Dead Stars

by Bruce Wagner

  The actor started getting angry.

  He closed his eyes and tried the breathing meditation.

  Ebert said:

  – Michael? There’s just one more thing I’d like you to share.

  Mercifully, he awakened.

  CLEAN

  [Gwen&Telma]

  California URLs

  Gwengot a reprieve.

  Phoebe agreed the truth could wait until after the Courage Ball, when the little Canadian girl who’d become Telma’s nemesis had gone home. Phoebe said that Aleisha triggered Telma’s attachment disorder, or something like that.

  Hours after they aborted their plan, Gwen got a shot of clearheadedness in the tub. She’d already phoned Phoebe twice.

  “Sorry Pheeb, I know I’m a broken record.”

  “You call as much as you need to, Gwen. I’m here for you.”

  “What I wanted to say was, there’s another reason I’m glad we didn’t tell her.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m just sitting here soaking, and—I remembered how specific they were, the attorneys, about not revealing anything to anyone—”

  “Telma’s hardly ‘anyone,’ Gwen.”

  Gwen loved that Phoebe never rolled over. She wasn’t contentious, she just liked to advocate all different sides of an argument. She told Gwen that was how she got “clear.”

  “But I should really talk to my lawyer, shouldn’t I Pheeb? I mean, before we tell her? At least sort of bring him in on what’s going on, on what my plans are. Don’t you think?”

  “I kind of brought this up when you said you were getting more medical opinions. Is informing Telma what happened any of his business?”

  “It could be—I think it probably is.”

  “Tell me your concern.”

  “There’s going to be a settlement, Phoebe. That’s a foregone conclusion. As soon as I can figure out what the hell to do, which may be never. But which kind of has to be soon, or so my lawyer—my lawyers, there’s like seven of them—said. Or relatively. I just don’t want, when they start to negotiate or whatever, I just don’t want anyone saying, ‘We told you not to discuss this with anyone and now we hear your daughter’s been blogging & twittering’—which is exactly what she would do, Pheeb!—and then it gets picked up by the Huffington Post, with The New York Times not far behind . . . I don’t know. I think maybe their plan, the hospital’s plan, their attorneys’, is to seal it, you know seal the records once we agree to a settlement—I’m going to have to set up a trust—I’m sure that’s probably what they would want, to seal the record so the hospital doesn’t look bad. I just don’t want to fuck that up, for Telma, I’ve already fucked so many other things up———Jesus, Phoebe, you know I’m just thinking, I think I might have even signed something, something binding to that effect.”

  “Ah. OK, right. Now I see.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, & it’s very smart. Talk to him. Talk to your lawyer.”

  “I will, in the morning. But how am I going to ever tell her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t order Telma not to talk about it. I can’t say, OK honey, the doctors made this mistake but you can never discuss it with anyone, ever—”

  “You won’t have to say that. Gwen, St. Ambrose can’t put a gag order on Telma. They’ll never be able to suppress the truth of what happened anyway, not with the internet, and that’s something they’re going to need to come to terms with. That’s what your lawyers are for—that’s something to be negotiated. That if and when it does come out, there won’t be any penalties. At the same time, I think your daughter is eminently capable of coming to certain understandings. I think she’ll have no trouble seeing who needs to know what, & how much. Telma’s still very much a kid, but in other ways she’s very much a young lady.”

  “OK.”

  “I’m glad we had this discussion, because I think I probably did you a bit of a disservice. I might have leapt before I looked.”

  “You didn’t do anything, Phoebe . . .”

  “Not true, I got emotional. I wasn’t coming from a very grounded place, which is what you—what both of you really need right now.”

  “Phoebe, I know how hard it—you love her so much—”

  “I can’t let that cloud my judgment, Gwen.”

  “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”

  “As I should. Look, it happens. I know that. It just hasn’t happened to me. Therapists are people too, that’s why therapists have therapists. We’re fallible. And because I have a very special relationship with your daughter—”

  “She calls you Mama Bear #2, did you know that?”

  “—we’ve been through the fire, all of us together. Which means I need to be extra careful, extra aware, I really do. To not let my feelings intrude. But that’s no excuse, that doesn’t excuse me being sloppy. I need to take a look at my codependency. Do some work. And I just need to call that out.”

  “Thank you. I love you, Phoebe.”

  “Would you like me to be on the phone when you talk to your attorney?”

  . . .

  im 12. and im a 32A. now all the guys like me but they are always like wow ur flat. im like ohk? so is there a push up bra for a 32A and where can i get them for not too expensive??? please girls.

  1 year ago

  Telma was multitasking: watching TV, shopping online, and writing a letter all at the same time.

  She was looking at sites that sold pushup bras. She talked to her mom about getting one a few months ago but they never did. She was visiting a Y! Answers forum.

