“Well fuck,” I said, slumping back in my chair, still starring at the screen. “Ain’t that some shit.”
I knew this was going to be a bit of a firestorm. I’m sure Corinne and her PR team were already going into battle with a smattering of damage control. And as for me, it was certainly going to cause a stir around the office. We’d probably have to make light of it on the show this week as well.
Another text came through on my laptop from Bernie.
“See it?”
“Yep,” I typed.
“I’m coming down,” he wrote.
I wanted to reach out immediately to Corinne but I wasn’t quite sure what I could say. I knew that this was exactly what she didn’t want to happen. She had spent her career crafting a particular image and it could all come tumbling down thanks to this one picture. I couldn’t help but feel responsible. It was making me suddenly miserable.
There was a single knock at my office door and then it flung over. Bernie walked in quickly, shutting the door behind him. He gave me a pained look as he scurried up to my desk and sat down in the chair across from me.
“So…” he began, eyes wide, hands folded together.
“It’s untrue,” I blurted. “I mean, we’re friends, we were hanging out. This is just a misrepresentation.”
Bernie looked at me, slowly nodding. I could see the gears churning in his brain. It was like he was simultaneously feeling for his friend all while trying to come up with the perfect comedy bit to accompany the gossip.
“CMZ is just trying to get page views,” said Bernie. “It’s a pretty good story for them to peddle.”
“It’s just a story,” I said. “Just celebrity gossip. Ugh, I can’t believe we’ve got to mitigate this now.”
“Tab,” said Bernie calmly. “I… I can’t believe you’re banging Corinne Holmstrom!” he busted out excitedly. “That’s insanity!”
“No, Bernie,” I said, raising my palms. “You’ve got the wrong idea.”
“Oh, stop it,” he said. “You can’t lie to me, Tab. You just can’t. I’m sorry I doubted you about this before. You were right.”
“Bernie,” I said.
“Tab.”
“Fine,” I acquiesced. “Yeah, it’s true.”
“Yes!” beamed Bernie. “Tab, it’s incredible. Let me see that picture.” Standing up from the chair, Bernie leaned over my desk and turned my laptop toward him. He starred for a moment at the picture on the screen. “Man, you guys are all lovey dovey. So cute.”
“Stop,” I said, yanking my laptop back. “This is a mess, Bern. Corinne is totally in the closet about this for the sake of her career and now she’s on the front page of CMZ looking all romantic with another lady. And that lady is me!”
“It’s not that bad,” said Bernie. “I’m sure she can do some damage control. It’s not like they caught a picture of the two of you scissoring or something.”
“Scissoring?” I bleated. “Is that what you think we do?”
“I mean, I saw it as a search term on your laptop one time,” he said.
“Blah!” I cried out. “Just stop… Bernie, stop.” He cracked a smile at me, almost succumbing to a laugh.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get serious about this then. How are we going to run with it for the show this week?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I know we have to or it’s going to look completely disingenuous. But I need to talk to Corinne first.”
There was a slow, drawn out knock at my door. It was a knock I recognized very well.
“Shit,” I said in a murmur. “That’s George.”
Both Bernie and I watched the door as it slowly creaked open, George’s manicured grey hair popping in first. He gave us a look, shut the door, and then stepped toward us with straight shoulders in a tightly pressed dark grey suit.
“Morning team,” he said.
“George,” both Bernie and I said together.
“I suppose you know why I’m here,” he said plainly.
“We do,” I said.
“Firstly,” said George, a very even an unaffected look on his face. “Is it true?”
“George,” I said in a teasing tone. “I never expected you to be someone interested in celebrity gossip.”
“When my show is at the center of that gossip,” he said. “I force interest.”
“Yeah,” I acceded. “Understandable.”
“Would you like to sit, George?” asked Bernie, making like he was going to stand up.
“No,” he said. “I’ll only be here a moment. Tab?”
“Huh?”
