by N. K. Smith
“You said something interesting just a moment ago. About picking up little broken pieces of yourself. Do you think it broke her a bit, too? The split, I mean? And what about your father? Your mother claims they both gave up successful careers of their own to focus on yours.”
“My father was a plumber. I don’t think giving up fixing people’s toilets was much of a loss considering all of the things my money bought him.”
“So you feel like he used you just as much as your mother?”
I don’t know what to do, so I look at my lap and pick a piece of lint off the knee of my pants. “He wasn’t as bad, but in some ways it hurt more. My mother drove this whole thing. My father would tell her the business was too much for a kid. He’d tell her she was too hard on me, but she ignored him enough that, eventually, he just gave up.”
“And that’s worse than what your mother did?”
“My mother was driven, and her mind was set on me being a star. That’s almost all I remember of her, but my dad? He told me I could do anything, and then he turned around and told me that I’d just have to do what my mom wants. That’s not a man. That’s not a father. That’s a weak person who didn’t protect his child. I’ve always known who my mother was, but I didn’t expect my father to abandon me emotionally.”
I take a breath and remember another point from earlier. “And as for what you said about their careers, my mom didn’t sacrifice anything for my career. She pushed me beyond the limits and not in a good way. I might not have the same life I do now had she not, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have been happier in that other life, you know?”
Somehow my voice has grown louder and angrier, and my breathing has quickened. I take another long draw of air and let it out at a measured pace. In the moment, I’d forgotten this was going to be televised. I’m going to come off as an angry, whiney brat to all of America. Great. Just great.
“So you don’t agree with her that she gave up anything to make your career happen?”
I think I just said that. Jesus. Could this interview get any worse? Perhaps Ronnie asked again to get another answer. “Maybe she did, but I didn’t ask her to. It was her responsibility to be a parent, not a manager, a thief or a critic.”
Ronnie nods, and I take a moment to sip a little water. The pause is a little longer than what seems normal, but I think she’s just trying to give me a little break. I hope that we can return to questions about the award or about the movie, but when I look up at Ronnie and see the pitying concern etched on her well-televised face, I know she’s not done with this yet.
“Let’s talk about your mother being a critic. What a lot of America doesn’t know is that your mother was on the set of all your movies almost every day, even though you had a manager. There were a lot of reports at the time that she perhaps was a little hard on you. What are your thoughts or memories surrounding the period of your life when your mother was in control? How did she make you feel? As an actress? A daughter? A person?”
I look away now to the picture of the bluebird hanging on my wall. I bought it in Paris from a street artist. As much as I’d like to slip away from this conversation and revisit that trip, I know I can’t. I have to answer this question even if I don’t want to answer it. I smooth down my hair again.
“I think childhood can be overwhelming on its own when you don’t have the right support system—like parents who care enough to help you navigate between your own desires and the expectations of society. When the pressure of Hollywood is thrown in, it gets even more complicated. My mother wasn’t shy about telling me how she felt. I knew from a young age, even before my first movie, that I was going to have to work very hard to gain her praise. I rarely received it, and truth be told, I don’t think she had any to give . . . ever. I think that kind of negativity propelled me to try to be a better, stronger actress and a better, stronger person. As for being her daughter? We share DNA, but, at this point, I don’t think anyone could mistake us for being family.”
With a deep breath, I begin to feel better about this whole line of questions. I think I handled it okay, and I hope, as an added bonus, it gives the viewers a more sympathetic look into who I am. Perhaps it will help drive them to see my films. Instead of wanting to see the chick who gets naked on screen, they’ll go to the theater to see the screwed up actress with a horrible family. I’m not sure which is worse.
“Doesn’t it hurt to essentially lose your mother at such a young age?” Ronnie asks.
I look off camera at Elsie as I answer. “I was lucky. There was someone else who wanted to nurture me when I needed it. Sure, I’d love it if my family was as great as one of those old sitcom families, but it’s not. So I make the best of what I have. Even when negativity happens, it can lead to some pretty great things.”
