Starlet's Web (The Starlet Series, #1) (6 page)

Franz got down on his knee in front of me and held my hand. “Marie, I know you're my boss, but you can trust me. I'm a gossip. I am. But I won't betray you. You're one of my best friends and I know I'm yours. Well, I share that role with Manny. Listen, I see everything, hear everything. I put things together. I heard about Matthew. You're right to want to destroy him. You're considering dating Byron. From the swelling around your eyes, you've been crying. I'm here for you, can support you. What you've been through is too much. I love you. Please let me help.”

I hugged him and tried so hard not to lose it. Tears fell anyway. He held me while I cried it out.

I pulled myself together. “Thanks, Franz.”

“Let's start over, my beautiful friend.” Franz handed me a cold wash cloth to wipe my tears and sooth my eyes.

After he finished reapplying my foundation, he opened the door and called in his assistants. It was time to transform. At least I had my black handbag with embroidered pineapples that could remind me of nature, peace, and home.

 

I had just spent one hour on the red carpet with Byron as my date, being ushered by bodyguards and told to whom we should greet and talk, walking from my Academy-provided limo to my seat in the auditorium with Byron kissing my cheek for the cameras and putting his arm around me any opportunity he found during the times we were together. We were finally in our seats. My feet were killing me in the silver stilettos. My gown probably weighed fifteen pounds and hurt my body from the moment Franz helped me into it. My breasts were taped to provide the right amount of cleavage and uplift. My skin itched everywhere. I was a little sweaty. My face was heavy from the makeup and the false eyelashes pulled at my eyelids. My hair was dark, long and flowing. I had a terrible headache, but I was used to that. Since just after my fourteenth birthday, I always had a headache.

As in all of the awards shows, I was acting at the Oscars, trying to show that I was not acting. TV viewers wanted to think that I was being myself, but if I were myself, I would have been inside my home, looking out the window at the peaceful view, wearing sweats and no makeup, and talking in short bursts of thought as appropriate for a teenager.  I would not be with Byron. I'd be hanging out with Manuel. Fortunately, thinking of Manuel and some of his goofier moments helped me get through the night until Evan, who I knew in advance would be the presenter, announced the nominees for Best Actress in a Leading Role.

The Academy selected the clip of my monologue in which Muse inspires the young Thomas Jefferson to look beyond building Monticello, challenge who he is, change the new world, and build the dream of a United States of America. Muse moves him to action, to dream of universal liberties, and to create a government that serves the people. Muse is passion and hope. I nailed the difficult dialogue and even cried in the scene. I was certainly convincing.

As Evan introduced the last nominee, I continued to smile, knowing the cameras were on me, but I could taste the acid in my mouth and my body shook. I whispered to Byron, “Help me.”

He quickly held my hand and smiled at me, knowing that now the cameras focused on both of us and our possible love connection. I breathed, relieved to share the pressure.

Evan announced, “And the Oscar goes to Marie Michael, Best Actress in a Leading Role.”

I sat there, certain that I did not want the honor. Who was I but some ungrateful kid who did not want the attention?

Byron gently shook the hand he held, trying to help me save face and get going. He kissed my cheek and whispered, “Marie, get it together. Get your ass up there.”

He stood up and carefully pulled me up on my feet, grinning the whole time and whispered again while he hugged me, “You're an actress, Marie. Go act.”

I composed my face, smiled, and got to the podium. Evan sensed my struggle so he met me at the top of the stairs, embraced me, and kissed my cheek. I didn't care that the audience would be confused by Evan's sweetness. I didn't care that our publicist would be mad that we ruined the charade.

He smiled at me and whispered, “You can do this,
ma Cherie
. You're my girl who totally rocks.”

His encouragement calmed me
and I took a moment to smile at him before he escorted me to the podium, tell him with my eyes that I would be stronger for both of us. I received my unwanted statuette of a naked, anatomically ambiguous actor. I had the speech my mother wrote memorized. I performed it. I smiled. I leaned on Evan and walked off the stage gracefully to where Mom was waiting for me backstage.

