Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva

by Victoria Rowell

  Nothing earth-shattering, but thought you kids would like to know cat hair was flying on the set of The Rich and the Ruthless last Wednesday. Soap snitch Emmy Abernathy (Gina Chiccetelli, R&R) reported that Maeve Fielding (Lady Leslie Lovekin, R&R) was smoking in her dressing room again, causing a firestorm of sailor-switchblade-swearing between the pair during the annual cast photo shoot.

  Naturally, both muscled their way to the front row, smiling for the camera.

  The Diva

  CHAPTER 43

  Show Business Is for

  Freaks and Strange Folks

  Fizzing with anger, Shannen burst into her dressing room to find Grandma Jones eating the last bites of a cheeseburger.

  “That Weezi is so nice. He went and got me lunch and everything,” she said as Shannen slammed the door.

  “I hate this show!” she spat.

  “What happened? Last I saw you, you were as happy as a clam.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not happy anymore, Mrs. Jones. That bit—”

  “Watch your mouth, now. Slow down,” Grandma Jones said, patting Shannen’s arm.

  “That creepy Felicia is up to her antics again, sabotaging my character!”

  Grandma Jones sat transfixed, hanging on to every word while eating her French fries as though watching the soap itself.

  “Go on,” she encouraged.

  “They’re putting me in a coma!”

  “How?”

  “Well, according to Felicia, she’s our head writer, the R&R blog is going nuts, the fans hate the JusPe pairing.”

  “Oh, what a shame. I liked you two together.”

  “And then she went on to say that R&R can’t afford to lose any more audience, so the show’s decided to go with the storyline they were saving for Sweeps, that’s when . . . never mind. Anyway, she said, and I quote, I have to pinch my nose first to sound like her, ‘It’s a sizzler, by the way, premium front-burner stuff.’”

  “Go on.”

  “Then she stood up and came around her desk and actually attempted to act out the scene. ‘You’re upset, you find out Pepe is having an affair with Gina Chiccetelli . . .’”

  “Keep goin’, this is gettin’ good.”

  “After I catch Pepe and Gina in bed, and by the way I hate Emmy Abernathy, I get in a car, and I hate car scenes, they always look so fake with the fake scenery and two stagehands rocking the car back and forth and that faker-than-fake twirly light that makes it look like another fake car is passing in the opposite direction. I just hate it!”

  “Oh, I wish you hadn’t told me all that, Shannen. Kinda spoils it for me now. Anyway, I need to know what happens next?”

  “Okay, I speed down Whitehaven Highway, around Fink Rotary and onto Lovekin Lane narrowly missing a bus, then crash into a light pole. Felicia lied, saying, ‘It’s going to be so dramatic.’ Predicting I’d get a Sudsy nod. She’s so nauseating. Anyway, I just had to tell her that the whole thing sounded like Calysta’s real-life accident and you know what she said?”

  Taking another French fry, Grandma Jones, eyes wide with anticipation, said, “No, chile. And don’t leave me hangin’.”

  “‘I guess it’s in the universe.’ That’s what she said. Can you believe it? She stole a real-life chapter right out of Calysta’s life and put it on the page. Just disgusting.”

  “I always said show business is for freaks and strange folk but let’s get to the end.”

  “That witch told me I get into a fantastic diabolical car crash and flip three times—”

  “Oh, my word, I’ve gotta call Whilemina and Odile right away.”

  “Wait, there’s more, Mrs. Jones. And this is the kicker,” said an unraveling Shannen. “The car explodes into a fiery blaze—”

  “I don’t think I can take much more,” Candelaria said, falling back into the couch.

  “It’s just plain vicious. Maiming me of all people, wrapping me in miles of hideous gauze bandages like a mummy for weeks. You’d never know I was the one voted ‘Most Beautiful’ on the show by Cliffhanger Weekly.”

  “And . . .”

  “And then I go into a coma.”

  Riveted, Grandma Jones asked, “For how long?”

  “Indefinitely!”

  “That don’t sound too bad to me, layin’ around collectin’ a check.”

  “We’re back,” the stage manager shouted over the loudspeaker. “Wolfe, Emmy, Shannen, Ethan, Jade, Maeve, Javier, and all the extras. Item twenty-three, Vinn Hansen Ranch, be camera ready.”

