Sweetheart Starlet: A Sweet Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  “Um,” he stuttered. “Mitch.” I couldn’t help myself and I burst out laughing.

  “Sir,” I said. “Your wife?” Corinne held her hand up to silence me, giving me a rather serious face.

  “Here you are,” said Corinne, handing the napkin back after autographing it. “Thank you very much.”

  “Thanks,” said the man, looking sheepish, embarrassed. He quickly ran off once he had the autograph in hand.

  “You are too kind,” I said, shaking my head. “I could barely keep my cool. First he interrupts us and then the whole wife-but-it’s-really-for-me thing?”

  “We’re selling tickets,” said Corinne knowingly. “That man will come see my next movie because I was kind to him,” she said. “Is it annoying? Of course. But every time I take stock of my life and realize how lucky I am, I see that it’s people like him that are paying me so much money. I can endure the interruption and give him an autograph.”

  “You’re such a better person than me,” I said. “Well, I’m sure the studios love you. And your agent. As they count all the money.”

  “You’re going to feel it all one day,” said Corinne, as though she were giving me a warning. She then chuckled to herself, like I was really in for a surprise. “Oh yes, Tab, you are going to know what it’s like.”

  “You don’t have to be so diabolical about it,” I said.

  We were again interrupted, this time by our waiter bringing our meals. I was really enjoying the back and forth between Corinne and I. She was lighthearted and fun, easy to get along with and undeniably sweet. Corinne definitely softened my hard edges. I was so impressed with her. And as I spent more time with her, her celebrity melted away and she began to form into the real person that she, you know, was. And that’s why it was so hard for me to deal with these autograph-seeking fans like Mitch. It’s like the celebrity isn’t a real person. Like she’s not out on a date with a really funny and charming comedian. The public just views celebrities as these vessels to live through only when it’s convenient. It was maddening to me.

  But Corinne was able to handle it all with grace and aplomb. I watched as our waiter put her meal down in front of her. Her pretty blue eyes following the plate down and then darting up to meet with his eyes, thanking him graciously, a joyful smile perched over her lightly shaded lips. I eased up. I couldn’t be mad when I was around Corinne. She melted me.

  *

  “Oh my God!” laughed Corinne, the two of us sitting close together in the back of her car as the driver carried us off through the night. As she laughed, she leaned over slightly and grabbed my thigh through the fabric of my jeans, giving me a soft squeeze. “I totally almost lost it when Jessi said that. I mean, just the way she said it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes. “She gets off on trying to get the guest to crack. You held it together nicely, though.”

  “Jeez,” Corinne mused with a soft sigh. “It was so much fun to be on the show. I really want to do it again.”

  “I’m sure George would have you back next season,” I said. “Just have your agent get in touch.”

  Corinne let her hand linger on my thigh tenderly, the two of us butted up together there in the cushy backseat, dissolved into the soft leather, shoulder to shoulder. I looked over to her and our eyes met, then I quickly looked away. I couldn’t believe I was feeling nervous. This amazing girl, this beautiful famous celebrity, a woman who starred in the wet dreams of many Americans, was shooting signals at me and all I could do was let my anxiety reign supreme. C’mon Tab, stop being such a dork.

  “I had fun tonight, too,” said Corinne demurely. We looked at each other again, in silence, a certain energy building up between our bodies as we connected on some sort of ethereal level. There was some kind of magnetism between us and neither of us could deny it.

  Before I knew it, Corinne’s face was closing in on mine and although I could feel my heart begin to race, I gave it my best effort to just relax and live the moment. As she grew closer to me, I opted to just go for it and I pushed my lips to hers, engaging her in an eager and desirous kiss.

  Corinne’s hand gripped my thigh harder as our lips intertwined, and I slipped my hand between her back and the leather seat behind us. The kiss felt magical for me, so intensely pleasurable and exciting. I mean, have you ever thought what it might be like to kiss one of the hottest celebrity starlets on screen? Imagine that, how awesome you’d feel, how fulfilled, how great it would make you feel about yourself because she picked you. Yeah, that’s what it was like. It was like I was the love interest in Corinne’s movie but there was no unrequited love here. We both wanted this.

