Sweetheart Starlet: A Sweet Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  “I know,” said Sammy, neck bent down, still laughing.

  “But really, Sammy,” I continued, straightening up and trying to deliver my next line. I pushed my glasses up my nose out of habit, looking back to the camera. “Celebrities like Corinne and Tim are entitled to their private lives. And as much as I wish Corinne… used scissors,” I said softly, breaking into a laugh myself as Sammy accompanied me. “It’s Bernie’s joke,” I said to Sammy, shaking my head.

  “Let’s just finish this this,” mused Sammy. He couldn’t even hold it together anymore. The audience loved that we were cracking up and breaking character.

  “As much as I wish Corinne… you know,” I said, blowing by the joke and keeping my composure. “As much as I wish that, well, I’ll just have to line up behind most every other man and woman in America… behind the string of Hollywood hunks whose hearts she’s broken.”

  “That’s a long line of people,” said Sammy.

  “Yep,” I said. “And if it ever becomes my turn,” I said, coming to the end of my bit. “I’m sure they’ll say, ‘Tab… you’re not supposed to be in this line. Soup kitchen is that way.’” The audience laughed and clapped and applauded. Sammy smiled at me.

  “Tabitha Bloom, ladies and gentlemen,” said Sammy through the audience’s cheering. “That’s News Week Update, I’m your host Sammy Michaels. Get outta here!”

  Sammy waved to the cameras as the band began to play the usual pre-commercial music, and our microphones cut out. Then he leaned over to me to chat in the final on air moments before the commercial.

  “Hilarious,” he said to me. “That scissoring thing, oh my God, so stupid.”

  “Yeah,” I said laughing. “Probably a fine from the FCC.”

  “We’ll see,” he said. “Did George know about it?”

  “Yep,” I said with a smiling shrug.

  A couple of crew members ran up to us and speedily removed our microphones and mic packs as Sammy and I pushed back from the News Week Update desk. Once we were free from all the hardware, both of us stood up.

  “I’m in the next sketch!” Sammy realized suddenly. He began to remove his suit jacket. “Bye Tab!” he called, running off set and away from me.

  “Bye,” I said, waving, though he was already gone. I was left standing there because, well, I wasn’t in any more sketches. I stood there for a few moments just thinking what I’d done. I didn’t feel all that great about it, even though it was pretty funny. I knew Corinne would be pleased. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t leave a sour taste in my mouth. I mean, I was implying on live television that the woman I was totally smitten with wasn’t a lesbian when, as you know, she most certainly was. That’s the industry, I guess. I sighed as I began to feel crummy again.

  “Hey Tab,” I heard off to the side. It was one of our stagehands.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’ve got to collapse this set, like, right now,” he said.

  “Gotcha,” I said. I gave him a half-smile and slinked my way off stage.

  *

  The News Week Update sketch worked. Monday morning there were articles in various papers and on Hollywood blogs chastising CMZ for jumping to conclusions with the photo of Corinne and me, calling it a misrepresentation of one of film’s brightest young stars. CMZ backpedaled, of course, claiming that they simply pulled the picture from Instapic and that the fan-photographer had mentioned to them that the two of us seemed really close. They apologized to Corinne for falsely reporting and then tried to bury the story. It was bittersweet for me. On the one hand I was stoked that we were able to do such expert damage control. Comedy was funny like that. But on the other, the whole thing made me feel very far away from Corinne.

  And that’s the trouble with how closed-minded people can be. I mean, Corinne should be allowed to be whoever she is and be that person out in the open. Why did she have to pretend to be straight just so that the movie-going audience would accept her in whatever role they were watching. She was an actress. It’s fake. It’s a big pretend show. She’s not actually Corinne Holmstrom on the screen, she’s whatever character she happens to be playing in that particular movie. But hey, you can’t really argue with the reality of how things are. You can make you best effort to slowly affect change, but you’ll drive yourself mad if you foster unrelenting anger over the reality of the present moment.

