Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva (2 page)

“Calysta, you look amazing,” said Shannen Lassiter, a costar and rare friend from the show, seated next to me.

Shannen played Dr. Justine Lashaway, sexy resident colonoscopy specialist, pediatrician, gynecologist, neurologist, popular obstetrician, podiatrist, and occasional veterinarian for the fictional citizens of suburban Whitehaven, Montana, on
R&R
.

Shannen’s character was perpetually in a three-way tryst that relentlessly included Phillip McQueen (ex–Otis DuFail,
Our Lives to Contend,
now Barrett Fink
, The Rich and the Ruthless),
a Pierce Brosnan wannabe. A diva in his own right and theater scholar from Pepperell University
in Maine, he was once the legendary better half of daytime’s hottest gay super-couple and winner of the coveted Sudsy Crier of the Year Award earlier that evening. The gold-dipped statuette rested on his wife Pinkey’s plump lap.

“Thanks, Shannen.” My Rolfed-Boot-Camp-Pilates-Workout body was poured into a stunning strapless peach b. Michael gown emphasizing my derriere, décolletage, and clavicles. My soap critic pal Mitch Morelli had arranged for Jacques St. Jacques, jeweler to the stars, to drape me in half a million dollars’ worth of dazzling borrowed diamonds for the evening. The only drawback was the jeweler’s henchmen following me everywhere.

Shannen would also no doubt make the Best Dressed lists in all the magazines, looking radiant in a ruffled emerald green Moschino Couture, her hair with a teased Brigitte Bardot bump at the crown of her head.

Mr. Barringer had defied strict orders from his doctors and wife, Katherine, by coming to the Sudsy Awards on what was surely going to be a night we’d never forget. After growing weary of seeing me overlooked year after year, Augustus had come out of semi-retirement specifically to pen a Sudsy-Award-winning storyline for his protégée.

Ruby Stargazer’s beloved daughter, Jade, the product of a crossover dalliance with Thrust Addington, who starred on
The Daring and the Damned,
Augustus Barringer’s number two soap, was kidnapped by Ruby’s archnemesis, deranged scientist Uranus Winterberry.

And in case you missed that episode, let me tell you, I peed all over that scene, I truly did, delivering the monologue of a lifetime as armed gunmen held me at bay while Uranus Winterberry ordered Jade dropped into an active volcano. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but it was one for the soap opera record books. Matter of fact, I won a Silver Star in
Soap Suds Digest
that week!

Even my jealous costars secretly agreed over mojitos at a pre-Sudsy
luncheon at the Barringer Bel Air compound earlier in the week that I wouldn’t be leaving the Kodak Theatre without a Sudsy in hand, though most of them did whatever they could to prevent it from happening.

“I’ll see you in the pressroom and I’m taking out a full-page ad in
Variety
, Calysta,” Augustus said proudly. “You are to
The Rich and the Ruthless
what De Beers is to diamonds.”

“Ugh, it’s disgusting the way he gushes over her,” huffed Alison Fairchild Roberts, the sour, aging leading lady on
The Rich and the Ruthless,
to her husband,
R&R
’s greedy co-executive producer Randall Roberts. She was wrapped head to toe in pleated gold lamé with a hideous matching cape, resembling Nacho Libre on acid. Mercifully, she left the turban at home and had her hair in a “Pebbles” updo. I must say the costume made a great reflector on the red carpet. Alison and Randall were seated in the row behind us, bookended by Drew and contestants from the show
The Biggest Loser
.

“The last thing I need is for Augustus to hear you bad-mouthing Calysta on her big night. I’ll never hear the end of it!” Randall said.

It was no secret among
The Rich and the Ruthless
cast and crew that Augustus favored me. Many speculated that it was more than a professional relationship, and I let them gossip themselves to death. Whatever was between Augustus and me, you can best believe I’d be taking it to my grave.

From the moment I auditioned for Mr. B in 1994, for a role I hadn’t been right for, we both knew we had more than a soap opera between us. In two words, we clicked. Augustus quickly created a new role, that of feisty Ruby Stargazer, tailored for me after I confided a bit about my background. Our bond was forever sealed. And on the day I signed my first three-year contract, Augustus shared his favorite Brian Tracy quote with me: “All the people and situations of your life have only the meaning you give them . . . and, when you change your thinking, you change your life, sometimes in seconds.” Mr. B quickly became the paternal
figure I’d never had, making more than sure that my needs were met on and off the set. I never could’ve afforded the down payment for my Malibu home if it weren’t for him.

