by Carla Hanna
Manuel hugged me immediately, “I’m sorry. It’s okay.”
“Already I feel better just by seeing you. But also worse.” I explained, “I feel like I am Muse, a slave to the gods of Hollywood.”
“Feeling bitter? It’s just like last time when you said you were a fly in the spider’s web.” Manuel put his arm around me as we walked through the front gate. “Remember, you have a great life and can quit soon. It’s just several hours of acting tonight for the Globes. You’ll leave unscarred. “This too shall pass,” as your mom says.”
“Oh, I hate that saying and feel very scarred right now.” I hugged him again and relaxed. Ever since we were kids, Manuel’s hugs pushed out all my worries.
I stopped crying and explained, “The cheating isn’t true. Evan would never do that for real. It’s to balance our brands, make women like me again and give him freedom to be a total heartthrob. But Evan really did dump me. It’s over.”
Unlike industry people, Manuel didn’t use worthless words. He kissed my forehead and walked to the outdoor love seat. He was so unusual in my world—humble, content, considerate, affectionate, loving, and practical. He floated between the two social classes in Santa Monica: the high-net-worth families and the low-cash-flow households. His mom owned an apartment building worth several million dollars so his family had high net worth. But they lived on his dad’s salary as a driver for a delivery company. Manuel’s spending money came from working his restaurant job. He grounded me.
Manuel stood unbalanced in his cycling shoes and shook out the cushions. His muscles flexed in his tight biking shirt and shorts. He seemed like a man, not a boy.
“It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve seen you but you look taller.”
“Yeah, my mom thinks I’m having another growth spurt. I eat everything in sight.” He laughed. “She bought a bag of cookies and I left three. My dad was mad.” We sat down together. “I think it’s the triathlon conditioning I’m doing with Beth. We’re both getting fast.”
“Well, you look really good.” Manuel played varsity water polo and basketball and swam for Samohi (Santa Monica High School). I changed the topic, “So how was work yesterday?”
“It was fine bussing tables for pricks and posers. For every star, there must be a ten-person entourage of posers.” He hesitated. “Marie, do you have an entourage?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.” He was quiet. I asked, “Are you thinking I’m one of the bitchy stars telling you to fetch them more sparkling water?”
Manuel answered, “No. I know you. You’re a sweetheart and my best friend. You’re kind and smart, super generous, witty, pretty, and a really good actress. It’s just…never mind.”
I pleaded, “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Did you know that the number one graduation gift that the girls in our high school want is plastic surgery? There are tons of girls who are getting their noses done and tons more who want their boobs done. They want to look like you, even though you’re all natural. Beth and I talked about it yesterday. She likes you and wants to hang out with us more. She just got asked to model again. She doesn’t want to be trapped in contracts like you and her mom but is worried that she will be when she swims for Poland in the Olympics.”
Beth’s parents moved from Poland when she was ten years old. Her mom is a striking TV actress who plays a Russian. Her dad is a German and Russian language teacher at an elite private high school in Brentwood.
I agreed. “She will be played if she’s successful. She should get her swimming scholarship to college and then purposefully swim slowly in the qualifying Olympic heats, say she’s sorry and blame her failure on nerves. People forgive humility, you know.”
I snuggled back into Manuel’s chest and noted, “Beth doesn’t like me. We had fun last summer double-dating with Evan and Mitch, but, after, Beth told Kate that I’m a fake.”
Kate was my only girlfriend until last December. When she and Manuel broke up, I tried to call her and talk to her but she refused to talk to me. Instead, she sent me an email saying that being my best friend was too lonely. She also wanted to forget Manuel and said I’d be a constant reminder of him.
He objected, “That’s not true. What would Kate know? Beth can’t stand her.” He added, “Beth likes you. You need friends. You should be friends.”
“You’re my only friend.” Aware that the truth sounded pathetic, I sat up straight on the loveseat. “Anyway, I’m certain Beth hates me. Kate recorded the conversation and played it to me. Beth shared her frustration that you couldn’t see me for what I was, a movie star, not some humble sweetheart.”
