Based On A True Story

I pull out the bathroom mirrors so that I can see myself in 3-D.I look okay , I tell myself.I look fine . After all, it's just a casual dinner at a local French restaurant with some friends. One of whom is my ex-boyfriend. Who just happens to be married to one of the biggest movie stars in the world-

What if the paparazzi is there? I wouldn't want to embarrass my friends and family by being photographed with frizzy hair. I really am a very considerate girl.

I must go get my hair blown out. Letting my hair dry naturally and frizz ever so slightly is okay for an evening at home with my fiancé who already gave me a ring and asked my father for permission and all that-he's already stuck with me-but it just won't cut it for dinner at Pastis with a real, live movie star.

And anyway, it's really not all that uncommon to get your hair professionally done. I heard once that Marilyn Monroe used to wash and set her hair up to three times a day when she was on a movie set. I mean, if Marilyn Monroe in her heyday had to constantly wash and set her hair, what hope do we normal gals have, anyway?

Oh please! As if you wouldn't get your hair washed and blown out if you were going out to dinner with your ex-boyfriend and his movie-star wife!

From: «Brooke Miller»

To: «Jack Solomon» ‹ [email protected] ›

Subject: Re: Re: Re: tonight

on second thought, why don't you pick me up at the cheap hair place on the corner of lex and 62nd? i want to get gorgeous for you….

Brooke Miller

Sent from my wireless handheld

From: «Jack Solomon» ‹ [email protected] ›

To: «Brooke Miller»

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: tonight

of course you do.

Jack Solomon

Gilson, Hecht and Trattner

425 Park Avenue

11th Floor

New York, New York 10022

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Perfect! I have just enough time to change into my newest little black dress, get to the hair place and get my hair washed and blown out straight. And maybe if there's time I can get a manicure. And have my make-up done, too. But only if there's time.

What? I wouldn't want to keep the paparazzi waiting.

Chapter Two

“You had your make-up done, too?” my fiancé, Jack, asks as I slide into the Town Car. “How much did getting ready for this dinner set you back?”

“I just wanted to look beautiful for you,” I say, giving him a peck on the lips.

“Well,” he says, “I’m just glad to see that this has nothing to do with the fact that we’re having dinner with your ex-boyfriend and his movie-star wife.”

“No,” I say, laughing, “of course not!”

“Yes,” he says, putting his hand on my leg, “of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re down in the Meatpacking District, pulling up to Pastis. Ah, Pastis-a restaurant which would be considered a casual French bistro if it was not for the fact that it is a huge celebrity hangout and has a three month waiting list for a reservation.

The second my foot hits the cobblestone street, I hear my ex-boyfriend, Trip, call out my name. He and his wife, Ava, are already ensconced at one of the outside tables. Getting a reservation at Pastis is hard enough, but getting an outside table is nearly impossible. Of course, within the first five minutes of conversation, Trip drops the fact that this is their regular table.

You know those celebrities who go out to restaurants at odd hours and take tables in the corner, facing inside, desperate not to be seen or recognized? Trip and Ava are not those kind of celebrities.

“So, I said to DiCaprio,” Trip says, making no effort at all to lower his voice, reveling in the fact that this causes all of the nearby tables to turn and look at him, “if you don’t do it, you’re insane!” To which he and Ava laugh hysterically and Jack and I merely smile politely.

Eating with Trip and Ava is incredibly difficult. Every so often, you see the flash of a bulb go off and you just know that a papparrazo somewhere out there has just taken your picture. You feel the constant glare of camera phones on you as you try to take a bite of your steak sandwich. I’m desperately trying to eat in an attractive way, which is no easy feat, I assure you.

I guess this is why Ava is so thin.

“That crazy DiCaprio,” Jack says in a Scottish accent.

Okay, so you remember the funny story about Trip’s wedding? Just your typical girl-gets-invited-to-her-ex- boyfriend’s-wedding-only-to-be-broken-up-with-by-her-awful-cad-of-a-Scottish-boyfriend-mere-minutes-before- the-wedding-forcing-girl-to-drag-her-best-friend-Jack-in-his-place-and-make-him-wear-a-kilt-and-speak-with-a- Scottish-accent-in-a-desperate-attempt-to-keep-her-dignity-ever-so-slightly-intact sort of story. Well, Trip kinda, sorta still doesn’t know that Jack was posing as Douglas. So they still think Jack is Douglas. Which means he still has to fake the accent.

And I have to pretend that that day was perfectly normal, that I was just like any other woman who goes to her ex’s wedding. Okay, so I understand that most women don’t get invited to their ex-boyfriend’s weddings. And I realize that most women don’t RSVP “yes” to their ex-boyfriend’s weddings because they are dating gorgeous hunky Scotsmen and they want to show up to their exes. And, okay, most women, when then broken up with by their hunky Scotsmen, don’t recruit their friends to take his place and pretend to be him. And pretend to be engaged to said faux-Scotsman. But, then again, I’m not most girls.

And therein lies my charm. I think. I’m pretty sure Jack told me that once. Or at least I think he did. Didn’t he? Anyway, the point is, I’m not most girls. And Jack, luckily for me, is not most guys.

And I’m lucky that he’s not. Since going to Trip’s wedding as a fake couple, Jack and I have actually become a real couple. Which was an easy transition since we were the best of friends before the wedding. It just took a trip to LA and seeing Jack in a kilt for me to realize that he was the one for me. And now that I have, I have no intention of ever going back to being just friends again. Because Jack is amazing. As evidenced by the fact that he’s dressed up as a Scotsman once again, phony accent and all, just to save my pride. And he even remembered to bring me the fake engagement ring I wore to Trip’s wedding, which I swapped out for my real one when Jack picked me up in the cab.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. How can she go on like this? It’s easy, really. You see, I don’t plan to see Trip and Ava ever again after tonight. And, I’m sure, after having to feign a Scottish accent for an entire evening, by tomorrow, Jack will be of a similar mind. Maybe even later tonight. We’re only here in the first place to be polite (that, and the fact that I was unsuccessful in dodging Trip’s calls. He had his assistant call me seven times. Yes,