Page 25 of Sleeper: The Palisades Edition

Actually, I should breathe in some neroli essential oil to calm down. I have been impatiently waiting for my brother to get out of here to meet up with some record producer so I can finally take a shower and…get some relief.

I’ve already started thinking about fragrance notes for Margo. I can’t believe I am now on a first-name basis with Margo Quincey. I really can’t believe she wants me to design a natural, nontoxic signature scent for her. It would be my first commission in the US, so I guess I’m happy and grateful. I checked out herwellness website, and it did not make me nauseous. I may have even liked it. Obviously this woman wants a fragrance that represents who she wants to be. As opposed to who she is. Because if I were to design a fragrance that evokes who she really is, it would smell like a phony idiot who somehow managed to get the greatest guy on earth to marry her and then fell in love with some other entitled idiot like a bitch.

I’d call it Phony Idiot Bitch. Top note: Phony. Middle note: Idiot. Base note: Bitch.

Okay, the truth is she was nice. She said she checked out my Instagram and loved it (but said she won’t follow me yet “for obvious reasons.” No, please explain to me what the reasons are. Because you’re a fancy famous actress and you don’t want your fans to see you following a commoner on IG? No, I completely get it obviously. Hopefully you’ll also understand why I won’t be following you either).

Nico has only good things to say about her. And she seems like a good, caring mother. Aside from the whole cheating on the cutest dad on earth and leaving her kids for a three-month job in Poland thing. But—if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be going to live with her amazing ex-husband and beautiful children, so... Yay Margo. Guess I’ll make her smell good.

SEVEN

WILLA

“Are you still on Sunset?”

I’m on speakerphone with Harley, who is breathing heavily because she’s on a treadmill at the gym. I think she’s been doing a walking pace this whole time—the heavy breathing is from staring at some male model who’s doing deadlifts in her eyeline. We live very different lives.

“Oh my God, yes. This street is endless. I’m actually in the Pacific Palisades now, though. Very different vibe from every other part of LA that I’ve been to so far.”

“It’s called boring rich people vibes. Make a legal U-turn ASAP and get back to the east side while you’re still cool enough for me to talk to.”

“You and I both know that I’ve never been cool enough for you to talk to.”

“True.”

“I think I might love it here. Oh, look, there’s a hardware store that’s not a Home Depot! All the buildings on this street are two floors at the most. It seems really chill, and everything’s clean and pretty!” I rolldown my window. The air is cleaner here. I can’t see the ocean, but I can feel it. People are actually walking around in this village. Willingly. Happily.

“Oh God, I’m losing you.”

“Can you hear me now?”

“Yeah, I mean I’m losing you to the Westside, and I’ve only seen you once since you got here. This is tragic.”

“I will still hang out with you. Hang on, I have to turn here. I think I’m almost at his house. I think…I think that’s Tom Hanks coming out of a Starbucks.”

“Stellar. I bet he doesn’t look half as good in compression shorts as the guy doing squats twenty feet in front me. Okay, send me pictures of the house, I need to go flirt with Mr. Leg Day before he hits the showers.”

“I’m not going to send you pictures of the house. That would probably be in violation of the nondisclosure agreement I’ll be signing.”

“Ugh. Girlfriend needs to get over herself.”

“No comment. Have fun squatting on Mr. Leg Day.”

“See now,that’sthe kind of fun you should be having in LA.”

I end the call and lift the inside of my wrist to my nostrils to inhale my homemade vanilla and amber perfume oil. I smell like a sexy, soulful bakery, and it makes me feel calm, feminine, and warm—not at all like the horny girl who pleasured herself in the shower yesterday while thinking about her poor, tired, hot-as-fuck new boss.

Now that I’m off the phone, my navigation app is telling me to turn onto a residential side street. This neighborhood is gorgeous. There are red and fuchsiabougainvillea bushes and small trees everywhere. The sky is a more vivid shade of blue here than it was downtown, and the wispy, windswept white clouds are so inviting. The houses aren’t as big and fancy as the ones I could see right off Sunset when I was driving in, but I like that. They’re built into the hills and designed to favor the views.

I love it here.

When the app tells me that my destination is on the right, I slow the truck down and my heart starts racing.

Stop it.

This is where I’m going to be living for three months?

Stop. It.