Pimp

Thirty-Two

Angela was living the dream. She was helming Bust, the hottest TV show in the country, which had been nominated for nine Golden Globe Awards, including Best Television eries — Drama, and she was part of the hottest gay couple in Hollywood. Yep, Angela and Paula were an item, the last lesbian power women of Hollywood, the Ellen and Portia du jour. They’d been featured in all the major mags and had had an exclusive, invitation-only wedding back on Lesbos. She had been to rehab to get off PIMP and tearfully told her story of overcoming her addiction to Oprah. She made Oprah cry when she talked about the abuse she’d suffered from Max Fisher and the other men in her life, and how the experiences had driven her to porn and prostitution. But when Angela talked about her meteoric rise to the top of Hollywood the audience gave her a standing O and Oprah shed tears of joy. Book rights to Angela’s life story had been sold at auction to St. Martin’s Press with Paula as the ghostwriter, and a film was in development at Universal with Angela — AKA Brandi Love — executive producing.

Speaking of Love, Angela was in love with Paula, considered her her latest soul mate, but Angela also loved that she was taking a break from men, who’d caused so much havoc in her life. As Angela often told her new A-list friends, the best part about Paula was she didn’t have a dick, and without a dick you can’t get fucked.

On Golden Globes night at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, Angela and Paula were making a big splash. They’d already told the fashionistas at E! what they were wearing — Angela in Herrera and Paula in Dolce & Gabbana. Arm in arm during their entire stroll along the red carpet, they stopped for photos every few seconds and to do an interview for Ryan Seacrest. Then they posed for cast photos with Paul, Lindsay, and Colin, waved to John Stamos, Tom Hanks, and, of course, Jodie Foster, and chatted with other celebs including Jennifer Aniston and her new ex-boyfriend — both huge Bust fans — and with Robert Downey Jr. and his wife, Susan. Angela had a new movie project in development with Robby so it was all smiles but, the truth was, she was planning to dump the project in the morning. Robby was hot but not hot enough to get in on the Brandi Love bandwagon.

Angela didn’t want the night to end; she wanted the red carpet to stretch on for eternity. It was hard not to get emotional as she flashed back to the journey that had gotten her here: New Jersey, Dublin, New York, Greece, Attica, Butt Fuck Canada, London, and finally Hollywood. Her life had been like the most challenging maze in the world with so many dead ends, but she’d finally found a way out and emerged onto the red carpet of the Golden Globes. It felt a lot like destiny.

It felt a lot like destiny. Great line, she’d have to remember to remind Paula to include this in the book.

Then Paula said: “Oh my God, I can’t believe who I just saw.”

Angela was smiling for a paparazzo, maybe the image for the next cover of People, and then noticed Paula staring at something in the distance.

“Who?” Angela asked. She couldn’t see for herself, more flashes blinding her.

“It’s impossible, of course,” Paula said. “I have to be imagining it.”

“Who?” Angela asked again, hoping Paula had spotted Brad Pitt. Angela imagined convincing Brad to ditch Angelina later at the after-parties. Would Angela swing back the other way for Brad? Hell, yeah. For all her big talk, she was getting bored with being a lesbian, and writers could be depressing as hell. Besides, it was about time to reinvent herself again and fook Brangelina. Brangela had a better ring to it.

“Brad Pitt?” Angela asked.

“No...”

Angela was smiling for another photo and only turned to look after Paula said:

“...Phil Hoffman.”