Authors: Lucinda Riley
All this was why she needed the raise on her new contract. As Gigi, she was indispensable to
The Oil Barons
and she’d wanted to negotiate aggressively. Bill, her American agent,
had urged caution. He’d said the studios were volatile, that they didn’t like actors feeling they were bigger than the show they starred in.
Cheska reached for a towel as she stepped out of the tub. She thought how ridiculous it was that the hottest TV star in Hollywood was having to penny-pinch. As she dressed, she comforted herself
that the new contract should sort out all her financial problems.
‘Come in, come in.’ Cheska waved at Bill from the sofa, as her Mexican maid showed him into the large, comfortable sitting room overlooking the pool. ‘I
can’t move, darling. I’ve just had a massage and my toes painted. Drink?’
‘Iced tea would be swell,’ Bill said to the maid.
‘Make that two,’ Cheska added as the maid left the room.
Bill walked over and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘How you doing, honey?’
Cheska smiled and stretched as he placed his briefcase on the glass coffee table and sat down. ‘Fine, just fine. So, what’s the news that’s so urgent you had to leave your wife
and kids on a Sunday?’
‘It’s about the show.’
‘Well, I gathered it would be.’ She studied Bill’s face, and saw the tension written on it. ‘Nothing’s wrong, is it, Bill?’
‘Look, the thing is, Cheska, I’m afraid the studio isn’t going to renew your contract.’
Cheska drew in her breath. At that moment the maid returned with the iced tea and they sat silently as she put the two glasses on the table then left the room.
‘You must have heard them wrong, Bill, surely?’
‘Irving called me in to see him on Friday. They, well—’ Bill paused, trying to think how to phrase it. ‘The new head of the studio is a clean-living family man, and he
wants his stars to set an example.’
‘Hold on a moment, Bill. So you’re telling me that even though the characters in
The Oil Barons
jump in and out of bed with each other on a regular basis, have illegitimate
children, drug problems and violent husbands, its stars have to live like saints? Jesus!’ Cheska shook her head then gave a bitter laugh. ‘How hypocritical can you get?’
‘I know, I know,’ Bill soothed. ‘But the show will be cleaned up in the next series. A bunch of those things you’ve just mentioned will be taken out.’
‘Along with the high ratings,’ she murmured. ‘Why the hell does he think the great American public watches the show?’
‘I agree, Cheska, and I can only say I’m real sorry you’ve been caught in the crossfire. But I’ve warned you time and again that the studio—’
‘—the studio doesn’t like its leading stars being seen in nightclubs, drinking, dancing or, in fact, having any kind of fun or life of their own,’ finished Cheska
angrily.
‘Look, let’s get real here, honey. During the past few months you’ve been late on set, you’ve forgotten your lines—’
‘I was going through a divorce, for Chrissakes!’ Cheska thumped a cushion hard and threw it on the floor. As she stared out of the window, those old, familiar feelings, the ones that
she’d hoped were a distant memory, threatened to surface. She pushed them down inside her, swallowed hard and looked back at Bill.
‘So, how does Gigi, I mean . . . ?’
It was the crucial question. If the studio had Gigi flying off into the sunset with a man, it meant there was room for a return. If not . . .
Bill took a deep breath. ‘A car crash. Dead on arrival at the hospital.’
‘I see.’
There was another long silence. Cheska struggled to keep herself under control. ‘So,’ she said eventually, ‘that’s it, then? Washed up, finished, at the age of just
thirty-four.’
‘Oh come on, you’re exaggerating,’ countered Bill. ‘The studio thinks it best if they announce that you want to leave the series of your own accord to develop various
projects. And there’s no reason why you shouldn’t move straight on to other things. I’ve already got a couple of ideas.’
Bill spoke with a confidence he didn’t feel. Bad news travelled fast on the intimate inside track of Hollywood. And Cheska had picked up a reputation as being ‘trouble’.
‘They don’t honestly expect me to let them fire me without fighting back?’ Cheska shouted.
‘Honey, really, there’s nothing you can do.’
‘I could call the
National Enquirer
and tell them what that bastard producer Irving is doing! He’s never liked me, Bill, not since he tried it on and I kneed him in the
balls. If my fans knew Gigi was being shelved by the studio, there’d be an outcry!’