I quickly embraced Evan. “I love you, Evan. Screw the criticism and humiliation just to sell more seats in a theater. I've missed you.”

He let go and put his hand under my chin. “I agree and love you always but dating still doesn't make sense.” He squeezed my shoulder and let go. “I'm proud of you, sweetheart.”

I stared at him while Mom hugged me with enthusiasm.

“Oh, Marie, I'm so proud of you!” She said as she held me.

I nodded at Evan to say
au revoir
.

I whispered, “Mom, I'm going to puke…hurry.”

Mom smiled to everyone around her as she pulled me quickly to where Sage stood for the handoff. Sage pulled me into a small closet-like room and I threw up into the plastic-lined trash bag she gave me. I dropped to the floor and uncontrollably shook the statuette that was still in my fist. Sage held me in silence until she could see that I had calmed down enough for reason.

“We've arranged for you to exit quickly. Sashi will drive you back to the Muse set. Michelle and I will stay. Richard is here, of course, to represent you and his film. You did a great job. Do you think you could handle one more hour backstage?”

“I'd rather not,” I answered. “I'd rather die and go to hell.”

“I know how you feel. I was there, too, but imploded. I'm here so you won't be me. I'll fix your makeup and get you in the car. Byron will ride with you back to the set. We'll give the paparazzi what they want with you two leaving together. Look happy. Carry your Oscar proudly; smile. I'll get the Oscar for engraving right before you get into the limo.” Sage smiled at me and cleaned up the mess I had made of my face. She sprayed some breath mist into my mouth. They were definitely prepared for me to lose it.

Sage sent some texts and tied up the plastic bag of puke like it was a baby's dirty diaper. I wondered if Sage had any kids. I knew she was married. I got an email or several emails from her each day, every day. She was more than my manager, she was my crutch. I trusted her but she definitely was a professional who worked for me. We didn't confide in each other—ever. I was shocked that I never asked about her family.

“I'm sorry I don't know tons about you. Do you have kids, Sage?”

She smiled at me and then simply said, “You're my boss. I'm your employee. You have enough on your plate that you don't have to worry about me, too. I have two boys and a great husband. I love my family and my job. I will always be thankful that your dad hired me. I'm grateful that you give me every Friday afternoon off so I can pray at my mosque. And you pay me very well, thank you.”

She patted me on the shoulder and lifted me up to a standing position. I repositioned my stilettos.

“Ready?” She asked.

“Yeah.” I sighed. I was sure I could make it to the limo.

I stopped to pose with my Oscar and then Byron. I endured the gauntlet of photographers with the protection of our bodyguards. I gave the Oscar to Sage, wishing she could unzip me from the tight dress so I could breathe. I got in the limo and waited for Byron. The door closed behind him, and I felt a wave of relief flow through me.

“You did it, babe! I thought you were going to go into shock. Damn, you're one hell of an actress.” Byron put his arm around me and kissed my cheek.

I shifted away from him and removed my shoes. My feet were throbbing. “Thanks, Byron. I suffer from stage fright. I sure didn't want to win tonight. But it's good for the Muse brand, bad for the Marie Michael brand.”

“Yeah, thanks for being so awesome. I get paid $100,000 for my role in this project and then will make millions because you win the Oscar for best actress. Now everyone will see
Constantine's Muse.
You just made my career. Thanks.”

I joked, “Byron, ya know it's your agent, manager, publicist, stylist, trainer, lawyer and bartender who will get most of that.”

The mention of a bartender immediately made Byron pour himself a drink from the bar and light a cigarette. Byron was a chimney.

