by Carla Blake
In fact the only thing Amanda really disliked was when Carrie took it into her head to do things for herself. Then she would get quite upset and fixing Carrie with one of ‘her looks’ would demand to know why she had hired her in the first place if all she was going to do was carry her own plate through to the kitchen?
But what Amanda didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and slipping beneath the fragrant bubbles, Carrie closed her eyes and sighed.
This new bubble bath was a real find and to have the chance to enjoy a little peace and quiet was lovely, especially as in a few short hours it would be all crashing noise, bright lights, screaming fans - God bless ‘em- and the press. Jostling for position and yelling her name. All demanding she look this way, that way. Smile!
Yet, how could she complain? This was what she had worked so hard for and at twenty eight, still a ludicrously young age to have so much, she had achieved her dearest wish. Her name was at the top of the A list. Her face on every magazine. Offers of work flooded in, as did handsome cheques from one quarter or another. She was rich and if the fancy took her, she could probably just dump the lot and never work again. Not that she would. Sitting on her backside all day doing sweet FA wasn’t really her style and it certainly wouldn’t help the problem of her inflating posterior. Plus, the very nature of her job either demanded she keep at it or risk fading from the public eye, and no way was she going to throw it all away now simply because her bank balance was so full it burped.
But it hadn’t all been plain sailing. Her teenage years, in particular, had been bloody tough.
Five years of slogging though secondary school, fiercely hugging her ambition to her chest whilst listening to the other kids singing the theme tune to ‘ Fame’ every time she passed hadn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs and her careers teacher, an old hag called Mrs. Parry, hadn’t helped either.
God, she could still hear her now. Loudly proclaiming that Carrie’s desire to become a film star was a waste of time and merely the result of too many late nights watching ridiculous movies. Carrie should get a nice, safe job working in an office and put aside these childish ambitions to concentrate instead on doing the ‘proper’ thing. Like getting married and having babies.
Mrs.Parry hadn’t actually said that last bit but Carrie knew she’d been thinking it, she could tell by the way she’d scowled at her over her glasses and pushed secretarial courses towards her. But the whole thing had been insane! No way did she want to end up trapped inside a dreary, little office whilst other women stared at her through tired eyes and wished for nothing more that someone else to do the washing up.
Yet, in a way, Mrs.Parry had got her wish, for Carrie had worked in an office, and as offices went, hers hadn’t been all that bad. The duties hadn’t been particularly demanding and she’d got on well with the other members of staff, except, she remembered ruefully, when it came to the Christmas parties and the entire male contingent deemed it their unequivocal duty to try and bonk every female in sight. Then even spotty Philip Porter would chance his arm. Trapping her by the filing cabinets and slobbering stupid words of love amongst the long term productivity reports, until, tired of the whole thing, she’d pushed him away and in no uncertain terms advised him to find a girl nearer his own age. Like nine, for example.
Philip had stormed off then and gone on to tell anyone who would listen that Carrie was a lesbian. Not that anyone believed him, least of all the other blokes. How could anyone as stunning as Carrie Shilling be gay?
Yet, despite Philip, her days in the office had helped pay for what she regarded as her ‘real’ job, when three evenings a week, plus Saturday mornings, she’d struggled to learn her craft under the watchful eye of the great Ruby Johnson.
A woman as nutty as a box of frogs and of whom it was said was only a year or two shy of her hundreth birthday as floating around in her usual brightly coloured, voluminous dresses, disturbed every mote of dust on the floor, whilst leaving behind a cloying waft of perfume in her wake. This, together with her tendency to shout, no matter what kind of message she was trying to convey, gave her the air of a rather dotty old lady not to be messed with. Yet her pupils admired her greatly and if her criticism could sometimes be conceived as cruel, it could also be conceived as both fair and constructive and no one could ever say her desire to see her pupils succeed was anything short of total.
Therefore, under her instruction, Carrie flourished. Transforming herself from an uncertain teenage, uncomfortable with both looks and body, to a confident, assured young woman who would sometimes gaze at herself in a mirror and wonder if what she was seeing was truly her?
A debate Ruby finally been put to rest one afternoon, when finding Carrie all alone in the dance studio and scowling at her reflection in the mirror, she suddenly wafted in, and without a word gathered up Carrie’s long, dark hair in her wrinkled hands before expertly arranging it upon her head.
“See.”She had shouted at Carrie. “See how putting your hair up makes the most of your elegant neck? You should not frown so Carrie. That is you looking back, and yes, you are lovely. Be grateful and use what God has given you to your advantage. Learn to be a little wicked now and then.”
And with that she had let go of Carrie’s hair and turned on her heel. Leaving Carrie to struggle with an odd mixture of gratitude and fear that it might only be her looks that would get her anywhere and not her acting ability.
But come Autumn, a television company came knocking at Ruby’s door in search of a new and fresh young talent to star in a brand new daytime soap called ‘ Friends and family’. Ruby instantly put Carrie’s name forward without a single qualm, which was fortunate seeing as how Carrie had enough qualms of her own, and come audition day there she was, standing amongst the other young hopefuls, shaking and nervous and trying to cram an entire scene into a memory that didn’t seem capable of remembering her shoe size.
