Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva

by Victoria Rowell

  Making my way up to the checkout counter, I looked over to the magazine rack out of habit at the tabloids. The usual suspects were front-page news. Just a little farther down on the rack I got a kick out of counting how many “Is Ruby Stargazer Returning from the Dead?” headlines I could find on the cover of the soap rags.

  If I had a nickel for every Cliffhanger Weekly and Soap Suds Digest cover that had my face plastered on it since I’d been fired from R&R I’d be Bill Gates rich. The same magazine editors who repeatedly told the soap’s publicist and Weezi for fifteen years, “Brown just doesn’t sell our mags,” were now capitalizing on my popularity and the massive outcry for my return.

  The soap rags also irresponsibly sent panic across American checkout counters, posturing me “in negotiations” for an imminent return, just so fans would continue to tune in and buy their sudser tabloids. And I knew R&R paid them handsomely to keep stoking that fire.

  There I was again, airbrushed to perfection on the glossy cover of the latest issue of Soap Suds Digest. The caption read: “Mega-Shocker News: Will Ruby Stargazer Return from Her Watery Grave?”

  My eyes scanned over to Cliffhanger Weekly. The headline read: “Breaking News: Is Calysta Jeffries Being Recast?”

  My heart picked up a few beats.

  “How are you today, ma’am?” asked the cashier.

  “Fine,” I replied, hoping I was doing an adequate job of masking the anxiety attack I was experiencing.

  Attempting to calm my nerves, I threw the copy of Cliffhanger Weekly facedown onto the conveyor belt along with my packages of blueberries and pomegranate seeds.

  “Paper or plastic?” the bag boy asked.

  “Ah, paper, please.”

  As the cashier handed me my receipt, the sexy young bag boy, resembling hip-hop sensation Mario, flirtatiously asked me, “Do you need a carryout?”

  Since I never looked my age, it wasn’t uncustomary for younger men to make passes. I wanted to say, Sweetie you can carry me anywhere you want to, but behaved.

  “Love one.”

  After a few minutes of searching, I retrieved my Jag keys from my 2007 D&G jacket. Times were tight and I shopped my closet like a Filene’s Basement closeout sale. Naturally it was in excellent condition.

  I tipped the scrumptious bag boy a fiver after he shut the trunk. “Thank you, ma’am.” He beamed. “My grandma loves The Rich and the Ruthless.”

  I instantly wanted my money back; the thrill was gone.

  I climbed into my sports car with the rolled Cliffhanger Weekly in my fist, anxious to find out about the potential recast of my signature role. Couldn’t believe Edith and Randall would be stupid enough to go there. R&R’s online viewers had cyber-tarred and feathered Yancy St. Martin, the So You Wanna Be a Supermodel winner who’d replaced me during Ruby’s honeymoon death scenes.

  Before I could flip open to the magazine’s first page, I was interrupted by Eldar’s “Nature Boy” ringtone.

  “Hello?”

  “Calysta, where in the hell are you?” my ex-husband Dwayne Jeffries aggressively shouted into my ear.

  “Who do you think you are asking me where I am? Last time I checked I hadn’t been your wife in over six years.”

  “Did you forget Ivy has a major lacrosse game tonight? It starts in thirty minutes.”

  “No, I didn’t forget. But did you forget I’m the one who juggles a real job and pays the tuition while you’re out juggling two or three video hoes a week? You show up for one of Ivy’s events on time and come off as a hero. Pathetic.”

  “The fact of the matter is, our daughter’s in her first playoff game and her mother is nowhere to be found,” he replied smugly.

  Dwayne met me when Ivy was just five years old. I had appeared on his low-rated daytime talk show to promote The Rich and the Ruthless.

  At first I thought he was charming, the sex was mezza mezz, and he had nice teeth. It turned out he was arrogant, argumentative, a freak in bed, and the teeth were veneers. However, he and Ivy had formed an undeniable bond. We married and Dwayne became a paternal figure in her life, even after we split up.

  “You know what, get off my back. Tell Ivy I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Pressing the End button and putting my key in the ignition, I knew I’d have to read about the Ruby Stargazer recast later if I was going to make it to Santa Monica in time to catch at least some of my daughter’s game.