  That was very insightful for me. I should have ended that thought with somebody slipping on a banana peel into a vat of pudding. That’s a little bit more Tab Bloom.

  Corinne made a public statement about the entire thing. She gracefully accepted CMZ’s apology with a smile. She thanked This Saturday for treating it all with humor. And she pushed her new movie, just heading into production, ‘Agent Force: Rise of Colossus’ in which she played the beautiful, large breasted, spandex-wearing Cloudburst. Coming next summer! I have to say that sometimes Corinne’s marketing milieu got on my nerves but she wasn’t cagey about it. She knew it was her job to sell tickets. That’s what this was all about.

  But our whirlwind romance, it abruptly went dark just as quickly as it had ramped up. Corinne had texted me to thank me for the sketch, to tell me that she really did like me but I had to understand her position. I did, even though I selfishly disagreed with it. “Maybe we can work something out after this all blows over,” she had texted. “Maybe a year from now.” Bah. I have to tell you, I felt totally heartbroken by it all. And I don’t admit that very often. Usually I put on a happy face, rile my courage up, and get back to work when something shitty happens in my life. This one, damn, it was hard to shake.

  “Yeah, it’s shitty,” said Bernie. We sat together alone in the writers’ room, weeks after the whole thing with Corinne, working on some sketches late into the evening as we drew closer to that week’s show. “But you gotta pull out of this funk, Tab. The sad clown is too much of a cliche.”

  “It was going so well,” I mourned. “It didn’t have to be like that.”

  “Look, you know the Hollywood types,” said Bernie. “We have them around here on the show all the time. If this didn’t happen, it would have been something else. She would have had you here in New York, and some other chick in LA.”

  “She’s not like that,” I squeaked.

  “And hey, now she’s dating that costar of hers from the superhero movie,” he said, squinting one eye as he considered. “Cam Ryan? Is that his name?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Cam Ryan. But they’re not really dating,” I said. “It’s just for the tabloids. It’s because of all this crap that happened.”

  “So you’re saying Cam Ryan’s not trying to plow that babe?” asked Bernie sarcastically. “Tab, get real.”

  “I don’t even know what to think anymore,” I said, crumbling down onto the table, resting my head in my folded arms. “Maybe you’re right. Cam Ryan’s just as hot as Corinne. And the rags will probably start calling them ‘CoCa’ before you know it.”

  “Or something equally as stupid,” said Bernie. “They’re so much better than us at being stupid because they actually mean it.”

  “I’ve got it bad, Bern,” I said, blubbering into my arms. “This sucks.”

  “It’s only been a few weeks,” he said. “You’ll get over it.” I knew he was trying to console me in his own clumsy way.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe this time I won’t.”

  “How many girlfriends have you had?” said Bernie, getting real with me. “C’mon, count them all up.”

  “I don’t want to,” I pouted.

  “Give me a rounded number then,” he said. “You’re a 34 year old woman, you’ve been around a while. Lay it on me.”

  “You first,” I said. “How many women have you been with?”

  “Me?” asked Bernie incredulously. “Well, just one. My wife.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I said, perking up. “Bernie, I’ve known you a long time and I’m just now finding out that you’ve only slept with your wife?�
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  “Right,” he said. “She and I were together when you and I met back in Chicago, remember?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And I met her in college,” said Bernie. “I mean, I was a dweeb in high school. Hell, I was a dweeb in college. Nobody was interested in sleeping with me until, lucky for me, my wife came along.”

  “I don’t want to tell you my number,” I said in a low murmur.

  “You don’t have to,” said Bernie evenly.

  “It’s in the double digits, though,” I said.

  “All right.” Bernie looked down to his notepad and scribbled a couple of things absently, like he wasn’t even concerned with me anymore.

  “It’s heavily weighted toward my mid-20s,” I continued, unable to help myself. “You know, living in Chicago was kind of a, uh, loose time for me.”

  “Fine,” said Bernie.

  “The number itself is close to the 20s,” I said. “Close to the… mid-20s.”

