How had Andie ended up at the bar of some throbbing, thunderous, nameless Hollywood club that catered to the rich and famous, watching Sterling impress a throng of Hollywood A-listers with her sensuous, gyrating dance moves when she'd sworn never to see Sterling again?

Oh right.

The phone call (on her apartment phone as she hadn't had time to replace the broken cell since the Hummer incident) and the guilty threats, which went something like this:

"You're breaking up with me?" Sterling's voice had cracked, and she blew her nose. Andie felt like a piece of crap rolled in crap, then double-dipped ... in crap, which is why she was sitting on the sofa in her apartment, surrounded by the still unpacked moving boxes, eating a quart of Ben & Jerry's Oat of This Swirled.

But Andie could not think of another way to keep her friend safe from the ... OMG ... ALIENS at The Star Enquirer. Also, she was more than mad at herself for storming out of their offices before getting the camera which was solid proof of alien technology. After she left the building, Lilith wouldn't let her back. Even to get her purse.

"I wouldn't put it that way," Andie said, her mouth full of frozen, mind-numbing goodness. Of course, she wanted to drive over, hold Sterling, and tell her that will be best friends forever, and she should not cry. Andie would totally rather hang out with her pal and share the awesomeness that is Ben & Jerry's, hiding under the covers together, (so they wouldn't get caught eating a food containing sugar, carrageenan, or a modicum of flavor) like when they were kids.

But until Andie figured out how to get the microchip out of her brain, comforting Sterling wouldn't help her at all. It would only invite the enemy right into Sterling's home. "I think we need to take a break from seeing each other."

"Okay, can I tell you how many guys have said that exact sentence to me?"

"Zero, because any guy who broke up with you would be a total idiot." Andie licked the spoon and noticed her stomach wasn't as happy about the ingestion of a quart-sized container as her mouth was. Those two never got along.

"If you look 'guy' up in the dictionary, I think you'll find one of the definitions is 'total idiot.' The next thing you're going to say is 'it's you not me.'"

"That's true," said Andie.

"Aarrgghh. Best friends do not break up. I am coming over."

"No, don't do that." Andie coughed weakly. "I'm not feeling well." Which wasn't even a lie!

"Neither am I," Sterling said. "Now that my best friend is abandoning me just when I need her most. You have no idea what I've been through today. My career is ruined. But I have a plan."

Sterling's voice had a scary gleam to it. Like that time she decided they HAD TO start a YouTube Channel reenacting ghost stories on the beach at night. It all came to an untimely end when one night a jogger saw Sterling lying "dead" in the surf and called the police. They arrived with sirens blaring, and it turned out weren't amused. Sterling was devastated that no one had appreciated her convincing performance as a corpse. Except for Andie, who thought her friend did an outstanding job. Andie even pointed out that Sterling's acting "gifts" were the reason they ended up at the police station.

"Don't tell me." As Andie had no idea the extent of the microchip's abilities, she had to assume the aliens heard everything she did. The worst thing that could happen was for Sterling to confide whatever harebrained scheme she'd concocted this time."

"But I need your help."

"Look, Ster, I'm really sorry about you losing the Last Story job. But I can't help you." Don't tell me. Don't tell me.

"I'll be there in 30 minutes. Don't think about saying no, because you owe me. Who was with you when your dad got thrown into jail? Me. Who held you all those nights when the kids at school made fun of you because your dad was a convicted felon? Me. Wear something cute. We're going to that new club."

"What club?"

"The hot one. When will you learn, Andie? The exclusive, cool clubs don't have names."

"Wait, is it cool or hot?"

"Be ready."

So here she sat with her massive stomach ache, inside a techno club with throbbing walls. Dust particles danced in a frenetic display of Brownian motion. The floor shook. The laser lights flashed in weird, otherworldly color.

After the first glass of wine, Andie had the brilliant idea that it might be possible to "trick" the microchip. Surely if she were inebriated enough, the chip wouldn't be able to function correctly. Maybe if she pickled her brain, the microchip would dissolve.

At least she and Sterling were somewhere loud and public. Maybe that would screw with the microchip's transmissions. Andie already had a tremendous buzz (from one glass of Chardonnay) and was pretty sure the only impediment to utter happiness was any hint of sobriety. But Sterling was being her usual pain in the ass. Andie definitely needed to be a lot drunker.