  I pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the Pacific Coast Highway. As I sped along, my thoughts kept drifting to the magazine sitting next to me. I wanted to tear it open so bad and read about the recast.

  Come on, Calysta, get real, this is only a soap tabloid, it’s not Rolling Stone. How many times has the magazine touted my return to daytime in the last six months, turning out to be totally false? I don’t know why people bother picking up these stupid rags.

  It was probably all just a silly rumor created on one of those anonymous soap blogs.

  Something up ahead was stalling traffic. Probably another mudslide or a wreck.

  No matter how long I lived in Southern California, it never ceased to amaze me how traffic could crawl to a complete stop over roadkill, road rage, or rubbernecking.

  Frustrated, I grabbed the mag and quickly thumbed through it.

  WBC President of Daytime Television Edith Norman and Randall Roberts, Co-Executive Producer of The Rich and the Ruthless, are reportedly moving ahead with plans to bring back the wildly popular heroine Ruby Stargazer in time for February Sweeps, in honor of Black History Month and the WBC’s new diversity rollout led by Josephine Mansoor, hiring more young African Americans due to a firestorm of ongoing criticism. There has been no official word as to whether or not the sudser has approached Calysta Jeffries to reprise the role, but according to respected soap reporter Mitch Morelli the character of Ruby Stargazer is likely to be recast.

  I reached for my BlackBerry and auto-dialed Shannen, putting the phone on speaker, not noticing that traffic had begun moving again. The driver of the SUV behind me honked, startling me.

  “Dammit,” I spat, accidentally dropping the rag.

  “Hello, Calysta?”

  “Hey,” I replied, straining to sound cheerful while reaching between my legs.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nah, just calling to catch up,” I replied, forcing nonchalance. “What’s the latest on the soapvine? Anyone else been let go?”

  “Yeah, they fired poor Willie Turner again, and rumor has it the Pattern Cutter could be next,” she squealed. “But that said, things are worse than ever. Alison got her way as usual. Randall hired another hairstylist and Felicia stopped writing scenes for Wolfe and me and brought in a twenty-two-year-old Latin hunk to pair me with named Javier de L’Vasquez, who was a breakout star on the Mexican telenovela Mi Amor, Mi Odio.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “He’s playing the new Pepe.”

  “Oh. Well, if nothing else, the soap’s consistent,” I replied. “Always open season for recasting the minorities.”

  “Yeah well, Roger’s pissed.”

  “Roger? Thought you guys were separated?”

  “We were but he threatened to commit suicide. Anyway, sharing scenes with Wolfe was one thing, because Roger didn’t see him as a threat, but the moment he caught a bedroom scene of Javier and me online he went bat-shit crazy. Javier is Mark Consuelos–Mario Lopez gorgeous, by the way.”

  “Yeah, but you coulda done all right stayin’ in that storyline with Wolfe. He’s still rated the sexiest and most popular actor in daytime. Don’t forget how that silver fox heroically carried you up two flights of stairs out of a burning building like it was nothin’ last year when you were knocked unconscious by that psycho Rory Lovekin, connecting a two-by-four to your skull like she was Jose Canseco on steroids.”

  “I know, who could forget? And that was the problem,” Shannen firmly stated. “Alison got her prickly panties in a bunch the moment I had chemistry wi
th Wolfe and we definitely had plenty of that. She knows the only thing that keeps her on the air is their super-couple status fueling her popularity.”

  “And don’t forget she married that undie-snatcher Randall Roberts,” I said acidly. “Girl, I don’t know how you’re still doing it. I am so much happier now that I’m away from all that poison,” I lied.

  I was itching to ask Shannen about the Ruby Stargazer recast rumors but didn’t want it to seem as if that was the only reason I had called.

  “It’s much worse since Mr. Barringer recently had a turn for the worse,” Shannen reported.

  “What!”

  “Auggie Jr. is still Co-Executive Producer, but he’s basically never at the set. He’s letting that ignoramus Randall do whatever he wants. Oh and you’ll never believe, Veronica Barringer’s been hanging around the set lately. How weird is that? Calysta, are you there?”