“No, Marie. I mean, yes, Beth couldn’t understand how someone so successful could have insecurities. She has this thing about suffering. It drives her not just in her workouts but in how she sees the world. Since you’re rich and had your career handed to you, she didn’t think you struggled with anything. Just like the public, right?”
He paused again, “Why the hell would Kate record it and play it back to you? Did she do that a lot?”
I answered, “All the time. She’d press the Memo button on her iPhone.”
“Lo siento.” Manuel put his arm around me. “What I’ve said, too?”
“Yeah. One time, you told her it would be incest if we dated. Anyway, she said it’s better for me to hear the truth firsthand so I’d know who my friends were.”
“Oh, sweetie, that was really mean.” He exhaled. “I shouldn’t have lied. I mean I’ve learned from our whole messy break-up to always tell the truth.”
“You lied?” I wondered what he lied about. “You mean you still love Beth?”
Manuel exhaled again, “For me, my feelings for Beth didn’t end after we broke up. Dating her was a disaster but I love her and think she’s hot.” He studied my face, bit his lip, looked away, and sighed. “My feelings for Kate ended though. I can’t believe she did that. No wonder you don’t have friends.”
“I don’t see the point when I know what they think anyway.” I gazed at his loving eyes. “I trust you. I trust Evan, but he thinks like my mom.”
“Marie, I promise that Beth likes you, Mitch adores you. Evan loves you, too. He’s just doing the best for your careers. I said those things to get Kate off my back about...” Manuel stopped mid-sentence and started a contingent thought. “It makes me sad that you’ve got, like, ten people around you at all times but don’t have more than about three friends, always lonely in a crowd. I don’t want you to feel abandoned when I start dating someone or…” Manuel stood up and switched the subject. “So you leave for Beverly Hills soon?”
“Yep. Elise is coming to run with me first, make sure I don’t look fat for tonight. Then Sashi’s driving me.” Elise was my personal trainer. I scanned my iPhone. “Elise is late. I have to be at the hotel to get ready for the Globes by ten this morning.”
“So the story is Evan cheated on you?”
“Yep. He says he still loves me but…” I shrugged my shoulders. “So we’re friends. Byron will be my date to everything.”
Byron Jones was my co-star in the film we were currently working on, Constantine’s Muse. I had kissed him again since Manuel and I had talked. I needed to be even more direct with him at the Academy Awards in February.
“You’re quiet.” Manuel eyed me disapprovingly and crossed his arms across his chest. “You kissed him again, didn’t you?”
“Ugh, I stopped the kiss. I just don’t expect it. It’s like I forget that I don’t like him when I’m around him.” Trying to explain how I could not get Byron to stop kissing me was very difficult. Manuel gave me plenty of strategies to make Byron stop but nothing worked. “It just happens.”
He shook his head and walked through the gate. We both peered around the street for the paparazzi that would be arriving at any moment.
“Did Evan know?”
“No.”
Manuel scrutinized me reproachfully. “Ironic. You were the cheater.”
“No
, I wasn’t. I didn’t want Byron to kiss me. I always shut him down.”
“You need to be cold, an ice queen, to get him to back off.” Manuel concluded, “You’re too sweet for that, naturally. But that’s the only way, Marie.”
I followed him. I saw an opportunity. I could test his reaction to me physically, see if he loved me without having to tell him how I felt.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “but it’s something about how smooth Byron moves and how he knows what I’m thinking that catches me off guard each time.”
I slid in front of Manuel, put my hand behind his neck, and pulled his lips to mine.
The kiss happened in slow motion. My heart stopped as his body jolted. Probably within an instant of feeling his lips, he pushed me away with so much force that I tripped backwards and fell on my butt. Nonetheless, my lips tingled and the hairs on the back of my neck and hands stood up. No one’s lips felt like that. I couldn’t deny that I was in love with him.
He bellowed, “What the hell, Marie?” He stared at me, fists and jaw clenched.