"I need more alcohol," said Andie, doing a little spin on the barstool as Sterling approached from the dance floor, not a hair out of place, dry as a freshly laundered towel in a fabric softener commercial. Movie stars don't sweat when they don't want to.

Are you sure?" said Sterling. "You know how you get."

"Positive."

"Two more Chardonnays, Fetch." Apparently Sterling and the bartender were already on a first-name basis. That was one of the cool things about Sterling—she connected with people. She cared. Treated everyone the same. Fetch had choppy black hair with the ends dark red, as if they'd been dipped in blood, and twin cobra tattoos slinking down a jungle of red hair on each of his forearms.

Ignoring her common sense and roiling stomach, Andie asked Fetch, "do you have anything stronger?"

Finally, said Bad Andie. We can have some fun.

Honestly, hearing Bad Andie agree with one of Andie's decisions gave her some pause. But ...

"How about a Purple Madness?" Like any good bartender, Fetch had perfected the art of pitching his voice so he could be heard through earsplitting techno music.

"No. No way," said Sterling.

"What? Yes, way. Remember how happy you are that I'm here?"

"Yes," Sterling said cautiously.

"And how happy you are I quit my job."

"Yes."

"Then don't get between me and my Purple Madness."

Sterling frowned.

"Okay, said Fetch, "but you'll have to sign a release. The last guy who downed a Purple Madness ended up wearing flippers and trying to have sex with a palm tree in front of The Beverly Hills Hotel."

"Sounds perfect," Andie said. "Where do I sign?"

"Andie, I am not bailing you out of jail for having public vegetation sex."

"Is that a thing?"

"It could be. Make that two."

Andie and Sterling sipped their thirty-two-dollar Purple Madnesses, which were garnished with a plastic ice cube with a flashing light. The drink was cool and delicious and almost worth the price.

"I thought you were mad at me," said Sterling.

"I'm not mad, Ster. I know you don't believe me, but I'm trying to stay away from you for your own good."

"You sound more and more like a guy."

Speaking of guys, a man with perfectly groomed dark blonde hair wearing a grey pinstriped suit with a white French-cuffed, crisp-collared shirt underneath, sidled up to the bar next to Andie. The vent of his jacket brushed her leg, which Andie found mildly arousing. He looked familiar—sort of like Chris Pine. He smelled like, well, pine.

"Hey, Sterling," he yelled over the din, "Who's your friend? Where've you been hiding her?"

"Get away from her, Chris. She's not your type."

Andie couldn't believe it. Was this Chris Pine? Was he hitting on her? Her mouth wouldn't work. It felt like it was filled with the entire contents of a gumball machine. She had so many questions. What was it like to be on the Enterprise? To actually sit in the captain's chair? Wear the uniform? Oh, and by the way, did he know there are aliens on earth?

"Oh, yeah, what's her type?"

"Not you. That's all. Heartbreaker," said Sterling, slamming her empty glass on the bar.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said. "How many times do I have to apologize?"

"I'm not sure," said Sterling. "I'll let you know when it's enough. But it won't be anytime soon. Perhaps not even within the duration of your lifetime."

Andie sampled her memory and found a wispy recollection of a short, yet intense affair between Chris and Sterling. It hadn't ended well. At all. Then Andie recalled that Chris had a spot on the Board of Directors of Sterling's beloved charity—Ban Plastic Surgery Now! She started the charity because of losing her mom to a botched breast enhancement when Sterling was in middle school. The orphaned Sterling had moved in with Andie and her mom.

Chris captured Andie's chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. You are so beautiful. I don't know what it is about you. Would you like to dance?"

"Um ..."

Yes, yes, yes, said Bad Andie. Please!

Maybe she wanted to say yes because she'd had too much to drink, and Bad Andie was being more insistent and obnoxious than usual. Or maybe because Chris Pine was even hotter in person than in Star Trek. Plus, he seemed to like her, and he wasn't an alien!

A familiar smell crept up behind Andie. Cinnamon. No, no, no. It couldn't be. It would only confirm her worst suspicion—the microchip was some kind of tracking device. Figures. Aliens always have stupid tracking devices. And laser weaponry. Sterling was in way more danger than she knew.

