I was tempted; I won’t deny it. After working so hard for so many weeks, the idea of a magic pill giving me the energy to complete the shoot was enticing. I just wasn’t that kind of girl. I didn’t need a pill; I needed sleep, and I knew that.
My mother had put our family into the midst of the public eye when I was only ten years old. She had me auditioning for plays, commercials, and movies. One thing my mom never allowed from me though was excuses. If I agreed to take a part, then I had to give it my all, no matter what.
“No Doctor. I’ll have a production assistant grab me some fresh pressed juice, and I’ll be fine. I’m sorry. I’ve just been running on too little sleep.”
His threats were the motivation I needed to push through the rest of our shoot that day, and six hours later, I was climbing into my bed for some much-needed sleep. I missed my bed and hadn’t had the chance to sleep in it for weeks while we were on set in the desert. I didn’t do drugs; I didn’t drink alcohol much either, and I wasn’t about to start partying again. After filming my family reality T.V. show for five years, I was done with all the crazy partying. I was lucky enough to land the best agent in L.A., and I knew if I listened to him, I was going to make it in Hollywood.
Partying and drinking had made for great reality television. The problem was I had spent five years in the spotlight and had nothing to show for it. I wanted a lifelong career, not just a few fleeting years in reality television, and I knew enough to know that partying wasn’t going to get me to the goals I wanted. At twenty-eight years old, I wasn’t going to be entertaining on television as a reality star unless I kept up the wild lifestyle, and I didn’t want that.
My hope was I would be able to build that long-lasting career I had dreamed about since I was younger. I never really liked the reality show and had only done it to appease my mother. If it would have been up to me, I would have gone into movies as a child.
When my phone wouldn’t stop ringing the next morning, I reluctantly answered it. No one ever called me that much, except for my mother. In her mind, it was perfectly normal to call someone multiple times until they finally answered your call. If for some reason I didn’t answer my phone, she was known for sending the police to my home to do a welfare check..
“Darling, can you come over and visit today. The camera crew would like to get a few sound bites from you,” my mother said in her fake motherly voice which was a combination of high pitch and perfect pronunciation of each syllable; that’s how I knew she was currently being filmed. She was never that nice to me when the cameras were off, and I had learned over the years to make sure our big conversations happened in front of the camera, so I could get my way.
“Sure Mom. I’ll be right over,” I replied in my chipper reality girl voice.
There was no use refusing my mother’s requests. It was easiest just to oblige her and get it over with. For years, she had worked as my agent and did a pretty good job of it, but I was so relieved to have made the break from her and finally be out on my own. Hopefully, I’d be able to totally get out of the reality show business within the next year or so, but for the time being, I was still involved when I had time.
One of the areas my mother had pushed me to pursue was starting my own businesses. Although I hadn’t been interested during my partying years, I had gotten to work recently and felt like I was actually building a pretty strong empire of my own. My makeup line was growing in popularity, and people really seemed to like the quality too. If I managed everything right, I could have a lifelong side business going on too.
After managing to get eight hours of sleep in one night, I felt pretty refreshed as I pulled into the driveway to my mother’s house. I knew the camera crew would be filming me as I arrived; I knew this drill inside and out. I smiled and walked with perfect posture as I entered our family home; my mother would make me redo it if she didn’t like how I walked into the house. No one likes someone who slouches, my mother would say if she ever saw film footage of my bad posture.
My family home was anything but ordinary. With our years in the reality spotlight, my mother had spent millions trying to keep our home at the top of the latest trends. Nothing was ever good enough for her and I knew that. The entry way was three stories tall and had an elaborate new chandelier adorning it. The piece was more like artwork than lighting and had cost my mother nearly five million dollars. But my new home wasn’t suitable for filming so I still showed up to my mother’s house when she needed me in front of the camera.
“Mom, I’m here,” I hollered like I always did when I arrived. It was just like a taped sitcom. Me yelling from the million dollar entryway and my mother pretending to care that I had actually come over.
“Angelina, oh, sweetheart, it’s so good to see you,” Mother said in her high pitch voice, as she gave me a fake kiss on the cheek and hugged me without messing up her makeup. “I was wondering if you wanted to come with us to pick out the new trees for the backyard landscaping?”
My mother had just landscaped the backyard the previous year, but it had been done during our off-season from filming. Now she was going to do the whole thing again purely for the ratings. Everything in her life was about the television show ratings. Sometimes I actually felt bad for her because she had so much wrapped up in the television show and me and my sister. It would be nice for her to have a man again and a life of her own.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mom, I’ve got a meeting with my agent this morning,” I said relieved that I wouldn’t have to come with her.
“When is your meeting with Jeremy Link?” she asked. I hated when she used his whole name on camera; it sounded totally fake. But my mom insisted on giving the people she liked as much air time as possible. She once told me that it was a way of getting in their good graces in case we ever needed a favor.
Everything was calculated when it came to my mother. Yes, deep down, I knew she loved me. But it was really deep down. She loved the fame much more than she loved my sister and I. It was all either of us had known, though. Our father passed away when we were younger, and our mother did her best to provide us and make sure we had the best life possible.
