Manuel’s presence calmed me. A simple hug or quick kiss filled me. If I felt low, especially at night after he went to work or went home, I’d text him and he always texted back. I found comfort knowing that he was mine. I’d wake up to my empty house, get a glass of milk and some nuts, and look out my windows at the canyon and ocean. My knowledge that I had a wonderful boyfriend and my appreciation of nature’s beauty lifted my spirit.
I was impossibly busy with my exercise regime, school, study, and work. I spent the first week of April doing photo shoots and interviews for the promotional material and ads for Constantine’s Muse. Magazine covers and interviews to promote the film occupied the second week. Byron kissed me several times with a devilish smile during our more risqué photo shoots for international magazines. We were in character as Muse and Constantine and I was technically not cheating but I felt guilty.
Manuel attended classes, studied, maintained his friendships, exercised, worked, and saw me when he could.
I was not lonely. Simply being in love completed me.
Manuel found me stretching on my terrace. I ran with Elise while he swam in the ocean with Beth. He was wet from a combination of swimming and sweating from his bike ride from the PCH to my house. I liked his smell as he came toward me to hug me. He kissed me briefly on the lips and then chuckled. He tasted of both sweat and salt water. I’m sure I tasted of sweat.
“Sorry my swim took so long. You’re drenched.” He asked, “How hard did Elise push you?”
I grinned. “It’s no big deal. We did the UCLA loop, down San Vicente Blvd and back up Sunset Blvd. I’m actually quite proud of myself. I averaged 5:40 over the eleven mile loop. She thought I was exaggerating that I was running a five minute mile.”
“Wow. That stretch between Sunset and San Vicente kicks my butt. Good job, Marie.”
“Thanks. Why did your swim take so long?”
“Beth can be so bipolar. I’m not supposed to tell but you’re my girl so I’m going to tell. She and Mitch are in love, if you know what I mean, and in typical Beth fashion, she’s pushing him away. Dating Beth is a psychological rollercoaster, poor Mitch. He’s a saint.”
“She withdraws after she gets intimate?”
Manuel raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. “She does this ego-protection crap when she feels vulnerable. Beth seems strong, self-assured, but all those years of being bullied about her weight made her hide her sensitivity. She’s also mad that she didn’t get the scholarship to Stanford. Mitch got accepted but doesn’t want to go there if Beth doesn’t go. Anyway, I talked to her, told her what she’s doing. Hopefully she’ll apologize to Mitch, grow up.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m so grateful that you tell the truth about how you feel. It’s so easy being your boyfriend.”
I walked inside the house and Manuel followed. “I love being your girlfriend and can tell that I’m not going to get any hugs until after we shower.” I pointed to the bathroom. “Shake out the towels to check for spiders. I’ll see you upstairs.”
He sighed and I could tell that he stopped in the doorway. But I wanted to avoid anything sexual. I ran upstairs and showered quickly. He came into my room right as I finished dressing.
Manuel grinned and then glimpsed down at my hand and held it. His gorgeous coffee colored eyes met mine and then flickered back down at my hands. He hugged me and spoke softly, “I want to talk about some stuff I’ve printed off from the internet, try some stuff.”
I laughed, having no idea what he was talking about but perceiving his uncomfortable goofiness. I asked, “Why are you embarrassed?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Because I’m embarrassed but want to be honest with what I’m thinking about doing to turn you on.”
“Oh, now I’m embarrassed.” I wanted to avoid this conversation. “Manuel, are you sure? You might get really frustrated. I was actually thinking we should just give me more time, you know, just kiss and hold hands for now. I love that you’re my guy; it’s awesome, comforting. I’m afraid of losing you if you lose patience.”
His eyes met mine again and melted me with their beauty. He led me to my bed and grabbed a file folder. He sat on the bed, cross-legged in his shorts, facing me. “I thought I’d have you read about some of these techniques to help a girl feel better, ya know, and you could tell me what you’d be comfortable trying. I’ll do anything you want and don’t worry, I’m not asking you to do anything different for me. You’re beyond perfect.”