Elsie gives me a thumbs up with one hand and blows a kiss to me with another.
“Like a healthy career and this nomination for a Golden Reel?”
A genuine smile bubbles up within me, and I let it out. “Exactly.”
Chapter 9
I can’t believe they announced the nominees only a month before the ceremony; it’s speeding by. It’s like that every year, I know, but now that I’m nominated, it’s almost not enough time to get everything done. Thankfully, I have Elsie. I was kind of hoping Danny would pitch in, but he seems preoccupied. I mean, he’s happy for me, but I think he’s really just happy to have a nominee on his arm. No, that’s rude. He’s just busy and what guy wants to help pick out shoes or a clutch?
It’s horrible for me to even say that he just wanted a nominee on his arm. He’s never used me to gain more of the limelight, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if part of the reason he’s with me is just because of my exposure and fame. I can open doors for him that he can’t on his own. I know it’s stupid. I shouldn’t even say it, but he seems more interested in his tuxedo and the after parties and who is going to which one than helping me get ready for what is the biggest night of my life.
Whatever. Maybe Elsie’s paranoia is seeping into me. I don’t know why I’m begrudging him the excitement. Maybe because I can’t feel it myself. All I feel is overwhelmed.
***
“Damn, babe, your hips are getting kinda bony.” Danny moves his hands from my too bony hips up to my waist.
Before he spoke, I was well on my way to a satisfying release, but now I’m thrown out of the almost meditative zone that comes with good sex driving me toward climax. All I can think about is my body. Even though I’ve increased my caloric intake to keep up with Roman’s sessions, I have to look slightly emaciated because I’m still filming Outside the Club, and I can’t go gaining muscle mass now.
Danny’s ill-timed comment eats at me as he pounds away at my body from behind. I’m too bony. I’m too skinny. All that means is that I’ve picked the wrong dress for the awards ceremony tonight. My ice blue evening gown is backless. The front drapes tautly over my breasts, but now I’m worried that perhaps my ribs will stick out, and I’ll be on the fashion shows for all the wrong reasons.
I wonder if Pierre Gardiner has anything else left. Even if it’s off the rack, it might be worth switching for something less revealing. The problem with that idea is that he won’t have time to tailor it, so it’ll hang off me.
“Ugh.” Danny’s grunt reminds me that he’s still hammering into me, and I wish I could just be in the moment. It would do my mind and body some good to experience that little bit of euphoria that happens after orgasm, even if it doesn’t last long.
I don’t think I should even bother Pierre. It’s not his fault my body is flawed. He did try to get me to go with that soft pink dress. That one didn’t show my back or ribs, but it had a low cut neckline. While my breasts were just big enough to fill it out, I don’t know if they would be enough to draw attention away from my bony sternum. It doesn’t matter, though, Peter sent me a snapshot of the dress Shyla is wearing, and of course, it was that one.
I’ll call Elsie and see if
she can’t get me an elegant shawl. Maybe a thin, shimmering wrap around will be all I need to look stunning and stay off the hit list for the fashion rags.
“God, babe!” Danny smacks my ass when he’s done. He drops down onto the bed, wraps his fingers around my biceps and pulls me to him. When I’m draped over his chest, he kisses the top of my head. “Was that good for you?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
“Because you seemed a little distant.”
“No, I wasn’t. It was good.”
Danny slides his hand up and down my back. “Good. I thought so, too.”
I smile against his chest. It’s not a real smile, but if I keep wearing it long enough, the pretend happiness will soak into me and become real. I mean, I have so much to be excited about. I have a boyfriend holding me. I have a great job in an interesting and ever-changing industry. I’m up for an award tonight.
After a few minutes of silence thinking about all of those blessings, I sigh. Other people would kill to have my life.