The audition had gone appallingly. Missing her cue entirely to begin with, when she finally did make it onto the stage, she tripped over the edge of a rug and upset a carefully laid out table, smashing the contents all over the floor. Yet, despite all this, it transpired that she must have done something right for a few days later she heard she’d got the part of Lorna Atkinson. The glamorous, but willful daughter of one of the main characters.
Back at the acting school the news was greeted with champagne and flowers and it was only then, when she was still reeling from her success and giggling at the prospect of ‘proper acting’that she discovered the soap was all ready to roll. Locations, scripts and sets were already in place, and had been for months. All that had been missing were the actors to flesh out the words and, now, with that little detail ironed out to everyone’s satisfaction, it was a mere matter of days before Carrie was due to stand nervously behind the cardboard ‘wall’ of her ‘family’ home, waiting for her very first professional cue.
Six months later, she celebrated her twenty second birthday and while she was busy blowing out the candles on the cake, ‘ Friends and family’ was busy moving from an afternoon slot aimed at bored housewives, to a prime time position aimed at a maximum audience.
Carrie didn’t know it, but she was now mere months away from becoming a major star, and although in real terms it had taken just under a year to get this far, to Carrie it all seemed to have happened overnight. Her raise to fame almost instant, sparing her the pain of having to slog half her life away just to gain a tiny glimmer of recognition.
But it wasn’t until she saw her face on the cover of a television guide, alongside her screen ‘dad’, that she really knew she had made it and buying twenty seven copies of the magazine to post to family and friends, had cringed at her own naivete when most of them had rung to say thanks but they’d already bought copies themselves.
Because as ridiculous as it seemed now, back then it hardly ever occurred to her how well known she was becoming outside of the set and how ordinary people
, slumped in front of their TV’s, were beginning to sit up and take notice of the beautiful actress playing Lorna Atkinson.
But notice they most certainly had and it wasn’t long before she was being invited to appear on a plethora of chat shows and even star in a pantomime as Peter Pan, a role she had to get permission from the soap to do, but which was worth it the moment she found herself cavorting around on stage in a costume barely big enough to double as a handkerchief, or ‘flying’ over the heads of the audience, even though she knew some of them were trying to see up her skirt.
Life, she’d thought, didn’t get much better that this.
But it had.
Thanks to Barry Carmichael.
An experienced agent, he’d got right in Carrie’s face, badgering her with phone call after phone call and sending her fax after fax, until forced to speak to him or risk being bullied for the rest of her days, she’d subsequently agreed to let him manage her on a trial basis, resulting in her rising star beginning to shine in the direction of all the right film directors.
Movies, though, had never been part of her game plan- chatting to film stars at parties or on the set of chat shows had seen to that- and she had soon learnt that making films wasn’t necessarily all that it was cracked up to be. Long hours hanging about doing precisely nothing, difficult co-stars, moody directors, disgruntled writers, inclement weather, life threatening stunts, they were just a few of the drawbacks she’d been told about and on reflection she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go there.
But Barry Carmichael thought otherwise and with the tenacity of a Bulldog, regularly turned up with scripts and gradually wore her down until eventually Carrie agreed to appear in a film entitled, ‘ Angels with Attitude’ just to shut him up.
‘Double A’, as the film affectionately became known, was a box office smash and Carrie’s role, although only minor, won her rave reviews together with a lucrative offer to appear in the sequel. As the star.
Barry Carmichael, sensing pound signs on the horizon, accepted without hesitation, completely ignoring Carrie’s misgivings and as a result ending forever Carrie’s chances of staying with the daytime soap.
Carrie Shilling, as far as he was concerned, was now a movie star.
Stepping out of the bath, Carrie reached for a huge, warm bath towel, and smiled. Raking over her past like that was so self indulgent, but sometimes she just couldn’t help it, it was just so damn satisfying. Or to quote the wonderful Ruby Johnson upon first hearing that Carrie had landed the role in ‘ Friends and family.’
“Never look a gift horse in the mouth, my girl. Get on the damn thing and ride it straight down the middle of the damn road. Don’t think ‘why?’, think ‘yes!”
That was so typically Ruby and a memory she recalled often, especially after Ruby had suffered a heart attack right in the middle of her summer class and passed on. But before she had died she had lain slumped on the floor with her dress splayed around her, gazing up at the circle of concerned faces surrounding her before uttering the immortal line. “Don’t just stand there! Get on with your work!”
Carrie often wondered if it was engraved on her headstone.
“Miss. Carrie! Why didn’t you call me?”
Striding into Carrie’s bedroom, Amanda gazed around her and with her usual admonition, tutted her disapproval.
Caught red handed, Carrie knew it was pointless trying to argue. Amanda was already in ‘mother hen’ mode, and with her feet planted squarely on the carpet and her arms folded across her chest, she took in a deep breath and prepared to voice her objections to Carrie’s latest attempt at ‘seeing to herself’.