  “Mmm,” moaned Corinne softly as our lips parted and we both eased back.

  “I don’t quite think I got that,” I said. “Perhaps—“ I interrupted myself, leaned forward, and kissed her once again.

  Corinne giggled behind my lips, both trying to return my kiss and suppress her laughter.

  “Hey,” I mused as our second kiss came to a close. “He can’t see us, can he?” I said, pointing with my thumb to the glass partition between us and the driver.

  “No,” she said. “He can’t see or hear back here.”

  “Well that’s convenient,” I said.

  Corinne gave me an impish grin and we returned to kissing, this time with an upgraded passion, hands running along each other as our lips collided. I felt a shortness of breath and a speediness in my heart, my body aroused with sensual spiritedness as our faces joined, soft flesh against soft flesh, an intoxicated affection permeating the air around us. I felt swollen and happily so. If I could have sat in the backseat of that SUV for the rest of my life and just kissed this beautiful creature, I certainly would have agreed to it. Provided we had a never-ending supply of strawberries. I love strawberries.

  “Tab,” murmured Corinne, her fingers lightly fondling my hair as our lips came apart, our eyes meeting. “Mmm, I like you.”

  “Are you kidding?” I said incredulously. “I can say, unequivocally, that the feeling is mutual.” I smiled contentedly at her. Corinne had a soft blushing to her pale cheeks, deep mysteriously carnal eyes, beautiful full lips. Her blonde hair was near immaculate, offering a slight curl, and it smelled sweetly of light rain.

  We meditated together there, suffused in a little drunken love daze, when we both felt the car come to a slow halt as though we were parking off the side of the road. Corinne looked past me, out of the window and into the evening.

  “I think we’re at your place,” she said in a whisper.

  “No,” I whined. “Damn it.”

  “I had fun,” she said. Corinne sweetly stole another kiss from me. I couldn’t help but consider future naughtiness, sexualized thoughts coursed through my dirty brain as we kissed. “Let’s do something Sunday,” said Corinne almost pleadingly. “Your free day from the show.”

  “Yes,” I said, eagerly agreeing. “Sunday would be amazing.”

  “Great,” said Corinne, planting one final sweet kiss on my lips. A subtle moistness lingered from her lips and I could feel the light film of her lipstick on my own mouth.

  I really didn’t want to go. I sat there for a moment, just wishing this moment could last forever.

  “Okay,” I said finally. “All right. Sunday,” I repeated, hearing it over and over again in my mind.

  “Sunday,” said Corinne with a smile.

  “You’re perfect, Corinne,” I sighed, looking at her longingly. I couldn’t help myself. I had to say something.

  “Get out of here,” she said with a giggle, smacking my thigh lightly. “I’ll see you Sunday, Tab.”

  I nodded slowly, almost painfully, already missing her, and I turned to the door to open it. Once I had the car door open, I stepped out slowly, got myself upright, and then peered backed into the backseat.

  “Goodnight Tab,” said Corinne charmingly. She then blew me a kiss.

  “Goodnight,” I said with a wan smile, stepping back, and pushing the car door tig
htly closed. I was so smitten with her that I was mad at myself about it. But also, you know, hysterically ruffled. I replayed our little kissing scene over and over again as I dreamily slipped into my building, the possibility of Sunday hanging over me with delight.

  TWO

  *

  THE REST OF the week was a bit of a blur to me. I mean, I was good at going through the motions, doing my script rewrites, appeasing George, wrangling the writers to create coherent sketches that didn’t just appeal to a niche audience. I had been doing it all so long by that point, I could do my job on autopilot. And I had to flip that autopilot switch because I could do nothing but think about Corinne. I was lost over her. Totally beside myself. And what made it even worse was that I couldn’t tell anybody. I so wanted to scream it from the rooftops, or at the very least tell Bernie, but I had to remain tight-lipped about it so that I wouldn’t, you know, ruin Corinne’s career.

