Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva

by Victoria Rowell

  “And how much did you get for the story, Dwayne? Ivy, go get Sly.”

  “But Mom, you should rest. Can’t you do this later?”

  “Just get him, baby.”

  Ivy stared Dwayne down with a “don’t mess with me” attitude heading out the door.

  Taking advantage of her absence, Dwayne continued, “This wasn’t just some ‘fender bender,’ Calysta. What if Ivy had been in the car with you?”

  “I know you’re not gonna stand in my face and spin this to make me look like some kind of unfit dope fiend mother!”

  “Calysta, you can’t even take care of yourself right now, let alone a teenager. You act as if life is one big soap opera.”

  “For someone who’s always ready to call me a hack and put me down for makin’ a livin’ off of daytime, you sure don’t mind collectin’ that soap opera alimony, do you? If you think I’m gonna sit back and let you take Ivy without a fight you got another thing comin’, brotha’. I wouldn’t put it past you to be goin’ after custody just so you can suck more money out of me in the name of child support. You’ll be hearing from Sly first thing tomorrow, you can best believe that.”

  “I predict your attorney will have more pressing things on his agenda. Like keeping his client out of jail.”

  “Everyone told me it was a mistake to trust you to adopt Ivy in the first place, but I was hardheaded.”

  “Always living in the past, chasin’ shadows . . . whatever, Calysta, I’ll just chalk up all your yammering to those chemicals swimming around in your toxic brain. As for Ivy, biology notwithstanding, she’s my daughter too and my first priority. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”

  “Get the hell out!” I screamed as Sly and Weezi entered, Ivy rushing to my bedside.

  Dwayne caught the door, saying, “We’ll be back tomorrow if you’ve come to your senses. C’mon, Ivy. This is no place for you.”

  “Just ignore him, Mom,” Ivy whispered into my ear as she gave me a kiss.

  “Love you, babygirl,” I tearfully said. “Promise to make it up to you.”

  She reluctantly walked out with Dwayne.

  “How’s it going, Calysta?” Sly asked. “Never trusted that man.”

  “Yeah, I tried to tell her he was a scumbag.”

  “Weezi, what are you doin’ here?”

  “Thought it was a good idea to come for moral support. You know how much I care about you.”

  I looked at him sideways. Weezi was there for all the wrong reasons.

  “Sly, how could you let this happen?”

  “What was I supposed to do? Weezi’s incessant calling—”

  “Not him! Dwayne. That leech has been awarded temporary custody of Ivy? How did he pull that off when you have my Power of Attorney?”

  “He’s the child’s legal father. I told you years ago that gigolo was going to be trouble. But I have to tell you, it could have been much worse.”

  “How—if a building fell on me?”

  One of my biggest fears was if Ian, Ivy’s bio-dad, popped up to make a claim for her too. Nah, I knew better than that. The last thing that deadbeat wanted was a teenager crampin’ his bachelor lifestyle.

  “Dwayne said something about jail? The police must realize this was just an accident?”

  “I hate to remind you, but you were driving under the influence, Calysta.”

  “I feel bad enough, don’t rub more salt in the wound. I know I made a colossal mistake but that doesn’t make me a criminal.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not how the District Attorney’s office sees it.”

  “The District Attorney’s office?” I exclaimed, flinching from the pain across my chest. “The D.A. is getting involved in my little accident when the state is bankrupt and we have rapists and serial killers runnin’ around?”

  “Calysta, this is serious; you could have killed someone. The D.A. has caught a lot of flak for being lenient on celebrity DUI offenders in recent years. He wanted to make an example out of you but fortunately, with all my contacts downtown, I was able to head him off at the pass.”

  “Will I have to do some sort of community service like Naomi Campbell?”

  “Community service will definitely be a part of the deal, but that comes in a bit later. You’ve got more pressing things to focus on.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “You’re gonna have to go through six weeks of drug counseling.”

  “Are you shittin’ me?”

  “’Fraid not.”

  “I don’t have time for counseling. I have a career to rebuild.”

