Hollywood Heartbreak

by C. J. Duggan

  ‘Ah, yes, well, nights are for laps, and I’m pretty beat, so …’

  ‘Oh, of course, just putting it out there,’ she said, smiling and stepping away, not breaking eye contact until she bumped into one of the garden tables. ‘Oops! Better watch where I’m going. Night, Jay.’

  ‘Night, Veronica.’

  He watched her go, unmoving until he heard her flip flops make their way down the path and her door thud closed; only then did I see Jay’s shoulders sag, like he was relieved to be alone. But he wasn’t alone, not exactly. No, he had a voyeuristic neighbour sitting cross-legged on the balcony, head tilted, admiring the view. The unguarded, half-naked Jay. He placed his watch on top of his towel and moved to the pool’s edge. The faint glow of garden lights lit the courtyard well enough, but it was the lights within the pool that really lit the space, giving his beautiful dark skin an emerald glow. He looked like a god, chiselled from stone, and someone had taken extra care carving out his sixpack. Jay was ripped, and though I couldn’t guess what was responsible for his physique, it had to be more than cutting some laps in a pool.

  I held my breath until he dove in, slicing through the rippling water. When he eventually surfaced, it was with the perfectly formed freestyle stroke of an Olympic champion, and he even did the flip and push at the end of the lap. Okay, it probably wasn’t actually called the ‘flip and push’ but, hey, what did I know about sports or physical activity? I was hard pressed to do yoga without cramping. Jay’s rhythmic laps were almost hypnotic, aided by the slosh of the water from his powerful kicks.

  I leant my temple on the iron bars, transfixed, trying to remember what it was that I was meant to be doing. My eyelids became heavy and I stifled a yawn, not because the show was boring – anything but – but I sure was getting tired.

  I was jolted out of my reverie when Jay stopped ten laps later – or perhaps it was a hundred; I hadn’t been counting. Though, as Jay pushed himself out of the pool, I couldn’t help but study his taut abs, which were now glistening in the courtyard lights, droplets of water running over his shoulders, down his strong back and over his drool-worthy chest.

  I swear I didn’t blink; instead, I felt my hand tighten on the iron railing as I bit my lip and whispered under my breath, ‘Hello, Hollywood!’

  Chapter Eighteen

  What do you wear when you’re meeting your nemesis and her posse? I opted for black, like my mood. I really didn’t want to meet up with the #LAfamily tonight. I knew it was about making connections and forging a path through the Hollywood scene, but I really wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t confident in my life choices – or, more precisely, in my ability to convincingly read lines in my fake American accent. I felt lost and underprepared.

  Did I really want to surround myself with overachievers?

  Among twisted blankets, propped up against my pillows, I did some research on the LA Family. Who made up the clique and what had made them so damn unapproachable? I skimmed over their highly filtered, seemingly perfect lifestyles. A tan, for one thing: time spent in the Californian sun (or, more likely, paid for at an exclusive salon) was definitely a part of their appeal. I glimpsed my pasty shoulder, then wrote in the margin of the notepad resting on my lap.

  *Little black dress

  *Spray tan

  Unnaturally white teeth were obviously a thing too, but that would take time, and I kind of liked my teeth. I ran my tongue over the straight ridges, which were thanks to my parents’ empty pockets and three years of braces in high school. What else? Luxe lunches and expensive outings, coastal drives in jeeps – and was that a human pyramid on the beach? I rolled my eyes. Of course it was, and who should be on top but Sienna Bailey. Surprise, surprise.

  I looked at some of the familiar faces and tagged their Instagram accounts.

  Dion Preston had been on a similar drama on a rival network, where he played the sexy doctor who ended up losing his memory in an explosion or flash flood episode – I couldn’t recall, as I made an effort not to worry about the competition. He had been in LA the longest and had done pretty well for himself by all accounts, landing a supporting role on a pretty big movie franchise based on a bestselling series of books. As far as I had heard, Dion was going places; and if his gym pics were anything to go by, he thought he was going somewhere too. Confidence had never been his issue.