  “So,” said Bernie calmly, folding his hands and giving me a fatherly look. “You’ve most certainly dealt with heartbreak before, is that fair to say?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is it fair to say that you’ve dated women for much longer than you were with Corinne?” he asked. I hated when Bernie tried to use his fancy logic on me. “I mean, you spent enough time with these women to grow more attached?”

  “Just stop,” I said. “You think you’re helping but you’re not. I want to whine. I want to mourn.”

  “We need to work,” affirmed Bernie, tapping his finger down on his notebook. “I’m telling you, this lovesick crap isn’t going to fly with George. We only have a couple more shows left in the season, after that we break for a few months and then you can go live in seclusion and mourn your days away.”

  “Okay,” I said defeatedly. “You’re right.”

  “I know I’m right,” he said, turning a page in his notebook. “All right, so the fake Taco Hut commercial,” Bernie said, changing the subject back to work. All I could think about was Corinne, though. Bernie’s words just went in one ear and out the other. “They’ve got some new crazy fried burrito thing with this layer of hot sauce between the soft shell and the fried shell. Did you see the real commercial?”

  “Yeah,” I mused half-heartedly.

  Bernie continued on and I just daydreamed. I knew it would be some time before I got over Corinne, if I could even do it at all.

  *

  The season concluded with a bang. Super awesome host, super big musical guest. I had taken Bernie’s advice and just buckled down, focusing on work and trying to put out the funniest sketches I could muster. Every time my brain snuck in thoughts of Corinne, I acknowledged them and then ignored them. It was pretty hard at first but I got good at it. And it all worked out in the end. We got through the season, my wine intake only increased a little bit, and I was ready for the off-season and any possible new relationship it might bring.

  The This Saturday office had grown quiet, with most everybody skirting off to do whatever it is they did when we weren’t filming. But somehow, I was still in my office, laptop open, working on a screenplay that I had been tweaking for the past year. Just a pet project, you know. Nothing I ever anticipated getting made but in this business you’ve got to have something ready. You never know when someone might ask.

  As I typed away, there was a knock at my door. My eyes darted up from my screen.

  “Come in,” I said.

  The door swung open and Adam Sperry stood there with a goofy smile on his face. Adam was the cast member who had gotten close with Justin Trumbull, you might remember. He had come from a musical comedy background and had really turned into one of our breakout stars on the cast.

  “Tabby Cat,” Adam said to me, theatrically bowing his head.

  “Adam,” I said with a smile. “Come on in. What’s up?”

  “Mind if I sit?” he asked, pulling the chair out from in front of my desk and sitting down.

  “Sure,” I said with a smile. I looked over to my laptop and hit save on my document, promptly shutting the lid closed.

  “Awesome season, right?” said Adam with a youthful grin. He kind of had that surfer bro vibe about him. Very passionate and excited.

  “Awesome,” I repeated, pointing at him convivially.

  “Do you have any for work plans for the off-season?” asked Adam, his tone getting a bit more serious. “Like, writing stuff?”

  “Not really,” I said. “I’ll probably just flit about, drink too much coffee, stare blindly into my laptop screen, and think about next season of the show.”

  “That sounds like a blast, Tab, really it does,” said Adam sarcastically. “But I’ve got something even better for you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You know that movie I’m shooting over the next few months,” he said, his eyes wide with possibility. I couldn’t possibly have been confused in the least about what Adam was talking about, as it was a constant topic of conversation with him over the past few months. “The one with Paul Kline, Amy Schneider, Wes of This Saturday fame…”

  “No,” I mused teasingly. “I don’t think I’ve heard of this movie.”

  “You’re hilarious, Tab,” he said, brushing me off. “You know the one. Throttle Punch,” he said, specifying the title I’d heard so many times. “I’m a race car driver and I get into a lot of crazy antics.”

  “Oh, that one,” I said.

  “Well,” he continued on. “I was wondering if you’d want to come out to LA and help punch up the script as we shoot,” he asked. “Script doctor stuff. We’ll give you a writing credit.”

