Like frat boys, the group of forty- and fiftysomething men nudged each other and laughed at the thought of a wild Chinese sex partner.

“Just don’t look at their teeth,” Brian added. “Communist dentists obviously aren’t well versed in cosmetic dentistry. I like them best when their mouths are full of something; namely, me!” Again a big laugh. He was grinning so broadly I could see his entire mouth of capped teeth. They were Chiclet teeth, and his smile looked like an even row of tombstones.

I saw Troy leaning against the guesthouse wall with his arm above the head of Jennifer Aniston. He was bending in close and they were having an intense conversation. Their body language was a little intimate, but I was sure they were talking about the problem on the film. I was thinking about moving in for a closer vantage point to maybe catch what they were talking about when a voice startled me.

“So have you donated to her fund-raiser yet?”

I jerked around, feeling a little busted for staring at Troy and Jennifer, but happy that someone was finally talking to me. The voice belonged to a man I guessed was in his late forties or early fifties; it was hard to tell in Hollywood. He was weaving back and forth a little, waving an amber-colored drink on ice.

“Not yet. It’s for an environmental thing?” I squeaked.

“Yeah, Miranda Robinson is this big anti-fossil-fuel proponent.

She drives her hybrid SUV all over Brentwood crying about air and the damage we’re doing to our planet.” He was a little slurry at this point and his drink was sloshing precariously in his hand.

I recognized this man now: He was a director who did something good a long time ago and now only directed movies for the studio his wife ran. I didn’t see the wife anywhere. He inched closer to me.

“So she drives the hybrid like she’s making a difference, but she insists on flying privately on the studio’s G4 whenever they go to their house on Cape Cod. She’s probably using a hundred times the fuel for that trip than she would have if she had been driving a Jeep Cherokee for a decade.”

“Wow,” I said.

“Fucking cunt,” he said under his breath. His eyes focused on me probably for the first time and he took a step closer. I could smell his Boozy Breath. Hearing BB using the C-word was my cue to leave.

“Oh my God! Rachel! There you are!” I exclaimed, waving to someone over his shoulder. “Rachel, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” I scolded. “Excuse me,” I said to BB. Instantly I was moving past his shoulder toward my imaginary friend. This conversation would not have ended well. I headed inside to find the ladies’ room.