  Jake Savage was a child star turned heartthrob who’d been a favourite detective on an Aussie crime show until his character got killed off in an underworld slaying. I had been addicted to his show until I had met him, drunk and slurring, at an awards ceremony. He had ended the night by vomiting into a pot plant and was whisked away by his team to avoid scandal. When I had seen him the next day he pretended not to know who I was, which I wasn’t too precious about, though I vividly recall his one-eyed assessment of my ‘cans’, so maybe that was why he couldn’t remember my face.

  Nicole Towney was, from memory and reputation, a nice enough girl with a sweet, heart-shaped face. I had thought that she’d head for the London scene – she had played a leading role in a top-rated Aussie television drama to critical acclaim – but here she was, chilling with the LA crowd. It had kind of made me sad to see her posing with fish-pout lips.

  I scrolled through the pics.

  ‘Don’t know you, don’t know you – oh, yes, who are you again?’

  Jessica Stine? Okay, yeah, you were on that show that was cancelled, a New Zealander from memory.

  There were a few folks that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but I had the gist of the main crew. I threw my phone to the side, snuggling back into my bed, dreading the day that would soon slip into night. But what was that saying? The things you dread the most usually always turn out the best? God, I hoped so.

  Rolling onto my side and hearing Billie’s frenzied stirrings in the kitchen, I wondered why she’d never chosen to align herself with the LA Family. Had she not wanted them to know the reality of her career, or was she just an excellent judge of character?

  ‘Hey, Billie,’ I called out, ‘we should start our own hashtag.’ I picked up my phone and scrolled through yet more beautiful photos. My door creaked fully open, drawing my attention to Billie, who held a mixing bowl, flour colouring her cheek. She was wearing an oversized baseball top and jean shorts; she was adorable and uber cool, but she didn’t think she was, which was part of what I liked about her.

  ‘Yeah, hashtag desperate and dateless,’ she said.

  My brows lowered. ‘Speak for yourself.’

  ‘Well, it’s a beautiful mid-morning and I’m baking cupcakes and you’re still in bed, so …’

  ‘I had a late night going over my lines.’

  And Jay’s lines, all the dips and curves and …

  ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘What?’ I asked, snapping back into the moment.

  ‘Have you even managed to venture out and be a proper tourist yet?’

  I sunk deeper into my cocoon. ‘I’ve been too busy,’ I lied. I may not have been a proper tourist, but I had read up enough about LA to be a bona fide expert on the place.

  Billie rolled her eyes. ‘Busy lying on your back.’

  ‘Now, that’s how nasty rumours start,’ I said.

  ‘So, what have you got planned today? I know you have hot plans for tonight.’ Billie’s words dripped with sarcasm, the way they always did whenever she made reference to the LA Family.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come? I could really use a wing woman tonight.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you get yourself into these situations. Besides, I am certainly not skipping work to listen to Sienna and her cronies dribble on about how awesome they are,’ she said, saying ‘awesome’ in an American accent that was infuriatingly better than mine.

  I rubbed my eyes; listening to Billie had me wanting to never leave bed again. Giving myself a quick mental shake, I reminded myself that I did, in fact, have a plan, and I had best stick to it. I peeled the blankets aside and dragged myself to the edge of t
he bed, yawning.

  ‘Well, I had better meet the day. I have to find myself a tanning salon. Which one do you recommend?’

  Billie stopped mid-stir. ‘You’re getting a spray tan?’

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up at her tone.

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  Billie shook her head. ‘Wow, you’ll be part of the Family in no time: some fillers and teeth whitening and you’ll be all set,’ she said, peeling herself from my door frame and heading back to the kitchen.

  I really didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit I had contemplated teeth whitening as I moved to stand and follow her out.

  ‘Shut up, I’m only having a few drinks with them.’

  ‘That’s how it all starts.’

  I slid onto the stool on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, watching as Billie spooned some batter into paper cups.

  ‘What starts?’

  ‘Drinks, dinner, brunch: soon you’ll be trekking up those hills in activewear.’