I asked, “So cooling it isn’t an option?”
He put his hand on my cheek. “I love you so much.” He grinned and shook his head. “There’s no pressure. Just read about the techniques and don’t be embarrassed to ask me to do them or use something to help you because you’re my everything.”
I smiled at him, grateful that he was so thoughtful and academic. “I don’t feel embarrassed now that you’re sharing your little textbook approach.” I worried that he was going to ask me to blow him. “You’re okay with me not wanting to do any nasty stuff?”
“Kate made it very clear to me the way girls felt about it. And just for the record, just about every guy in the school was telling me that their girls were. I learned that the guys were more than exaggerating. I thought I’d just start with the first technique without telling you what I was up to but then decided that I want your input before I do anything, ya know, make sure it’s what you want.”
I asked, “Do you want me to read them and circle what I want to try?”
He smiled at me and nodded his head. “Remember, you’re in control. Okay?”
I nodded and squinted at him intently, “There’s more. What’s up?”
“Well, I talked to my parents. I asked them if I could sleep here. I just don’t get to see you enough. I think about you constantly and want to be with you more. It’s your house, your wishes, but I sure would like to. It’s not to do it. It’s to be with you. I need you.”
“They said okay but that I should talk to you first. I traded shifts at the restaurant so I can see you this weekend, but we barely see each other during the week. Please don’t get freaked out.”
“Señor Self-righteous, you’re a confusing mix of rules. I’d love to have you live with me but I warn you, I won’t want you to leave.”
“Well, I won’t exactly live with you. I’ll just have the flexibility to come here after work and stay after our dates. I should still be home to study before big tests or if my parents or Janet need me.”
I slouched. “I have to tell you the truth before we ‘kind of’ live together. I don’t like it non-committal, casual. I’m also worried about doing it but I’m scared to death that I’ll lose you if I say no.”
“Not exactly, I just have a lot of fear of being alone again. I have trust issues.”
Manuel embraced me. “How about I stop with the bull? I’m conflicted but I love you so completely, am so committed. Trust me while I sort out what I believe. Our love is so good. What’s wrong is you always being alone, living by yourself, and being so adult. I want to be by your side, with you, supporting you.”
Contentment washed over me. I cuddled into him and read.
To show the world that I forgave Evan but kept my self-respect, I was attending his Friday night premiere of Inert Reactions, which he warned me was really going to suck. Manuel, Franz, Mitch and Beth were coming with me.
“Franz, I thought you were bringing Tony?”
He pouted. “I’m not a slut. I’m not interested.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Franz, do you get lonely?”
“No, I’m holding out for love. Speaking of love, where’s Manny?” He had finished dressing me and doing my makeup. He was working on my hair. We needed to leave in thirty minutes.
“I’m here!” Manuel yelled as he came in the house. “Sorry I’m late! Mitch and Beth should be here in a second.” He came into Mom’s bathroom where Franz was finishing up.
“Hi Franz! Nice to see you.” Manuel shook his hand. “Wow, you look pretty. You’re gorgeous without makeup, too.”
“Thanks.” I beamed from the praise. Franz also beamed with pride for making me look so pretty. “Why are you so happy?” I asked.
“I had a really good day at school and stuff. I got an academic scholarship to UCLA, full ride, room and board, plus a stipend for books.” Manuel smiled.
Franz clapped. I got up from the chair and hugged him. “That’s awesome!”
“Yeah, I’m really happy. So can I wear this?” Manuel was in a black tee, cargo pants and flip flops. I checked Franz. He looked shocked. I laughed.
“I think you can. Just walk with Franz.” I joked.
He could wear whatever he wanted to wear. We were not on an official date. I was going as a celebrity to support the studio’s project but Franz, Manuel, Mitch and Beth were going for fun to support Evan as friends.
Franz responded. “No way! You’re walking by yourself, Manny. I can’t be associated with that look!”
Manuel and I laughed. “Fair enough, Franz.” Manuel patted Franz on the shoulder. “So, I just make room for you, my gorgeous girlfriend, while you pose for some photos but otherwise you’re my date?”
