Catch a Rising Star (8 page)

“Page ten,” I say around sugary apple filling.

Pages flip and she starts to read. “‘The unknown hospital nurse takes Felicia’s ring from her finger and slips it into her
pocket.’ I don’t get it,” Laini says.

“Okay, they created a flashback scene where I am brought into the hospital burned beyond recognition. The assumption is that
the no-name nurse pulls my ring off because it’s so big and valuable. She thinks I’m going to die anyway, and we’ll never
find out who I am.”

“Haven’t these writers ever heard of DNA testing and fingerprinting?”

“Well, there’s no one to test her DNA against and unless she’s a felon, those tests wouldn’t help figure out her identity
anyway.”

Laini shrugs. “I guess. It just seems a little over the top. Don’t you think so?”

“That’s just the way soaps are. Anything can be written to explain anything. They’re not highly based in reality.” I grin.
“That’s why they’re so popular. Housewives want that hour of escape.”

Laini hands me the script. “Well, maybe the next week will be better for you.”

“I hope so.” It’s just so disappointing. I mean I’ve been waiting and waiting for them to send me my first scripts. And today
I get next week’s script, and I don’t say one darn word all week.

“So how’s the apple turnover?” Laini asks.

Ah, something happy to talk about. “This is fantastic. Did you make this from scratch?”

“Of course!”

“Laini, I swear you should have your own bakery.”

I see interest flicker in Laini’s eyes. “Wouldn’t that be fun? But bakeries don’t make enough. I’d go broke in three months.”

“With food like this? Are you crazy? You’d be a millionaire in three months.”

Laini reaches for my plate and stands up. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I think I’d better stick with what works.”

“You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t step out in faith, Laini.”

She gives me a grin. “Okay, but right now I have a job that pays my bills. As long as I can bake for my grateful friends,
I’m happy.”

“You can bake for me anytime.” If I weren’t so scared of Freddie’s militant torture, I’d ask for another turnover.

Laini turns suddenly and gives me a wide-eyed smile as though she’s had a brilliant thought. “Hey, when I come back, want
me to help you run lines like the old days?”

I give the pages in front of me a once-over and stare at the back of her head as she retreats into the kitchen without waiting
for my answer. Run lines? Is she kidding me? What lines?

I’m not sure, but I honestly don’t think my mouth is supposed to be covered here. My whole face is wound up in gauze, except
my eyes. And staring at myself in the mirror, I’d just as soon they were covered too so I couldn’t see how hideous I look.
I know that horrible Julie Foster wrote me into the script this way just to keep me anonymous a little while longer. She’s
so vindictive. And if you want to know the truth, I think she’s sort of nervous about me kissing her husband once Rudolph
discovers to his surprise and joy that Felicia wasn’t killed, but merely maimed (another fact I’m not so happy about) and
suffering from severe amnesia.

And lest anyone forget, let me just insert a little history: Julie divorced the slug husband who made a pass at me three years
ago at the Christmas party—right before she killed off my character in a fiery inferno. Then she started dating a sitcom actor
from a poorly rated, cancelled-after-six-episodes show that taped in the same building as
Legacy of Life
. After they broke up, I’m not sure what happened, but apparently, Trey caught her eye, left his wife, and married Julie.
So she is now at least three men out from the one who supposedly broke her heart by attempting (but never succeeding) to kiss
me.

Now that we’re up to speed, let me just reiterate how unfair it is to bring me back and keep me wrapped up and then scarred
up. If I know Julie, she’ll prolong my hideousness as long as she can. So unprofessional. And so not fair. Who wants to kiss
a guy with chronic coffee breath anyway? Not to mention the fact that he smokes, and last time we played a romantic scene
together, he tried to slip me the tongue and I had to stomp on his foot.

Okay, it’s getting awfully hard to breathe here. I
know
my mouth isn’t supposed to be covered. I
do
have some lines as I go in and out of an anesthesia-induced sleep on this first day of shooting since my return to the übersoap.
Uh. Makeup ditz, hello? I raise my hand to Tonya, the twenty-year-old makeup “artist.”

“Everything okay?” she asks, looking at me in the mirror.