  I know Billie was only repeating the same things we had both rolled our eyes over, but I couldn’t help feeling that her words were coming from a darker place, as if she was jealous or something.

  ‘Well, firstly, there will be no hill trekking, because my weak calves can barely handle “upward angry dragon”, or whatever that bloody yoga pose is called, and secondly, since you don’t want to come, I will have to relay all the cringe-worthy details later tonight.’

  A small smile tugged in the corner of Billie’s mouth. ‘Look, I know you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will not succumb to the wilder herd. It’s simply about networking – a necessary evil.’

  ‘Sometimes I am glad to be a lowly waitress.’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘But it’s true. Don’t think I didn’t see the way Sienna looked at me, that look of horror and pity. What did she say to you?’

  Oh God, our motto was to not keep secrets, to be open and honest, but I couldn’t bear the thought of recounting how Sienna had referred to her as ‘so tragic’. I really didn’t want to pour salt in Billie’s open wound right now.

  ‘No, nothing,’ I lied.

  Karma was going to get me. It was only fair, seeing as I had lied right to my best friend’s face. It would appear that I wouldn’t have to wait too long for it to strike.

  ‘I’m ORANGE!’ I yelled.

  ‘You wanted the Californian glow,’ said the peroxided beauty technician, who also happened to be the receptionist, make-up artist, hair stylist and nail bar operator at this dingy shopfront in a back alley in Hollywood. I’d had reservations about going into the empty shop but a ticking clock does strange things to your mindset, so I’d walked in. I knew I should have taken the lack of clientele as a bad sign.

  ‘I wanted a sunset glow, not neon-fucking-streetlight.’

  ‘It makes you look thinner,’ she said, tilting her head to the side, admiring her work as if she had no idea what my problem was.

  ‘I look like an Oompa Loompa.’

  ‘Is that some kind of Australianism or something?’

  I gaped; she was probably barely legal, let alone qualified, but the fact that she wasn’t versed in the genius of Roald Dahl made me even more furious.

  ‘I’m not paying for this,’ I said, picking up my bag and storming to the door. I’m not sure what she called after me – ‘something-something bitch’ – but I didn’t care, I was too busy crying, which I continued to do for the whole walk back to the condo. I pulled my hair free from its messy bun, shaking my head and feeling ultimate humiliation. I had to cancel tonight; I couldn’t go out looking like a giant orange! As it was, I would have to face the wrath of Ziggy when I met her tomorrow –

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Oh God.

  My audition. Monday. Three days away.

  I felt my stomach drop to my feet.

  What have I done?

  Maybe if I soaked in a lava-hot bath and loofah-ed off the top layer of my skin I stood a chance. I quickened my steps, a new hope bubbling inside me. I almost felt manic, and excited at the possibility of tackling this disaster before the colour soaked into every pore of my body.

  But hope is a funny thing: it can die as easily as it comes. And die it did when, a moment later, I spied the condo, and saw Jay exiting his Mustang.

  Oh God, please, don’t let him see me, please, please, keep walking, just keep walking …

  He looked back, stopping as he spotted me.

  Fuck!

  What had I done to deserve this? Was all this because of my little white lie to Billie? Or was this some kind of challenge – survive this week and score the role of a lifetime – was that how it worked? Was this to be my sacrifice? After seeing the look on Jay’s face as I neared, I didn’t know if it was worth it.

  ‘What happened to you?’ he said, mystified as he looked me over from top to streaky toe; I felt about two feet tall.

  ‘Not now, Jay!’ I said, holding my hand up as I passed him, averting my eyes from his amused stare.

  ‘Were you caught in a sandstorm?’ He laughed.

  I flipped him the bird over my shoulder, knowing he was following in my footsteps.

  ‘Come on, Abby, don’t be like that; seriously, what’s wrong?’

  Tears burned in my eyes once more. I didn’t dare answer because I didn’t want my voice to betray how furious I was, didn’t want him to see the true depths of my despair. I forged a path through the courtyard to the back staircase, glaring at Sorscha, who broke into a series of barks and growls as she watched me approach; the apricot tinge to her coat looked far better on her than me.

