Free Hollywood Punch by Brenda Janowitz Page A

just like any other casual dinner with friends. Even if one is an ex-boyfriend and the other is his Oscar-nominated wife. In fact, I specifically didn’t think twice about what I would wear tonight because I’m so above such petty jealousies.
    And now, as I sit here at my desk, mere hours away from tonight’s dinner, only one thing pops to mind: what the hell was I thinking? Clearly, this morning I was delusional. I’m having dinner with a movie star, for the love of God! I must go home immediately and change.

    From:             “Brooke Miller” < [email protected] >
    To:                  “Jack Solomon” < [email protected] >
    Subject:         Re: tonight

    running home to change before dinner. want to look cute for you! pick me up at the apartment instead of the office tonight? love you.
    Brooke Miller
    Sent from my wireless handheld

    I race out of my office and hop into a taxi cab. As I give the driver my address, my BlackBerry begins to buzz.

    From:             “Jack Solomon” < [email protected] >
    To:                  “Brooke Miller” < [email protected] >
    Subject:         Re: Re: tonight

    Love you, too.
    Jack Solomon
    Gilson, Hecht and Trattner
    425 Park Avenue
    11 th Floor
    New York, New York 10022

    *****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE*****
    The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht & Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance.
    I can barely contain my smile as the cab lurches uptown and we arrive at my apartment building. I just know that the second Jack picks me up in a cab, he’ll flash his baby blue eyes at me and say, “I am the luckiest man in the world. Never leave me, Brooke, for without you, I would surely die,” or something as equally heartfelt and romantic.
    I rush up to my apartment, turn on the radio and march into the bathroom. That’s it—freshening up with a little “getting ready” music will put me in a good mood. The radio begins to blast an old Madonna song from the 80s and I dance around the bathroom, mood lightening. After all, when Madonna tells you to “get up and dance and sing,” you listen.
    Throwing my head upside down, I give it a few good shakes. Flipping my hair back and standing upright, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Ever since I cut eight and a half inches off of my signature locks, I’ve also taken to wearing my hair with more of its natural curl in it. This past summer, I even let it dry naturally on days that I wasn’t appearing in court (for those days, I resorted to my old tried and true classic bun), and with the Indian Summer we were having this September, I’m still doing the same.
    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 happens to be one of the biggest movie stars in the world. Who is married to my ex-boyfriend.
    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.
    What if the paparazzi is there? I wouldn’t want to embarrass my friends and family by being