Complete Me (The Stark Trilogy)

woman I noticed earlier. Her finger marks a page in her script, and she is looking my way, her brown eyes fixed unabashedly on me. I shift uncomfortably and turn sideways, trying to focus on the folio that is open in front of me.
    A moment later I hear the chair across from me scrape the floor and look up to find the woman taking a seat at my table. “I really don’t mean to be a huge pest,” she says in a voice that is crisp and precise, making me think of the Northeast and prep schools. “But it’s driving me crazy. I know you from somewhere and I can’t figure it out.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t think so.” I don’t bother to tell her that I get this a lot. It comes with the whole Golden Girl of the Tabloids thing.
    “Are you sure? You look so familiar. I’m Monica, by the way. Monica Karts.” She eyes me hopefully, then frowns. “Doesn’t ring any bells, huh?”
    “Sorry,” I say. I start to gather my things, my Polite Nikki smile on my face. My mother may have tormented me through most of my youth, but she also drilled good manners into myhead. “I probably just have one of those faces,” I say with a smile. “But it was lovely to talk to you.”
    “Oh, hell,” she says. “My agent is always telling me I come on too strong.” She pushes the chair back and moves to her table. “Sorry if I bugged you. You don’t have to leave. I need to get back to this anyway. Audition’s this afternoon.”
    “You didn’t run me off,” I lie. “I just need to get back to my office.” Just saying that gives me a little trill of pleasure.
My
office. Seriously, how cool is that? “Good luck with your audition,” I add as I gather my things, and am surprised to find that I mean it. She has a bubbly personality that reminds me of Jamie. Besides, I’m in a pretty good mood.
    Since I’m carting a flower arrangement, I decide to blow off the second coffee. I’m almost to the door when I hear Monica call out, “Jamie Archer.”
    I turn. “You know Jamie?”
    “Weren’t you at The Rooftop bar about a month ago with her? One of Garreth Todd’s parties?”
    “Yeah,” I say.
    “Well, so was I!” She says it in the kind of excited tone I’d expect if we’d both just pledged the same sorority. “So you’re a friend of Jamie’s?”
    She waves her hand in dismissal. “I barely know her. But I was at an audition with her once, and I remember seeing her there. And you, too. But I think I’m mostly remembering you from the newspapers.”
    “Great,” I say dryly.
    “That stuff they said about you was shit,” she says earnestly. “Except the part about a reality show. If that’s true you should totally take it and make as much money as you can and tell them all to go to hell.”
    I laugh, because as much as I do not want a reality show, telling them all to go to hell sounds like a grand plan.
    My phone rings, and I balance the flowers on top of the condiment bar so that I can retrieve it from my purse.
    Monica taps a fingertip on her screenplay. “I better get back to this. But I’m so glad I figured it out. Maybe I’ll see you again. I come here all the time.”
    “Sure,” I say, as I answer the call.
    “Well, Texas? Are you a proud new business owner?”
    “Evelyn! Hang on a sec.” I wave goodbye to Monica, then tuck the phone under my chin and pick the flowers back up. I use a hip to push open the door, then start off down the wide sidewalk back toward my office. “Can you believe it?” I ask. “I feel all grown up.”
    “I’m proud of you,” she says. “And I mean that in a totally non-patronizing way.”
    “In that case, thank you.” I actually preen a bit from her words. I fell in love with Evelyn Dodge the moment I met her. She’s tough and no-nonsense and says what she thinks. I’ve pretty much decided I want to be her when I grow up.
    “So tell me about the place.”
    I describe it to her in detail, then mention that Giselle is going to come by later to talk art.
    “I probably owe you an apology for that,” she says. “I know she’s not high on your list these days, but she seemed pretty intent on making it up to you.”
    “No, no,” I say. “It’s fine. I’ve got my jealousy all reined in, and I know she feels bad about what happened.” To be honest, I can’t help but wonder if she didn’t let the truth about the painting slip to someone else who then shot off their mouth to a reporter. I don’t mention my theory to Evelyn, though,