  Okay listen you 12 years old and apparently flat chested. If the guys like you then you shouldn’t worry. If you got a push up bra to moderatly please the guys you are also building up a rep as a guchi mama to the girls. Wait they will grow trust me.

  4 months ago

  if the boys like you already thats great you must be so beautiful, but if theyre disapointed that you are flat chested thats just too bad for them because the only reason people like big boobs is so they can take your bra off and do all sorts of things with and to them BUT if you use a push up bra the boys will be even more disapointed when you take off your bra cause they will be expecting you to have a nice pair of boobies but if you wear a normal bra atleast you know your boobs are real and you can even tell guys that if you want cause its the thruth and theyll like you more for your real boobs ;) plus trust me its only a matter of time before those A’s turn into C’s unless small boobs run in the family

  8 months ago

  She thought she might have erased The Nine Lives of Chloe King. She watched a little of The Vampire Diaries then tried finding New Girl, which was actually supposed to be on right now but it wasn’t, so she watched one of those teen mom shows instead. (They were having a marathon, which she thought they only did on holidays.) Telma never watched them, they were so boring and annoying, the girls were all brats who held their babies like props when they weren’t crying or hitting someone in the head (their BFs, BFFs, moms or grandmas) & the boys were big dumb liars, like, seriously retarded. Telma felt sorry for the babies because they were going to grow up to be just like their scary parents, with no idea about how to live or how to help people or how to anything except cry and hit people and take drugs and steal money from your girlfriend’s granny so you could buy a pickup you were going to total anyway.

  The teen mom show commercials were really weird. Like one for birth control that looked like it was a hearing aid you stuck inside. OMG disgusting, I will NEVER! At the end, a woman listed all the side effects and different ways the birth control thingie could be dangerous. They said don’t use it if you had “certain cancers” and Telma thought that probably meant ovarian not breast. The birth control ad was totally normal compared to the ones that came on for “Wild Partyline” & “Livelink” which were TOTALLY DISGUSTING. OMG!!!!! She paused the TV and went right to the Livelinks Facebook page. It was a full-on dating site but ma
ybe one where you only talked to people on the phone? “Immediate & exciting! Meet someone tonight.” So gross! But Wild Partyline was sooooooooooo completely gross and disgusting. Telma googled the URL & clicked on it: CONNECT WITH 100’S OF HORNY EBONY BABES & SEXY LATINAS NOW! O. My. God. “SWEET PHONE SEX WITH A HORNY OLDER SLUT” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . no! no! nooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!! . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  ———Telma could understand why the show would have a birth control commercial because lots of teenaged and younger girls watched the teen moms . . . but why were the other ads there?????????

  OMG

  —————the TV people who paid for the teen mom shows must know that DIRTY OLD MEN ARE WATCHING??????!!!!!

  Ewwwwwwwww!

  Im gonna B A R F ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

  She turned it off and reread her letter.

  It was in cursive, like the one she’d written to Michael. She wanted to stand out, not just be one more of a million emails. In some places she copied from the Michael letter verbatim. She made the decision to continue to refer to herself as the world’s “youngest Kansurvivor,” as technically, Aleisha hadn’t been alive long enough after her surgery to earn that “sobriquet.”

  Kris Jenner

  Life & Style Magazine

  Ask Kris:

  THE KARDASHIANS’ MOM SOLVES YOUR PROBLEMS

  askkris@lifeandstylemag.com

  Dear Kris,

  My name is Telma Belle Peony Ballendyne. (Belle is my grandma’s name & Peony is my mom’s favorite flower and mine too!) I am 13 years old and a Kansurvivor. I became a HERO (not victim) of this terrible disease at the age of 9 years old and have been Kancer-free for 4 years now, making me the youngest Kansurvivor in America and maybe the world! The doctors decided that it was necessary to perform a double mastectomy, for which I am also Guiness World Record Book-bound. There is a LOT more of my story which I will not BORE you with (at this time!;D).

  (As you can see, I LOVE LOVE LOVE “K”’s!!!!! Almost as much as the Kardashians!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

  I had a mastectomy & was lucky not to need a course of chemo or radiation. The doctors say there is “NO REASON” why I could not one day concieve of a child—which I very much would, & a DAUGHTER & hopefully MORE daughters, so that one day I may start a Dynasty of my own like you and Bruce!!!!