  “You’re unemployable for now.”

  “Stop talkin’ crazy.”

  “I’m serious, Calysta. There’s no way around it. You’re court-ordered to fulfill a six-week intensive residential drug treatment at a facility specializing in addiction. As soon as your doctor gives the okay, you’ll be transported door-to-door to Tranquility Tudor in Malibu.”

  “There’s no way I’m going to a stupid rehab. Besides, it’s two streets up from my house and everyone will recognize me in the neighborhood. That place drives their rich clients around in those psychiatric-looking vans that have ‘We Do It One Day at a Time’ stamped on the back.”

  “It’s either Tranquility Tudor or a year in jail,” Sly said matter-of-factly.

  “This can’t be happening,”

  “It’s not all bad,” Weezi reasoned. “As far as these types of places go, Tranquility Tudor is top shelf. It’s the Waldorf-Astoria of detox clinics and where all the celebrities go. They’ve got a spa and everything. And guess what? There’s a huge motion picture director who just checked in for the third time to dry out. Who knows, you might land a part in a film just rubbing elbows over chocolate mousse while sharing your strength, love, and hope.”

  “Do I look like Winehouse? I’m a substantial actress. I don’t have time to sit around talking about my feelings with some has-been teen stars from The Partridge Family.”

  “We have your best interests at heart. Now, you get some beauty rest,” Weezi began. “Cliffhanger Weekly and Soap Suds Digest are still talking about your comeback to The Rich and the Ruthless. You know what they say, you gotta be ready when opportunity strikes. Call me if you need anything.”

  I couldn’t even muster enough strength to say get out, you bum. And as for Sly, though he’d saved the day keeping me out of the pokey, I didn’t thank him too much. I knew he’d be sending along a fat bill to my accountant by the end of the week.

  I reached over to the bedside table to get my BlackBerry, wanting to talk to Derrick. He’d know how to fix this, he always did. Too bad we’d broken up again shortly after I was fired.

  He’d been ultra-understanding about my beef with Emmy and smoothed my ruffled feathers in more ways than one.

  However, after I saw him in The Globe canoodling in the buff between two Brazilian bombshells on a beach in Rio while shooting his hunky Man of Prime Time calendar I had a nuclear meltdown.

  I’d auto-dialed him demanding an explanation but only got a recording, “This number is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again later.”

  The sex god had played me like a fiddle and I reverted back to possessive ghetto-stalker mode, plotting to scale his security gate and Krazy Glue his front-door keyhole.

  Derrick had attempted to call me when he got back home, but I made myself unavailable. It was torture not answering any of his three calls. Once again we were done, finished, kaput. And as gutted as I was, I moved on.

  Now, scrolling down my contact list, I dialed Shannen instead. Sometimes a girl is a girl’s best friend.

  “Hello?” she asked on the first ring.

  “Hey Shan, need your help.”

  Soap Stars’ Marriage Hits the Skids!

  SHOCKING BLIND ITEM: It looks like a real-life soap opera super-couple is currently in the throes of a Blissless Wedded Mess. We can’t tell you which one, but a pair of married bubblers is this close to calling i
t quits, that is if they don’t end up killing each other first! To think only a few short years ago these two lovebirds were on the covers of Muscle & Fitness, Plumpers, and Soap Suds Digest—not to mention receiving the most hits on YouTube talking about how they balanced love and bubbles—and are now inculpating each other over rumored affairs with hot Latino leading men (her) and lack of employment opportunities (him). Oh well, what’s that they say, ’tis better to have loved a bubbler and lost than never to have loved at all?

  The Diva

  CHAPTER 24

  Big Bear

  Don’t worry, Calysta,” Shannen whispered into her phone. “On my way; I should be back in L.A. in a few hours.”

  “I thought we agreed no cell phones,” Roger hypocritically snarled. Felicia’s last words from a recent call were still fresh in his mind: “Don’t worry, Roger, I’ll fix Shannen’s wagon. I’m going to write you into a front-burner R&R storyline if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Stomping into the bathroom behind Shannen while stripping off his sweaty workout digs he heard, “Calysta, hold on a sec,” as she hit Mute.