I point to my mouth and widen my eyes. I’m seriously losing the battle against my fight for air and my head is feeling woozy,
then I realize my passive nature isn’t going to help me here. I yank at the wrappings myself just as the girl realizes maybe
I’m this close to death. “Oh! Miss Brockman. I’m so sorry.” She makes a leap for my wrappings and relief is forthcoming. I
take in a few gulps of air.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” she begs. “I’ll for sure lose my job this time.”

Has she killed anyone? Because I was almost done for. “This time?”

She nods miserably. “Last week I used superglue on Joseph Toreno’s fake mustache. I didn’t know it was superglue. But it took
a few days for the stuff to loosen enough for him to pull it off. He refuses to allow me to work on him anymore.”

Who can blame him? I give her a nod of sympathy. “Have you considered a different career? You’re pretty enough to be on TV.”

“Thanks, but I’d die if anyone paid that kind of attention to me. Besides, hair and makeup have been my dream all my life.
I went to cosmetology school just so I could get this job.” She ducks her head. “I’m not really supposed to tell people this,
but Sharon Blankenship is my mom. She pulled strings to get me hired. She’ll kill me if I’m fired.”

Sharon Blankenship. The matriarch of
Legacy of Life
and diva to put all other divas to shame.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” I say.

She leans over my shoulder, and I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If Sharon’s your mom, I don’t think you have
to worry about getting fired.” Her face immediately perks up. I smile. Now that I can breathe again, I’m feeling more generous.

A stage guy shows up just as Tonya puts the last of the gauze in place. I look like a crazed mummy, with fabulous violet eyes.
Contacts for the part. But they really are gorgeous. The stagehand ogles the pretty makeup girl and barely notices Mummy-girl.
“They’re ready for Miss Brockman.”

“She’s ready to go.” Tonya flashes me a bright smile and I’m charmed. I think I might have found a new friend.

Okay, so what do I have to do all day? Lie in a very uncomfortable hospital bed while “nurses” bustle on and off set, messing
with my IV and talking around me.

Old Nurse says to New Nurse, who is unfamiliar with Felicia’s situation: “Oh, isn’t it just a shame? Imagine being so disfigured
and in a coma for three years.” (Oh, masterful writing, Julie. I’m awed. Really.
Not
.)

New Nurse: “Isn’t there any way we can find out who she is?”

Old Nurse: “We’ve exhausted every avenue at our disposal. Until she wakes up… if she ever does, we’ll just have to wait
and pray for the best.”

Nurses bow their heads for a moment of silent prayer.
Pu-lease.

Oh, oh, my big moment. Time to put all that acting experience into motion. I move my right index finger. The camera is zooming
in, but the praying nurses don’t notice that their patient is obviously coming out of her three-year coma.

And cut.

And there we have it. Acting at its most brilliant.

Squeeze those muscles, Tabby. You’re as flabby as old lady Blankenship.”

If I weren’t going ten miles per hour on the elliptical machine and dripping with sweat, I’d take the time to tell Freddie-the-horrible
to keep those remarks about our show’s matriarch to himself if he knows what’s good for him.

“I. Am. Squeezing. You jerk.” I can’t breathe, and I know that’s not good.

“Your butt is that squishy even
while
squeezing? Oh this is so much worse than I expected.”

Okay, the guy has been training me for more than a month, so he knows exactly what my glutes look and feel like. He’s just
being mean and trying the tough love approach to get me to work harder.

“Okay, Freddie, who told you to get me to lose more weight?”

Mr. Innocent gives me those eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cupcake Abs, and what are you doing slowing down?
Get back up to speed, and for that little ‘break’ I’m adding five more minutes.”

Totally unintimidated, I come to a complete stop. Freddie looks like he’s going to go through the roof. “What do you think
you’re doing? Step it up, girlfriend.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“Okay, fine. Jerry.”

“Bull. Jerry couldn’t care less. Have you seen his wife?” Two hundred pounds if she’s an ounce, and Jerry adores the Missus.

“Okay. It was Julie Foster.”

“Julie?”

He gives a nod. “The cow says she’s not writing for an overweight heroine. It’s too hard for audiences to believe the hunky
guys like Trey are in love with fat women when there are so many hot women running around.”

“Hunky?” I can’t help but laugh. “If they had to kiss his coffee breath, they wouldn’t think he’s so hot.”

