Page 79 of Fame and Obsession
Lifting my head off the drool-soaked pillow, I narrow my eyes. “Vagina what..? Ugh, you know what, never mind. I’m too exhausted to care.”
“You are in serious breach of roommate code here, Pheebs.” Pouting, he rests his tablet on his lap while reaching toward my nightstand.
“Breach? About what?” I grumble, silently wondering how much puke a standard pillowcase could hold.
I feel like hell. Now I remember why I hate champagne.
“You drink from the holy grail and refuse to spill the deets? Shame on you.”
Grunting in frustration, I sit up with my back to him. “I don’t want to talk about it, all right? I did something really stupid and… Wait, what the…? Are you brushing my hair?”
With an exaggerated sigh, Gage hooks his forearm across my chest and hauls me closer to him. “Baby doll, I don’t know what kind of Holiday Inn, Kama Sutra, Twister game you and Long Rock Dong played last night, but your hair looks like every pigeon in Central Park has nested in it. Somebody’s gotta fix this fucktastery.”
“Fine, but just watch the—ouch, shit!” My head jerks back, then slingshots forward as he hit a tangle. “Watch the knots.”
“By the way, I called Castemano this morning and told him you had a stomach virus so you wouldn’t be in today.”
“Castellano.”
“Like it matters,” he scoffs.
Shit. I haven’t even thought about work. In the aftermath of last night’s epic mistake, I slept through my alarm.
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“Of course you do.” He’s quiet for a few moments, and I purposely keep my mouth shut, hoping his silence means he’ll stop trying to drag all the sordid details of my tryst with Julian out of me.
I think I’m in the clear when he drops the anvil.
“If you aren’t going to spill about last night, then I guess I’ll have to read about the pre-show like everyone else.”
I freeze. Visions of paparazzi capturing anything from last night sends me into full panic mode. “What are you talking about?”
Gage’s devilish grin widens as he hands me his tablet. He taps the screen, illuminating a webite. “Now, I’m not one to gossip, Pheebs...”
“Of course not,” I say wryly.
“But being the distinguished actor that I am, I do like to keep up with said gossip. Especially if said gossip pertains to me,” he notes, pointing to the screen in my hands. “However, this time, it seems as if said gossip pertains to one raven-haired, compulsive kitchen cleaner who likes to suck face in front of photogs.”
I feel all the color drain from my face.
Lordess of the Lyre—CONFIRMED!
For Never Was a Story of More Woe Than That of Julian At a Hotel In SoHo
Lady Lyre disciples, it’s time to don the mourning black. BD received confirmation and pictorial evidence last night: Julian Bale is officially off the market. According to a red carpet interview, the lucky lady is the girl from our earlier blog post outside the Ralston Media building. Her name is Phoebe Ryan, an editorial writer for Vinyl magazine. BD is still digging up the goods on this beauty, but don’t fret, friends. We shall deliver.
From the bird’s eye view BD had at the Ralston Media Anniversary Gala last night, these two were hot and heavy in the twinkle bushes of the Jameson Hotel. We mean that literally and figuratively, people. Check out the pic we snapped of Phulian tangled up in the tinsel of the palm trees. We, here at BD, don’t like to speculate, but these two lovebirds hit the elevators fairly quickly after that—and they weren’t using their lips for talking.
What say you about our newly crowned king and queen of the Lyre? Yay or nay for Phulian? Comment below and watch for updates. These two have to come up for air sometime.
You’d better believe we’re watching—everything.
Gage leans over my shoulder and peers at the screen while shaking his head. The weight of his stare just adds to the millions around the world who are judging me.
“You have your own celebrity couple name! Phuuuulian,” he drawls with a grin.
“Gage, this picture is scandalous,” I insist. “Not to mention inaccurate. I fell, and my dress tore. When Julian caught me, I accidentally knocked him into the palm tree.” Sort of… “It was totally innocent.” Not really…
