THREE
After Katherine left, I decided to ditch the gala I was supposed to be attending that night and instead sulked by myself in the mansion.
It was a rotten idea for a number of reasons. Being a shut-in wasn’t going to get me any new parts, and networking in Hollywood was one of the keys to success. Attending events and mingling was a sign that you were willing to play the game, and it kept your face on the minds of producers and potential co-stars. Staying home alone waiting for propositions to roll in made me look unapproachable and entitled. I knew it; I knew all the risks. I’d been in the business long enough.
But after Katherine’s visit, I couldn’t find it in my heart to want to play the game. I was tired of being forgotten and discounted simply because I was getting older. I didn’t look a day over 23, and I worked hard to keep it that way. Yet the industry was treating me as if I’d already hit menopause. They wanted to stick me in the ‘mature’ box—in TV movies and in safe, insulting roles as frat boys’ moms—just to keep using me without giving me the compensation my talent and experience deserved.
The offers were just as depressing as the lack of them, and my spirit was too dimmed to hobnob. I put the silver dress I’d picked out to wear back in my walk-in closet, ordered from my favorite Thai restaurant, and cracked open a bottle of wine. The food arrived quickly—probably because not many people in Hollywood were eating in on a Saturday night.
I situated myself on the couch in front of my big-screen TV as night fell across California, eating right out of the take-out containers as I cuddled up in my most comfortable pajamas. My phone was on silent and charging in my bedroom, well out of the way. I didn’t need the distraction.
It’s funny how even a showbiz professional can miss out on things; at my busiest, I never had enough free hours in the week to sit down and catch up on all the movies and shows my friends and rivals were creating. Stuffing my mouth full of food while I sat in front of the TV felt surprisingly and wonderfully normal for a change. I decided I would make the best of the situation by trying some self-care, even if it came with a little bit of self-pitying.
I was halfway through the bottle of wine when the commercial that ruined my night came on. It was a new trailer for an action blockbuster—one of the most anticipated of the year—which was scheduled to premiere in just a few months. I had been trying to keep my mind away from it, but the blaring of dramatic music and flashes of CGI explosions promised that there would be no escaping the painful reminders it brought.
And suddenly there he was: Jack Lister, in vivid color. His face, deadly handsome and glistening with sweat, shoved its way into my home once more, and I watched with growing anger in my heart, unable to make myself change the channel, curiosity getting the best of me. Jack Lister, running from a car-full of faceless bad guys shooting at him; Jack Lister sitting in front of a glowing computer monitor with a gun poised at the back of his head; Jack Lister sweeping up a beautiful young blonde for a dramatic kiss. It took me a moment to place her face, but when I did, I suddenly wanted another glass of wine.
It was Avery Donovan: the new me. The resemblance was glaring enough that I had gotten more than a few comments about it over the last few years as Avery had risen to stardom. She was beautiful and talented, and more importantly, she was young.
It was barely six months ago when my handsome, talented, A-list boyfriend left me for this younger version of me. Now, he and his new lady were starring in a movie together—something he had always promised me, something we had dreamed about as we lay together in bed.
My relationship with Jack had seemed like a perfect fantasy, despite all the warnings I’d received from everyone in the business who had ever dealt with him. He was devastatingly good looking, charismatic, and a good actor when he felt like showing up to do his job. The problem was, he knew looks were enough for him to skate by with, and he was happy to ride that gravy train. He had no problem being rude and abusive to the people he saw as being below him. It took me a long time to see that about him; for a while my choice of ignorance was bliss.
I thought the people scorning him were just jealous, trying to protect what they saw as a sweet and naïve little girl from a big bad monster of a man. I’d been acting since I was a teenager and was well-aware of the dangers of powerful, predatory men who used their position to get more than they deserved. For some reason, I didn’t see that in Jack; he put his hands over my eyes until it was too late—until we were sharing a home, a bed, and a future that he had no intention of seeing through.
When he left me for Avery, many people were thrilled to say “I told you so”. So many smug smiles; so many condescending pats on the shoulder, offering work that they knew was below me, just so they could pretend they were being supportive. Everyone loves watching the popular kids fall. They didn’t care about the full story, or that I was a human being, or that I had truly cared for Jack.
To them, I was just another in a long line of girls who’d fallen for Jack’s bad-boy charisma and wild promises. They didn’t see me as a real woman with a broken heart. They didn’t see how hard I worked to keep our relationship going and keep my career on track. Jack got to keep on going, because the world loved him no matter what. If anything, what he did to me made him more popular. Men wanted to be him because he could jump from actress to actress, always attached to the top A-lister of the minute, no matter how terribly he treated them. Women wanted to be with him because he was handsome, dangerous, and deep down, they believed they could change him. Their dreams were filled with fantasies of being the woman he would love so much that he couldn’t hurt her.
I know because those are exactly the dreams I used to have. From the moment I met him, a feeling of always chasing something I could never catch lived in my heart. Once he did what he did, I understood why.
The truth was that Jack Lister cared about one person—Jack Lister. If you weren’t helping him get richer and more famous, you might as well not exist. And if you were helping him, you shouldn’t fool yourself into thinking he actually valued you; he’d throw you out the window the minute you stopped being useful.
As the movie trailer ended with a shot of the new couple on top of a cliff, I wondered how long it would be before Avery discovered that awful reality for herself. I didn’t wish her harm; if anything, I felt horrible for her. I was living through her inevitable future, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
However, I couldn’t deny the jealous pang I felt at seeing her in the kind of role I had dreamed of, and felt I deserved. It was just one more reminder of what the industry thought of me, and how little control I had over it. The clock was ticking on my career, and I had to figure out what my next steps were going to be.