Before Elizabeth could say another word, I went back to my apartment, phoning Charlize the moment I got inside.
He answered with, “Morning, sugar.”
“I have a question for my LA expert.”
“Talk to me.”
“When you have the tiniest bit of fame—I’m talking miniscule amounts, like myself—does everyone and their mother come out of the woodwork and want something from you?” I slumped into the couch, kicking my feet onto the coffee table. “I just got cornered in the laundry room by a not-so-nice girlfriend who would have given her soul for an i********: plug. P.S. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”
“One, don’t ever walk out the door until those suckers are polished and minty. And two, yes. Be prepared to hear it all. People have zero shame in their game.”
“Ugh.” I buried my head in the fluf