  I am not a fan of very thin, annorexic girls & actresses. I think it is for some people a VERY REAL SICKNESS, & they need all the help they can get. YOUR DAUGHTER Kim & ALL of your DAUGHTER’S are so beautiful & unself-concsious about their beautiful womanly bodies. I know they are like that because of what how carefully you taught to them, & the SHINING EXAMPLE that you set, which is SO laudable!! I read the Glamour.com interview where Kim said she had a C-cup when she was even YOUNGER than me & used to sit in the bathtub with hot towels over her boobies, praying they did not grow. (I sit & pray that mine WILL!!! though alas it is impossibel until the days of medical miracles which may not be for 100 yrs. But maybe APPLE will come up with the iPADDED BRA!! ;D) What was so very lovely & beautiful, Kris, was when Kimberly said that you SAT WITH HER & told her how much she would love her VERY big boobies one day, you said Armenians are curvy, you said, “This is who you are.” & Kim said that was what gave her the confidence to be who she was!!!!

  I am writing to you to ask your guidance in finding a plastic surgeon so that when I am of the proper age, I too may have a FULL WOMANLY CHEST, & comely & au-natural-looking like your daughters. I know that your daughters’s many chests are REAL. But the reason I am asking is that I know that you only assosciate with the VERY BEST in whatever field they may toil, & THAT is why I feel confident in asking you this. I like my other features very much & do not anticipate having any face work done until I am very old (my 40s). So all that I am asking is for a recommendation or referral (perhaps it would be best if you could make an introductory call?) for the VERY BEST NEW BREAST DOCTOR or even doctors, so I can meet him or the whole Team, & we can all get to know each other. That way, when my time comes, he won’t be operating on a stranger. I have many doctor friends & get along with them very well. They are real friends, not pretend friends. They are “Telma’s Warriors.”

  I am not worrying about my flat chest (which is also somewhat scarred by the skin grafting but is not as bad as that sounds)—I am not worrying very much NOW because there are no men in my life but one day if a boy finds my person-ality to be attractive to him, & I like him back in the same way, I would enjoying being in the position to be a NORMAL girl. (My dream is to look like ALL YOUR DAUGHTERS above the WAIST!!!!) I would like to be able to wear a swimsuit on the beach in the summer too without attracting too many stairs. Do you think you could help me?

  Thank you, KRIS! I could not ask my mother because she has been a little sad of late, & its not that I do not trust her or have faith in her decisions & taste (which I do to the 1000%!!!!), but I know the KARDASHIAN KLAN is “in the know” & that you would recommend to me a doctor with whom you would trust to work on your very own children, if they were in the position I am, which THANK GOD they are NOT! And THAT is why I decided to “ASK KRIS”!!!!

  Thank you, & I love to keep up with the Kardashians & I love your show & ALL your shows there are so many I have LOST COUNT!!!!!!!!

  Sincerely,

  Telma Belle Ballendyne

  P.S. I have more than enough money saved, I believe my mother has put away for me monies from various sources to the tune of $100,000, I wanted to tell you this so you could tell the doctors that I am not a fly-by-night (which used to be my Dad’s favorite phrase or sobriquett) or charity case & can pay them their full fee. Glod Bless.

  . . .

  The day had exhausted her.

  She kept circling back to the taboo, the unspeakable.

  In the week that followed the meeting in Century City, it was explained how the mistake had been made, the vague mechanics and diabolically shifting sands of it. (The parts that Gwen was able to understand only made it worse.) The most pressing thing she wanted answered was how long they’d been aware of their mistake. They said that their findings had been confirmed only a week before disclosure; though Gwen had no reason to believe anything they said, this she chose to accept. Now it was up to the hospital to learn from the incident so it wouldn’t happen again—new safeguards and protocols, mandatory seminars for doctors and nurses, required classes for radiologists. The time would come when insurance paid whatever it was going to pay, & everyone moved on, everyone but Gwen. There would be no mob of outraged parents in the streets demanding justice, because Telma wasn’t their child; not the child of the brilliant, winning, idiosyncratic oncologists; not the child of the superb, bosomy nurses, each at the top of their game, drenched in compassion. The RNs gave Telma and Gwen their hearts, and she knew how mortified they would be upon learning of the secret horrors perpetrated on their mascot, their soldier, their—well, yes—baby girl.

  Telma hadn’t been born to any of them and they owed her nothing. They went home at night to their families, the children they’d so carefully raised and kept safe from harm. For a long while, Telma didn’t come home at all. She roamed the peed onk hallways with her dog, spreading good cheer, climbing every mountain, dreaming impossible dreams. She made her nest in that deathstar place, a mutilated pig-tailed Phantom of the Operating rooms, a roving Dora the explorer of strange- and sinister-smelling corridors, of cubbyholes housing exotic, pitiably young inhabitants, each one dying or healing from rarities, each with readymade story & fate, they captivated her because now Telma was one of them, only she was stronger, she was braver, the New Girl, brave new girl in a brave new world.