“What are we going to do about all this?” said George. “Are we to fight it, or… ?”
“I think we have to make fun of it,” I said in a defeated tone.
“So it’s true?” he asked.
“This can’t leave this room,” I said seriously. “I mean, for real. We can work jokes about this into News Week Update or whatever, but we have to make it seem like it’s untrue.”
“Hmm,” mused George shortly.
“Okay George?” I asked. “Bernie?”
“Yeah, of course Tab,” said Bernie.
“As long as my show wins,” said George. “I am happy.”
“We’re gonna win, George,” I said, holding up my fist. “This is fine. Everything is fine.”
With a satisfied look on his face, George nodded to me and then turned from my desk, making his way back toward my office door. He cracked it open and then looked back at me.
“Let’s do a good show,” he said. George then slipped out of my office and closed the door.
“God damn,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Okay, Tab,” said Bernie. “This is your call. What are we going to do?”
*
Not too long after I discovered the picture on CMZ’s website, I texted with Corinne to get her take on it all. Her response was short and sweet. “Chat tonight,” was her message. It drove me absolutely nuts. I had been totally high on our budding relationship, coming off a pretty explicit roll in the sheets with her the night previous, and now I was wondering how in the hell I was going to be able to salvage this thing. Historic highs, catastrophic lows. I just wasn’t sure what to expect from Corinne in regards to the whole thing. Maybe we’d be able to blow it off. It’s not like the whole world read CMZ.
Okay, well, a lot of people read it. But still.
I sat on my couch cross-legged wearing my comfortable and slightly tattered lounge clothing, glued to a glass of wine, binge-watching one of my favorite crummy cooking competition shows. You know the one. A bunch of awful cooks go to culinary boot camp with a couple celebrity chefs to learn the difference between julienne and brunoise. I mean, it’s my guilty pleasure. I love watching how bad these people are at cooking. One lady even turned the food processor upside down because she couldn’t figure out how to get the top off. But I digress.
As I starred at the TV, probably drooling a little bit, trying to get my mind off of my problems, my phone began to buzz down on the coffee table. Shifting my eyes down, I saw that it was Corinne calling. I suddenly felt panicked. I fumbled for my remote control to pause my show and then eagerly reached for the phone, feeling it vibrate as I cradled my hand around it. I took a deep breath, composed myself, and then answered.
“Yo babe,” I said into phone. “How’s it shaking’?” I heard a soft laugh come from the other end.
“I’ve been better,” said Corinne.
“Right,” I said, trying to empathize with her but not really even being in the same feelings ballpark.
“So…” she began. “That sucks, huh?”
“It’s not the end of the world,” I said. “It’s not really that incriminating of a picture.”
“It kinda is,” she said.
“Well, it’s not like it’s a picture of us scissoring or something.” I was again able to coax a small laugh out of Corinne.
“You know what I hate?” she
said. “The whole ‘CoHo’ thing. I mean, really.”
“Yeah, it’s stupid,” I admitted.
“They don’t call you…” Corinne began, pausing to think. “Tabloo,” she said.
“It sounds like a board game,” I said. “Or a kids cartoon movie character. Like I’m a big dumb bear, bumbling around. ‘No Tabloo, the forest is this way!’”
“Stop,” giggled Corinne.
“‘I’m sorry pals, I’m just a bear! Hyuk!’”
“Oh Tab,” said Corinne, her laugh turning into a sigh.
“Oh me,” I said.
“So, listen,” she said, leveling with me. I could sense a sadness in her voice. “It’s not the end of the world. CMZ doesn’t usually run stuff they know to be false, but they’ve been wrong before. My agent and the PR firm that handles me, however, are telling me that I need to lay low for a bit.”
“Lay low,” I repeated. “What does that mean?”
“Well, we’re going to deny it all and blow it off,” said Corinne plainly. “We’re going to push stories of me being caught on the beach with some muscly hunk and the public should forget this ever happened within a couple of months.”
