“Bitch!” she spat petulantly at the TV. “She must be eighty years old,” she said out loud, as Alex had in the waiting room. There was something about seeing people you knew on television that made you want to speak to them. And there was a lot she would have liked to say to Coop. She had seen him put an arm around Rita and lean close to her and whisper in her ear. Rita Waverly was laughing at something he said, as the cameras moved off to another star sitting nearby.
Charlene left half a dozen messages for him, and was seething when she finally reached him on his cell phone at 2 A.M.
“Where the hell are you, Coop?” She sounded halfway between a tantrum and tears.
“And good evening to you too, my dear.” He sounded calm and undisturbed.
“I'm at home in bed, where are you?” He knew what she was upset about. It had been predictable, but unavoidable. Not in a million years would he have taken her to an event as highly publicized as the Golden Globes. As far as he was concerned, their relationship wasn't serious or important enough to warrant publicity. Besides which, being seen with Rita Waverly did him a great deal more good. He enjoyed Charlene, and others like her, immensely but privately. He had no desire whatsoever to show her off to the world. But he assumed correctly that she had seen him on TV.
“Is Rita Waverly with you?” she asked, a tone of hysteria creeping into her voice. She was going to turn ugly soon, Coop knew. Those kinds of inquiries always encouraged him to move along quickly to the next candidate on his list. Beautiful or not, Charlene's moment in the sun was almost up. There were always others waiting for him in the wings. It was time to turn the corner again.
“Of course not. Why would Rita be here?” He sounded innocent, and was.
“You looked like you were going to fuck her any minute when I saw you on TV.” The time had come.
“Let's not be rude,” he said, as though speaking to a naughty child who had just attempted to stomp on his foot. When in doubt, Coop always removed himself, or stomped first. But he had no need to do that to Charlene. He knew that all he had to do was quietly disappear. “It was a very boring ordeal,” he said with a well-staged yawn. “It always is. It's work, my dear.”
“So where is she?” she asked. She'd drunk almost an entire bottle of wine as she tried to reach him all night. But quite reasonably he had turned his cell phone off at the awards, and had forgotten to turn it on again until he got home.
“Who?” He genuinely had no idea who she meant. She sounded more than a little drunk. She'd gotten upset waiting to talk to him.
“Rita!” Charlene said insistently.
“I have no idea where she is. In her own bed, I assume. And I, dear lady, am going to sleep. I have an early call tomorrow for a commercial. I'm not as young as you. I need my sleep.”
“The hell you do. If I were there, we'd be up all night, and you know it.”
“Yes,” he smiled, “I'm sure we would, which is why you're not here. We both need some sleep.”
“Why don't I come over now?” she asked, slurring her words. She was sounding even drunker than she had at first, and she was still drinking while they talked.
“I'm tired, Charlene. And you sound under the weather too. Why don't we let it go for tonight.” Boredom had crept into his voice.
“I'm coming over.”
“No, you're not,” he said, sounding firm.
“I'll climb over the gate.”
“The security patrol would pick you up, which would be embarrassing for you. Let's both get some sleep and talk about it tomorrow,” he said gently. He didn't want to get into a fight with her, especially if she was drunk and upset. He was smarter than that.
“Talk about what tomorrow? Are you cheating on me with Rita Waverly?”
