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perfect cocktail. Let’s see. I looked in the refrigerator and grabbed a pitcher of lemonade and a bowl offresh mint. Only in L.A. would you find fresh mint in the refrigerator. I added a splash of cranberry juice to the lemonade to make it pink, then put it with ice, white rum, and mint in a cocktail shaker. I muddled it, shook it, and poured it over ice, topped it with club soda, garnished it with a lemon and a lime, and handed it to Tony.
    “Here you go,” I said. “It’s a pink lemonade mojito.”
    He took a drink. “Hey, this is really good,” he said.
    “Thanks,” I said. “I just made it up.”
    “That looks great, what is that?” asked Susan. I had been so absorbed in mixing that I hadn’t heard her come up behind me.
    “It’s a pink lemonade mojito,” I said, cooly. “Do you want one?” Secretly, I was thrilled that she wanted something I was making—something I’d invented.
    “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
    I made her one, then started making another one.
    “This is really good,” she said. “It’s not too sweet. Perfect. Donna, come here!”
    Before I knew it, I was making the drink for everyone, and I loved that they loved my invention. People filled up the kitchen. When Brooke came over, I handed her one, too. “Wow, this is great,” she said. “They should be paying you.”
    “Nobody’s tipped me yet,” I complained.
    “They should! Here,” she said, pulling a $20 bill out of her purse.
    “Ha ha.” But I took it. I was totally broke.
    Brett came up behind her. She looked at me, embarrassed, and slapped his hand away. “Stop it, I told you I’m with someone ,” she said, but she couldn’t help giggling. I decided not to mention to her handsome but thwarted suitor that “someone” was my father, just in case Brooke’s resolve was actually foreplay.
    Brooke turned away, arguing with Brett about something (probably her honor, or lack thereof), and for the first time in almost an hour, nobody was asking me for a drink, so I slipped out of the kitchen and wandered around the dazzling house. Then an arm holding a drink appeared from behind me. I turned and took the vodka martini from Tony.
    “I see you’re admiring the house,” he said. “One of my former producers lives here. We met on the set of Murder, Inc. ”
    I did a double take. “You were in Murder, Inc. ?” It wasn’t the greatest movie ever made, but I’d actually seen it, and suddenly I realized I’d seen him in it, too. “Oh my god! Now I know who you are. No wonder those girls were impressed with you.”
    He shrugged. “Are you a professional bartender or do you just play one on TV?”
    “So now you’re going to ask me what I do for a living?”
    “I didn’t ask before because I just assumed actress, and I was hoping you weren’t one. I get so tired of actresses.”
    “I happen to be getting a job on Hollywood & Highland ,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “And it’s not an acting job.” I said it with pride.
    “Network TV, huh?” he said. “Yeah, TV’s OK. So, do you want to check out the upstairs?”
    “I guess.” I had no intention of sleeping with him, no matter how much I drank or how much X I did. I’d intentionally not shaved and worn hideous granny panties to ensure that. My bikini line was a chia pet. And I wasn’t about to give up that much power this soon. Still, I wanted to see the bedrooms. We climbed the polished wooden staircase and peeked into the spacious rooms with windows overlooking the canyon. Everything was so perfect, I found it hard to believe anybody actually lived here. It looked like a magazine home. Of course, they would have a team of housekeepers.
    A few of the bedrooms had people in them, but we found an empty one. I walked over to the window and looked out. “Nice pool,” I said. I turned around and Tony was pulling out a bag of coke.
    “Want some?” he said.
    “Um… OK,” I said. What the hell. The Ecstasy had worn off and I could use