Page 24 of Pieces of Ash

The Hollywood Matchmaker, Chanel Harris-Briggs—side note, WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF NAME IS THAT?—wants to set me up on a date with the guy from the limo. His name is Mosher, and he’s loaded. IF I AGREE, he’ll send his FUCKING JET for me on Saturday, so we can have dinner in NEW FUCKING YORK.

IF I FUCKING AGREE? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

SURE, I say. I’D BE DELIGHTED TO DINE WITH MISTER MOSHER.

ROWMAN, she says. MOSHER ROWMAN.

GREAT, I say. SATURDAY IT IS.

So she tells me about how a limo will pick me up at four o’clock, we’ll be dining in Manhattan at nine, and I’ll be home in LA the next morning on the red-eye.

MR. ROWMAN IS HAPPY TO SEND OVER A NANNY FOR THE CHILD, says Chanel FUCKING Hairy-Tits.

But the kid would rather have Gus be her babysitter because she likes his gay ass way better than she’s ever liked me, so I say NO THANKS, IT’S COVERED.

I hang up the phone, and I have to admit that maybe Mam was right.

GOOD THINGS HAPPEN TO PEOPLE WHO DON’T DESERVE THEM.

I just might have found myself a fucking sugar daddy, just in the nick of fucking time.

Tig

XXXXXXX

Day #11 of THE NEW YOU!

Dear Diary,

FUCK.

FUCK FUCK FUCK.

What am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do?

I’m at the Hillendale Treatment Center in Irvington, New York. I got here today. How? FUCK! Buckle up. Here’s how.

Remember the guy from Rodeo Drive? The old guy who I went to New York to meet? That was two weeks ago and a fuckload has happened since then.

He asked me to marry him that night. On our first date.

I figure he’s fucking around, so I said, OKAY.

I mean, everything had gone according to schedule. His jet had picked me up at LAX. A helicopter flew me from Newark toManhattan. I walked into the swankiest restaurant in town only to find out he’d rented out the wine cellar.

Caviar? Yes, please. Champagne? Don’t mind if I do. Filet mignon? My favorite.

And get this—he doesn’t lay a hand on me the whole time. Pulls out my chair. Buys me dinner. Doesn’t say much, and no, he’s not exactly a looker, but fuck, it’s like being on vacation.

He’s drinking his wine at one point, but he pauses and looks at me over the rim of his glass.

I WANT TO MARRY YOU, TEAGAN, he says. I’LL GIVE YOU FIVE MILLION TO BE MY WIFE.

Thinking he’s kidding, I shrug and say, OKAY.

THAT’S SETTLED, THEN. WE’LL BE MARRIED IN TWO WEEKS.

That was when I realized he was serious. Like, totally,100% serious.