  “Oh gawd, gotta get ready.”

  “Need any help?”

  “No, it’ll just take me a sec to fix my makeup and then we’ll go back to the set.”

  “No, chile, I’m gonna sit right here, finish my fries, and watch the story on your TV.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t want to get in the way. Sorry you’re not happy with what they’re givin’ you to do, but try to look at the glass half full instead of half empty, there are folks out there who would break their necks to be in your shoes.”

  “I guess, Mrs. Jones,” Shannen said, finishing applying her mascara. “I’ll try to look on the bright side, can’t get any worse than this.”

  “Okay, everybody, let’s get in the dinghy, places,” the stage manager called.

  “Um, cast, there’s been a little change in plans,” Julius announced, standing on the stage. “Alison’s going to join us after all, so her lines are back in the script,” he said to disgruntled actors.

  In oversize Versace sunglasses, the soap diva shuffled onto the set looking like a whole bowl of crazy in her worn SpongeBob slippers, her strappy Rossi sandals dangling in one hand, stuffed into an Emilio Pucci one-piece and support hose without a wrap.

  “Sorry, everybody, I had a colossal migraine.”

  “Alison, darling,” Wolfe said, “I’m so happy you’re feeling better now,” then under his breath, “Suit min pik, kœlling.”

  “Besides, Phillip asked that we take the scene from the top to build momentum and so that he could get all his lines in this time,” Julius added, throwing Phillip under the bus and dragging him.

  “For fanden da ogsa, dot pikfœs,” Wolfe cursed in Danish.

  “Wah wah wah,” Maeve poked.

  “Why are we starting from the top again? I nailed that scene before lunch,” Shannen complained. “What if my next take sucks and you use that one? It’s not fair. Phillip, the only reason you want to take it from the top is because you want to figure out where you can cry in it. You’re such a player hater.”

  Clapping his R&R script binder shut, Phillip barked, “If you people weren’t so unprofessional, we would have been on to the next scene eons ago. But so many of you come to work unprepared; not knowing your lines, changing the tag, stepping on dialogue, adlibbing, coughing, showboating half-naked, taking up precious time getting tattoos covered. Not one of you could ever be in Connecticut summer stock. Let’s go!”

  “Vhy you pompous—” Wolfe began, stepping forward with balled fists.

  “Okay, guys, come on, we’ve got a show to do,” the stage manager said. “Five, four, three, two, go!”

  VIDAL

  Vonderful day for a BBQ on the Vinn Hansen Ranch, vouldn’t you say, Fink?

  BARRETT

  Just dandy, Vidal.

  VIDAL

  (Gloating)

  Even vith the skyrocketing price of vheat, my international biscuit business is thriving. Sorry to hear you had to fire vun hundred and fifty-two employees last veek.

  BARRETT

  Actually, that’s not—

  JUSTINE

  (Heavy flirtation with Vidal, swiping him with her voluptuous chest. Feature her bikini top. Make sure fans are on high to give her a windswept look)

  Vidal, there you are. I have something red and juicy to share with you.

  VIDAL

  Ah, my pet, my vision of loveliness. I am breathless vith anticipation.

  RORY

  You nym
pho, stay away from him, Vidal and I are getting back together.

  JUSTINE

  Don’t worry, Rory, I’m with Pepe now.

  RORY

  Isn’t he Barrett’s gardener? Wow, Justine, you’re really slumming now. Why am I not surprised?

  VIDAL

  (Much innuendo)

  Rory, my love, vhy don’t you go lounge by the pool and I’ll be there in a moment to massage sunscreen into your beautiful body?

  RORY

  (Melting)

  I’ll be waiting.

  WILSON TURNER

  Excuse me, Miss Rory. Here’s your martini.

  RORY

  Thank you, Willie, you’re right on time.

  (Rory walks away toward Lady Leslie Lovekin and other guests around pool)

  VIDAL

  (Turning back to Justine)

  Now I believe you had something red and juicy for me?

  JUSTINE

  (Suggestively whips out a super-size chocolate-covered strawberry and puts it between her teeth)

  Bite it, Vidal. Bite it quick before Rory and Pepe see us.