"Hello, Andie," said Oliver, his hot breath on her ear. God, he smelled good. He walked in front of her. He couldn't keep his eyes off of the low-cut blouse Sterling had insisted Andie switch into instead of the ice cream-stained sweatshirt she had been wearing when Sterling kidnapped her from her apartment. "Are you okay?" He frowned at Chris and smiled at Sterling. "Hello, Miss Champagne."

"Hi," said Sterling. "You didn't tell me your boss was hot," Sterling said. OUT LOUD! Stupid Purple Madness!

"He's not. And I'm fine, Mr. Lieder," Andie slurred.

"I was about to take this gorgeous woman for a dance. If you'll excuse us," said pretend Captain Kirk.

Wait, had she said yes?

Yes, yes, yes, squawked Bad Andie.

Oliver turned toward Chris and Sterling. "I am ... was ... her boss. Oliver Lieder."

"You're not the boss of me," Andie said. "I would love to dance, Chris."

"No," said Sterling and Oliver in shocked unison.

Andie glared at them and hopped off the swivel stool. The room spun, and the floor leaped toward her head. Strong arms caught her right before what would have been a painful face plant. Oliver's arms. Andie had a strong desire to throw up. Oh no.

"I've gotta go," said Chris, probably noticing Andie's skin had turned green or maybe it was just the lights. Here's my card. Call me if you ever want to get together."

"Kay, Chris." Andie controlled her lurching stomach and watched as he sauntered off into the crowd. "Oh, Oliver? Thanks loads for saving me," Andie slurred.

"You're drunk," said Oliver.

"You're an asshole." She giggled into his chest. Yum. What am I doing? She pushed him away. The floor got all unstable again, and the room spun a few pirouettes. Andie grabbed Oliver's arms. The guy had some seriously muscular, firm biceps. "Oops, that wasn't nice." Hiccup. "Sorry. Ooh, look at his card. Why are the letters so fuzzy?" In all bold caps, it said: Chris Pine, Actor/Activist, and gave his number.

Sterling snatched the card and mangled it thoroughly as if she were a human shredder. "I'm doing you a favor," Sterling said.

Andie gulped. "Thanks," she said. "I guess."

Oliver put the shredded bits in his pocket and lifted Andie back onto her stool.

"Are you stalking me?" whispered Andie. Even though the place was noisy as a rocket during liftoff, she knew Mr. Hot Alien with his Spock-quality ears could hear her.

"Andromeda, you look lovely tonight." He gazed into her eyes, giving Andie goosebumps all down her neck and arms. Then those goosebumps got goosebumps. Then her insides melted into what was it?

A puddle of quivering need, supplied Bad Andie.

"Go away." Andie pushed against Oliver's chest. "I am not even speaking to you until you remove this goddamned microchip," she whispered. "Do you understand me? I can't live my life like this."

"We cannot do it without inflicting serious brain damage. I am truly sorry, Andromeda," he whispered.

"I hate you," said Andie. "And stop calling me that name. I'm Andie."

"Please dance with me, Andie."

"No way."

"I'll dance with you, Oliver," offered Sterling.

"What? No. You can't," said Andie.

"Why not?"

"Because he's a jerk." And an alien whose mother has a bizarre obsession with you.

And don't forget to add that he belongs to us, Bad Andie kvetched.

He does not belong to us!

"I'm used to jerks," said Sterling. "I work in Hollywood. They're all jerks, but this is the best-looking jerk I've ever seen."

"Why thank you, Miss Champagne. I do not think I have ever had such a derisive compliment. I would love to dance." He took her arm and led her onto the packed dance floor. Sterling nuzzled her gorgeous golden, copper, platinum (oh hell, add in every goddamned color of metal) curls into Oliver's neck.

Andie spun on the stool toward the bar. "One more," yelled Andie.

Fetch's face filled with horror. "Are you sure? You're not driving, are you?"

"No."

"Coming right up."

Andie sipped her second Purple Madness while she seethed at Oliver and Sterling together. People on the dance floor gave them a wide berth, only to drop their jaws in disbelief that two people could possibly be that stunning. And that says a lot because the dancers were already amongst the most beautiful people in the world. Most of them had at some point been included in People Magazine's list of the "100 Most Beautiful" or Esquire's "Sexiest Woman in the World" or at least humiliated by the Fashion Police.

