Hot New Thing

by Laura Langston

  “Of course.” The waiter looks at me. “How is everything?”

  My mouth is full of smoked-salmon tart, so I nod. Everything is perfect. Except for the chunk of salmon stuck in my teeth.

  “So you see,” Damarais says, “Trainer and Hill is ideally suited to represent you.”

  I know. And I’m thrilled. But I’m surprised at how few questions she’s asked me. Mostly, she’s talked about her other clients and how well they’re doing.

  She holds up her finger. “Excuse me.” And she’s back on her Bluetooth. Which is totally okay because now I can wiggle the piece of salmon out of my teeth.

  “No, we will not settle for anything less,” Damarais hisses. “That’s our final offer. If they don’t like it, they can shove it.” The waiter delivers her second glass of wine. “I’m in the middle of something here, Holly. We’ll talk later.” She disconnects and reaches for her wine. “Where were we?”

  “You were talking about my representation.” I sound calm, but inside I am screaming with excitement.

  “Right! You’re the hot new thing. Look at how much press attention you’ve gotten in the last three weeks. And that’s without representation.” She winks. “Or at least good representation.”

  I can hardly believe it myself. Photos of Etienne and me at the Copper Awards. Press about my choice of dress. Plus the interview with the Hollywood Slate.

  She slides a beige envelope across the table. “I’m delighted to present you with our agency contract. Of course, since you’re a minor, we’ll need your parents to sign off too. But this is your copy, Lily. Welcome to Trainer and Hill!”

  I cannot speak. It’s agency representation by the best of the best.

  She sips more wine. “You’re going to be a star, Lily. We’re determined to take you to the top.”

  To the top. Hand trembling, I lift my tart. I put it back down. You’re going to be a star. It’s what I’ve wanted since, like, forever. Suddenly, everything around me sharpens. The clank of cutlery. The smell of garlic. The hard blue chair pressing into my knee. I will remember this moment for the rest of my life.

  “Once you sign our contract, I’ll follow up on the offers you told me about.” I’d told Damarais everything when we first sat down, but I wasn’t sure she’d heard, given how many times she stopped to take calls.

  “Of course, you’ll need to get some work done. We’ll schedule everything for next month, when you’re done shooting. I’ve booked your consult for late Thursday afternoon.”

  Huh? “What kind of work?”

  “Breast implants certainly.” She studies me over the rim of her glass. “Possibly butt implants. You told the Hollywood Slate you don’t believe in surgery, but we do.”

  Panic rises. Surgery. Needles. Yuk. “But my parents—”

  “I’ve already talked to them.” She smiles. “Nic gave me their number. They’re totally on board.”

  I Skype with my parents later that night. “Trainer and Hill is huge!” Mom says. She’s at the kitchen table, her face flushed. “Your dad still doesn’t like the idea of surgery, but between you, me and Damarais, he’s outnumbered. Besides, Damarais says bust enhancement is a simple procedure these days. With a little help, she says you could be star material, Lily!”

  I guess Damarais changed her mind about the butt implants, because she obviously hasn’t mentioned them to my parents.

  Dad is more subdued. “Is this what you really want?” he asks.

  Suddenly restless, I jump up and look out the window. Down below, Los Angeles is a silvery web of streets and cars and high-rises. Joy thrums through my veins. A web of possibility. “Being an actress is all I’ve ever wanted. You know that.”

  “But the surgery?” he presses.

  Who really wants surgery? Pulling my gaze from the window, I look back at my parents and sidestep the question. “Damarais is talking Academy Awards. Deals worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

  Mom laughs. “I know. I can hardly believe how fast things are moving.”

  Me either. Since lunch, I’ve been light-headed with giddiness.

  “This is your dream come true, Lily. You’ve wanted to be an actress since you were three years old. I’m so pleased you have a shot at the big time, because I know that’s what you want.” She pauses, gives me a careful look. “But your father’s right. Surgery is a big step. You don’t have to do it. You can always say no.”