“I’m heading over there now.”
“Okay, darling. I know you are so busy with all your endorsement deals and movies. I’ll get your sister to come and help me.”
Her fake smile was plastered across her face. It was a bit scary to look at because it was actually devoid of emotion, and I wondered if the crew knew just how fake we were both being at that moment. But that was my mom. For better or worse, she was mine, and I still loved her. I knew she only did the things she did in an effort to make our lives better. The problem was that her idea of a good life and mine were starting to diverge, and I wasn’t sure how to handle that separation yet.
I was twenty-eight years old now and over the idea of my mother controlling my life. I loved her, and I would support her and the things she wanted to do, but I needed my own hopes and dreams; I was tired of living hers. I was tired of reality television and ready to make a life for myself. It was going to be a lot of work convincing people that I was a real actress, but that was alright with me. I could work hard; that had never been an issue for me.
After saying our fake goodbyes, I headed to my agent’s office to talk with him. Jeremy Link was indeed the top agent in L.A., and I wanted to follow all the courses of actions he had plotted out to get me my movie career, yet I had to communicate with him how totally exhausted I was. It wasn’t serving anyone if I was grumpy and hard to work with because I was sleep deprived.
The paparazzi followed me from my family’s home to my agent’s office. I was an easy target that day. They knew my family well and had full access to my mother; she loved it when we were in the tabloids. To her, tabloids were some of the best free press there was.
“Hey guys,” I said as I got out of my car and walked toward my agent’s office.
The small group of paparazzi that followed me to my agent’s house were dedicated. They wer
e a mix of men and women, but all had made this their career. As much as I would have loved to ignore them, I needed them just as much as they needed me. Their pictures and stories were a driving force behind my career, so I put on my smile and pause so they could get a good picture.
“Angelina, is it true you broke up with your boyfriend?” one of the paparazzi asked.
“Which boyfriend?” I playfully responded as I avoided answering the question and went into the building. “I don’t remember having a boyfriend.”
Luckily, I had learned how to expertly handle the paparazzi over the last few years, and they didn’t annoy me nearly as much as they had in the past. They had a job to do, and I could appreciate that.
“Angie, how are you?” Jeremy said as he greeted me at the door to his office; I hated when he called me Angie, it was one of my biggest pet peeves
For some reason, people always took it upon themselves to shorten my name and call me Angie. Even when I clarified with them that I didn’t like to be called Angie, people still did it. It was just another way that I felt people didn’t really value me.
“I’m tired Jeremy. We need to talk. I’ve got to get some sleep or I’m going to do horribly in my film shoots.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
Jeremy was short, at least two inches below my eyes. He had his hair slicked back and a suit on that probably cost more than his car. He looked like a typical sleazy agent, but I’d been working with him for years and I trusted him. His instincts had landed me sponsorship deals, magazine spreads and even this movie. But the longer we worked together, the more I had to wonder if I was outgrowing what he could offer me.
“I love that I’m busy, really I do, but can we take a break on the new projects for a bit. I need to sleep, or I’m going to turn into one of those raging lunatics that yells at her director on set.”
“Don’t do that, Angie. No matter what happens, don’t do that.”
“I know Jeremy. But can we slow down a bit?”
“You’re hot right now, Angie. This is the time to strike. Filming movies is good, but it will take a year before they hit the theaters; we have to keep you in the press until then. Plus, the movie you’re doing isn’t really the big leagues yet. We need to keep plowing forward until we start getting the holy grail of movie offers. I feel it coming soon. Just stay relevant.”
I sighed a big laborious sigh as I tried to think of how I was going to continue at the pace I was going. It just wasn’t possible. My body and mind were exhausted. I hadn’t had more than a couple of hours to myself in months, and those hours usually revolved around sleep. I needed some time to decompress, and if Jeremy didn’t find it for me soon, I was likely to find it for myself.
“Jeremy, I’ve got my make-up line. The movie. The blog. Social media. All the interviews. It’s just too much for me. I’m coming to you and saying it’s too much; you have to hear me.”
“Okay darling, here’s what I’ll do. I got a job that will be fun for you. It’s for Instamatch. It’s going to pay over a million easily and likely up to ten million if you get a post or two to go viral on your social media pages. You’ve got a lot of followers, and this is just in your wheelhouse.”
“A hookup app? What am I supposed to do with that? I barely have time to sleep. I certainly don’t have time to date or hook up with guys.”
“It’s a dating app. They are trying to appeal to a wider audience. All you have to do is go on a date or two and post about it on your Instagram. I’ll send over the exact wording for the post, but basically talk about how great a guy you met and you met him on Instamatch.”
“Ugggh,” I groaned at the idea.
The last thing I wanted to do was go out with some loser I met on a hookup app. Instamatch was well known for guys who just wanted to screw and leave.
“Drop all my interviews this month, and I’ll take on the Instamatch contract,” I offered.