Defeated before she’d said a word, Carrie held up her arms in surrender. “Okay, okay.”She said. “I know what you’re going to say and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll try not to do it again and to make up for it, maybe you could help me decide what I should wear tonight?”
Unconvinced by Carrie’s shaky promises to do better, Amanda nevertheless huffed and crossed to the huge walk-in wardrobe, beginning to rifle through the rows of evening gowns which were hung according to colour and season and tagged with a small square of paper stating when the dress was last worn, for which occasion and how much press coverage it had received. Something Amanda religiously scanned the newspapers for and which she took personal umbrage against if anyone dared to criticize.
“How about this one?”She suggested, holding up a dark blue, silk dress whose hem reached modestly to the ground, but whose side had a daring split ending roughly where Carrie’s waist began.
Carrie wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure.”She said. “Have I worn it before?”
“Not according to the square.”Amanda replied. “You bought it for that charity function for kids with cancer last March, but it rained if you remember and you ended up wearing something else.”
Carrie nodded. “You’re right, but I don’t think it’s quite special enough for tonight. I want something that’s going to wow them! I want something that’s going to knock their socks off!”
“How about your birthday suit then?”Amanda suggested, returning the dress to the rail. “That should do it.”
“Yeah, right. Have you seen my arse recently? But seriously, if I don’t wear something the critics like, it’s not me that’s sulking for days is it?”
They were interrupted by the door bell then, and warning Carrie not to go ‘fiddling about with the dresses and messin’ up the system’, Amanda scuttled from the room to see who it was.
Barry Carmichael stood on the doorstep, dressed in a tuxedo and greeting Amanda with his usual welcome, thrust a huge bouquet of red roses at her.
“These are for you.”He said, stepping into the warm and briskly rubbing his hands together before kicking the door shut with his foot. “Been sitting in the car for a while I’m afraid, damn traffic was dreadful! I imagine the poor things are about ready to eat their own roots.”
“Better stick them in water then.”Amanda said, trying not to snag herself on the thorns. “Carrie’s upstairs if you want to go up. But knock first! She’s trying to make up her mind what to wear.”
Thanking her, Carmichael started up the long, sweeping staircase.
Thinking he’d timed his arrival just right.
A notion the little housekeeper probably wouldn’t have argued with, for although Carrie was usually a calm, unflappable person, she was starting to grow increasingly nervous before these big occasions, sometimes to the point where she would shake from head to toe, and it was usually only the comforting presence of Carmichael that enabled her to recover her equilibrium and believe that she was, once again, going to be absolutely brilliant.
Amanda was only sorry she didn’t have the same effect because Carrie meant the world to her. Never before had she worked for someone so kind or so generous and not only did Carrie ensure she had everything she could possibly want for the kitchen, she’d never once forgotten her birthday, not even when she’d been away filming. It truly was a revelation working for someone so considerate, especially when she compared her to some to the miserable, dried up old bitches she’d worked for previously.
Then there was Carmichael, Carrie’s agent.
Tall and solidly built, he had a way about him that could diffuse even the most difficult of situations. A few well chosen words sometimes all it took to mollify the most savage of critics and an easy charm which he could turn on Amanda and Carrie with devastating effect. The pair of them instantly melting under his subtle touch as they found themselves agreeing to things they would otherwise never have considered. Yet, despite this gift for effortless control, Carmichael was never spiteful or malicious and he clearly cared for Carrie very much
Not that you could tell at the moment.
Climbing the stairs laden with a heavy, crystal vase brimming with perfectly trimmed roses, Amanda could hear the fierce debate from the end of the land
ing.
Carrie was in full cry. “You have got to be kidding!”She heard her say. “I can’t wear this! Look at it! I’ve seen more material go into making a sock!”
“But that’s the whole idea!”Carmichael replied heartedly. “Revealing but respectable. It’s perfect! They’ll be positively drooling!”
“Great.”Carrie retorted. “Grown men slobbering over me while I’m in jail for indecent exposure.”
Amanda appeared in the doorway then and trying not to convey her bristling curiosity, peered over the heads of the roses to see what all the fuss was about?
Carrie showed her. She had a point.
There wasn’t much to see. Little more than a wide, silver band sparkling with glitter, the dress probably would have just about covered Carrie’s cleavage and backside, providing, of course, she had no plans to actually sit or move around in it. It was daring to the point of illegal.
“Well? What do you think?”Carrie asked the housekeeper. “Would you send me out in something like this?”
Amanda hesitated. As scandalous as the dress clearly was, she could also see Carmichael’s point of view. Carrie had a body to die for and she would look simply sensational in it. But Carrie clearly wasn’t happy and not wanting to upset her by agreeing with the agent too quickly, she stalled for time by placing the vase just so and crossing the room to run a hand across the fabric.
It felt wonderfully sheer and running the palm of her hand across it she could hardly feel it at all, but on the other hand, it was dangerously delicate and if it didn’t rip first then Carrie was likely to freeze. Letting it fall, she strode briskly over to the wardrobe and disappeared inside.
“Where’s she gone now?”Carmichael whispered as the door closed behind her. “Narnia?”