“All right,” I said with a bit of confusion. “So, what about us?”
“Us,” repeated Corinne wistfully. “I really like you, Tab. And I was hoping this could have, you know, worked out better.”
“Oh God,” I said. “Are you, like, dumping me?”
“It’s not you, Tab,” she said. “It’s my career. I told you all this. My career is literally on the line here. And not just my job, but a lot of other peoples’ jobs because of what I bring to the table.”
“You are dumping me,” I mourned.
“It’s better that this happened now,” she said. “Than, like, six months down the line. You know?”
“I know,” I said.
“And my PR guy wanted me to ask you a favor,” said Corinne timidly, a way of speaking that I really hadn’t experienced with her yet.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure. What is it?”
“Can you guys do something on the show?” asked Corinne. “Something that totally makes it seem like this is just stupid and untrue?”
“Yeah,” I hummed sadly. “Yeah, I can make that happen.”
“I’d really appreciate it,” said Corinne.
“But, like, you do like me, right?” I asked. “I’m not just crazy, am I?”
“I do,” she said. “I really do.” I could tell she was being truthful. There was melancholy in her voice. “I was hoping this thing we have could have been one of those Hollywood secrets but we just got totally hosed by that lady in the Park.”
“Stupid fans,” I barked teasingly. I got another laugh out of Corinne.
“I had a really good time last night,” said Corinne. “I mean, really good. At least we got to have sex,” she said. “So that’s nice.”
“And I’m glad I snuck a pair of panties out of your dirty laundry,” I said.
“Oh my God, Tab,” said Corinne, getting fearfully defensive. “You didn’t.”
“I didn’t,” I admitted. “But I could have!”
“So look,” continued Corinne, returning to the topic at hand and laughing with me. “Let’s just keep it light and breezy for a while. I’m going out to LA, I’m going to start working on this Agent Force movie. We just have to let this all blow over.”
“Okay Corinne,” I said. I was so disappointed. I had been broken up with in the past, of course, but this one particularly stung. You think that it gets easier as you get older, but it really just gets harder. You never know if this one is going to be your last chance. “This isn’t goodbye, is it?”
“I don’t know, Tab,” she said.
“Okay.”
“I’ll, um, talk to you soon,” said Corinne sullenly into the phone. I couldn’t believe it was all ending like this. I wanted to just scream at the top of my lungs, cry out at how stupid this all was and that she should just come out of the damn closet already and be herself. But I couldn’t understand where she was coming from. It was so easy to say from behind the camera, from a position of relative obscurity. But for a mega star, living her life in the public eye, there were just more obstacles in the way than I could really see.
“Goodnight Corinne,” I said.
I hung up my phone and slid it back down onto my coffee table. Dumb. That’s all I could think about this situation. Really, really dumb. I started to get down and dirty into a funk, a nasty brown cloud storming up over my head as I pondered, selfishly I might add, how unfair this all was. The only way I knew how to work through such a feeling was through writing. Picking up a small notebook and pen from the table, two instruments I always had near, I flipped open to a blank page and began to scribble. I had so much I wanted to get out, so much anger that could be turned into comedy.
There was a silver lining in all this. And that was the funny. It was always about the funny.
*
“Tim Regent was in the news this week,” said Sammy, our host of News Week Update, a mainstay sketch of the show. He sat in the anchor chair, a bright and alert expression on his slender face, looking directly into the camera as he spoke. I sat at the News Week Update secondary desk, dressed smartly in a blazer and skirt, though I was off-camera awaiting my planned segment. “He was reported as saying, ‘my religion is of no concern to the public.’”
The audience tittered slightly, waiting for the punchline, as they knew that Regent was an actor well-known for publicizing his, um, religion Scientopogy.