  “Really?” I said, suddenly feeling very interested in Adam’s proposition. “A writing credit and everything?”

  “Totally,” he said. “Dude, everybody loves your stuff and we’ve got some parts in the movie that are total bombs. What do you think?”

  “Wow, well, I—“ I said, thinking about it. I mean, going out to LA for the next couple of months could be a lot of fun. And that writing credit was pretty tasty. But the thing that inspired me the most about this offer was that I knew Corinne was out there. If I was out there, too, you never know what might happen. Really, this was just about the most perfect thing that could have happened for me. A smile started to grow wide across my face.

  “You’re scaring me, Tab,” said Adam. “Why are you making that face?”

  “Pack your bags, Adam!” I said, standing up from my chair. “We’re going to LA!”

  “Yes!” affirmed Adam, he himself following my lead and standing. The two of us stood there for a moment in silence. “Wait, why are we standing?” he said.

  “I just thought it would be more dramatic,” I said.

  “So does that mean you’re on board?” he said calmly.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m on board.”

  “Cool,” said Adam. “I’ll have our producers get in touch with you.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “All right, Tab,” he said. “I’m outtie. I’ll see you in LA.” Adam raised his palm to me and maintained a happy expression.

  “What, I—“

  “High five, Tab,” he said.

  “Okay! Woo!” I exclaimed, slapping my palm against Adam’s.

  With that, Adam turned from me and left my office without another word. I watched as he exited, thinking of the possibilities. I mean, this was real. I was heading out to LA — with a job, so it didn’t look like I was just some orbiter or whatever — and I knew I could orchestrate another chance with Corinne. I definitely had some plotting to do. I had to figure out how to make this all seem natural, put her at ease, while being discreet about it all.

  Tabitha Bloom’s love life wasn’t a lost cause just yet.

  THREE

  *

  THE PRODUCERS OF Throttle Punch hooked me up with a nicely furnished temporary house while I was in LA. Modern appointments, much bigger than I really needed. I had a great view of the Hollywood
Hills, easy access to the studio. I had spent a little bit of time in LA before but not months, which is what this trip was going to turn out to be. The one thing that got me, though, was that the weather was just perfect all the time. I mean, in New York sometimes your entire day would get ruined by a massive storm. In LA… that just didn’t happen.

  I was happy for the change of scenery. You never realize what New York City does to you when you’re there for too long. It hardens you. It destroys your patience. It crushes your empathy. Hey, if you lived somewhere that constantly had streets full of garbage, you might toughen up your shell a little bit too. But LA, it was easy. The people seemed a little bit more phony, of course, and the joke was that everybody totally overcommitted to whatever project or dinner or meeting you invited them to, but they all were, at the end of the day, nice.

  A friend of mine from my Chicago days, a comedian named Sarah Slate, lived out in LA and one of the first things I did when I arrived was call her up and try to rekindle that friendship. People in the industry seem to gravitate toward New York or LA and after some time a divide creeps up. You really have to foster those relationships or else they dwindle. I always loved Sarah, I thought she was hilarious, so I was eager to see her.

  “Tab!” she cried out into the phone. “You’re in LA? Shut up.”

  “I’m here working on a script with Adam Sperry,” I said. “I’ll be around a couple months.”

  “We’re getting together,” confirmed Sarah. “You bet your sweet ass we’re getting together.”

  After some back and forth, Sarah convinced me that I should come out with her to the Comedy Stand, a storied and famous comedy club in LA, to watch her perform some new bits. The idea was alluring to me and I considered that maybe I could go up and do a routine as well. I had some stuff I’d been working on, stuff that didn’t quite fit in at This Saturday, so why not try it out among a bunch of other comedians who knew who I was and could cut me some slack.

  LA was that kind of place. You get invited out to a comedy club with an old friend and then suddenly you’re the one climbing up on stage. It was an easy-going crowd. Well, comedians are always a tad bit competitive. But it was nothing like New York. It’s all those B vitamins from the sun, I think, that gives LA the pleasant attitude.