Girls on Film by Zoey Dean Page A

…” Anna stopped. But she knew she was being ridiculous. Susan’s problems were hardly state secrets. So
what
if it was personal family information?
    I am not my mother
, Anna reminded herself.
    “My sister, Susan, has had some problems lately. With alcohol.”
    “Welcome her to Los Angeles—she’ll fit right in.”
    “But Cammie and Dee are such party girls …”
    Adam nodded. “I see your point.”
    “So it’s okay with you if—?”
    “Sure,” Adam said. “Hey, maybe your sister will want to come meet Bowser. But I have to warn you, he’s a one-woman dog. And his heart already belongs to you.”
    But when they got to the hotel, Susan wasn’t in her room, and the valet reported that her car wasn’t in the lot. Anna tried to convince herself that she didn’t mind. She’d spend a little time with Adam, take the dog for a walk up in the canyon, and then go home and work on her screenplay. Maybe she’d even e-mail it over to Sam for notes. Susan could take care of herself.
    Probably.

Retail Therapy
    A t that moment Susan was with Cammie Sheppard at the Beverly Center, a multiple-story upscale mall in West Hollywood. They were on an impromptu shopping expedition. True, the Beverly Center had its share of tacky chain-store outlets, but there were also some more-than-decent boutiques, and the mall attracted visitors from all over the world. Cammie and her friends considered it a spectator sport to watch tourists
ooh
and
aah
as they wandered from shop to shop.
    Cammie believed in retail therapy. She knew it was a cliché, but what better way to forget about her own problems than to acquire something—or somethings—new to wear? That Anna was unhappy about Cammie befriending Susan made the shopping expedition that much more delicious. That Ben and Anna were no longer Ben and Anna was only a small comfort. The humiliation she’d endured on New Year’s Eve, when she’d done everything but give Ben a lap dance to try and get him back, wasn’t likely to go away so easily. Simply put, Anna had screwed Cammie by screwing Ben. And Cammie couldn’t forgive that.
    “Oh, try this on, Susan. It’ll look great on you!” They were in the Betsey Johnson boutique, where Cammie held up a stretchy, low-cut black net top with four inches of fringe that began just under the bust.
    “Black is my color, but the fringe is kind of tacky,” Susan mused. So far, she hadn’t seen a thing that appealed to her.
    “You’re going for a kind of rich-girl biker-chick thing, right?” Cammie pawed through another rack of tops and held up a hot pink camisole. “You sure you don’t do color?”
    Susan shrugged, touching a purple minidress with the middle cut out. “It’s all just too …
colorful
.”
    “Then
this
is perfect,” Cammie decreed, thrusting a slinky jet-black top at Susan. Susan took it and thoughtfully held it up against herself, then frowned. “I don’t even have to try it on; it’s too small.” She groaned. “God, I’m a size eight.”
    “You sound like my friend Sam,” Cammie said, oozing sincerity. “Don’t you think it’s important for us women to be more accepting of our bodies? You shouldn’t dis yourself like that.”
    “Rehab carbs,” Susan said, sighing. “I always look like a pig when I get out.”
    Cammie gave God a mental high five. How lucky could she get? Anna’s sister had just finished with rehab? Life was looking better and better all the time. “Oh God, I know just what you mean,” she agreed. “I gained like eight pounds
my
last time in.”
    “No shit, you were in rehab?”
    Cammie tried to look contrite. “I don’t like it to get around, but yeah.”
    “I just did Hazelden. Where were you?”
    “Sierra Vista,” Cammie said, automatically naming the Arizona rehabilitation facility where her father had ordered so many of his clients to go and dry out.
    “Wow. I hear it’s rugged there. What was your thing?”
    “What wasn’t? Sex, drugs, alcohol,” Cammie