“Yep. Just don’t hold my hand or anything so there won’t be any speculation. Sage and my security guards will escort me from the limo. I will do a few interviews about why I forgive Evan, so I’ll meet you guys in the lobby. Then we can make out in our seats, my man,” I joked.
Manuel smiled. “It’ll be nice to catch up with Evan. I’m happy that he’s okay with us dating, mi cariño.”
Franz laughed. I knew that he was thinking that he liked Evan over Manuel so I punched him lightly in the shoulder.
Manuel evaluated me again. “Are you wearing that? It’s so short.”
Franz put his hands on his hips and exhaled loudly. “I’m so sure, Manny. Just ruin the mood. She looks stunning. Is it your intention to criticize her all the time? Does that make you feel more manly or something?”
Manuel replied, “No. It’s just so revealing. Isn’t Marie above looking sleazy?”
“She’s a goddess. Ugh!” Franz stormed off, needing to get himself ready for the premiere.
She dazzled in a black sundress and low-heeled sandals. Beth was tall and resembled a swimsuit model. She had short dark brown hair naturally highlighted in golden streaks from the sun and chlorine. Her body was tanned, toned, and perfect. Like me, she had larger breasts than what you’d expect from her being an athlete. Most female athletes don’t have a lot of body fat so the breasts, being composed of body fat, are usually small. Not mine and not Beth’s. From exercising constantly, her skin glowed with health, clear of any imperfection. She didn’t wear makeup normally, but she wore a pearlescent pink lipstick and mascara that made her royal blue eyes shine.
She was so naturally beautiful that several times a year she was offered modeling contracts. But she had no intention of ever being a product and never gave modeling another thought.
Mitch appeared out of place with the rest of us. He was wearing a suit.
I shared Manuel’s news, “Manny got a full ride to UCLA!”
Beth crossed her arms and guffawed, “Figures! That’s so unfair!”
Beth explained, “Need-based minority academic full-ride bullshit, Manny. You’re dating Marie Michael, your mom is worth several million dollars, you look as white as me and you claim financial need. My family has negative cash flow so I have to swim my ass off to pay for college. Your family or Marie could pay for your education in a heartbeat but you get the scholarship with no strings attached while I have to slave for my athletic scholarship so I can get the education.”
Manuel shrugged. “I am Latino, even if I don’t look like it, and I do live in an apartment.”
“Yeah, an apartment complex your mom owns!”
“Technically, her trust owns it.”
“Whatever, Manny. You have to live with yourself. You just took away a scholarship from someone who actually needed it.”
Manuel huffed and ignored her. I wondered if he saw himself as a hypocrite in any way. Several of his ‘life rules’ didn’t make sense to me.
We all left the house nervously from the tension between the three. I said hello to Sashi and settled in the stretch limo. I sat between Manuel and Franz.
Manuel immediately addressed Franz, “Hey, Franz, I know you guys both saw me roll my eyes last time you did Marie’s makeup. I’m sorry. I thought you were being overboard dramatic, and I don’t like Marie made up and revealing too much of her body. She’s more beautiful without the glop on her face. I know that it’s your job to make her look sexy, but I’m just uncomfortable seeing her that way. Like right now, I mean, look, nothing is covering her legs all the way up.”
Franz didn’t say anything. Manuel noticed the silence and continued, “I just want to clear up the misunderstanding that’s getting out of hand from the last couple times I’ve been around when you’ve gotten Marie ready. I like you. I don’t care that you’re gay. I don’t judge you. My beliefs are my own. It’s my business, just like your choices are your business. You have to understand. I’ve learned tolerance of people’s beliefs. My dad’s an atheist and my mom changes all the time between some yoga ashram to some meditative Buddhist perspective based on how her body feels. My grandpa’s Jewish and grandma’s Catholic. I’m pro-life. Marie’s pro-choice. But it all works. I’m not judging. I’m not Mr. Holier-than-thou.”
Franz eyed Manuel, “Apology accepted, but the sooner you deal with the fact that your girlfriend has the best figure in Hollywood, the better. She’s a star and has an obligation to look larger than life. It’s my job to maintain her image so that she looks extraordinary in public.”