A minute later Danny nudges me off his chest so he can sit up. “I am starved. You know there’s going to be nothing good at this shindig tonight, at least not until the after party. Let’s load up on some grub. What sounds good to you?”
I sit up as he grabs his cell from the nightstand and thumbs through a list of his favorite restaurants. “Maybe something light? Like Aladdin’s? I could definitely go for some tabouli and hummus.”
Danny makes a choking noise. “Uck. Let’s get some real food.” He’s still staring down at his cell. “Ha! I’ve got it. Pizza and chicken wings!”
The sigh I let out is audible. Danny shakes his head. “Of course no wings for you, and I’ll make sure I get you one of those cheeseless veggie pizzas, okay?”
I run my hands through my messy blond hair before I get up off the bed. “Just order something for yourself. I’ll make something; I’m not hungry anyway, and I have to call Elsie.”
I want to ignore the way he’s looking at me, but he doesn’t let me. “I’m so tired of this shit, baby. You’re not fat. Eat some goddamn pizza with me, will you?”
“I didn’t say I thought I was fat,” I say in an immediate defensive tone. “Maybe that’s how you feel, but it’s not—”
“Stop lying to yourself. No one on this planet could look at your body and think you’re fat, so you know I don’t think it.”
“You never support me.” I know it doesn’t make sense, but I need to shift the conversation. “You don’t even care how hard it is to be a female in this industry.”
He drags a hand down his face. “That’s bullshit, Adra, and you know it. I support you all the damn time. Did you ever think that maybe I’m just fucking tired of saying the same things over and over again when you’re never going to believe me? I say you’re hot, you shrug it off like I’m feeding you lines. I say you’re too skinny, you clam up like I just said something horrible. And then you let your mind twist it until you make yourself believe that I’m an asshole, and that you’re not skinny at all.”
“I do not.”
He shakes his head again and lets out an exasperated breath. “You do, too, but don’t take it from me. Go ask someone you actually trust. Go ask your Loverboy what he thinks. I guarantee he’ll agree with me.” He holds up his hands again. “No, wait. He might not because he’s too sensitive to your needs to be honest with you. He’ll tell you whatever it is you want to hear about yourself, but really, he’ll thinking the same thing I do.”
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” I cross my arms over my chest. I cannot believe Danny is pulling this today of all days. This is supposed to be my day!
“That you refuse to realize you are the most beautiful girl in the world. Despite being one the most talented actors of our age, you have no confidence whatsoever in yourself.”
My body shakes from the anger I feel. Who is he to say that shit about me? Like he knows anything. I pick up my discarded clothes, but before I can put them on, he’s on his knees on the bed and reaches out for me. With tender hands, he grabs my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. “I hate fighting with you, babe. I hate that you think I’m just some guy that’s feeding you lines. I mean, I don’t know how else to be supportive, but this shit has to stop. I can’t take—”
I try to pull away, but he holds me close until I say, “Let me go.” He does, and I pull on my clothes. “Sorry I bother you with my concerns over how I look, but I don’t know any other actress who isn’t—”
“I get it. You have to maintain your figure and your face in order to get roles, but Jesus, it won’t kill you to eat a pizza. I mean, I think it’d be sexy to see you chow down for a change, and you know what? No casting director is going to rule you out for a part because you’ve decided to actually enjoy food.”
I want to be done with this conversation, so I back away. “You’re right. Totally right. Sorry I freaked out.”
“Babe, it’s okay, I just—”
“Yeah, so, order whatever you want for us, as long as it’s vegan for me and, um, I’ll enjoy it.”
When I get to the door, he asks, “Where you going?”
“Downstairs for a second. I left my cell down there, and I’m expecting a text from Elsie.”