“Of course,” continued Sammy, straightening the lapel on his suit and then mugging for the camera. “He said this all while wearing a Scientopogy t-shirt, hat, and waving a banner with the Scientopogy logo above his head.” The audience laughed as we superimposed a mock-up of what Sammy’s description of the actor might look like over the screen.
“And with that,” Sammy said once the laughter died down. “We’re going to take you to our own Tabitha Bloom, head writer here at This Saturday, for a new segment we like to call… ‘Tabby’s Celebrity Blabby.’” The audience began to applaud and hoot as I got my cue, the camera focusing in on me. I smiled, waved, adjusted my glasses. I was wearing lipstick. I can’t believe I was wearing lipstick. They really fancied me up for this sketch.
“Thank you,” I said through the commotion. “Thanks.” I smiled again, I bowed my head. I was certain they all knew about the picture with Corinne, they had all seen the story in CMZ. It was all over the headlines. Total mess. But here I was to face it all and try to make it into one big joke.
“I like that name, Sammy,” I said, pretending to make small talk. This was all rehearsed. “Tabby’s Celebrity Blabby. It has a nice ring to it.”
“Well, you came up with it,” said Sammy, grinning, inspiring laughter from the audience.
“Right you are, Sammy,” I said, still with a smile engraved on my lips. “So that’s something about Tim Regent,” I said, starting my bit. “It’s like he’s hidden deep in his religion’s closet,” I said, grinning. “Yet, newsflash Tim, we all know what you really believe!”
“Hey now,” said Sammy, playing along. “Celebrities should be allowed to live their private lives. Tim Regent doesn’t actually wave a Scientopogy banner around like we showed in that picture.”
“Should they, though?” I asked in a skeptical tone. “I mean, we pay their salaries by way of movie tickets. I want to know what brand of underwear Tim Regent wears, Sammy.” The audience was laughing along with us at the jokes, happily following our little narrative. “And is he a boxers or briefs man?”
“Yeah Tab,” said Sammy, wary of my assertion. “They’re people, just like you and me. We don’t deserve to know every little thing about them.”
“Yeah… no,” I said, really emphasizing ‘no.’ “If we want to snap candid photos of celebrities, post them to the internet, and speculate wildly about them, I think that should be our right.” The audience laughed. They
knew what I was doing. “I mean, what else do I have going on in my life?”
“I don’t know, Tab,” said Sammy, confused. “Nothing?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Nothing. And that’s why I need to live vicariously through celebrities and just pretend they’re, I don’t know, my dollies or something… ‘this one is gonna kiss this one,’” I said in a singsongy little kid voice. “Who cares if it’s true?”
“But… that’s not fair to them, Tab,” said Sammy. “Like I said, they’re people.”
“People?” I said. “I mean, barely… just barely, Sammy. I need them to conform to my understand of life or I hate them.”
“Ah,” mused Sammy, as though a lightbulb had flicked on over his head. “I see where this is going, Tab. This isn’t about Tim Regent at all. This about you and that photo of you and your friend. What’s your friend’s name again?” Sammy was really good at playing the part.
“Corinne,” I said casually. “You met her, Sammy. We had her on the show a few weeks back.” At this callback, the audience applauded and cheered. I smiled out to them.
“Yeah, I think I’ve seen her in a movie,” said Sammy, turning the audience’s applause into a quick laugh. “Actually, I remember,” continued Sammy. “We had her here on News Week Update. Aw. She’s sweet,” he said in a saccharine tone.
“Very sweet,” I chimed in. “Which is why it’s a real crime that the rags are giving her a hard time, trying imply that Corinne and I, I don’t know, like to cut our paper with the same… scissors.” The audience laughed, Sammy laughed. He bent over, looking down at the desk, trying to suppress his smile.
“Can we say that on TV?” he asked, squeezing some of the paper from his script that was laid on the desk in front of him. He was still grinning.
“I don’t know,” I said with an innocent smile and shrug. “We’re live.”
Sweetheart Starlet: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 10