Truly Madly Famously

by Rebecca Serle

  I shake my head. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes. I’d like you to tell me the truth.”

  “So ask me.”

  “Are you together?”

  I run a hand over my forehead. “No.”

  “Okay.” The relief in his voice makes me wince.

  I look up at him. His eyes are focused on me now, intently. “But, Rainer?”

  “Yeah?” he says, swallowing.

  “We might be if I wasn’t so afraid of losing you.”

  Rainer takes this in. “That’s so unfair,” he says. But it’s not bitter, just regretful.

  “I know,” I say, tucking my hands between my knees.

  “Can we just agree,” he says, “that we won’t do anything, we won’t date anyone else, until we figure this out?”

  His eyes are bright, clear. I want so much to see myself there. “Yeah,” I say. “We can do that.”

  We fly through the day. I sleep off and on. Jessica and Rainer watch movies. We land at LAX a little before midnight. We flew commercial home, so now we have to deal with the photographers outside.

  Jessica goes ahead to make sure the cars are there, and Rainer pulls me to the side as we deplane. “What do you want to do?” he asks.

  I tuck a piece of stray hair back up into my baseball hat. I see our fellow passengers glancing at us as they pass by. “What do you mean?”

  Rainer inhales. “Do you want to walk out together?”

  I look up at him. His face is open, relaxed. No hat or sunglasses. He’s offering himself to me as protection. Do I want to take it?

  “It’ll make things easier if you take my hand,” he says.

  He holds it out to me. I’m exhausted, and all I want to do is just slip my palm into his. To let him lead me down, through the photographers. It would put a rest to this disastrous public image if we just do this one, simple thing. Back together. What cheating scandal? It’s all behind us. We’re solid. Throw all the rocks you want.

  But I can’t. I’m not even sure why he’s offering it. Is it because he wants to protect me, or because he wants to cement us further together in the public eye? Either way, I have to say no.

  I shake my head. “We have to do it on our own,” I say.

  Rainer nods once. Curt. And then he steps ahead of me.

  Sure enough, they are gathered when we descend the escalator. They scream obscene things at us.

  “Rainer! Have you ditched your cheater girlfriend yet?”

  “Paige! Where is your lover, Jordan?”

  But I keep my head up. I don’t answer. I just keep thinking about three minutes. It’s only ever three minutes. And sure enough, it turns out to be true.

  I used to think that speaking up, speaking your mind, was the most powerful thing you could do—saying what you think and feel. But I’m beginning to learn there is a real power in what you don’t say. There is power in holding yourself above the need to clarify, or apologize. Just being who you are, no explanation necessary.

  Photographers aren’t the only ones who have greeted us on the ground. Fans are there, too. They hold up banners and head shots. “Can we take a picture?” three girls a few years younger ask.

  “Sure,” I say.

  We pose together, and someone takes the iPhone pic. And then I do one with that person, and one of the girls reciprocates. “We love you,” the girls say. “We support you, no matter what.” They’re strangers, I know. They don’t know me or Rainer or Jordan, but as I thank them I can’t help feeling good inside. I can’t help but feel like they mean it. Maybe not everyone feeds off our drama. Maybe some people really want us to be happy.

  Sandy greets me in my town car. The cameras are still flashing, but I can see her smiling at me. “Hey, PG,” she says. “Guess what?”

  I keep my head down. “Do I want to know?”

  We start driving away, and I collapse against the backseat. “Oh yeah,” she says. “You do.” She’s wearing a quirky smile on her face, her lips pursed together. “Tomorrow you’re going for the Closer to Heaven audition. Fox got involved and I think that coupled with your recent display of togetherness with the guys…” She smiles wider. “They’ve changed their tune about you.”

  I sit up immediately. “Really?”

  “Really. Amanda came through. It’s not a sure thing, but I think you have a real shot.”

  “This is amazing.”

  “Amazing and not everything. We still need to sit down and look seriously at the scripts Amanda has been sending.”

