She smiled. “Anytime.”
I cut across the stuffy warehouse toward the exit, stopping for just a moment at the edge of the stage lit for the scene we were about to shoot, set to look like the bedroom of Peyton and Marguerite’s New York apartment. Jackson looked on as Felicity stood in for me, running the scene with Cole as the gaffer adjusted the lights and the camera crew rehearsed their movement.
Felicity really was an angel, volunteering to work as my stand-in. She was always going above and beyond. And her idea to have makeup come to our bungalow every morning so I didn’t have to worry about looking a mess in front of fifty people who all had cameras to snap unflattering pictures of me, at any moment, was pure genius. The Botox and fillers I’d had done in recent weeks were holding up nicely, and I swore my pores had never looked so good after the micro-needling and vampire facial, but still, I didn’t like to be photographed without my total game face on. Taylor, of course, assured me that the crew had all been thoroughly vetted and none of them were leakers, but in my experience you could never be too careful.
I watched as Fee ran through the scene with Cole, hitting all her marks and nailing her lines like a pro. If she hadn’t been way too young for the part, I would’ve been worried she’d steal my role—she was that good. She said the line about the pregnancy ruining her career with such unbridled glee, it made me stop to think about my own interpretation of the line. Perhaps instead of being afraid of the pregnancy destroying her career, my character was in fact thrilled by the excuse to end her career. She knew she was growing older, and stepping away from the spotlight would allow her to live her life in peace, without agonizing over every crease in her forehead. Achingly familiar, really. I knew as I opened the stage door that I was going to borrow it.
Temporarily blinded by the brutal glare of the morning sun after the dark of the warehouse, I stumbled over the lip of the door and plowed straight into Madison, who was standing on the small loading dock just outside. “Sorry!” I yelped. “Didn’t see the step down.”
Madison tittered and spun to face me, phone in hand. “Careful,” she teased. “People might say you’re drunk on set.”
Noticing the live stream icon in the corner of her screen, I forced an awkward laugh. Did this girl ever stop filming? At least I was camera ready today. “Sober as Sunday morning,” I quipped.
Of all the exits, why did she have to take up residence at this one? The side loading dock was tucked away from the hubbub of the craft services tents in the dusty parking lot on the other side of the building, shaded by big trees and overlooking a hill that rolled gently down to the rocky shore—a perfect place to take a break.
Madison’s eyes flitted back to the screen. “I’m getting so many questions from you guys right now, I can’t even keep up!” she exclaimed. “I’m gonna pick one at random. Here we go. Randy from Wisconsin asks ‘Stella, these days, do you shave your pussy—’ Randy! That is very randy of you.”
I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. A decade had passed; I shouldn’t still be bothered, but when your most embarrassing moment is splashed all over the internet and proceeds to ruin your career, it’s a little hard not to be. I didn’t actually remember the night in question, but I’d never be allowed to forget it. It wasn’t my fault, really. I’d been (what I didn’t know at the time was clinically) depressed and really fucked up—uppers and downers paired with booze, an ill-advised combination in any circumstance. I was at Rock & Roll Ralphs on Sunset replenishing my supply of gin and snacks at two in the morning when I apparently caught a woman taking pictures of me. I was blackout drunk, so I have no recollection of it, but the video shows me yelling and throwing pickle jars at her, wearing a sundress with no underwear. The nail in the coffin: in my despair, I hadn’t been taking care of my nether regions properly, hence Randy’s comment and my perpetual shame.
“Stella?” Madison asked expectantly. “What do you think?”
I blinked at her, realizing she’d continued to talk after I’d stopped listening. I had no idea what she wanted my opinion on, but I was beginning to feel claustrophobic, trapped beneath the crush of her 143,000 adoring fans, and I needed to get out of there. “Sorry,” I said as nicely as I could muster. “We’re about to roll. I’ve got to prepare.”
And with that I gratefully disappeared into the cavernous darkness of the studio. I hadn’t gotten to smoke a cigarette, but it was probably for the best. It was a filthy habit.
“Oh, there you are!”