I really felt for him. He probably couldn't quit acting for another five years with the contracts to which he was bound, and he was a walking time bomb of self-destruction. He had no handle on the fame. He repeated the same story about himself to everyone he met and, after he was smashed an hour later, told the same story again. He probably thought people cared but would soon learn that nobody did. He'd soon learn to trust no one.

 

I fumbled through the bag left for me in the limo and found my cell phone. Dad and Celia sent a text praising me. I texted a return thanks. I called Manuel.

“Bueno,”
he answered. He and his father said
‘bueno'
instead of
‘hola'
and I never truly understood why. He said it was just a greeting and didn't mean “good” in context.

“Hey, Manuel,” I said as I closed my eyes, instantly feeling relief from hearing my best friend's voice, feeling loved.

“You did it. My mom cried, ya know. Thanks for thanking us.”

“Ugh, I wanted to die. It was excruciating.” My lungs constricted just thinking about the stress.

“Yeah, I'm sorry. I know. Just keep in mind that you did it.  You're awesome.”

“Thanks.” I sighed, ready to change the subject. “Byron and I are heading back to San Diego. So what are you going to do tonight?”

“I'm going out on a double date with Alan to some fight, I guess. Alan is paying. He got a driver so it should be an easy date.”

Alan Goldberg, my producer's son and our classmate—when I went to classes—was a compelling jerk, one of those mega rich guys who was the life of the party, knew everyone, treated girls as whores, made enormous social errors, and then apologized sincerely for being an ass. He was scrawny, only a few inches taller than me, and completely un-athletic. 

All of us had sworn off our friendship with him and yet we all somehow forgave him. Each time we forgave him, we felt like fools and the cycle continued. Now that we were seniors in high school, with the exception of me at work most of the time, we finally gave up trying to exclude him since the effort was futile anyway.

“I thought you'd never get set up again with Alan. I mean, you're on the seventh girl you thought was a slut and moved too fast for you.” I had counted.

“They are all so vacant. I just can't deal with anyone I've dated since Kate. But Alan set me up with that cute girl I like from Brentwood when I called him to get her number. Her name is Trish. She goes to the school where Beth's dad teaches. Tuition there is $32,000 per year, for a high school! That's so insane! I asked Beth's dad about her.” He sighed. “Beth and I got into a huge fight this morning. Anyway, Trish doesn't take his classes, but she's really smart and plays classical guitar and piano. She's a singer. She'll probably think I'm a total loser but I gotta try, right? So, Alan's taking Sherry since she knows her.”

My heart sank but I tried my best to sound supportive, “You're trying to impress a girl by taking her out on a Sunday night with Alan? Are you mental? Take her out to Malibu and have a stroll on the beach. Please, Manuel, don't take her out with an asshole and his slut to a fight!”

“I can't. I don't have a car. What am I gonna do? Ride the bus to Brentwood to pick her up on my bike?”

“No. Wait a second. Take my car. It's in the garage at my house,” I urged and then felt stupid for giving him the means to have a successful date.

He laughed. “You're really trying hard to get this girl to like me. Thanks, I guess, my little match-maker, but no. Alan has it all set up.”

“Well, okay. Tell me how it goes.”

“I will. I hope I like her. She's cute and smart and there sure aren't many girls like that. I figured I'd ask her to prom if we click. I'm running out of time.”

“It'd be a bummer to miss prom,” I confirmed. It was early, at the end of March, because of all the budget cuts in the public schools. The administration had to cut off several weeks of school. Every senior had to do two independent study projects to make up for the lack of education. I was worried that I'd miss prom if Byron kept messing up and delaying the schedule.

Manuel sounded shocked. “Are you going?”

“Yeah, my mom said I'd regret not going. Don't tell anyone, but I paid for renting out the Getty Mansion off the PCH for the school so we could go there—my donation this year. Alan asked me to go with him, but I figured I'd ask someone once I knew for sure that we'd wrap by then. Otherwise, I told Alan that I'll drive down that afternoon and go with his group and then come back to the set the next morning.”