Paris: A Memoir for Young Women in the Age of Influencers

by Paris Hilton

“Mom! Mom . . .” I was crying before she had a chance to accept the charges. This was only the second time I’d heard her voice since I was taken. “Paris, where are you? What have you done?” “Mom, please,” I sobbed. “You have no idea what’s happening here. There’s like—I got beaten up—they’re crazy—I don’t want to go to this place. Please, let me come home.” As I pleaded for my life, I could tell she didn’t believe me. “Paris, calm down. It’s all right.” “I’ll never go out again. I won’t lie. I won’t go to clubs. I hate clubs! Mom, I just want to be home. I’ll do good in school. I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be good, Mom. I’ll be good, I swear.” “Paris, calm down. It’s okay,” Mom said. “Of course, you can come home.” “Thank you.” I closed my eyes and slumped against the wall of the phone booth, desperately weary, desperately grateful. “Thank you, Mom. I’ll be so good. I promise.” “Just stay on the phone with me. Stay right there.” I was happy to do that. All I wanted was her soothing voice in my ear. “Everything’s okay, Paris. Just stay with me while we figure this out.” It’s cute how I kept forgetting that my mom is way smarter than me.