The only way to repay him was through hard work. So I decided not to take my growing concerns about
R&R
to the titan. I understood how his from-another-era thinking made him oblivious to change.

I picked my battles and those I battled with, namely, Edith Norman, president of daytime television for the World Broadcast Company network, and her co-conspirator, Randall Roberts. Unfortunately, I could watch molasses go uphill in the dead of winter faster than I could get them to change any of their antiquated ways.

“You do realize if Calysta wins tonight she’ll be even more full of herself,” Alison shot to her husband, pursing her thin lips.

“Shh,” Randall snapped, holding his manicured index up for emphasis.

“Don’t shush me. It’s bad enough Obama won. I can only imagine—”

“Keep your voice down,” Randall scolded.

I spied the conniving pair in my Dior compact as I powdered my nose and checked my lipstick, preparing for my close-up.

Shannen looked back, scanning to the last row, where her scowling husband, Roger Cabott, washed-up hardscrabble lead actor on
Obsessions
, the campy half-hour supernatural soap, dead last in the Nielsens, was seated with his lackluster cast. Married or not, all soap stars were ordered by their networks to sit with their own shows.

Shannen smiled, waving hopefully, her Verdura pavé diamond cuff reflecting the buttery chandelier lighting. Roger looked at his younger wife before glowering forward.

“What a gorgeous bracelet,” I remarked, snapping my compact shut, sliding it into my Jimmy Choo evening clutch.

“Roger gave it to me when we were first married and he was making
lots of money on
Our Lives to Contend
. I’ve kept it in the vault, but I think this will be the last time I’ll be seen wearing it,” she said, wistfully tearing up. “It’s a mortgage payment.”

Shannen met her Svengali-like husband years ago at a Hugh Hefner party, where she’d been serving as a hostess. Secretly, I wondered if she sometimes regretted not choosing the star quarterback of the Baltimore Ravens, signed to a “fifty million dollars over six years” contract, who’d been infatuated with her.

“Girl, don’t cry, you’re gonna mess up your makeup.”

A powder-room break later, the conspicuous Jacques St. Jacques henchmen in tow, fearing I’d gnawed off a diamond or two in the stall, Shannen and I teetered back down the aisle on four-inch Christian Louboutins and Giuseppe Zanottis, where I spotted the other two black actresses in daytime and waved. Though my feet were screaming for mercy, I knew suffering for fashion was a diva
must
and pretended they belonged to someone else, grateful for the magic of adrenaline, fame, and a potential Sudsy Award. I vamped on.

Of course we took the long way back to our seats, tap-dancing in front of Ellen, giving her a wink and an overexaggerated smile, hoping she’d invite us on her show. She was still looking for George Clooney, rumored to be a surprise Sudsy presenter and a closeted soap fan of Susan Lucci.

The plush vermilion chairs were a refuge for our tortured, pinched pigs.

“I swear, Calysta, I thought Roger was going to haul off and clobber me, I’ve never seen him so mad. He called us ‘self-obsessed morons’ and complained that our ‘stupid show’ gets to sit front-row center almost every year, while he has to sit ‘damn near the lobby with the friggin’ fans.’ Plus everyone knows
Obsessions
is getting canceled.”

The Rich and the Ruthless
, number one for the past fourteen seasons, always got prime real estate. We bubblers took full advantage too, nestling our tightened and lifted derrieres into plenty of camera chairs. But what
we detested almost as much as being on the “D” list with Hollywood casting directors was taking on the additional expense of a limousine whether we were nominated or not. The WBC network was too strapped and too cheap to pick up the tab. I decided to be my own chauffeur and kept the five hundred smackers in my bailed-out bank account.

Coked-out, oversexed teen heartthrob Toby Gorman, a Brad Pitt lookalike, climbed onstage clad in a double-breasted John Varvatos slim suit. Toby played the on-again, off-again love interest of my TV daughter, Jade, on
R&R.
Southern belle Josie Lynn Walraven, leading lady on the low-rated sudser
Obsessions
, wobbled onstage with him to announce the Sudsy Award for Best Lead Actress in a Daytime Serial.

