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as excitement at finally having the attention of the head of the Belles. That’s right, Dr. Amy Childs. Dreams do come true!
    “Amy? It’s me! Lissy Ryder!” I attempt to hug her and she kind of just stands there. “Long time no see, huh? Listen, I read about all your success—congratulations! I have to know how you’re managing your busy, busy life. And I have to wonder if, with all that you do, you’re really making the time to build your brand. Now, this is just a suggestion, but what I’d like to see is someone—maybe me—pitching you for a recurring spot on WGN’s morning show as a health and beauty expert, with an eye toward eventually parlaying that into a gig on Today or GMA . But not CBS This Morning , because, really, who watches that?”
    Amy just stands there in what must be rapt attention, so I continue. Not surprised, of course. I really am at my best in front of an audience.
    “With an eye toward the future, the way I see you maximizing your brand and, of course, your revenue, is to come out with a line of cosmeceuticals. I mean, quality stuff with antioxidants and hyaluronic acids and placentas and shit. I think manufacturers can produce eye creams without blinding bunnies and monkeys now, if that’s a concern, but that’s a few steps down the road. And then you could get a celebrity endorsement from someone like—and I’m just spitballing here—Oprah, and I’m telling you, your product would be behind the counter in fine department stores around the globe! Isn’t that exciting?”
    Clearly Amy is so excited she’s speechless, so I press on.
    “We could call the line Childslike, because that harkens to baby-soft skin, right? If this sounds good to you—and I suspect it does—why don’t we sit down this week and figure out how the right publicity campaign can put you on the road to fulfilling your wildest dreams. Sound good?”
    Finally, Amy speaks.
    “That is unbelievable.”
    I reply, “I know, right? So exciting! So many possibilities!”
    Amy’s face is very serious. “No. Not exciting. Unbelievable. That you have the nerve to stand here and speak to me like we’re peers, like we’re friends , after what you and your asshole minions did to me. You know, they all apologized eventually, but you? You just blithely went about your senior year, cheering at games and running student council and driving around in your fucking hot-pink convertible like you didn’t have a fucking care in the fucking world, like your casual cruelty didn’t almost destroy me. So, no, Lissy fucking Ryder, I don’t think your little plan ‘sounds good’; nor will I be ‘sitting down’ with you. Ever. Now, if you want to do me a favor, if you really care about me and how I’m ‘managing everything,’ you can get out of my way and never dare to speak to me again.”
    I let her words sink in while I struggle for the appropriate response.
    Lissy 2.0 must have left the building, because I suddenly hear myself shouting, “Maybe we should talk when you’re not having your period. Hey . . . hey ! If you were a proper plastic surgeon, you’d have better aim! ”
    I stomp to the ladies’ room to blot off the club soda she threw at me. Well, no wonder I didn’t like her back then. I hope Oprah realizes exactly how volatile her stupid neighbor is.
    I dry off fairly quickly—I suspect the Spanx possess water-wicking properties—and I smooth escaped bits of hair back into my chignon. Then I apply a fresh coat of MAC Lipglass in Desire to remind myself of my purpose here tonight. As I’m tossing the tube back into my (actually, Mamma’s) sparkly lemon-slice Judith Leiber bag, I recognize another face in the mirror.
    “Brooks? Brooks Paddy?” I ask. Yes! Brooks is here! In her RSVP she said she might be needed on set for rewrites, since her show’s back from hiatus, but she made it. Excellent. Maybe I’ll just exchange some pleasantries and warm her up before I begin to talk about