  High stakes, you might say.

  “Tab,” I heard a voice say. I suddenly stopped in my tracks, blinking a few times, and looked around like I was in a daze.

  “Where am I?” I absentmindedly said.

  “Tab?” said the voice. “Are you all right?”

  My little dream sequence ended and I found myself standing in the long open hallway of the This Saturday studio office, in front of me the familiar face of Justin Trumbull, pop star, dreamboat for the straight ladies, kind-hearted goofball. He was a nice kid. About my height, short blonde hair with a slight curl. He looked eagerly at me like he had a question.

  “Oh,” I said, beginning to realize where I was. “Hi Justin.”

  “Hi Tab,” he said happily. Justin had been on the show a handful of times, both as musical guest and as host. He was one of those super talented people that you just wanted to hate. Except he was so nice and sweet, you couldn’t help but want to gleefully hug him. “You gotta minute?”

  “Me?” I said. “Sure, I’m your gal. You’re the star. What can I do for you, Justin?”

  “Well,” he began, looking sheepishly at me like he was asking his teacher to reconsider a grade. But see, Justin and I weren’t far off in age and he was the pop superstar. Yet there he was, talking to me with his tail between his legs. “I was really hoping to get in a sketch with Wes this time around. Dude’s funny and I was really looking forward to working with him. He’s in so many of the sketches, I just thought it was weird that we weren’t in one together.”

  “It is weird,” I said. “And he wanted to do something with you also.”

  “For real?” asked Justin. “So what’s the problem?”

  “It’s George,” I said. “Wes beat him at Canasta or Mahjong or something. I don’t know, some game. And George is punishing him.”

  “That’s messed up,” said Justin. “Is that how things work around here? That’s punishing me.”

  “That is how things work around here. And you didn’t hear this from me,” I said. “Go talk to George and ask why you’re not in a sketch with Wes. That’ll get the ball moving in the right direction.”

  “Thanks Tab,” said Justin, lightly putting his hand on my shoulder. “You’re the best.”

  “Oh, I know,” I said in a hokey fake modesty.

  “Love you, Tab,” smiled Justin with his boyish grin.

  “Hey,” I said, just as he was about to take off. “I have a question for you. Have you heard of this actress Corinne Holmstrom? I think she’s big in film or something.” Justin laughed at me.

  “Yeah Tab,” he said. “Of course I know Corinne.” He looked at me like I was stupid.

  “I know,” I said. “Just kidding! We had her on the show last week.”

  “Oh yeah!” he said. “Yeah, she was great. Really funny. I loved that singing waitress bit.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, here’s my question, do you know her well?”

  “Do I know her well?” said Justin, slightly taken aback. “I don’t know about well but we’ve hung around before. I met her at an awards show,” he continued. “But damn if I can remember which one. I go to so many.”

  “Tough life,” I joked. “Well, reason I ask is that I… er, we want to send her a thank you gift and I was just wondering if you had any ideas of something she really liked.”

  “Tab, I’ve done this show—what? Four times now,” he said. “Never once have you guys sent me a gift.”

  “That was, uh, Bernie’s fault,” I said. “I’ll make sure you get something this time. Just, you know… Corinne?”

  “Hmm,” said Justin, his hand rubbing against the almost invisible blonde goatee on his chin. “Oh! I got it. I know she really loves toffee.”

  “Toffee?” I repeated. “Okay, toffee.”

  “There’s this place in Chicago she loves,” said Justin. “I can’t remember what they’re called. But they always have this toffee backstage at the Oscars from this place in Chicago. Boom!” He looked immensely pleased with himself.

  “That is an insanely hot lead,” I said. “You, sir, are a peach.”

  “Funny how I do so much for this show,” said Justin. “Yet I don’t get a gift and I don’t get to do a sketch with Wes.”

  “It’s a weird world,” I admitted. “You’ll get a gift this time, Justin!” I said, starting to walk away from him. “Thanks for the help!” Justin just stared blankly at me as I moved way. I shrugged.