“I just do what I’m told.” He has that eye of the tiger, and I know I’m about to get yelled at so I move my legs and go back
to the torture. But I’m definitely having a talk with the powers that be about this.

Jerry, I can’t physically get below a size six, and even a six is pushing it. I’m genetically predisposed to a size eight
or above.”

A snort from Julie raises my hackles. I whip around in Jerry’s plush office and face her. “Why can’t you write me in as curvy,
not fat?”

She ignores me and stays focused on Jerry. “Jerry, sweetheart, no one is going to believe a man like Rudolph will fall in
love with someone with a large behind.”

Oh, she is begging to be tossed out of that chair onto her own boney backside.

“What are you talking about?” He frowns and eyes me up and down. “She looks like she hasn’t had a meal in a week.”

Hello? Remember me? Still in the room here.

Julie turns to me and gives me a once-over without making eye contact. “She’s at least a full size bigger than the last time
she was on the show. Trey would never be attracted to… that.”

Jerry scowls and I can see he’s growing impatient with her. “Well, this isn’t about what Trey would be attracted to. It’s
about what Rudolph is attracted to, and his love for Felicia has nothing to do with the size of her derrière.”

Oh yeah! My new hero. Jerry Gardner. Who would have ever thought? As much as I hated to be a tattletale, I can’t help but
feel a sense of satisfaction. Maybe there are just times when a girl needs to go to the powers that be.

Jerry swings around and shoves his finger toward me. “Next time you have a problem with Julie, go through Zoe. What do I have
an associate producer for if people are going to just go over her head?”

Humiliation burns my cheeks, and I can feel Julie’s mocking gaze on me.

I stand and give my ex-hero Jerry a two-fingered salute. “Will do. Thank you for not making me lose more weight than is healthy
for me.”

“You’re welcome. Now get out of here. Both of you.”

Julie jerks to her feet and slides around me, avoiding any physical contact. I guess she’s afraid some of my chub might wear
off on her and make Trey lose interest. I mean really, given her track record with cheating husbands, who can blame her?

I follow her out and she spins on her stilettos, glaring at me like she needs an exorcist. “Don’t get too comfortable, chickee.
You won’t be here long.”

I stand there gaping at her as she sashays away, leaving me slack-jawed and speechless, wishing I had a quippy comeback. But
then, I never really do.

So, how are things going now that you’ve been back to work for a while?” Through an uncommon series of events, Dancy, Laini,
and I are all three home tonight for dinner, and Laini has cooked us a fabulous shrimp scampi (from a box, but still), a lovely
Caesar salad, and she’s baked a cake with the words
Break a Leg
written on it. Triple-layer chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. I’m in heaven.

We are sitting at our small, neglected kitchen table catching up for the first time in weeks. I relay my day of stardom.

Dancy spears a juicy shrimp and pops it into her mouth. “Do you have any lines yet?” she says around the bite. Her mother
would be mortified with her lack of table manners, but Laini and I couldn’t care less. Dancy’s come a long way out of all
that snootiness of Fifth Avenue old money.

“Oh yes. Want to hear them?”

They give me an enthusiastic response, so I mold my face into something truly pathetic, I’m sure. “Rudy,” I whisper in a barely
audible tone. I open my eyes and look at my friends. “And then the Old Nurse says, ‘Did you hear that? I think she said something.
Honey, what did you say?’”

Mold my face back to pathetic. “Wh-where’s Rudy?”

Eyes open. “And New Nurse says, ‘Who’s Rudy?’”

Back to pathetic face. “‘My husband.’ Eyes closed, my head goes to the side as I pass out, camera fades to black, and that’s
the way the show will end for the day. Tune in tomorrow for more of
Legacy of Life
.”

“Brava, brava!” My friends clap and whistle, and I feel like I’ve just won an Emmy.

“Thank you, thank you.” I grin and raise my wineglass filled with Diet Pepsi. “To fulfilling our dreams.”

“Hear, hear,” Dancy responds by lifting her own glass of diet something or other. But… Laini isn’t lifting anything,
least of all her head.

Dancy and I give each other a look and set our glasses down. Clearly one of us isn’t in a toasting mood.

“Everything okay, Laini?” I ask, feeling a sudden knot in my stomach.

Her face clouds and sudden tears well up in her eyes.