Bill stifled a sigh. He’d seen this all before; stars who thought they were indispensable to both the studio and the public. In reality, both were fickle, and Gigi would soon be forgotten
as another character caught the audience’s imagination. Besides, Cheska was so difficult, always had been. Up until now, for the sake of the ratings and a percentage of the profits, both he
and the studio had been prepared to put up with her mood swings and volatility.
‘Look, Cheska. I’m afraid making a stink about this is going to do no one any good, least of all you. Think about your career. We’ll have to take it on the chin if you want any
kind of future in this town.’
‘I just can’t believe this is happening, Bill.’ Cheska rubbed her forehead, dazed with shock. ‘I mean, the show’s still high in the ratings, Gigi is the most
popular character . . . I—’ She wrung her hands. ‘Why?’
‘I’ve told you why. I understand how you feel, but we’ll just have to put this behind us and look to the future. There isn’t anything we can do about it.’
Cheska glanced at him, her eyes glinting malevolently. ‘You mean you don’t want me to do anything to hurt your cosy relationship with the studio?’
‘Now, that’s not nice, Cheska. I’ve done my best for you, you know that. I’ve gotten you some great deals in the past few years.’
‘Well, if this is your best, I think maybe the time’s come for a change. I’m calling ICM. You’re fired, Bill. Please leave.’
‘Come on now, Cheska, you don’t mean that. We’re gonna sort this out together and get you something real good.’
‘Don’t give me that baloney, Bill. You’ve got other, bigger fish to fry than me now; in your eyes, I’m a washed-up actress with a bad reputation.’
‘Cheska, don’t talk such shit!’ Bill said.
She stood up. ‘From now on I’ll deal with you through my accountant. Send all cheques to him, as usual. Goodbye, Bill.’
Bill looked at Cheska. Her chin was set at a defiant angle, her eyes were clouded with anger. He’d thought her one of the most beautiful young women he’d ever seen when she’d
first walked into his office all those years ago. And she was probably even more lovely now she’d matured. Underneath that exterior, though, she was a real screwy broad, always had been.
Paranoid about what people thought of her, believing everyone was out to get her, even when she was riding high. But then, the town was full of insecure women. Cheska was just the cream of the
crop. Bill knew he was being let off the hook, and he wasn’t sorry. He decided not to fight on.
‘Okay, Cheska, if this is what you want.’ He sighed, picked up his briefcase and walked towards the door.
‘It is.’
‘If you change your mind, let me know.’
‘I won’t. Goodbye, Bill.’
‘Good luck.’ He nodded at her and left the room.
Cheska waited until she heard the front door close. Then she sank to the floor and began screaming with rage.
Eight weeks later Cheska arrived home after her last day at the studio. There’d been champagne and a huge cake on the set afterwards, with the rest of the cast gushing
about how much they’d miss her. She’d gritted her teeth and smiled her way through the party, pretending that leaving
The Oil Barons
was
her
decision. She realised
that Bill had been right, it was the only way to salvage what was left of her pride and her career – even though she knew for certain they were all aware she’d been fired.
Whenever someone had asked her about her next project, Cheska had waved a hand nonchalantly, saying she was going to Europe for a much-needed vacation before she committed herself to anything.
The truth was there was nothing in the pipeline. She’d called all the A-grade agents in town – ICM, William Morris and so on – operations that had been desperate to represent her
a few years ago. Now, when she phoned, a secretary would take a message, but the agents never rang back.
Cheska asked her maid to bring her a glass of champagne and sank into an armchair in the sitting room. She’d begun to wonder whether she’d made a dreadful mistake when she’d
told Bill to take a hike. Should she call him? Ask him to forgive her heat-of-the-moment decision and start scouting around town for suitable roles?
No, she decided. Her pride had taken a big enough battering and she couldn’t go crawling back to him now. The only thing she could do was to set her sights a little lower, go for an
up-and-coming agent who would be glad to add a big name like her to their list.
But was a second-rate agent worse than no agent at all? Probably.
‘Shit!’ Cheska closed a hand over her temples. She had a bad headache coming on.