I turned to see Taylor, headphones around her neck and script in hand. “I got caught out there in Madison’s live stream,” I explained.
“She’s live streaming here?” Taylor asked. She sounded as frustrated as I was by the whole thing.
I nodded and pointed to the door. “Out there.”
Taylor put the heels of her hands into her eyes, sighing. “Okay, thanks. I’ll deal with her. They’re ready for you on set. The photographer is going to shoot some stills of you guys before we roll.”
“Cool.” I skirted around a collection of flags and scrims to land at video village, where I found Jackson and Felicity in deep conversation, the script between them. I watched his gaze soften, his eyes trained on her as she looked down at the pages, searching for something. I smiled to myself. Didn’t look like they’d be needing my matchmaking services after all. The kids could evidently figure it out on their own.
Feeling my eyes on him, Jackson turned. “Felicity and I were just discussing a discovery she made about your character that I thought you might want to use.”
“Oh?”
“You inspired it, really,” Felicity rushed in, batting her long lashes. “I was thinking of what you’ve said about how stressful the limelight can be, and I realized that maybe Marguerite’s actually not terrified but thrilled by the idea of leaving it behind.”
“Of course she’s thrilled,” I snipped, annoyed. I saw Felicity’s face fall, but it wasn’t my job to coddle her. And clearly Jackson needed to be reminded that I was the lead actress here. “The spotlight eventually burns even the thickest skin. I of all people should know that.” Avoiding Felicity’s gaze, I shed my robe and draped it over the back of Jackson’s director’s chair, meeting his eyes with what I hoped was a convincing smile. “Ready when you are.”
Cole sat on the bed beneath the lights, studying his lines. “I’m gonna cut that last line about wanting to celebrate and just kiss you after you ask me whether I’m happy,” he said without looking up as I approached.
“You’re gonna cut what?” Jackson asked, overhearing.
The prop master signaled to me as Jackson and Cole once again locked horns, and I gladly stepped away from their argument, joining him in the doorway of what was supposed to be our bathroom. “This is the positive pregnancy test you’ll come out of the bathroom holding,” he said.
I palmed the pregnancy test and inspected it. It did indeed have two lines. “Who’s the lucky mother-to-be?” I joked.
He laughed as the sound guy approached with my mic. “You ready to get wired?” he asked.
“We’re gonna shoot pictures first, so let’s wait till after,” I said.
“Stella.” Jackson beckoned to me. I slipped the pregnancy test into the pocket of my pajama pants and joined Jackson, Cole, and the baby-faced set photographer at the foot of the bed. “We’ll have you here. Cole, you’re facing her with your hand on her belly.”
Cole and I faced each other, and he lightly placed his hand on my stomach as Jackson moved over to the monitors. “Looking good. Pete’s gonna take over from here.”
The set photographer waved at the mention of his name. “Stella tilt your face up to the light, and, Cole, cheat out a bit,” Pete instructed. “Nice.”
We followed his directions as he clicked away. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Cole whispered.
“She would have been twelve now,” I murmured.
“If it were a she,” he returned.
Tears welled in my eyes. �
��She would have been,” I said. I’d felt it from the beginning, that I was carrying a girl. But the day I went in for the blood test was the day we found out she’d left us, taking with her what was left of our shell of a marriage and leaving me crushed. I often wondered how differently things might have turned out if she’d stayed. Who she would have become, who I would have become. But dwelling on what might have been only drove me to drink, and evidently throw pickle jars at unsuspecting passersby.
“She would have been beautiful,” he said, running his fingertips over my cheek. “Just like her mama.”
Cole really could be sweet when he wanted to. These past few days I’d begun to remember what it was about him I had loved. And the chemistry. God, the chemistry. I couldn’t believe I was still attracted to him after all that had happened between us, but my body seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Let’s do a few kissing,” Pete instructed.
Cole pulled me closer and covered my mouth with his. My head grew light with the smell of his aftershave, the roughness of his persistent stubble, the taste of his lips; the familiarity was dizzying, as though I’d stumbled into a time warp.