  “I’d probably do it eventually anyway. Why wait?”

  Dad nods, although he doesn’t look particularly happy. “Your mother and I will fly down on the weekend. We want to meet Damarais. We need to give June a letter of termination too. And thank her for all she’s done for you.”

  That would be a great big zero. Unlike June, Damarais sees my potential. She’ll take me to the very top. Which is where I want to be.

  “Everybody does it,” Ellen says on Wednesday morning when I admit how much surgery scares me. The makeup trailer is packed with people getting ready for today’s big scene. John is two chairs down; Etienne is in the chair beside me. “Some women make a career out of it,” she adds.

  “Don’t,” Etienne says when he catches my eye in the mirror. “It’s a bad move.”

  I laugh him off. “You’re a guy. You don’t understand.” Ellen dabs foundation on my cheeks.

  “No, you don’t understand. It is just the beginning.” Etienne’s sexy-flirt look has been replaced by a thin-lipped grimness that startles me. “Soon they will want to make you over completely. They will want to change you inside and out.” His words are clipped, very French. “I know.”

  Etienne is wrong. Going through hell with his former business manager has left him paranoid. “Damarais just wants what’s best for me,” I say.

  He opens his mouth, but the makeup artist takes a large powder brush to his face and he is forced to shut up.

  That afternoon we shoot the turning-point scene with John and Brooklyn. It’s a pivotal moment in which I confront Bill about his feelings for Kim, only I do it during the lunch rush and all hell breaks loose. During Thursday morning’s shoot, Michael comes on to Iris again. Like I did the first time, I rebuff him. When we finish, I crack a joke with Etienne, but it’s his turn to rebuff me. He doesn’t even smile.

  Damarais is on the phone when the car drops me outside a brick building in Beverly Hills late Thursday. I do a double take at the sight of the discreet gold sign: Dr. Stuart Grainger, Plastic Surgeon. It’s necessary, I remind myself as I wave at Damarais. Everybody does it.

  Signaling “one minute” with her finger, Damarais continues to pace and talk. “I don’t care if Brooklyn is giving you grief!”

  Brooklyn? There’s only one Brooklyn I know.

  “She needs to do what she’s told.” Her stilettos clack out an angry beat on the sidewalk. “You tell Brooklyn that if she doesn’t smarten up, she can find other representation.”

  Whoa.

  Damarais disconnects and gives me a tight smile. “Brooklyn Cory is such a bitch. Plus she’s yesterday’s news.”

  Maybe, but isn’t an agent supposed to say good things about her clients?

  She ushers me into a hushed waiting room with gray leather couches and seafoam-green walls. “Dr. Grainger is one of the best plastic surgeons in California. I’ll wait here and we’ll meet in his office later.” She’s back on her phone before I can respond.

  The next half hour is a self-conscious blur. Dr. Grainger is young, wiry and quiet. Luckily, the middle-aged nurse who stays with us isn’t. Her motherly chatter keeps me from being frozen with fear as the doctor examines me one body part at a time. “The photographs go on the computer,” she explains when he starts taking pictures. “Dr. Grainger will reconstruct on the screen first, so you can be sure of the results.”

  After I’m dressed, the nurse escorts
me down the hall to a large corner office. Dr. Grainger sits behind a sleek black desk. Damarais sits in front.

  “Can’t you go any bigger?” Damarais asks as I slide into the chair beside her. They’re both staring into his computer monitor.

  “Not with good results.” Dr. Grainger tilts the screen so I can see. Shock ripples through me. There are my breasts. He presses a key. Larger breasts appear over my own. “I’ll make the incision under here, so it won’t be seen.” He points.

  Incision. Gross.

  “The implants will go in there, mimicking your natural shape.” He looks at me. “Does that work for you?”

  I’m suddenly nauseated. Am I really doing this? I take a deep breath. “Yes.”

  Damarais squints at the image. “Are you sure you can’t make them bigger?”

  I gulp. They’re already the size of melons.