  “Roger, it’s Calysta; she’s been in a serious accident.”

  “So?” he said, turning on the shower and stepping in.

  “So she needs my help.”

  “We’re not driving all the way back to L.A.!” he yelled. “Tell her to call her people.”

  “Roger, she’s in the hospital!”

  Roger and Shannen were at their vacation cabin in Big Bear, making use of it before the bank repossession, in yet another attempt on Shannen’s part to find a pulse in their quickly flatlining marriage. The couple had agreed when they bought the rustic hideaway on Big Bear Lake that it was a place to unplug, unwind, and have lots of sex. That meant zero distractions; no television, no laptops, and absolutely no cell phones. Time proved that was easier for Roger than for Shannen. She still had a J-O-B and needed to stay in touch with the world outside their Big Bear bubble for auditions and script and schedule changes.

  “It’s going to be okay, Calysta, I’ll see you before you know it,” Shannen said with assurance. “And don’t worry about Dwayne, we’ll figure out a way to get Ivy back.”

  As she hung up, Roger asked, “Who’s Dwayne?”

  “Calysta’s ex,” she explained, heading to the bedroom closet to get her overnight bag. “Calysta was a little . . . impaired when she had her accident and now Dwayne is manipulating the situation to get custody of their daughter.”

  Nonchalantly stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his soft waist, Roger said, “Sounds like a smart guy to me.”

  “What?” Shannen dropped her bag and zipped back to the bathroom for toiletries. “Roger, it’s not like she’s some bad mother. She made a mistake. Calysta loves Ivy.”

  “What, and you think the dad doesn’t love his kid too? See, that’s what’s wrong with you women. You think just because you lie down and grunt out a kid, you get all the say. Sorry, doesn’t work that way. You know, most guys don’t even want ankle-biters, but you women always insist, naggin’ us, ‘I want a baby, my biological clock is tickin’,” he whined, “and all we want is sex, a good football game, and a cold beer.”

  “Stop talking crazy. You don’t even know all the facts.”

  “And you do? Sounds like you’re just taking your loopy friend’s word for it. You only like her anyway ’cause she defended you that one time Bonnie Blackburn jumped you in a fitting. I don’t blame this guy for doing what he has to do to protect his kid. I’ve heard stories about that chick from Felicia. She sounds like a piece of work.”

  In all the years Shannen and Calysta had been friends, Calysta had socialized with played-out Roger only a few times. A graduate of the theatre, Roger believed Shannen’s soap opera friends were beneath him, sadly ironic since he himself had been a bubbler until his low-rated half-hour soap Obsessions was mercifully canceled, and he hadn’t been on a Broadway stage since Cats opened. (Roger had played Carbucketty for six months before being fired for shooting a spread in Playgirl on the side, while the show went on to have an eighteen-year run.)

  “Felicia hates Calysta, I’ve already told you why,” Shannen replied. “She’s not a good judge of my friend’s character, not by a long shot.”

  “Oh and I guess you are?” Roger said mockingly. “What, did you get a degree in psych from the same place you got your Acting for Dummies certification?”

  Shannen looked down, reminding herself, Roger is feeling emasculated since he lost his job. Most men’s egos are intrinsically attached to their employment. When he speaks to you disrespectfully, try to exercise patience and let it roll off your back. It’s his bruised pride, not the man you fell in love with, a way to gain back power with dominance.

  The words of Dr. Jordana Walker, the marriage counselor she had been seeing, on her own since Roger refused to go, came into Shannen’s mind in time to prevent her from striking back.

  “I don’t have time for this, Roger, my friend needs me.” Shannen darted back to the bedroom to finish packing.

  “Where do you think you’re going? You’re the one who insisted we come up here for the weekend when I could’ve been back in L.A. auditioning.” Roger’s agent had dumped him after his soap was canceled. He was obsessively combing the Web and Back Stage magazine for open calls.