  “Bite this!” Roger Cabott shrieked from across the room, firing a wild shot into the backdrop of the ranch set. Extras scrambled, running for their lives screaming. Holding the Colt .45 with two hands, he aimed it at Shannen.

  “What the hell?” Turning to the script supervisor, Julius said, “I don’t remember this being in the scene.”

  “It’s not,” she replied, putting down her nail file. “I’m calling security.”

  “You guys keep rolling those cameras out there, do you hear me?” Julius whispered into the headsets of the three trembling cameramen. “We might be able to use this in editing.”

  “Roger!” Shannen exclaimed.

  “Nobody move!” he ordered. “Especially not you, my palomita,” he said menacingly, with wild eyes and disheveled hair.

  “Roger, p-p-put the gun down,” she stammered.

  “You’ve got some nerve telling me what to do,” he said through clenched teeth, sweating through his green plaid shirt. “I saw the tape. I know all about your tryst with that Mexican.”

  Like 007, Wolfe stealthily made his way around the scenery hoping to take Roger by surprise. Ethan and Jade hid behind the rented ferns and ficus, while Alison ducked under a picnic table. Phillip ruthlessly pushed a slumped-over Maeve from behind the chaise to take her spot.

  “Que pasa, Roger?” a bronzed, bare-chested Javier inquired. “You loco?” He bravely stepped in front of Shannen, defending her.

  From behind the barbecue pit, Emmy called out, “Javier, don’t. She’s not worth it.”

  “You’re an idiot, Javier,” Roger slurred. “She doesn’t care about you, all that gold-digger cares about is her next tennis bracelet like the rest of these broads. Now move or else I’ll blow you away too.”

  “You guys are still rolling, right?” Julius whispered from the control booth. “Guys?”

  Guns drawn, Jay and the rest of WBC security began carefully surrounding the set.

  “Man, you had too much tequila,” Javier said.

  “Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, you worm? I’m a graduate of the theater, Yale. I know you R&R snobs thought I was beneath you because I was on Obsessions, always seated in the back at the Sudsys . . .” Pacing back and forth, Roger continued as security, now joined by LAPD, closed in. “But let me tell you somethin’, I’ve been on Broadway in a Tony Award–winning show. How many of you can say you’ve done that, huh?”

  Silence.

  “That’s what I thought! I know what it’s like to do eight shows a week, performing to throngs of fans. You know why? Because I was the original Carbucketty in Cats! That’s right! Me! Roger Cabott! I deserve respect!”

  As Roger got ready to squeeze off a bullet, Wolfe heroically head-butted him from behind, knocking him out cold, sending him crashing to the floor.

  Security flew in to apprehend a limp Roger, while Phillip rushed to Shannen, saying, “Are you all right?”

  “No thanks to you,” she said, trembling as she fell into Javier’s arms.

  Running from the sound booth as sirens sounded in the background, Julius asked the cameramen, “Did you get it all?”

  “Yep,” replied one.

  Randall flew in. “Are you all right, my darling? I ran all the way from my office as fast as I could!”

  “Oh, Randall!” Emmy called, thinking he’d seen the light. “I’m barely alive! Thank G—”

  Randall dashed past her to Alison, sweeping her into his arms, instantly unleashing all Emmy’s inner demons.

  “Mr. Hudson, where did you learn to do that?” Jay asked.

  “Yes, where did you learn to do that?” asked tabloid reporter Mitch Morelli, who’d been interviewing Shelly Montenegro across the lot on The Daring and the Damned.

  “It vas nothing, I vas an amateur vrestler in the Old Country of Skagen, Denmark, and I hail from a long lineage of fearless Vikings.”

  “And Javier, man, that’s what I call bravery,” Jay added.

  “You can say that again,” said LAPD Officer Bodine, stepping in. “I’m going to personally report your heroism to the chief of police. You both deserve a Citation of Bravery. Javier, I never could’ve imagined that you of all people, a gangbanger from South Central with a rap sheet a mile long, would turn your life around like this. I’m proud of you, son. Ms. Lassiter, are you all right?”

  “Yes, just a little rattled. I’m so glad no one got hurt.”

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you some questions.”

  “Sure, no problem. Oh Javier, how can I ever thank you?”

  “I can think of something, my palomita.” He smiled as they relaxed into a deep chemical kiss.

