I slammed the door of his car so hard he winced, not out of concern for me but worry over the sheet metal of his precious VW Beetle. I didn’t look back as he roared off. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. I couldn’t believe my mom had screwed up my week-end plans so totally.

Staring at my front door, I felt restless. Instead of going inside, I hopped into my BMW. I didn’t have a plan for where I was going, but I just didn’t feel like being home alone.

Heading back to Sunset, I made a right, toward Beverly Hills. Catching sight of myself in my rearview mirror, I saw my overgrown eyebrows, desperately threatening to become a unibrow. With work so insane, I hadn’t had them done in a long time. I headed to Anastasia’s for a little maintenance. I didn’t have an appointment, so I plowed through fashion magazines with the dozen or so other women in the lobby of the salon. We all slyly checked out each other’s jewelry, shoes, and bags between flipping pages of last month’s Vogue. I was the only woman waiting who didn’t have a ring on her ring finger.

I checked my phone to see if Dave had called. There was nothing, but I didn’t want to talk to him anyway. I turned my cell phone off, so if Dave tried to reach me it would go straight to voice mail. My own little punishment for his nasty attitude at brunch.

The actual waxing of brows took a total of six minutes. Then the girl tried to sell me a highlight stick for the brow bone, a setting gel for my eyebrows, “to keep them in place,” and a pencil to fill in the little bald spots. I bought everything and left having dropped $140 with tip.

I walked around the corner and tried on a couple of pairs of shoes at Madison, but bought nothing. I checked my phone and Dave hadn’t called. Sure, it had only been a couple of hours, but it was weird for him to have not left me a message about our plans tonight. He’d been a dick, but now that I’d cooled down a bit from the whole thing, I could partly understand why he’d been so pissed. He’d discovered a secret that I’d kept from him. I felt bad, even a little teary; I could understand why he felt betrayed. I tried him on his cell. On the fourth ring he picked up.

“Hey, baby,” I purred, trying to forget the anger of lunch.

“Hey,” he replied flatly.

“So when are you coming over later?” I asked.

“For what?” he answered.

I thought he was joking. “You know. The Marilyn show is premiering tonight. We’re going to hang out and watch it together.”