After I leave the room, I head to the kitchen. Even though Danny’s going to order something for us, I want to find something here. I can control the calories if I eat something here. Nothing in the cabinets or refrigerator looks good, but then I open the pantry and look at the top shelf. It’s filled with all the stuff Danny likes to snack on. Cookies and candy and chips. Some of the stuff isn’t vegan so I don’t even consider it food, but the other stuff? Danny thinks I should eat, right? Thinks I should enjoy food? Well, fine. Maybe he’s right.
I’m tired of denying myself all the delectable treats other people indulge in. My body is begging me to stuff those treats into my mouth and to do it quickly.
I stand here in front of unhealthy food in all its glory and try to talk myself out of eating, but it seems futile. My thoughts race in a sort of manic fashion. Danny wants me to do something different, so why deny myself anymore? And now the thought occurs to me that if I eat it—and I mean a lot of it—maybe I’ll bloat just a little. I’m sure it’s not how Roman would tell me to do it, but it seems perfectly rational that if I want to fill out my dress, bloating is one way to do it. And since I can only gain so much weight in such little time, it’s my only option. So I grab a bag of cookies, scan the ingredient list for dairy and eggs to make sure, and then rip open the package.
Within minutes, I’ve eaten ten, and I move on to the potato chips. I’ve always loved kettle cooked chips, and I’ve always preferred salty snacks after sweet treats, so I sink down to the floor and devour them.
And after the chips, I return to the sweets. There’s nothing better than fruity candy after potato chips . . . except for a cola or a soda. I eye the refrigerator, but before I can ransack it looking for Danny’s stash of Pepsi, I hear his footsteps on the stairs.
My stomach churns when I realize what I’ve done. I bolt up and shove all the packages back on the top shelf. I’ve never binged on food like this, and I cannot believe what I’ve just done. A gurgle sounds from my stomach. While I do feel bloated, I also feel sick. This wasn’t such a good idea.
I run to the bathroom off the kitchen, close the door behind me, yank the toilet seat up, and vomit every last disgusting piece of trash I just ingested.
In the past, I’ve taken some of my diets and workouts to the extreme, but I’ve never wanted to binge and purge. I don’t understand why I did this.
Danny knocks on the door. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say in between my final heaves.
“Just nervous about tonight?”
I sit back on my heels and wipe the sweat away from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Yeah.” I flush the toilet. Jesus, I’m not bulimic.
“Well, don’t be. You’re gonna win!”
I manage to make my weak an
d shaking muscles work enough to stand up, rinse my mouth out, and open the door. “Thanks.”
“You don’t look okay.”
“Just nerves.”
He squints. “You need to eat, babe. Come get some carb-y goodness in you, okay?”
I glance at the clock. “I don’t have the time. Elsie will be here with the stylist, the new makeup girl, and the hairstylist.”
Danny shakes his head. “So glad I’m not you!”
Chapter 10
Tonight’s the night, and I feel so sick. The day has been downright stupid. I mean, really stupid. Fighting with Danny, then going crazy and eating a bunch of food only to puke it all up a minute later.
I’m nervous. The waiting sucks! In only a few hours, it’ll be over. That’s what I keep telling myself. In a few hours, I’ll either have the Reel or I won’t.
***
As I step out of the limo and onto the red carpet, I take Danny’s hand. He’s not looking at me. He’s too busy waving at the fans and photographers. This is one of the few opportunities he’ll have to walk a red carpet like this. I doubt he’ll ever be up for any awards for the comic sidekick characters he plays. I guess it’s okay if he gets his moment to shine by standing next to me. Maybe this will convince him to become more of a serious actor.
I’m blinded by the flashbulbs and deafened by the roar of the crowd. The trail of journalists along the carpet seems never ending. There will be a lot of stops to talk about my dress and Danny’s tux, but I also hope I’ll have an opportunity to talk—at least superficially—about the movie I’m nominated for.
Off to the left, Elsie stands in her shimmering green gown, ready to meet me in a few yards and follow me the whole way to the doors, but she’s the only one. Danny doesn’t have a manager. He prefers to wing it, and I think it’s easier for him.
