The nameplate was definitely too much, she thought. The stenciled capital letters read ALANA DIERDEN in black font surrounded by the faux gold plaque. It was supposed to have been a low budget indie film, and she had asked to be treated with the same accommodations as her costars. But the cry for inattention went unheeded as evidenced by her name exclaimed across her trailer door. Come to think of it, did anyone else even have a trailer? Well, no matter, success comes at a price. Alana slipped on her Gucci SA '15 shades paired nicely with her oversized Ferragamo sunhat to protect her fragile features from the glare of the LA morning sun. Quixote wanted to shoot at an ungodly 4 AM to capture the sunrise. It was now almost 9, but Alana had run out of valium the night before and decided instead to get a morning mimosa instead of battling her eyelids for a catnap.
She'd given Lucy the day off but was regretting it immensely as she realized she still needed to send her mother a birthday card. As she passed Sunset, she glanced at a display of magazines arranged neatly in a corner kiosk. There she was, her smiling mug plastered on the cover of Elle. Of course they had sent her the edition two weeks prior along with a transcript of the interview on page 4. She made an effort to avoid looking at any other magazine covers, as advised by her shrink, Dr. Steiner. Let's just get that drink she told herself, walking briskly to her favorite cocktail lounge, La Sur.
The door was only a couple steps away, the mimosa only a couple more. Alana was so absorbed in anticipation that she didn't notice a wayward leg obstructing her path. She stumbled and thanked her lucky stars that she was sporting her ergonomical Prada pumps instead of her Louboutins. Even so, she was furious.
"Sorry sweetheart, didn't see you there- Alana?" said a voice from behind her.
Alana turned around. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. A skinny girl who looked way too young to be drinking was sitting on a lawn chair behind an opaque glass patio table. Three empty glasses, the ice not yet melted, encompassed her. The fourth was in her hand. Her eyes were concealed by black wayfarers, but Alana recognized that white pearly smile with one dimple.
***
Alana watched as Frederick stared intently at the mirror, taking great care in tweezing any stray hairs that had grown in the middle of his eyebrows.
"Frederick, why don't you let me just wax it for you?" Alana asked.
"I want it to look natural. People can always tell when you've had your eyebrows waxed." Frederick replied, still precisely trying to grab each hair at the root.
"So what? For one it hurts less. And you've been taking up the vanity for thirty minutes now!"
Frederick didn't respond, too focused on searching for any hairs he might have missed.
"I can't even see anything!" Alana yelled impatiently. "I need to do my hair and face!"
"And... done." Frederick said, switching off the vanity light. "All yours babe." He gave Alana a little smile as he sat up from the chair, which Alana returned with a scowl.
She sat down and took out her curlers. Her honey blonde hair danced around her. She started her makeup routine, powdering her face with foundation. "Zip me, would you?" she asked Frederick.
Frederick zipped the dress halfway, but suddenly stopped. Alana looked at him in the mirror to find him admiring himself and primping his gelled hair.
"Are you fucking kidding me!" Alana yelled at him. Frederick snapped out of his trance and got back to the task of zipping the black ball gown.
"You went with the white?" He asked Alana. She was coloring in her eyebrows, but stopped and turned around.
"You don't like it?" she asked him.
"Hon, I get one chance at impressing Seychelles. You, prancing around like a high class escort is not going to make me look good." He said, back to fawning over his reflection.
"What the fuck did you just say?" Alana asked, glaring back at him. Her black eyeliner made her gaze look even more fierce.
Frederick looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "Nothing honey, its just that the blue was a little classier." Alana turned around and carefully applied a crimson lipliner to the border of her lips. Frederick looked at his gorgeous girlfriend up and down and put his hands on her shoulders. "Is there something underneath that you want to show daddy?" he asked.
Alana put her makeup back in its case, switched off the vanity lights and got up in a huff. "The whole fucking night costs extra."
Frederick threw his hands up and groaned. "Ugh, baby I didn't mean it like that. You look fantastic."
But Alana was already out the door. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window of the limo. She really did look beautiful. The shimmering white strapless gown complemented her bronzed skin. Eh, I'd do me. She thought. The chauffeur opened the door and helped her slide in.
"You look lovely tonight, miss" he said, giving her a warm smile. Alana was about to respond but Frederick rushed in and threw the chauffeur a couple of twenties.
"Listen pal, we're running pretty late, mind skipping a couple of red lights?" he asked as he got in.
"I'll see what I can do." The chauffeur said as he closed the door. He ran around the car, got in the front seat and screeched off of the curb. Alana lurched forward, but regained her composure as she adjusted her center of gravity to the speeding car.
"Give me your compact."
"What?"
"Your compact. Your compact!" Frederick urged. He was desperately trying to smooth an invisible strand of hair.
"I don't see anything, you look very handsome." Alana said.
"Just give me the fucking compact!" Frederick yelled. Alana fiddled with her clutch and took out a small golden Guerlain compact mirror. Frederick turned on the car light and smoothed his hair over repeatedly. Alana rolled her eyes and looked out the window.
L.A. was beautiful at this time of night. No amount of flashing lights could compare to the sparkling glamor that was the city of angels. She gazed dreamily, thanking her lucky stars.
"Around the back please." Frederick directed. Alana saw the crowd of hungry paparazzi at the front of the club, looking for a tasty tidbit of gossip, scandal, wardrobe malfunction.
"Who's party is this anyways?" she asked Frederick, who was finally satisfied with his image. He reached out his hand to return the compact.
"I don't know, some writer's I think. Listen, if you see Seychelles, TEXT ME." Frederick implored. He held on to Alana's hand for added emphasis.
"Ok! Jesus..." Alana said, snatching her compact back into her clutch.
"And none of that. We are a happy, young couple who can't keep their hands off each other."
"Right. How could I forget." Alana rolled her eyes. Frederick ignored her quip.
The chauffeur opened the door for Frederick, who in turn opened the door for Alana giving his hand for her to take.
"Ready?"
Alana answered by taking his hand. Frederick put his arm around her waist, and they walked to the back door. The bouncer let them in to a sea of shimmering gowns and black tuxes.
"There are so many people." Alana gasped.
