Map to the Stars Read Online Free

Staten Island Ferry yesterday! This city is amazing. I haven’t slept at all since we’ve been here. Keep an eye out for a package. One genuine NYC snow globe on its way. Miss you!
    Love to Shelbyville,
    Me
    P.S. Tomorrow Mom and I start our new jobs with Graham Cabot . . .
    I slapped the stamp onto the corner of the postcard and set the alarm on my phone for 2:07 p.m. on Saturday afternoon. Shelbyville’s only mailman, Michael, timed his route to the minute and I knew exactly what time my postcard would flutter through the slot in Wynn’s kitchen door. I wanted to see if I could hear her scream eightstates away. I was betting on yes.
    It had been hard enough for me to keep it secret for the past few days.
    Graham Cabot.
    When Joe spilled the news that he found Mom (and, by extension, me) a gig replacing Graham’s hair and makeup artist for the press tour of his new movie, Triton , I nearly snorted cookie crumbs out my nose.
    We were talking Graham Cabot, keeper of an entire generation of young girls’ hearts. Not mine, of course. But still.
    I mean, to be honest, I’ve never really been one for the whole unrequited crush thing. I’m fairly certain I was the only girl in Miss McConnell’s fourth-grade class not carting my crustless PB&J around in a Zac Efron lunch box (Wynn had three different ones, so she could alternate designs depending on her mood).
    The idea that any of my friends tucked away in single-stoplight Shelbyville would even encounter, much less seduce and happily-ever-after with any of High School Musical ’s East High Wildcats was too preposterous to even consider. So why waste all that energy on . . . yearning. I mean, really, what was the point?
    The funny thing was that, when I first broke the news to Wynn about our move out west, she was totally convinced I was going to step off the plane and into the waiting arms of a swoon-worthy movie star. Even after I reminded her we’d be driving.
    â€œYou know what I mean,” she’d insisted.
    Only I hadn’t. I knew Mom was going to work in showbiz but I didn’t really think it would be a big part of my life. I was mostlyhoping to survive transferring schools before my senior year. Now at least I knew I’d have a killer topic for my “What I did on my summer vacation” essay.
    Apparently a lot of people in Hollywood owed Joe favors and he’d worked me in on the gig too, as Mom’s assistant. When I protested I didn’t know the first thing about hair (other than how to shampoo it and sweep it off the floor of a salon) and knew even less about makeup, he’d promised it was just a glorified title. He’d further insisted every studio-funded promotional tour was chock full of people who didn’t actually need to be there. (“If stars can bring their Scientology gurus on the road with them, you’d better believe the studio will fund your trip. Plus, they owe me,” Joe had laughed.)
    Our job with Graham was slated to be six weeks of travel that included stints in New York ( Triton US press junket), London and Paris ( Triton promotional appearances), Barcelona ( Triton opens film festival), and Venice (where else would you hold a premiere for a movie that revolved around water?). Which, for me, translated to: Chrysler Building/Empire State, Big Ben/St. Paul’s Cathedral, the pyramid at the Louvre, every Gaudí building ever built, and Palladio’s Church of the Redeemer. Architectural tour of a lifetime. I couldn’t wait and I really didn’t care whose nose I’d have to powder to go!
    So far it had not disappointed.
    Even the place where the studio put us up in New York had me mega geeking out. The Carlton Hotel, designed by famous architect David Rockwell at the pinnacle of the art deco era, was literally in the shadow of the Empire State Building. Granted, our room on thefourth floor had an unremarkable view of the office building on the other