I stood up, fighting the urge to puke and hoping my body wouldn’t tremble. I hid that my heart broke. “See, Byron is just like that. I have the same reaction. See, it’s not cheating.”
My kiss was as unwelcome to Manuel as Byron’s kisses were to me. I blinked quickly and willed myself to act normal.
Manuel grabbed his bike helmet and sunglasses. “Don’t do that to me, Marie. I’m not an actor.” He shook his head at me and sighed. “That was mental.”
He put on his bike helmet, then dropped his glasses, tripped over himself getting them, and finally stood upright. He breathed purposefully, relaxed his shoulders, and added, “Maybe now that you’re single, you don’t fight your feelings with Byron and you go with it.”
Clearly Manuel didn’t love me as a girlfriend. Breathing was getting harder to do but I controlled my tear ducts. I admitted, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Manuel pinched his eyebrows in question.
I joked to lighten the mood, “Resistance is futile.”
“An Oscar nominee who’s a Star Trek geek,” he laughed. He grinned as he exhaled again. His hands relaxed. He forgave me for crossing the line.
He opened his arms. I walked to him and we embraced, as siblings do. I relaxed into his warmth, thankful he loved me even though it was platonic. He felt so much responsibility for people: keeping Beth safe, making time for me, and helping out his sister. Good thing I knew where I stood with him romantically. Good thing I didn’t tell him that I was in love with him.
“I’ve gotta go. Beth gets so mad when I’m late but I had to see you.” He let go, covered those beautiful eyes with his sunglasses, and got on his bike. “I can’t wait to go off to college and just study and do this training all the time. Life is going to be so awesome next fall!”
“Ride safely, Manuel.” I needed him to leave as soon as possible.
“Love ya, Marie.”
Despair overwhelmed me as I watched him ride off. I forced myself through the privacy of the front gate and collapsed on the flagstone patio and cried, destroyed from double heartbreak. I thought about calling Evan, telling him Manuel’s reaction, and begging him to forgive me for not loving him enough. But I loved Evan too much to have him live a lie by dating me in secret. It was over.
I went inside when I heard a car drive up, the first of the paparazzi to arrive. I had only been home for an hour and my entire perspective had changed. I had no idea how I could possibly keep working. I wanted Manuel.
~ UNDRESSED ~
“Darling, you look stunning from the back. I told you that you can pull off a plunging back.” Franz added, “You’ve got the best figure in the business.”
“But she’s seventeen,” Mom interrupted. “We’ve talked about this. Your job as her stylist is to maintain her brand as a wholesome teenaged actor.”
Franz’s face fell as I turned around so Mom could see the dress. Mom had the smooth, glowing skin of a woman in her late twenties even though she was forty. She was Michelle Michael, Oscar winning actor and Hollywood sweetheart. We called ourselves ‘actors’. The word “actress” was outdated. We all were actors, all equal, even though we females showed so much more skin.
“It looks great,” Mom concluded. “But cover her up, and she must wear a bra. Try the next, dear.”
Franz raised his eyebrows at me and the first designer who was messing with the back. We had two more gowns to try, complementary dresses from up-and-coming designers who were there for the gown selection. Mom and I were so busy that it was the only way we could arrange the dress fittings. The designer of the second dress put the second gown on me and fussed with the back zipper.
Mom responded. “No. You can’t just throw on some tulle at the bottom hem because I objected that the dress was too short. Thank you for your time. Next.”
The designer slouched. I wondered how many free man-hours it took to get to this point but agreed with Mom. He made a way too short dress with a plunging neckline and then slapped on some see-through scratchy fabric as a fix. Franz shook the designer’s hand while I stepped out of the dress.
Franz hurried to get me into the last dress. He whispered, “Darling, look more confident. Don’t show weakness, please.”
I smiled at him but his smile was gone, replaced by focused eyes and pursed lips. We entered the adjoining hotel room together.
Mom smiled. “Marie, please twirl.”
The dress felt heavy and confining. The train dragged from the weight and the bodice cut into my breasts.