“Okay, we’re good,” Pete said, checking his camera.
Cole brushed my cheek again with his fingers and let his gaze travel once more to my lips before he turned his attention to his buzzing phone.
Flushed, I grabbed the bottle of water I’d stored behind a chair and gulped it.
“Everybody take twenty,” Price called out. “AC break before we roll.”
Film really was a lot of hurry up and wait. But I was glad to step away from the swell of emotion that threatened to breach the levees when I was in Cole’s arms, and beelined for the door.
Outside, I found Felicity at a table under the giant pop-up tent in the parking lot, laughing with Kara. “What’s so funny?” I asked, sliding into the seat beside them.
“Show her,” Felicity said.
The image on Kara’s phone was of a girl that strongly resembled…me. I squinted at it and looked at Kara quizzically.
“She’s your doppelgänger!” Felicity exclaimed.
“Who is she?” I asked.
Kara flipped to the next picture, which showed her and the girl kissing. “My ex.”
“Well, she’s very pretty,” I said. “If I do say so myself.”
“Yeah.” Kara gazed at the picture wistfully.
“What happened?” Felicity asked.
“She’s an actress,” Kara said, as if that explained it.
“And?” I asked.
“She fell in love with her next costar, naturally.” Kara laughed.
“Then she wasn’t worth your time,” I said. “Anyway, not all actresses are assholes.”
She brushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled enigmatically. “So I hear.”
Felicity abruptly stood and beckoned to me. “I wanna shoot you while you’re in this makeup. For your Insta. Grab your phone. I know just the spot.”
She led me around the corner to the side of the warehouse that had a view of the sea. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she said when we were out of earshot of the others. “It was out of line for me to discuss your character with Jackson. I wasn’t thinking.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Her big brown eyes were full of tears. “I’ve never been on a set before. This is all new to me,” she explained, her voice shaking. “Please believe me, I never want to do anything that would hurt you.”
I felt bad then; I’d obviously hurt her feelings more than necessary. “It’s okay,” I said. “Really. I understand. It’s not your fault Jackson worships the ground you walk on.”
“You think?” She wiped her eyes and looked at me sideways. “I don’t see it.”
“Riiiiight. I give it a week before you’re knockin’ boots.” I wiggled my hips.
“That’s not happening.” She laughed, starting down the grassy hill. “Come here.” She gestured to a large shade tree with a swing hanging from it. I dutifully handed her my phone and sat in the swing facing the sea. “No. Face the other way so I get the ocean behind you.”
I adjusted my position and smiled. “No smile,” she said. “And look wistful. You don’t know I’m here.”
I gazed over her shoulder toward where Madison sat on the edge of my loading dock with her computer in her lap, so wrapped up in whatever she was doing that she didn’t even see us, thank heavens. I recited my gratitude prayer in my head, feeling the ocean breeze lift my hair from my shoulders as Felicity snapped pictures. This whole sharing culture was beyond counterintuitive to me. But I knew she was right: if I wanted the world to see a new me, I had to show them a new me. And she was actually a pretty good photographer, though I always made her shoot with my phone so that I could edit the photos. The whole unedited photos trend was another I simply could not understand. Why would anyone want to expose their flaws when it is so easy to simply delete them with the click of a button? Photoshop was like makeup, but for pictures. And I, for one, was grateful for it.
“What’s this?” I heard the mockery in Cole’s voice before I spun to see him striding up from the rocky beach. “Stella Rivers allowing herself to be photographed without a publicist present? I don’t believe my eyes.” He looked to Felicity. “You know she wouldn’t even allow a photographer at our wedding for fear he would sell the pictures.”
“And somehow our pictures ended up in the magazines anyway.” I smiled tightly. “But I’ve changed with the times.”
He gestured to Felicity and Madison, laughing. “Who are we kidding? We’re dinosaurs compared to these kids.” He threw his arm around my shoulder just as Felicity snapped a photo.
We glanced at her in surprise. “Great shot.” She showed us the picture, which was indeed a great shot, and would be even better once I removed the crow’s-feet from around my eyes. “You guys always were a good-looking couple.”