  All right. Toffee. That was good to know. I always found it helpful to acquire some knowledge about the girl I was going to start dating, some little nugget to put in my back pocket, something to pull out at just the right time to show how romantic and smart and thoughtful I was. The key is, you don’t show your hand right away. That’s foolish. No, this toffee thing, this specific toffee thing was something I knew I could really lean on with Corinne if I had to. And if everything just happened to work out fine, no hitches, no stitches, then hey, it was a gift I could give her at our wedding or something.

  As I continued walking down the hall with toffee on my brain, I realized that I had no idea where I was even going or why I was walking down the hall in the first place. And I couldn’t just turn around and walk the other way, past Justin again, because it might look like I was crazy. Maybe I was a little crazy. But hey, that’s just part of the charm of being Tab Bloom. You get to act a little nuts and people just say, “isn’t she creative?”

  *

  Bernie and I sat together at a diner a few blocks away from our office building. I was sucking up a strawberry milkshake and Bernie had his face buried into a tuna on toast. It was Friday, the calm before the usual Saturday storm, and we were just taking a break from the office to get some fresh air and get our minds off work for a fleeting moment. Regardless of how we tried, however, neither Bernie or I could stop thinking about comedy or work for more than a minute or two.

  For the casual viewer of This Saturday, much like yourself, you may think we’ve got our act together, we write the sketches, we rehearse them, and it all goes according to plan. The reality of it all was that we’re rewriting sketches up until the show actually goes on the air. And because of that, it has trained both Bernie and I to never stop writing jokes.

  “So that sketch with Justin as a pizza delivery driver,” began Bernie, putting his sandwich down onto his plate and exchanging it for a pickle. He quickly took a bite of the pickle with a crunch and chewed. “I don’t think George is on board with it.”

  “What can we do to fix it?” I asked. “I think it’s got some funny moments.”

  “Here’s what I say,” began Bernie. “So we’ve got Justin breaking into song a couple times, singing joke versions of some of his hits, right?”

  “Yep,” I said.

  “Once we get to that part of the sketch, the rest of the sketch just pales in comparison,” he said. “So why don’t we just, like on the third time he breaks into song, we just extend the song to a longer version, pull the scenery up, have him dance and sing longer about pizza and then fade out on that.”

  “I’
m good with that,” I said, shaking my head with some ambivalence, slurping from my milkshake. “So we just need to write a longer song about pizza?”

  “Sausage and pep, as I do my dance step!” Bernie said half-singing in the tune of one of Justin’s songs. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Done,” I said. “Good idea.” After a moment of straight silence, I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What?” said Bernie innocently.

  “Sausage and pep,” I said in a lyrical and theatric tone. “As I do my dance step.”

  “He’s a pizza delivery guy,” said Bernie with a shrug.

  “You’re funny, Bern,” I said. “That’s so stupid that it’s funny. And it sounds like Justin’s song.”

  “I pride myself on my stupidity,” he said. “Somehow, the people who sign my paychecks haven’t yet discovered that I’m not truly a funny person, I’m just stupid and it works about the same.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” I said.

  “Speaking of secrets,” said Bernie. “What’s up these last few days? You’ve been a bit cagey and preoccupied.”

  “Me?” I said in a way that indicated I was definitely hiding a secret. “No secrets.”

  “C’mon Tab,” he said. “Dude, we go back too far for you to be able to lie to me. It just doesn’t work.”

  “I’m not lying,” I said, trying to hide behind my milkshake.

  “Whatever,” said Bernie. “You don’t have to tell me anything.” He picked up his sandwich once again and chomped down.

  “Okay, I won’t,” I said.

  “No problem,” he said with food in his mouth.

  I sucked up my milkshake through the straw. Bernie took another bite and chewed. We sat in silence.

  “Fine,” I said. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

  “Whatever,” said Bernie, looking unfazed. He shrugged and continued working on his meal.

  “I’m friends with Corinne Holmstrom,” I blurted out. “She’s my new hang out buddy.”