“Franz, you know I love you but you struck out today. You’re the best stylist in the business but you’re getting weak, flaunting her curves. Be stronger.” Mom considered me again, “Darling, how does that one feel?”
“It’s fine, just heavy in the back. The bodice should be let out a little. It cuts into me.” I learned that it didn’t matter how the dress felt. She’d choose the one that accomplished the look she had in mind. Without much hope, I added, “The first dress is more comfy.”
Mom came over to me and pulled up on the dress. “Franz, she’s up for a Globe and an Oscar and is absolutely terrified that she will win. We need to make this as comfortable as possible.”
I played the Muse character in Jefferson’s Muse. She is a mythological muse who takes human form as an eighteen-year-old and never changes through time. She comes into the lives of men, inspires them, they love her, the men move on to greatness, and she tries again to find love and meaning for herself. I’m able to portray characters of different races because my natural features are so ambiguous. I can use makeup to darken or lighten my skin color for different characters, and my hair can be dyed or hidden under a wig.
She waved the designer to come over. “This is her Oscar gown. The bodice shows way too much cleavage. Remove the train to lighten the dress, and she needs straps. Put the weight on her shoulders.” She raised her eyebrows at Franz. “Fix the first dress for tonight.”
“Absolutely, Michelle,” Franz confirmed.
Mom smiled at me. “I’m overwhelmed, dear.” She held my hand and closed her eyes. “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.” She squeezed my hand. “You look amazing in both dresses, Marie, but you should also look your age.”
“Mom, now I really am scared about tonight.”
“My little introvert,” Mom smiled, “don’t be scared about tonight. You’re not going to win the Globes. We didn’t campaign for you since your audience has been so critical of your success. Just enjoy yourself with Richard, Grant, and Matthew. You deserve the recognition.”
Muse inspires two men: the twenty-six-year-old Thomas Jefferson, played by Matthew Thorne, and a slave, played by Grant Bell. We had just won several awards: People’s Choice Favorite Movie, Favorite Movie Actor for Grant, Favorite Actress for me, Favorite Drama Movie, Favorite On Screen Team for Matthew, Grant and me, and Favorite M
ovie Star Under 25 for me. I won the Screen Actors Guild award for Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a Leading Role and Critics’ Choice Best Actress.
“I sure hope you’re right that I won’t win, Mom. I’m not in the mood. We made a mistake. I miss Evan already.”
“I’m so sorry, dear.” She whispered, “It was the only way to get you back on top. If I were a young actor today, I wouldn’t have been able to handle such quick shifts in public opinion. Social media is a cruel bully. Be careful not to read anything or go online. Okay, honey?”
I nodded. I always nodded and smiled.
~ LOSER! ~
Matthew leaned into me and talked into my ear, “Marie, I’m so proud of you. Good job, kiddo. You were heroic sitting there all night and clapping for the winners. You lost with grace.”
“Thanks,” I smiled. “Good job to you, sitting there knowing you deserved to at least be nominated.” Matthew was not much taller than me when I wore heels. He was 5’10” and famous for his six pack abs. He could also act.
“Thanks. I’ve got a present for you. I’m assuming you get to bail now that the Globes are over. Can I bum a ride with you and give it to you in your limo?”
“I’ll have to ask my mom.” Mom was home. She only cared about four annual award shows. I studied his face. “You’re not staying to work the after-party?”
He smiled at me and his eyes searched the room. “You didn’t come in with your mom. She’s not here.” He waved to Grant. “I’ll get far more publicity getting into that limo with you tonight. Please do me the favor?”
Grant kissed me a Hollywood hello, a quick kiss on the lips. “Hey baby, love you. That was an ultimate F.U. that we didn’t win.”
“It’s alright. Love you, Grant.” Grant was gorgeous, an excellent actor, and a genuine person. He gave the best performance of any actor but was overlooked by the Globes and the Academy because he was a new actor and the Academy members didn’t know his work, not because he was African American.
Grant shook Matthew’s hand. “I heard you already moved to Brentwood?”