  I close my eyes, already thinking about how I’m going to nail this thing tomorrow. “Okay,” I say. “Whatever you want. Put me in a catsuit. I don’t care.”

  “You do care,” Sandy says. “And that is what’s going to make you a great actress. But we all have to make sacrifices.”

  I peel one eye open at her. “I’m getting that,” I say.

  Sandy pats my shoulder. “You’re doing okay, kid,” she says.

  I wake up at the crack of dawn the next morning. I went back to the Beverly Hills apartment. I hadn’t stayed here or even set foot here since we got back to L.A. post-tour, but Sandy had it cleaned and outfitted with groceries for me. “I figured you may want the option,” she told me in the car. I know Rainer moved back into the Bel Air house while I was in Malibu, so she was right.

  It was weird to stay here alone. When we got back from press tour, I was so scared to be by myself. I wanted to be by Rainer’s side at all times. The thought of being at this apartment, alone, made me feel like I might as well have been standing on the Walk of Fame, inviting in every stranger in sight. But coming home to the quiet, sleeping in the bed by myself, doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels good. It feels like here, alone, is exactly where I need to be.

  I sift through the mail that has built up in my absence. Some bills, magazines I immediately deposit into the trash, a rehearsal dinner invitation for Joanna’s swiftly approaching wedding. It has pink and red swirls on it, and I can’t help but laugh. Her poor future husband has no say already.

  I take my coffee cup outside and settle into a chair on the patio. It’s chilly now, with the sun not fully up, and I pop the hood on my sweatshirt over my head. I tuck my knees up onto my chest and let the steam from the coffee rise into my face.

  My phone rings. I take it out of my pocket and smile when I see Alexis’s name flashing on the screen. “It’s six thirty,” I say when I pick up.

  “And I’ve already meditated, done yoga, and made a green juice. What do you have to show for your morning?”

  I laugh. “What’s up?”

  “I missed you last night. Where are you?”

  “The Beverly Hills apartment,” I say.

  “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Alexis says. “But I feel you. Georgina and Blake are coming to claim Malibu for a few weeks, so I’m moving back home, too.” She gets quiet on the other end for a moment. “And Jordan and I broke up,” she says.

  “Broke up?”

  “Publicly, obviously. I issued a statement that we split amicably. They’ll probably think it has something to do with you, but it’s been enough time that it shouldn’t be too terrible.”

  “Wow,” I say. I take a breath and ask what I want to know. “Alexis… is there someone you want to date?”

  I hear Alexis clear her throat. “I just want to start limiting the lies, you know?”

  “Yes, I know.” I think of Rainer and me on the plane. It may suck now, but in some ways it’s better. At least we’re finally being honest. “I’m proud of you,” I say. It seems a silly thing to say, but it’s true. I all at once feel an overwhelming affection for Alexis.

  She laughs. “You’re so terribly American,” she says. “All feelings. Anyway, I have to run. I have a meeting with the Do Something people. Did I tell you I’m doing their new anti-bullying campaign?”

  Do Something is one of the largest organizations for young people. They cover every social cause, and I know Alexis has been gun
ning hard to have a bigger role with them.

  “That’s amazing!” I say. “Congrats. They’re lucky to have you.” I make a mental note to e-mail Jake about this. Maybe she can help him cast a wider net with his environmental outreach.

  “I’m lining up a ton of school visits and events and even some counseling sessions. I’m excited about it.”

  “That’s so great, Alexis.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, head out to the beach if you want to. It’s supposed to be a gorgeous day. Might as well capitalize on it while we can.”

  “I can’t,” I say, smiling to myself. “I have an audition.”

  “Ah! Keep me posted, gorgeous!” she says, and hangs up.

  I finish my coffee and get dressed. I put on a white lace top and jeans. I blow-dry my hair and apply a little mascara and a thin layer of lip gloss from one of the makeup kits in my suitcases.

  At eight thirty I get in the rental car and drive out. There are a few paparazzi there, and they get some photos, but it doesn’t really bother me. I’m too excited about today to care.