The maid brought her the champagne and she took a large gulp, not caring if it made her headache worse.
And, of course, there was her financial problem. She was broke – in fact, worse than broke. She owed tens of thousands of dollars. Yesterday, she’d gone to Saks to buy a dress for
her last-night party and her credit card had been refused. The assistant had rung through and returned to tell her that she was over her limit. So Cheska had written out a cheque which she knew
would almost certainly bounce and walked out, red-cheeked and fuming. When she got home she’d called her accountant and asked him to send the next cheque he received from Bill direct to her,
bypassing the bank. It would be for over twenty thousand dollars, which should see her through the next few weeks, if she was careful.
Cheska let out a wail of despair. She’d worked solidly from the age of four, and what did she have to show for it? A house that would have to be sold to pay off her debts and a wardrobe
full of designer outfits that she now had no occasion to wear. Her friends in the business, so happy to accept her hospitality in the past, had deserted her in droves during the past few weeks.
She knew why: she was on her way down – they smelt it on her like cheap perfume. There was no room in their lives for a failure. It might brush off on them.
Cheska spent the rest of the night getting very drunk and awoke the following morning on the sofa, still fully clothed.
The following week was almost intolerable.
She cancelled her masseuse, her workout coach and her hairdresser. She fired the maid and her security company, knowing she couldn’t afford to pay them at the end of the month. Her nails
became chipped, her hair hung lank around her face and she stopped getting dressed in the morning.
Her financial problems, and the boredom, were bad enough, but those dreaded feelings, the ones she’d hoped and prayed had left her forever, were starting to bubble to the surface. Her
dreams became overcrowded once more, and she woke up sweating and shaking.
Then a few days ago, she’d started hearing that familiar voice, the one that had made her do those terrible things. She hadn’t heard it since she’d left England, nearly
eighteen years ago. And other voices had joined in too. They weren’t telling her about other people this time, they were telling her about
herself
.
You’re a failure, aren’t you, Cheska? . . . A silly, no-talent little girl . . . you’ll never work again . . . nobody wants you any more, nobody loves you . . .
Cheska would move from room to room, trying to leave the voices behind, but they always came with her, never giving her a moment’s peace.
She tried banging her forehead with her fist to try and make them go away. She answered them back, shouting as loudly as they did, but the voices wouldn’t stop . . . just wouldn’t
stop.
In desperation, she’d called the doctor a couple of days ago for some strong tranquillisers, but they did nothing to calm her or stop the voices.
Cheska knew she was going off the rails. She needed help, but she didn’t know where to turn. If she told her doctor about the voices, he’d lock her away in a funny farm, like those
other doctors had when she was pregnant.
After two weeks of living hell Cheska looked in the mirror one morning and saw that she was no longer there.
‘
No! No!
Please!’
She sank to the floor. She was invisible again. Maybe she was dead already . . . she’d dreamed it often enough. What was reality? She didn’t know any more. Her head was bursting, the
voices drumming away, laughing at her.
She ran maniacally around the house, putting sheets over the mirrors that were too heavy to move and turning the rest around to face the walls. Then she sat down on the sitting-room floor,
trying to still her breathing.
Cheska knew she could go on no longer. The voices were right when they told her she had no future.
‘Somebody help me, help me, help me!’
There’s no one to help you, Cheska . . . no one. Nobody loves you, no one wants you
. . .
‘
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!
’ Cheska began banging her head rhythmically against the wall, but still her tormentors continued.
A short while later, she sat up. There was no alternative. The peace she craved could only be achieved one way.
Cheska walked slowly to her bedroom and took out the bottle from her bedside drawer. She sat on the floor and gazed at the innocuous-looking yellow spheres peering at her from behind their
glazed brown plastic screen. She wondered how many she’d have to take to make sure. She twisted the top and shook one of the pills into her palm.
The voices assailed her ears once more, but this time she laughed.
‘I can stop you!’ she cried triumphantly. ‘It’s easy, it’s so easy . . .’
She put the pill to her lips, and her tongue tasted its burning, chalky texture. Taking a glass of water from the bedside table, she swallowed it. Tipping out three more, she looked up to the
heavens, where she was sure Jonny was waiting for her.