  “We’ll come back next weekend. They’re talking about putting Calysta in rehab.”

  “Good. She needs to dry out.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand why you can make time for everyone else’s needs except for your husband’s!”

  “That isn’t true,” Shannen protested, throwing things into her Kate Spade luggage. “Look, I’m going to go home to support Calysta and then I’ll come right back, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay.” Roger ripped the bag out of her hand and threw it to the floor. “I bet if I was your hot little Puerto Rican leading man Javier you wouldn’t be leaving, would you?”

  “Don’t start that again,” Shannen warned. “And he’s Mexican.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Roger confronted, as Shannen took a step back. “Bet you wouldn’t leave to rescue your bloodsucking girlfriend if Mr. Latin America was standing in front of you.”

  Shannen was the consummate actress and played her role to the hilt, moving past her husband, calmly stating, “See, this is exactly what Felicia wants.”

  “Felicia? What the hell does she have to do with any of this? Don’t blame my friend—”

  “Your supposed friend only paired me with Javier to fuel your blind jealousy. She hoped we’d fight so you’d run to her for consolation. Why can’t you see that?”

  “That’s a bunch of bull! Felicia’s one of my oldest and best friends. I’ve known her since college and trust her with my life.”

  “Yeah and she’s been in love with you since day one.”

  “Well at least someone is!”

  “Okay, this is really getting us nowhere.” Shannen sighed. “I’d hoped we could work on our marriage this weekend, but obviously that can’t happen with you behaving like an irrational child, so I think you should stay, keep the car, and I’ll call a service. Come back when you want, if you want!”

  “Don’t walk away from me!” Roger growled, grabbing Shannen around the waist, roughly ripping her blouse as he spun her around.

  “Stop it, Roger!” she cried, terrified eyes wide in disbelief as he threw her like a rag doll onto the bed, his full weight on top of her, ignoring her desperate pleas. “Roger, stop! You’re hurting me. Get off!”

  “What? You only like your little Mexican screwing you now?”

  Shannen gasped for air, smothered by Roger’s unwanted and forceful beer-breath kisses as he reached down to unfasten her jeans, giving her enough opportunity to dislodge a knee and aim squarely for his groin.

  “I’ll kill you!” he threatened, doubled over moaning in pain as she sprang free, not
wasting time, rushing to grab her bag.

  “I swear, Roger, I don’t know who you are anymore. I hate you! We’re done!” she frantically screamed as she ran out the door.

  Unhinged, Roger whispered, “We’re done when I say we’re done. And if I can’t have you no one will.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Tranquility Tudor

  Thirteen hours, that’s how long I slept, well past noon the next day. Unbelievable! My skin was so ashy I looked like I’d been rolled in flour, and my hair was a matted hot mess. The good news was the fog was finally lifting.

  Since leaving The Rich and the Ruthless I’d been going through the motions, a toothpaste commercial here, a talk-show pilot there, but if the truth be told, ever since Ruby Stargazer fell off that dang yacht, it’d been me, Calysta Jeffries, treading water.

  Burying my head into a brick the hospital called a pillow, I wished a psycho male nurse would slip into my room and plug me into a morphine drip so I could forget my overwhelming problems.

  “Ms. Jeffries, you have a visitor,” my nurse interrupted.

  “Who is it?” I asked in a muffled voice, not bothering to look up.

  If I had to see anyone I hoped it was Sly. We needed to talk about my daughter’s custody.

  “That’ll be all, nurse.” I knew that voice anywhere and pulled the blanket farther over my head. I could hear my overconfident, all-purpose agent/manager’s expensive Italian shoes, which I no doubt paid for, clickety-clacking against the floor.

  “Kitten,” he said. “You look like a million bucks.”

  Ignoring his lie, I said, “Quit it, Weezi. You can’t even see me and why are you here?”

  “I’m acting as a family representative and escorting you to your temporary home in Malibu, and if you’d come out from under that blanket I’d like to—”