Cameras zeroed in on all five nominated actresses: Judith Simmons, doe-eyed lead actress on
Our Lives to Contend
, nominated for seventeen Sudsys, winning eight; underappreciated soap legend Shelly Montenegro, the catty, drag-queen-esque gay icon on
The Daring and the Damned
;
Lesley Francine, who to much fanfare had reprised her legendary role as America’s soap opera sweetheart for six weeks on
Medical Clinic
; scenery chewer Emmy Abernathy, a three-time Sudsy winner as Gina Chiccetelli on
The Rich and the Ruthless;
and finally me, Calysta Jeffries, the favorite to win for my portrayal of Ruby Stargazer.

Too excited to breathe and feeling butterflies in my stomach, I closed my eyes laden with two pairs of false eyelashes, trying to think positive thoughts.
Here goes everything.

“And the Sudsy goes to,” Josie drawled for effect. She was actually from Hoboken, New Jersey. “Emmy Abernathy for Gina Chiccetelli,
The Rich and the Ruthless
!”

The room erupted in a mixture of applause and shocked gasps as the voice-over commentator announced, “This is Emmy Abernathy’s fourth Sudsy win.”

The haunting theme music for
The Rich and the Ruthless
played softly in the background.

I sat there transfixed, in shock again, my eyelashes feeling twice their
weight, teeth gleaming, yet on the inside something irrevocably broken.

Leaning in, Augustus said, “I’m so sorry.”
R&R
’s creator had to appear gracious, so he stood up in his elegant Armani suit, along with his wife, Katherine, daughter, Veronica, and son, Auggie Jr., to greet Emmy before she passed.

“Congratulations, Emmy.”

“Oh my
gawd
thank you, Mr. Barringer,” Emmy exclaimed as Augustus kissed her on the cheek. The press whore accidentally-on-purpose stepped on my toe with her big-ass 10½ foot as she made her way up the steps to the stage. Wearing a cheap crimson see-thru dress so tight it looked like an Oscar Mayer weiner casing, and no panties as usual, Emmy enthusiastically waved and blew kisses to the mezzanine.

Phillip McQueen whispered disgustedly to a bored Pinkey, “That’s what I call putting perfume on a pig.”

Roughly grabbing the Sudsy from a stoned Toby, Emmy proceeded to the microphone.

“I never expected to win
again
.”

Breathe, girl
, I told myself, suppressing the urge to stick my finger down my throat.

“I don’t even have a speech prepared.”

Seconds later Emmy plucked a crumpled piece of paper from her hoisted cleavage and read, “Oh my
gawd
this is
truly
amazing. First, I just want to thank L. Ron Hubbard. And I have to pause to say I
cannot
believe here I am once again on the
same stage
that stars like Helen Mirren, Hilary Swank, and, you know . . . um, the first African American to win, Halle Berry, all accepted
their
Oscars. Oh,
wow
, and they like all begin with ‘H’! And before I forget I want to do a shout-out to all my
homies
in Bed-Stuy-do-or-die
. Holler!
Now, I would like to say thank you to all the fabulous women I had the honor of being nominated with. No, you didn’t win, I did, but that doesn’t mean you guys aren’t really, really good actresses too in your own right, especially my costar and dear,
dear
friend, Calysta Jeffries! God bless Emmy Abernathy!”

Narcissistic Emmy had no idea she’d just blessed herself. I struggled to maintain my composure, as the camera zoomed in close enough to count my nostril hairs.

“Calysta, this award, my award, is for you too. Thanks for being such a phenomenal screen partner this past year
.
You were in
every
one of the scenes I submitted for Sudsy consideration. I seriously wouldn’t have been able to snag another one of these babies without you. You really raised the bar.”

Shannen cupped her hand over her mouth and asked, “Didn’t you tell me your Grandma Jones said liars run the risk of being struck by lightning?”

“Yeah, that’s why there’s nothin’ but silicone and cheese up there,” I replied out the side of my mouth.

Edith Norman and everyone at
The Rich and the Ruthless
knew how Emmy really felt about me. She’d been furious when she learned she’d be sharing tube time with someone she secretly envied more than despised. Girlfriend had to be on her game to play with me.

There were two things Emmy and I had in common, unhappy childhoods and a soap opera. She was a tough New Yorker, daughter of a crack addict, who fought like hell for everything she wanted, and so did I. Truth be told, I actually got a kick out of acting with the muffin-eatin’ heifer. But after the word “Cut” all bets were off.

A
RICH AND THE RUTHLESS
OFFICE FLASHBACK
. . .