

    Lindy’s delicate laugh seeps through the line, and I picture her sitting at her desk, wire-frame glasses perched on her nose, a coffee cup within arm’s reach, and a forest’s worth of paper spread out on the desk in front of her. “You’re rich and famous,” she says dryly. “You’re not allowed to have bad days.”

    “Fuck you,” I say, but oh so politely. She laughs, of course, because she’s been my best friend since age three and knows me too well. We lived next door to each other growing up. I had the celebrity shtick. She had public school. We played at each other’s houses, our moms were friends, and when I got my Academy Award nomination, she spent her allowance to buy alcohol-free champagne and told me that if my head got too big she’d never return my Malibu Barbie.

    That sealed it. We were friends for life.

    Seriously, I love Lindy like a sister. In a business where knowing who your real friends are can feel a lot like you’re playing a real-life game ofDeal or No Deal, it’s nice to have someone who would love me even if I were serving weenies at Tail O’ the Pup.

    “So what’s up?” she asks, serious now. “Blake?”

    “Yes,” I admit. “But not the way you think. In fact, I’m not even sure what to think.”

    “You should just get back in bed with him. Not only is the man total eye candy, but he loves you. And you two were good together.”

    “Werebeing the operative word.”

    “Devi,” she says in the mom-tone she acquired after giving birth to my godchild two years ago.

    I hold up a hand to silence her, which is ridiculous since she isn’t even there. “Don’t even start,” I say, and hear her very loud silence in response. “Damn it, Lindy!”

    “What? I didn’t say a thing!”

    “I heard you thinking.”

    “You’re paranoid,” she says. “I would never think a critical thought about you. You are perfect in every way.”

    I roll my eyes and try not to snort. It’s a bad habit—I snort when I laugh. Fortunately, no one has caught that on tape yet.

    I’m reaching the end of New York Street, which means that I’m almost to the lot where I left my car. “So what do you say? Will truth, justice, and the Hollywood movie machine collapse if you take the rest of the afternoon off?”

    “They’ll survive,” she says. “My boss, I’m not so sure about.” Lindy is an attorney for Universal. Her boss, Richard, is an absentminded professor sort. He’s absolutely brilliant, but also absolutely scattered. Lindy isn’t exaggerating when she says the world as I know it might collapse if she leaves him unattended. After all, in the current state of the industry, lawyers are just as important to the movie-making process as the actors, the director, and the script.

    “So you can’t?” I am crushed. I’m suffering from severe Prada withdrawal, but shopping by yourself when you’re depressed is just pathetic. Shopping with a friend, however, is therapeutic.

    “What time?”

    “I can be there in thirty.”

    “Make it an hour. And meet me at the bar.”

    She means the bar in the Regent Beverly Wilshire, of course. Just a stone’s throw from Prada. And because she’s my best friend, she also knows thathas to be my intended destination. “Will do.”

    “And I need to get some stuff for Lucy. So let’s hit the children’s boutiques, too.”

    “Retail therapy is an adult shopping experience,” I say, but just for form.

    “Hey,” she says. “It’s for me. Those little baby capris really show off my calf muscles.”

    I tell her she’s a loon, then sign off. As I slip my phone back into my bag, I realize I’m somewhat happy. It feels nice, too. Considering that my morning started off with terror (albeit fake), then moved to frustration, anger, and complete bafflement, a little bit of friendship is just the ticket. And friendship with a martini or a Cosmopolitan would be even better. And, yes, I gave up alcohol when I gave up the pills, but I’m still going strong with the virgin variety.