  “I could, but Lily is petite. Her breast size should stay proportional with her height and overall build. It won’t look natural otherwise.”

  Thank God for that.

  “What about the other procedures?” Damarais asks.

  “Give me a minute.” His fingers fly over the keys. “I need to pull up her face.”

  A sharp, metallic bitterness floods my mouth. “What other procedures?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Your face.” Damarais stares at the screen. “We need to fix it too.”

  What does she mean, fix it?

  When my face appears on the monitor, Dr. Grainger points to my cheeks. “She has great bone structure.”

  “Maybe.” Damarais frowns. “But her nose needs to be thinned, and her eyes need to be widened.”

  The fries I ate for lunch cramp my stomach. I feel like I might throw up. I grip the edge of the chair and stare at myself. What’s wrong with my eyes?

  “The rhinoplasty will take care of the nose.”

  Rhinoplasty?

  Click. Click. Click. With a few keystrokes, Dr. Grainger makes my nose narrower and straighter.

  “What about the tip?” Damarais asks.

  More clicking. The nose on the screen now has a cute, upturned end.

  “As for the blepharoplasty, I can do the tops and bottoms of the lids at the same time.” His fingers fly over the keyboard again.

  Sweat trickles down my back. “You didn’t say anything about my face the other day.”

  “I said you’d need work.” She’s still studying the screen. “That we’d schedule everything for next month.” She points to the corner of my eye. “Wider there.”

  “You said my breasts. And maybe my butt.”

  “Your butt is fine for now.”

  For now. Nice.

  “But your face is too Asian.”

  I freeze. Too Asian? I stare at her profile. Seriously?

  “And Asian is in, but only nonthreatening, westernized Asian,” she murmurs.

  Westernized Asian. Isn’t that what I am?

  “If you’re going to be represented by Trainer and Hill,” she adds, “you need to modify your look.”

  Modify my look. Become more white. I clutch the edge of the chair so hard I’m surprised I don’t break a finger. All my life I’ve been too something. Too exotic. Too white. Too Asian. But this? This is too weird.

  “Yes!” Damarais exclaims. “That’s perfect. Now make the left eye look the same.”

  The fries I ate for lunch turn into a ball of cement as Dr. Grainger clicks my familiar eyes away. I look at Damarais. “Do my parents know about this?” I can’t believe they’d say yes.

  “Other than the breast implants, I didn’t go into specifics.” She’s still staring at the screen. “I said we’d talk more when they got to town.” She points to my face. “What about the cheekbones? With the wider eyes, they kind of disappear now.” Silently, the two of them study my image.

  “We could take some fat from here”—he taps the apple of my cheek—“and that would give us this.” A few more clicks, and my cheeks are hollow.

  “Better,” she says. “But now I don’t like the chin.”

  “Right.”

  They are talking about me like I’m a thing. A piece of clay. A hunk of dough. Horrified, I watch my image morph and change until I barely recognize myself.

  “Good work,” Damarais murmurs. “Very nice.”

  It’s not nice at all. I stare at the stranger looking back at me. I hate it.

  And I have to live with myself.

  “It’s a good start,” the doctor says. “She’s still young, so modifications may be needed down the road.”

  Down the road. Oh god, Etienne was right. A wave of dizziness rocks me. It will never end. “I’m not sure about the face thing.” My voice seems to come from somewhere far away.

  Dr. Grainger looks at me. “It’s entirely your decision. I certainly won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Lily.” Damarais waves my concern away. “The pain is minimal, right, doctor?”

  “I wouldn’t call it minimal, but we do have pain medication, yes.” He continues to look at me.

  “You’ll have round-the-clock care,” Damarais adds. “And Trainer and Hill will pay for everything.”

  “But it’s my face we’re talking about.” After years of always finding fault with it, I’m not sure I want to change it.

  Damarais’s sharp dark eyes bore into me. “I told you the other day, Lily, you have all the makings of a star. But you can’t afford to be typecast. You need a more homogenized look.”