Andie could have recited the U.S. Constitution, the lyrics to Stairway to Heaven, and War & Peace by the time the song ended. Oliver and Sterling made their way through the writhing bodies on the dance floor to the bar, both flaunting gigantic smiles and flirty giggles. It was disgusting.

"Andie, please don't tell me you drank another one?" said Sterling.

"Yup. I dud. I dod. I did."

"You are wasted."

"Yup." Her head floated and swirled, light as a helium balloon.

"I'm going to take you home now," said Sterling.

"I can take her," said Oliver.

"Thank you, Oliver, but I have my limo right out front."

"I hope to see you soon, Andie," Oliver said. Then he whispered into her ear, "I know you'll be back."

Arrogant asshole. "I hope to see you never," lied Andie.

Andie's stomach cramped, and she wanted to retch. "Is this a limo or a roller coaster?"

"Limo," said Sterling. "Here, hold this bag. I don't want my car to smell like barf."

"Why did you dance with him? You know he's the enemy. He works for the vile Star Enquirer."

"I know," said Sterling. "I danced with him because he's hot, and he wouldn't leave you alone. But also because I thought if he could see me as an actual person, maybe his newspaper wouldn't be so mean."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense. Or it would make sense if I could make sense, which I don't think I could at the moment. Make sense, I mean."

"I have no idea what you just said, but I need your help with something. Dawson," Sterling said to her favorite limo driver, "I'm going to talk embarrassing girl stuff with my friend. For your own safety, I'm raising the privacy screen."

"Thanks, ma'am."

"I'm too drunk to talk," said Andie.

"It's about saving my career. I have a plan, and I need your help."

Andie tried to send a subconscious message to Sterling through some drunken eye blinks, which Sterling did not pick up on. God, Andie wished she could do a good Vulcan mind-meld. "Don't tell me. Please don't." Andie put her pinkies in her ears and sang an inebriated version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

"Real mature," said Sterling. "Remember when they knew about my wrinkle before I did?"

I hear nothing. I hear nothing. Goddammit. I hear. Because they are aliens, Andie wanted to shout.

"Ster, you're the most beautiful woman on earth. People magazine said so. People for Christ's sake. Not some stupid tabloid like The Star Enquirer." And just in case Oliver was listening to her right now through the microchip, she added: "Oh, and Oliver? I bet you have a tiny man sword."

"Man sword? You are funny. And by the way, no, he doesn't," said Sterling.

"Huh?"

"Have a small, um ... man sword."

"How do you know?"

"Have you seen his hands? Anyway, enough about your drama. Let's talk about mine. There's this new experimental procedure. I need you to help me set up the appointment and take me there. You're the only one I can trust. If word gets out, I'll be ruined. I'm the damned spokesperson for Ban Plastic Surgery Now! I'll never be able to show my face in public ever again."

"Twinkle, twinkle, little wrinkle ..."

"I'm serious, Andie."

"Sterling. Stop. You can't do this."

"Yes, I can and I will. You don't understand, Andie. After this procedure, I will never get another wrinkle. My career will get back on track forever. I won't age." She lowered her voice, "the doctor is Brazilian," Sterling said as if this explained everything. I want to get it done before the Ban Plastic Surgery Now! banquet."

"Sterling," Andie tried for stern, but 'drunk stern' was not as intimidating as one might think.

"Now his work isn't exactly what you'd call FDA approved. And I want you to come with me."

"To Brazil?"

"Yes. And you have to because my wrinkle is mostly your fault."

"What?"

"You've given me two almost heart attacks this week alone."

"Not my fault. No."

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't."

"Because of the aliens."

"Andie, are you insane? Andie. Hello. Andie, are you in there? Oh my god, Andie, what's going on? Talk to me." She rolled down the privacy screen. "Dawson?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Turn around. We're going to Cedars."

"Are you all right? Should I call an ambulance?"

"It's Andie, not me. Don't call an ambulance. I think we'll get there quicker. Hold on Andie, you'll be fine."

"What's happening?" Dawson said.

"I don't know," said Sterling. "She's turning red, and she can't talk."

The limo sped up.

"Please, say something, Andie."

Andie opened the bag Sterling had given her earlier and threw up. Right before she blacked out, she realized that she needed to stop punctuating her life this way.