  All these years Gwen had grown to believe she was a reasonably tough mom, a worthy adversary for the cause. Only now had she begun to realize how terribly matched she was, not against the disease but the rampaging medical superheroes, each one more confident than the next of the proposed course of action. What a charade! What a fool she was to be exhorting them from her rings
ide seat! Why did I embrace the diagnosis so quickly, so deep? How dare I! Would I have just rolled over if they said the same things to me? If I got double-teamed by vultures who said they needed to cut off my tits & needed to do it FAST or I might die? Would I have been so awed? so cowed & resigned? She didn’t want to think about this anymore because it was too much, she would have to learn some technique, train herself to permanently deepsix what was too shaming, damning, overwhelming, too suicide-baiting. It made her want to die and that was the one thing she could not do, not as long as Telma was alive. There was no use indulging in the repetitive argument, that was a form of madness, searching for balm where there was none, Gwen knew that Phoebe or anyone really would just keep telling her it wasn’t her fault, none of it had been, she was being irrational, that she did what any mother would have (tho she’d always know in her heart that it wasn’t true), if you Googled pediatric onc Telma’s whole team would be on the very first page, they were world-class, they were unimpeachable, they were legendary. There was no use because after a while you become a bore and people rightfully began to shun you, all you had left was your therapist who now was really nothing more than a paid friend, since therapy had gone by the wayside, there could be no therapy for you anymore, you were cooked, you were done, you had graduated, into Hell. She knew people would grow tired of her, and the ones that hadn’t run or disappeared completely would practically stage an intervention asking her begging her to please think about Zoloft or whatever pill it was that would help during this tough time. (Translation: help them by making her less of an insane needy bother.) “This tough time”! After the intervention they’d go home, those repelled soon-to-no-longer-be friends she’d been abusing, home to the kids they guarded even more closely now than before, having had the enlightening experience of coming across the highway accident of Gwen’s cautionary tale, moving slowly by in their vehicles, taking in the guttering flares & mangled metal, their children wide-eyed in the backseat, eyes glued to windows, thank God this did not happen to me––––––––well, thought Gwen, at least it isn’t like losing a child to a pool drowning, you turn your back & it’s over, those marriages never survive because the parent who wasn’t home blames the one who was—o thank god Max wasn’t alive! for this! Thank god Max never saw them do this to his baby! At least that was something to be grateful for. And didn’t Eric Clapton’s—didn’t he fall—from a window––––––––––––––NO! NO NO NO, Gwen HATED when she started doing that, trafficking in others’ grief to benumb herself, hated that more than ANYTHING, it made her feel cruel, astringent, monstrous––––––––––––––who knew what those same friends & families said in the privacy of their homes . . . there was probably a whole group of them (in reverie, Gwen doubted if they’d even be aware of their same-held opinions because it just wasn’t the sort of thing to openly gossip about or exchange notes, a kind of primordial superstition would prevent them from giving voice to what happened at the accursed House of Ballendyne, especially when you had kids of your own, it would be pretty near taboo) who murmured/pillowtalked with their spouses in those intimate moments before sleep, I really don’t think I would EVER have let that happen to my child, I don’t care WHO the doctors were, I’d have gone to the ends of the Earth . . . Then the husband might say in that male way, “That woman was asleep at the FUCKING WHEEL. There is just NO WAY—” or maybe if he was the husband of one of her dwindling circle of BFFs, maybe for a minute the BFF would rally to Gwen’s defense and say “Hey c’mon now hon that isn’t fair” but the retort would be limply politic because in actuality she would agree with him but couldn’t let on, so she mounted a little technical defense of Gwen, her BFF-to-soon-no-longer-be, because as a mom & still-technical-BFF it was just the karmically correct thing to do. Yet the wife’s minuscule effort would do nothing to obscure the fact that both instinctively knew in their secret husband-wife/mom-dad language (their twins, Telma’s age, asleep two walls away) that “Hey c’mon now hon that isn’t fair” translated to “Of course she was asleep at the fucking wheel, she’s no different than one of those moms who drown their kids in the tub, she’s NUTS, I just can’t say that about my friend because I’m superstitious about bringing energy to it, about something then happening to our own kids,” all of that unspoken, or spoken, but in code, it would be so obvious, the wife’s affirmation of a truth told that she shared but dare not express, also not a rebuke to hubby but a way to say let’s hush now and go to sleep, let’s not call the wrath of anyone’s god, & the husband would cease his banter, he’d shot his macho family-protecting Papa Bear wad, her signal that it’s time to spoon, he’d hold her from behind in solidarity & gratitude that it didn’t happen to them, to their family, holding her in quiet holy gratitude and respect for her loyalty & commendable discretion, that’s just how a great wife and stand-up friend’s supposed to act, & they’d fall asleep like that spooning, husb and wife and unmauled children, whereas Gwen would toss and turn, husbandless, with her deformed Tel———