Broken Glass by Arianne Richmonde

mean, no . . . but . . . well yeah, we just made out.”
    I stood tall. “But Daniel’s been with me all evening. We just arrived half an hour ago.”
    “We are talking about the same man, aren’t we? Daniel Glass, the movie director?”
    I looked across the other side of the room but couldn’t see him.
    “The guy you were just talking to five minutes ago?” she went on.
    I frowned with confusion. “That was Cal. He’s an actor. Cal Halpan.”
    “The dark-haired guy who just left in a hurry was Daniel Glass,” she said emphatically.
    “No, believe me, that was Cal Halpan. Daniel Glass is here, in another room, and he’s my date, and the guy you made out with was not Daniel Glass, I can assure you.”
    “But he told me he was Daniel Glass!”
    Everything began to fit into place. Cal must have been masquerading as Daniel and sweet-talking blond actresses into bed, or in this case, up against a wall somewhere. I got my cellphone out to show her photos on the web of Daniel, but remembered; they were few and far between, he was very private and didn’t like the limelight. I scrolled through the ones I found but none of them were close-ups—no wonder Cal had gotten away with it—both men were tall, dark and handsome. I wanted to feel furious with Cal—this was identity theft! But I couldn’t. Relief surged through me in a blissful wave, perhaps a smile was creeping across my face. Daniel had not been fucking his way around Hollywood, he’d been telling the truth!
    I punched in Cal’s number and handed Sydney my phone. “You speak to Cal. Tell him he’s been busted and his little game makes him look like a real jerk.”
    She snatched my phone but pressed the red button to end the ringtone. “No,” she said, “I think I’ve been humiliated enough—don’t want to rub salt into my wound. I just don’t get why—”
    “ Your wound? It’s Cal who should feel humiliated!” I said. “Pretty sad and pathetic, I’d say, to go around impersonating someone else, especially as he doesn’t need to. And especially when the person he’s mimicking has orchestrated a plum role for him in a TV series. What an a-hole!”
    A waiter came by, and I popped a canapé into my mouth. It was delicious. Sydney stepped closer, her breasts nestling up against my arm. “He made me do an audition for him,” she whispered conspiratorially, “for the movie, The Dark Edge of Love .” Her whisper was laced with whimsical desire. She was still into him, even after knowing he was a total fraud ?
    “What did he make you do?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
    “Put it this way . . . tomorrow I’ll have a bunch of bruises all over me, especially on my butt.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Playing Dom, was he? I’m so sorry he did that to you.” I felt badly for her, but her stupidity stunned me. I added, “The part in The Dark Edge of Love is mine, by the way—it’s not up for grabs.”
    I suddenly realized what I’d said; the part is mine . I hadn’t signed the deal yet, but I was damned if any other actress would be getting close up and personal with Daniel. The real Daniel. I still could not believe what Cal had been playing at.
    “Sydney, I’m sorry you got hoodwinked by Cal. What he did is beyond dishonorable, it’s cheap!”
    To my amazement she replied, “But I really like him, and he’s so hot, it could have been worse.”
    “Oh, okay, so I shouldn’t feel badly for you, then? Not furious on behalf of the female sex? Even after he totally lied to you?”
    Her cheeks flushed. She wasn’t a Natasha Jürgen lookalike, after all—she couldn’t have been more than twenty-two and didn’t have the poise and sophistication of Daniel’s late wife. Jake and Star had gotten the gossip wrong, this woman was one hundred percent Hollywood fodder: lacking in brain cells, although fabulous to look at. In a babelicious sort of way. No wonder men like Cal got away with behaving like this, when women like Sydney were