  I call Sandy from the car. “Ask for James Santiago,” she says. “They’re expecting you, of course. And make sure you go in the Galaxy Gate. The lot can be confusing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I hope you kill it!” Sandy says.

  “I don’t totally believe you.”

  “Hey,” Sandy says. “I want what you want.”

  Studio lots are confusing, to put it mildly. I find the Galaxy Gate, but it involves making, like, two and a half illegal U-turns, and by the time I actually locate a parking spot I feel like I’ve been circling for half my life.

  They gave me some VIP access pass, but I couldn’t find any of the VIP spots, so I end up in a parking garage the size of my old high school.

  I write the floor level of my spot on the inside of my wrist with a Sharpie from the center console and take the elevator down to the ground floor. I end up outside, in a grassy area with some scattered tables. There is a café off to the side, and people come in and out, ferrying coffees.

  A few of them glance up but then go back to meeting or talking on their cell phones. That’s the nice thing about Hollywood—once you’re inside the gates, no one cares that you’re famous.

  I ask a passing girl carrying a stack of scripts for directions to suite 400, and she offers to walk me over. Her name is Ireeka. She’s wearing a name tag, but she introduces herself, anyway. She’s short, with brown hair that is knotted at the base of her neck. “I’m surprised you’re here alone,” she says as we walk.

  I shrug. “People think you become famous and then incapable of walking.”

  Ireeka raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you?”

  It makes me laugh, which is good, because the closer we get to suite 400, the more nervous I am becoming.

  “What are you here for?” Ireeka asks me. She directs me with her arm to make a left.

  “Audition.”

  “You still have to do that?”

  “Sometimes,” I say. “When they don’t think you’re right for a role.”

  Ireeka rolls her eyes. She stops in front of an office building that looks kind of like a trailer—long and flat. “Suite 400,” she says. “You’ve arrived.”

  “Thank you for helping me out.”

  I turn to start climbing the stairs when Ireeka stops me. “I think you’re good,” she says. “I mean, Locked wasn’t my thing, but you weren’t bad.”

  I laugh. “Thanks?”

  She shrugs. “You’re an actress,” she says. “Show them you know how to be someone else.”

  She gives me a small wave and flags down someone passing by in a golf cart. “Tony, give me a lift.”

  I turn away from her and pop the door open.

  I’m greeted by two young assistants sitting in front of parallel offices, both with their doors open. A ball flies out of one office; one of the assistants catches it and tosses it back inside.

  On the walls are posters of movies I love. Now and Then and my favorite from a few years ago: The Spectacular Now.

  “Paige,” the assistant who isn’t tossing the ball says. “You’re here.”

  She stands up to come around to the front of her desk. She’s dressed in a miniskirt, leggings, and cowboy boots. “Kiernan, knock it off.”

  “Paige is here!” Kiernan yells. He gives me a lopsided smile. “Can we get you anything? Water? Coffee? Vodka?”

  I look from the girl to him. “He’s joking,” she says. “We only have tequila on weekdays. We’re professionals.”

  “Barely.” The guy who I know is James strides out of his office. He’s younger than I expected—maybe thirtyish. He’s wearing jeans and a Back to the Future T-shirt. “Paige Townsen,” he says. “We’re delighted you’re here.”

  He holds out his hand to me. It’s warm and welcoming. “Everyone is gathered in my office. Come on back.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  I follow James past Kiernan and into his office. It’s small, same vibe as outside. On his couch are three people—a woman and two men. One of them has his feet up on the coffee table. All of them are dressed casually, sipping on Starbucks to-go cups. They look up when we enter.

  “Everyone, this is Paige Townsen,” James says. “Paige, this is Billy Zack, our director. Carl Cohen, my producing partner, and that’s Irina Tell, the woman responsible for writing this thing we’re told you love so much.”

  “It’s a brilliant script,” I say.

  Irina smiles. “I’m glad you think so. Have a seat.”

  James pulls his swivel chair out from behind his desk and gestures for me to sit down. Everything is so casual, so no-big-deal, it almost makes me forget why I’m here.