  “Uhh, yeah,” I replied, half paying attention. I was in disbelief that I hadn’t been informed of how ill Augustus actually was.

  “You haven’t asked about the recast.”

  I was relieved she’d brought it up so I didn’t have to seem desperate.

  “What recast?” I pretended not to know.

  “Hate to tell you, Calysta, but there’s serious talk of replacing you and Ethan is first in line making recommendations.”

  “Figures . . . Shannen?”

  “I’m still here. When you left, you told me you never wanted to know if they decided to recast, and here I am bringing it up. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Tell me everything,” I said as I reached into my handbag for my stash of Xanax, quickly retrieving a couple of pills, swallowing them dry.

  “All right.” She sighed. “The word on the set is yes, they are secretly testing actresses to play Ruby Stargazer this week, and they’re going for a big name.”

  “Like who?”

  “I have no idea. Edith and the R&R brass are being really tight-lipped.”

  My exit off the 10 freeway was still a good twenty minutes away from the Westside Waldorf School. I was feeling calmer, but my head began to swim as I haphazardly straddled two lanes, almost sideswiping an Escalade, causing the Filipino driver to flip me the bird.

  Sorry, I mouthed to the driver.

  “Calysta, you all right?”

  “Yeah, yeah, drivin’,” I slurred. “Shan, you’re such a good friend, I-gotta-go-better-get-off-the-phone-don’t-wanna-get-a-ticket.”

  “Okay, please call me later,” a worried Shannen said as she hung up.

  I threw the phone into the passenger seat and blasted the music.

  A big-name actress . . . those bastards.

  I darted into the carpool lane and floored it.

  I gotta get to Ivy’s game.

  Crossing four lanes in seconds, I headed up the off-ramp. The traffic light changed to red just as I skated under it, narrowly missing an oncoming cement truck. I looked back to see the driver shaking his fist and no doubt yelling obscenities. By the time I looked forward a school bus full of children had stopped in front of me.

  Slamming on the brakes, skidding sideways, I screamed, “Oh, shit!” Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and the last thing I remembered was crashing my Jag full speed into a light pole.

  Disgraced Soap Diva Crashes Car in Drugged Out Stupor!

  BREAKING NEWS: Former Rich and Ruthless siren Calysta Jeffries crashed her vintage Jaguar into a streetlight in Santa Monica, blocks from her teenage daughter’s school. The award-winning actress, who up until six months ago played Ruby Stargazer on the soap, is said to be laid up in serious condition, according to her spokesperson Weezi Abramowitz. Inside sources say alcohol and drugs may have been a factor. Ever since Jeffries was fired from the #1 WBC soap shortly after her shocking on-set brawl with Sudsy Awardee and costar Emmy Abernathy she’s been abusing the mood enhancers. It’s so sad what this industry can turn people into. Keep checking back as this tragic story develops!

  The Diva

  CHAPTER 23

  Under the Influence

  When I grow up I’ma be a GREAT BIG STAR!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms open wide for emphasis.

  “You are?” asked Miss Whilemina, visiting from next door. She came over every afternoon in time to watch the “stories” with Grandma Jones.

  “I sure am. I’m gonna be an actress on TV!”

  “Well I’ll just say. Do me a favor, chile, and remember me here in Greenwood, Mississippi, when you make all that big-time money, okay?”

  “Okay,” I promised. “I’m gone be the biggest star EVER!”

  “Beulah Espinetta Jones, get your skinny behind in that kitchen and stop talking all that Who-Shot-John before I get the strap,” Grandma Jones warned from her usual place on the sunken-in sofa, a dishrag over one shoulder and a picture of a flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Jesus hanging above her. “How many times do I have to tell you, all that show business carryin’ on is for freaks and strange folk?”

  “But—”

  “Don’t you but me, Beulah. You better look like doin’ those dishes if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said, shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “I mean you better wash those dishes good too, you know how yolk sticks. And dump that swill bucket in the compost pile while you’re at it,” Grandma Jones called out during a commercial break, Miss Whilemina nestled next to her unwrapping tinfoil containing a dozen hot wings, anticipating picking up where they left off on their favorite soap, Yesterday, Today and Maybe Tomorrow. “And wipe those dishes dry and put ’em away before you go outside and weed my herb garden. Ya hear? Beulah? Beulah Espinetta, don’t make me get off this couch!”