Swiping right on some pictures and eating a meal or two with a guy was much less stress than doing television interviews. I didn’t have to dress up, and I didn’t have to worry about what I said; I could simply eat some good food and maybe even chat up a hot guy. If a loser showed up for the date, I could just cut him loose and move on. If Jeremy dropped the interviews, I could see a semi-relaxing month ahead of me. Well, maybe not relaxing, but at least not dying from overwork.
Jeremy smiled at my offer. He was a smart man, and I knew he could tell I was tired and needed some sort of concessions from him. My endorsement deals, movies, and television deals all made him ten percent. At some point, if I collapsed from exhaustion, that was going to come out of his pocket too. He couldn’t afford to lose me, his most profitable client.
“I can’t cancel the Late Night show.”
“Fine, I’ll do that one. As much as possible is canceled for the month. Deal?”
“Deal. Now let’s get your profile up and running. I have just the right photos I want to use.”
Jeremy proceeded to take my phone as I closed my eyes and grabbed a few minutes of sleep. I didn’t care what pictures he used or what he said in my profile. This job would be a piece of cake. I would just find a hot guy to go out with, take a selfie with him, and post something adorable on my feed for my fans to see. I’d do it again at the end of the month, and then bam, my contract was completed.
I didn’t need to care about the guy. Hell, I didn’t even really need to like him. I’d just find someone my fans would get excited about and post some teasers on my social media. The more I thought about it, the more I was getting excited.
A whole month off from radio and television interviews would free up a lot of my time. I could travel somewhere fun, maybe even sleep in. Sure, I still needed to finish filming my movie, but that would be a piece of cake if every minute I had off weren’t spent in some sort of interview.
I’d find a cute, all-American sort of guy that the fans would adore. Maybe even go out with him a couple of times. There had to be some decent guys on the app if I looked hard enough. Maybe even a guy that I could stand to spend an evening with. A hot night of sex wasn’t totally out of the question if I found a hunk.
“Can I go yet?” I asked with my eyes still closed.
“I’m going through some of the guys, just a minute.”
An hour later, Jeremy had swiped right on every hot guy in L.A., and I was finally leaving his office. My film was shooting in New York for the next few weeks, so I was excited to have a break from all the paparazzi. New York just didn’t have the same amount of smut hunters as Los Angeles, and the ones who were there were obsessed with the music scene and probably wouldn’t even know I was in town.
Besides, if I were really going to do the Instamatch thing, I’d rather find a nice normal guy from New York than some wannabe actor from L.A. It was tiring always dating guys who suddenly wanted to be famous when they met me. Even the ones who weren’t into acting at all decided to act when we broke up and the agents came knocking on their doors.
It shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did, but fame seemed to suck for everyone. Even the halfway decent guys fell prey to the fame bug when they were around me for too long. Finding a guy that I could actually date was nearly impossible. Other actors had too big egos to be seen with me and listed as the second name in a story. Non-actors all ended up hating the fame, and as soon as we broke up, they went right toward their own 15-minutes of fame. I just couldn’t win in the dating world.
If finding a real man to date wasn’t possible, I could stand to have a little fun in the Instamatch dating world. But I wasn’t going to settle for some con artist who wasn’t who he said he was. If I was doing this thing, I was only going to do it with a real guy. For better or worse, he better be the real deal if I was going to build up his fame factor by posting about him on my pages.
“I’ll call you when I get to New York,” I said as I was leaving.
“Be good.”
“Always.”
It was our li
ttle joke. I was never all that good, but I was trying to stay out of the press and really trying to make an effort to be a real actress. Reality fame wasn’t at all what I wanted to be known for; I wanted people to know me because I was a great actress, and that was going to take some work.
My family’s television show had given me the gift of celebrity, but I needed to use that gift wisely so I could build a lasting future for myself. People were too finicky for me to last long in the spotlight as a reality star; it was time to make a real transition.
That night I hopped a plane and was in New York before midnight, nothing fancy, just a first class seat on a non-stop flight. I didn’t call up my friends in town, and I didn’t update social media to tell everyone where I was at. I had the next two days all to myself, so I was just going to sleep as much as possible. I had to get my head straight so my acting didn’t look horrible in these final scenes.
As I slipped into the soft sheets of my Times Square hotel room, I opened the Instamatch app and looked at the profiles. My hotel room was lavishly appointed with gold and white linens and a large fresh fruit basket on the entryway table.
I wasn’t about to swipe right on just any guy. They had to have good looks, a decent profile, and above all a little sense of humor. I swiped right on stockbrokers, artists, all American college boys, and even a Dean Morrison look-alike. I had to laugh at that guy’s profile, though; his name was Dean, and he looked a hell of a lot like the actor. It was likely a fake account, but I couldn’t bring myself to swipe left to the man I’d had a crush on since I was a little girl, even if he wasn’t the real guy.
Chapter 3
Dean
“Bella, I don’t think I can keep going with this Instamatch thing.”
“What? Oh, no you’re keeping it. Have you seen the press today?”
I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. There did seem to be more paparazzi in front of my building than normal that morning, but that happened sometimes. It all depended on which desperate story the tabloids were running on that day. The paparazzi were all about money, and I could never really figure out why some days they loved me and some days they were nowhere to be found.
His Huge Rock Page 17