  Billy speaks first. He’s a tall guy, wiry, with black hair and small blue eyes. “I know you had to fight the good fight to get here,” Billy says. “And we all appreciate that.”

  Carl and James nod.

  “The thing with this character is that she’s a pretty broken girl. We’re talking child abuse, abandonment. It’s heavy shit. I’m not saying you can’t handle it, but it would be a break from tradition, let’s say.”

  “I’m up for the challenge,” I say. “I want to do projects I’m passionate about; that’s why I got into this business.”

  Carl and James exchange a look. Irina writes something down. “Please,” I continue. “I know that sounds like a stock answer, but it’s not. I think you’re probably aware my reps don’t even want me here.”

  Billy laughs. “That’s a ringing endorsement, frankly.”

  “I fell in love with this script. It’s like nothing I have read before. There are piles of”—I look at the group—“stuff on my agent’s desk, and none of it is even a fourth as good as this.”

  Billy looks at Irina. “It is a pretty kick-ass script.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “And I know if you gave me a shot, I would be perfect for this. Maybe you can’t see it, but I can. I promise. I’m your girl.”

  “Why don’t you read for us?” Irina asks. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or embarrassed by my outpouring of emotion.

  James nods. “That’s why we’re here.”

  He hands me a script, but I shake my head. “I memorized the whole thing,” I say. “Just give me a scene.”

  James looks impressed. “Billy?”

  “Let’s jump right into the belly,” he says. “Why don’t you give us the first live-audience scene?”

  I suppress a smile. I was hoping they would choose this one. It’s one of the scenes I know the best.

  I stand up and roll out my neck. And then I begin.

  The last audition I did was for Locked. I remember stepping into that room—one so much bigger than this. With casting directors and producers and Rainer. I think about how much I relied on him in that audition. It wasn’t even me acting. It was us. It was the chemistry we have. The way we can just kind of fold into each other in a scene. I know I got the part
because he was there, but I don’t think I’ve realized until this moment, reading these lines for Billy and Carl and James and Irina, how much that’s held me back. If I got the role because of Rainer, it means I wouldn’t have gotten it on my own—that maybe I’m not a good enough actress by myself. And it’s this lingering fear—a fear I need to prove wrong—that drives the scene. I know now why this role is so important. I can’t just be handed something else. I need to earn it. I need to earn this.

  “That was great,” Irina says when I finish. “You’re a talent.”

  I exhale all the breath I’ve been holding.

  Billy nods. “I mean, you’re going to have to meet with Susan.”

  “Studio head,” James says before I can ask.

  “But you’re a find,” Carl says. He swings his feet off the coffee table. “We’re not going to lie to you—there are three other actresses in the running right now who the studio is very interested in. You’ve got some competition.”

  I nod. “I assumed,” I say. I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of hiding my disappointment.

  “But we’re fans,” James says. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  Billy stands up and takes my hand. His grip is strong as he shakes it. “We’ll see you back with Susan,” he says.

  Irina and Carl extend their hands, too. “Great work.”

  James walks me out, back to the assistants, who are now playing catch with each other. “Is someone making a coffee run?” he asks them.

  Kiernan looks up. “On it.” He stands and pops a credit card into his back pocket. “See ya,” he says to me, and charges out the door.

  “He’s untrained,” the girl says. “Sorry.”

  James laughs. “Do you need someone to walk you out?”

  I shake my head. “I can figure it out.” I followed Ireeka pretty closely. I can easily get back. But that’s not why I say no. I kind of want to explore, just a little bit, on my own.

  James holds the door open for me. “I have a good feeling,” he says.

  “Does that come in writing?”

  He laughs. “Not quite, unfortunately.” He pats me on the shoulder. “We’ll talk soon.”

  The parking garage is around to the right, but instead when I get outside I make a left. I follow the pathway up past trailers and people milling around. Some of them look at me, two even come over and offer me assistance, but I just shake my head and tell them I know where I’m going.