  “Yes ma’am. I hear you, I hear you, I hear you . . .”

  “Mom, wake up!” a familiar voice called out, as hands were gently rocking me. “You’re dreaming.”

  I opened my swollen eyes to find Ivy’s concerned face looking down at me.

  “What?” I asked groggily, my head pounding. “Where’s Grandma Jones?”

  “In Mississippi, where else would she be?”

  I slowly realized I wasn’t in Greenwood anymore. Everything was so hazy, so white, so sterile. And where was all my Barbara Barry furniture?

  “What’s goin’ on?” I panicked, as I unsuccessfully tried to sit up. “Ouch! Where am I?”

  “Lay still, Mom.” Ivy gently guided me back.

  “You’re at St. John’s,” answered a pissed Dwayne. His voice made me wince.

  “What?”

  “You’ve been here for the past forty-eight hours,” he continued. “Ever since you wrapped your car around a light pole.”

  Nothing Dwayne said was registering. I remembered getting groceries . . .

  How’d I get from pomegranate seeds to a hospital bed? I’d read something in a tabloid that involved Randall Roberts . . . what was it?

  The details were fuzzy, but one thing I knew for certain, as with most of the showbiz calamities of my adult life, trifling Randall Roberts somehow played a part.

  “Was anyone else hurt?”

  “Luckily no,” Dwayne coldly informed me. “Considering how impaired you were it could have been disastrous.”

  “Impaired? What are you talking about?”

  “No mystery here, Calysta. You were driving while under the influence. You better thank God you only have a coupla’ cracked ribs and didn’t kill yourself or someone else.”

  “What? No, I mean I wasn’t impaired!”

  “Dwayne, take it easy, Mom’s just been in an accident.”

  “I . . . I remember having a split of champagne before going to the market, and that certainly wasn’t enough to make me crash my car.”

  “They found alprazolam in your system,” Dwayne said.

  “Alpa-what-um?” Ivy asked.

  “I’m sorry you have to find out about your mother this way, honey, but—”

  “Shut up, Dwayne.”

  “It’s
Xanax,” he persisted. “They found a bottle spilled out all over the passenger seat of your mother’s car.”

  “Okay, okay, crucify me. Yes, I occasionally take a Xanax for my panic attacks, which you contribute to, but what does that have to do with—”

  “You know you’re not supposed to drink and drive, much less mix it with pills.”

  “Well thank you, C. Everett whatshisface.”

  “Who?” Ivy asked.

  “Your mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s Dr. Regina Benjamin, new surgeon general. Saw it in Jet.” Dwayne’s real inspiration for the subscription was “Beauty of the Week.”

  “My head—”

  “Mom! I’ll get the nurse?”

  “Yeah baby, need something for the pain.”

  “Okay, be right back.”

  “That’s not going to happen, I will not allow our daughter to enable your druggin’,” Dwayne pontificated, blocking Ivy’s exit. “And furthermore, Ivy will be staying with me for the foreseeable future.”

  “You’re out of your cotton-pickin’ mind.”

  Maternal adrenaline temporarily numbing my agony, I pressed the button on my automated bed to sit up. “I’m the primary parent.”

  “Not anymore you’re not,” Dwayne said arrogantly, unfolding an official-looking document. “Don’t strain yourself trying to read it. It’s a court order giving me temporary custody.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  “I get into a little fender bender and now you’re snatching my child!”

  “If I hadn’t been quick on my feet, Child Protective Services would’ve been all over me and you like a wetsuit.”

  “Guys, Mom, Dad, stop fighting.”

  “You’re right, honey, pass me my BlackBerry. It’s in my purse. I need to call Sly.”

  “He’s already in the waiting room.” Dwayne sneered. “He called yesterday and asked me to let him know when you regained consciousness. The accident’s been on Wendy Williams ‘Hot Topics’ for the past two days. She keeps rerunning you being cut out of your car with the ‘Jaws of Life.’ See what an embarrassing mess you’ve made?”