  ‘Shut up, you little furball,’ I muttered, stomping my way up the first set of stairs, my jaw clenching as I heard Jay’s voice behind me.

  ‘Aww, it’s okay, Sorschy, she doesn’t like me either.’

  I reached the top step, turning to glare down at him, my sudden halt bringing him up short to look at me with raised brows. Either I had surprised him by turning to confront him or he was really taken aback by how hideous I looked. But something dimmed in his eyes, and his smile fell away as he started up the steps once more, coming to stand next to me, my vantage point changing as he towered over me.

  He looked serious, contemplative even, as his dark eyes ticked over my face. I really didn’t need his judgement as well.

  I thought he might say something smart, or make me feel worse, but instead he did something completely unexpected: he reached out and wiped away a tear, so gently.

  ‘There are white lines down your cheeks,’ he said. ‘I think it will wash off.’

  ‘Great, all I need is to soak in my tears.’

  Jay smirked. ‘Or … in a saltwater pool,’ he said, kinking his head over his shoulder.

  ‘Somehow I don’t think the tenants will appreciate an orange slick on the top of their pool.’

  Jay laughed, deep in his throat; the sound almost had me forgetting my woes.

  ‘I look like a freakin’ clown,’ I said, examining my arms. I cringed at the thought of the little black dress I had laid out on my bed, chosen in order to show as much skin as I could.

  ‘It’s … not that bad.’ Jay said it so unconvincingly that I knew he was trying to be nice, which was such a foreign concept I didn’t really know how to react.

  ‘I look like a terracotta nightmare.’

  ‘You are kind of blending in with the steps.’

  ‘I bet you’ve never managed to do something so bloody stupid,’ I said, glancing down at my striped legs; not only had she done the wrong colour but she had also done a shitty job. I glanced up at Jay, who was biting his lip in an attempt not to laugh.

  ‘No, I can’t say I have ever had the need for a tan,’ he said, lifting up his arm and examining his naturally dark complexion. I instantly felt like an idiot.

  ‘Oh no, I didn’t mean, it’s just …’

  ‘It’s okay.’ He laughed. ‘
But I did have a girl ruin my sheets with that stuff once, so I know how potent it can be.’

  I felt something stir inside me; the thought of a girl in Jay’s bed made me feel funny, and I really didn’t like the feeling on so many levels.

  ‘So, I guess the only kind of advice I can give is don’t panic-scrub – you’ll make yourself blotchy, and that’s not a great look either. Maybe just bunker down for a few days.’ He shrugged.

  It was actually really sound advice, but my shoulders still slumped. ‘I’m going out tonight.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jay winced, as if feeling my pain. Which only made me feel even more hopeless. ‘Can you cancel?’

  ‘Not exactly, and even if I did I still have to front up to my manager tomorrow, who is going to totally kill me as I have a really massive audition on Monday.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  Jay leant against the railing, his attention fully on me.

  ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend to care.’

  Something flashed in Jay’s eyes, like he was surprised at my words. ‘I don’t hate you, Abby.’

  My eyes snapped up; his expression was earnest, his words a complete shock in their admission. I found myself standing in stunned silence, until I finally realised something: ‘You just hate what I do.’

  ‘Let’s just say I am not a fan of the entertainment industry.’

  Jay was such a mystery to me; sure, he had been burned multiple times by his flaky, shift-swapping employees, but was there more to it? Had the girl who’d oranged his sheets been an actress too? A model, a stripper? Another poor wannabe in search of the California glow?

  ‘Why do you hate actors so much?’

  ‘I told you,’ he said, shifting uncomfortably.

  ‘Tell me again.’

  ‘No,’ he said, moving past me on the stairs; now it was me who was following him, and he was the one no doubt wishing I would disappear.

  ‘Come on, Jay. You choose to work in a town crawling with people chasing their dreams. You can’t be so jaded by them.’

  ‘I’m not jaded.’

  I laughed, reaching our little alcove, both in search of our keys. ‘Oh, I think you are.’