  WBC News reporters swarmed the set; more were on their way. Never shying from an opportunity to be in the media’s glare, bubblers Emmy, Randall, Alison, Jade, Ethan, and Phillip were firmly planted in front of cameras, giving melodramatic interviews.

  “It was the most horrid moment of my life!” Alison hyperventilated.

  “Ohmagod, it was like totally Blair Witch Project scary,” reported Jade. “Oh, and meet me in St. Louis for my personal appearance at Caleco’s next Saturday at noon.”

  “Wow, dude, the whole thing was like so Pacino, super surreal. Roger must be on roids or something. What a nut job! It took like six security guards and half of LAPD to hold him down,” embellished Ethan. “I’m sure you guys have worked up an appetite by now. You should go check out my new restaurant, Studs, in the valley,” he finished with a cheesy smile into the camera.

  “I just want to assure my Tweethearts that I’m fine,” Emmy said emphatically to Mitch Morelli. “Have almost fifty thousand now, you know. I love being accessible and involved with my fans. Would’ve totally tweeted while I was a hostage but I had nowhere to keep my iPhone in this Ed Hardy string bikini.” The human billboard continued, “This is an exclusive, I’m thinking about adopting . . . out of Africa!”

  “Really?” Mitch asked.

  “And did you catch me on Big Love?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. What happened? I reached for my popcorn and you were gone.”

  “That’s so freakin’ harsh, Mitch. I had a much bigger scene but those blockhead producers trimmed my lines.”

  “Emmy, I know this is a weird time, but while I have you here can I ask a few questions about those bitchy scenes between you and Justine?”

  “Sure! Ask away.”

  “How difficult are they to do?”

  “Would you believe those scenes are the hardest for me to pull off? I really detest doing them. It turns me into a monster and takes me the rest of the night to settle down.”

  “But Emmy, you’re masterful at them.”

  “Yeah well, I consider myself an escapist. That’s why doing the soap is so natural and therapeutic for me. I can lose myself in an unbelievable character and save tons of cash not going to a shrink.” Lowering he
r voice, she continued, “I work my issues out on the other actors in the scenes . . . it’s brilliantly cathartic. After I get my soap fix I feel completely liberated and primed for the real world. That’s why I get paid the big bucks, ’cause I’ve figured this whole thing out. Oh yeah, and I’m a Method actor, too. But seriously, I love Shannen, I really do. We’re super tight. I even voted for her to get a Sudsy. She tries so hard. But as you know, I won . . . again. And every time Felicia writes for me to wind it up for those psychological mind-bending Gina/Justine scenes and those three cameras start rolling, I bring it.”

  “Thank you, Emmy. I better move on and see who else I can get a quick interview with.”

  “Who else? Are you joking? You’ve got me all to yourself. Who’s to move on to?”

  “You’re right,” Mitch said, trapped. “What was I thinking? Well, Emmy, there have been some nasty rumors circulating that maybe there’s a little tension between you and Shannen. Is it true?”

  “Oh for crissakes, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I just told you, we’re BFF soap buds.” Emmy rambled off subject, “Last year, Edith Norman personally called to tell me I was the most popular actress in daytime drama after those scenes Shannen and I had fighting over Barrett, when I pushed her over the second-floor banister, do you remember those?”

  “Who could forget? It’ll go down in the soap opera hall of fame.”

  “Anyway, Edith Norman suggested I read about the Gin-arrett versus Just-arrett frenzy on the R&R blog to see who was more popular and I was absolutely shocked at what I read.”

  “What’d it say?”

  “There was a whole culture of haters on the site that referred to me as a shrunken apple face and one of the chatters even insinuated that I was really a man. I was devastated and wished I could hire a private dick to find that person and throw acid in their face, just kidding. But what was really bad, was how many people thought I was sexier than Shannen. I mean, I know I naturally have a killer body and Shannen doesn’t, she’s had a little work done, but that doesn’t make her chopped liver. Thank goodness she knows nothing about that mean blog. She’s so fragile, you know? Especially with Roger going friggin’ crazy, nearly killing us all. If she knew that this blog existed and that”—lowering her voice—“they called her a slutty whore, it would probably send her over the edge. Anyway, I just love her.”