  June said the same thing. Suddenly shivering, I wrap my arms around my middle. “But my looks got me the role of Iris.”

  She gives me an Ice Queen smile. “And it’s a good start. But it’s only that. You need to trust me on this, Lily. You’re paying us to represent you, remember?”

  Tell Brooklyn that if she doesn’t smarten up, she can find other representation.

  If I say no, Damarais won’t represent me. And I can’t operate in Hollywood without an agent. I want a good one. I want her. “What if we do my breasts now and my face down the road?” I’m grasping at straws, desperate. This is the biggest opportunity of my life, and I don’t want to let it go.

  “No.” Damarais shakes her head. “You’re the hot new thing right now. The flavor of the week. You need to take advantage of it.”

  Hot new thing? Flavor of the week? My heart lurches. I haven’t invested all this time to flame out in a year. “I don’t want to be the hot new thing. I’m in this for the long haul.”

  Damarais clucks her tongue. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

  I gaze at the person on the screen. An ache goes through me. Mom’s eyes are gone. Dad’s chin is gone. I’m gone. I may not always know who I am, but I know who I’m not. And I’m not that. “I can’t do it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Despair, black and bottomless, threatens to swallow me whole. I can’t believe I just said it. My dream is over. Dead in the water. Gonzo. “I can’t change my face.” My voice comes out strangled. I’m numb. Stunned. It’s the right choice, I know it, but a part of me still shrivels and dies.

  Damarais pats my hand. “We’ll talk,” she says.

  I pull my hand away. “There’s nothing to talk about.” If I can’t make it in Hollywood with the face I was born with, then I won’t make it at all. “I’ve decided.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Claire to Lily: You told Damarais what?????????

  Dad to Lily: Tickets are paid for. We’re coming anyway.

  Lily to Sean Tribley: I have your money.

  “You come to town and get involved in everybody else’s business, but who are you to pass judgment on my guitar playing?” Etienne’s character, Michael, is yellin
g at Iris.

  His angry words ricochet around the studio and make me tremble. There’s a collective hush as everybody waits for me to deliver my lines. It’s a pivotal scene, and I’m managing, but just barely. Yesterday with Damarais gutted me. Saying no to her was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  “I’m not passing judgment,” I say. “You just think I am. It’s your own fear of judgment that’s crippling you. And fear of your own talent. You’re afraid it will take you places and leave the people you love behind.”

  A vein pops in his neck. “How dare you.” Instinctively, I recoil. His anger feels so real. “You don’t know me. You don’t have the answers. And what are you running from, Iris?” His blue eyes bore into me. “Who are you, anyway?”

  The lights are so hot, I’m feeling faint. Who am I? I’ve asked that question since I was old enough to look into the mirror and know I was different. Maybe it’s the wrong question. Maybe the question isn’t who am I, but who do I want to be? Deep down, when I’m not acting?

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that I’m right.”

  I turn and walk the dozen feet to my mark. Saying no to Damarais was also right. Too bad it feels so wrong.

  “Cut!” Nic hollers. “That’s a wrap!”

  Conversation starts; someone laughs. I walk a few more feet, needing to get away from the harsh heat of the lights. From Etienne’s anger. But he follows me.

  “Good job,” he says.

  I turn around. Even in his geeky shirt and Value Village jeans, he is totally gorgeous. “You were right about Damarais,” I say. My anger, which has been simmering since yesterday, boils to the surface. “She didn’t want me to change my name, but she wanted me to get new boobs and an entirely new face. Happy now?”

  “What did you tell her?”

  Tears feather the back of my throat. “What do you think I told her?” Brooklyn saunters by and smirks. Etienne just stares at me, waiting. I swallow and say, “I told her no, okay? I turned her down.”

  He steps closer. Even after hours on the set, he still smells delicious. “You might think you regret it now, but you won’t later. Your face is perfect. You’re perfect. You start chipping away at that and you lose your soul. It happened to me. Luckily, I found my way back.” He glances at Brooklyn. “But not everybody does.”