Cole threw his head back and laughed. “I was never enough for Stella, though,” he taunted. “Was I, baby?”
After the sweetness he’d shown me on set, his words were like a bucket of ice water. And just when I was beginning to imagine that perhaps we could put the past behind us. “I could say the same, I guess,” I snapped.
His smile evaporated before he turned and sauntered away, leaving Felicity and me staring after him. “What the hell was that about?” Felicity asked.
I sighed. “He cheated on me.”
“No surprise there,” she said. “But why turn it around like that?”
“He’s a dick, in case you haven’t noticed.”
She snorted. “Seems like he should be a little nicer to his leading lady if he’s the method actor he claims to be.”
“He doesn’t need to go method on this,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He is Peyton. A capricious artist who can’t stay faithful and needs everyone to love him? Jackson wrote him a role he couldn’t botch.”
Felicity brushed away a piece of hair that had found its way into my eyes. “You okay?” she asked. I nodded. “For someone who’s such a great actress, you’re really a terrible liar,” she breathed.
I watched Madison stand, smiling as Cole approached her perch. She showed him something on her computer and laughed flirtatiously when he made a comment.
I felt just like my character Marguerite, watching her husband hit on the nanny. Only he wasn’t my husband anymore, and our child had never been born.
I forced the thought from my mind and looked over Felicity’s shoulder as she thumbed through the pictures she’d snapped, stopping on one where I had a slight smile. “This is perfect. You look gorgeous.”
It was a beautiful photo, but all I could see was how much I favored my mother. The resemblance was striking. I’d always taken after her, but now I was nearing the age she’d been the last time I saw her, and looking at the picture I realized I’d unwittingly styled my hair exactly like hers had been twenty-two years ago. I shook my head sharply and grabbed the phone. “Don’t post it.�
�
“Why? But it’s—”
“I look like my mother,” I cut her off. She wrinkled her brow. “What?” I asked.
“It’s just—you’ve never mentioned your mother.”
I sighed. If I couldn’t even talk about these things, how was I supposed to write a memoir? Felicity had encouraged me, said it would be cathartic, not to mention instrumental in showing the world the new me. At least I’d written out the story of how Cole and I met. Though I’d probably have to completely rewrite it so I wouldn’t get sued. Anyway, it wasn’t like I had a deadline. I didn’t even have a publisher. I did want to set the record straight though, and my mother was a subject ripe for the page. “She was my manager,” I said finally. “Until I turned eighteen and discovered she’d spent every dime I’d ever made.”
She nodded with sympathy. “Gotcha.”
I kicked off and pumped my legs, the branch of the tree creaking as I swung. Felicity never pried, bless her. She sensed the subjects I was reluctant to talk about, and never pushed or prodded the way so many people did.
That was one of the strangest things about being famous: everyone felt they owned a piece of you. Your joy and pain were their gossip, to be examined and analyzed like you weren’t a real human with feelings at all, but some kind of fictional character. Everyone had opinions about who you dated, where you went, what you ate and wore—and they had no problem informing you of these opinions while you were in line for an embarrassing medication at the drugstore or in the midst of an intense fight with your partner in the corner booth of an exorbitantly expensive restaurant on Valentine’s Day. You were stalked like prey by paparazzi and vilified for having secrets, as though the public had a right to know everything about you. It was exhausting.
It all rolled off Cole’s back like water off a duck, but I was too sensitive; it was my greatest strength as an actress and my greatest weakness as a star.
There was a time, before the press that had turned me into a star remade me as a pariah, before the film offers dried up and the glowing fan mail turned to vitriolic hate mail, when I’d relished interviews with friendly journalists, photo shoots for glossy magazines, getting all dolled up to walk the red carpet. But I learned the hard way that when you’re on a pedestal, you have a lot farther to fall. And when you’re down, those who once raised you up will be the first to spit on you. At my lowest point, my entire life was picked apart, my every mistake magnified and mocked, my pain warped into madness and reflected back at me from every newsstand, and it broke me.
The Siren Page 11