Manuel acknowledged him, “I know. I just wish it could be different. I wish she could just go as herself with me. I wish she could wear more respectful clothing, leave more to the imagination.”
I interrupted, “I’m me, Manuel. I have a mask on, but I’m me.”
Manuel flickered his eyes at me and smiled. “I know. I just wanted you guys to know that’s what bugs me.”
“You should know that I’ve been telling Marie that I like Evan better. But that’s cool you apologized to me,” Franz grinned. “I guess it won’t kill me if you walk with me when we get out of the car.”
Franz focused on Beth, “You’re absolutely gorgeous. What makes your skin glow?”
“I wash and moisturize with Cetaphil. I’m wearing lipstick and mascara.”
“I just have to know. What undergarments are you wearing?”
Without being embarrassed, Beth answered with no emotion in her voice, “The bra is built into the dress. I’m wearing seamless boy shorts. You’re in a position of power as a stylist and should make a point to abolish the thong, be a trend setter so women wouldn’t think they should have to wear butt floss.”
He begged, “Can I be your modeling agent?”
She answered coldly, “No thank you. I don’t want to model and be an agent’s slave.”
Franz didn’t understand, “But darling, you’ll be a swimsuit model when you swim for Poland in the Olympics. Your sponsors will own you. Your scholarship will own you, too. Just model and get the cash so you can pay your tuition at the school you want to attend.”
Beth glared at Franz. She did not want to be exploited as an Olympian as her mother and I were as actors. Martin met with Beth and her parents when she received her first endorsement contract for swimming for Poland in the Olympics. They’d own her for four years and she’d get $300,000, but end up with $90,000 cash in the bank. She rejected the offer.
Manuel and Mitch glanced at each other apprehensively. Franz looked down.
I said, “Beth, you really do look pretty. I just wanted you to know that I love the clothes you always wear to school. I personally just wear the clothes Franz buys me, but I’d like to buy some clothes for myself that you wear. Where do you shop?”
Beth snickered and scowled. “Target, mostly. When I splurge, like this dress, I go to a sporting goods store. It was on sale. When my mom goes to an industry event to promote her TV show, she gets her dress from a second-hand store on Wilshire Blvd, probably something worn once by your mom. You forget that ninety-nine percent of actors in the business scrape by financially.” She glanced at Manuel, surely thinking I was a complete fake, and pursed her lips. “I think my look is pretty simple, Marie. What do you like about it?”
I honestly explained, “I love to run. I like that you wear running tights and running shoes all the time and wear a sundress over it. I assume that’s so you can ride your bike everywhere and to work. It looks pretty but also comfortable. I also like the pants and shirts you wear, the hiking girl look.” I smiled at her. “Do you mind if I copy your signature look?”
Beth said, “Please don’t bullshit me, Marie.”
“I’m not. I like you, respect you. It’s real.”
She looked at Manuel and asked him something with her eyes. He nodded his head.
“Marie, I’m sorry I said you were a fake. I can’t stand Kate. She’s a bitch. I hated that Manny dated her.” She took a big breath. “I was also mad at you. I thought you were playing Manny and Mitch.”
She squeezed Mitch’s hand and continued, “My boyfriend was completely enamored with you and I felt kind of second rate when he asked me to prom after you accepted and then rejected him. The press had you dating Evan at the time, and it seemed real, so I thought you were a two-timer. Those times we double dated with you and Evan last summer, I thought you were an idiot not to like him more. He seemed completely into you. And then there was Manny. It was so obvious that he was in love with you. Since power-hungry, selfish Kate was your best friend, I thought you were manipulative, a tease. I was shocked when the guys explained that you have insecurities. I didn’t think about that.”
“Thanks for explaining, Beth.” I shook my head. “I thought telling Manuel that I loved him would make him run for the door. All of Kate’s recordings had Manuel explaining to her how he only loved me as a sister and that he couldn’t possibly date his sister, that it’d be gross.”
I scanned Mitch. “I thought you understood when I cancelled prom?”
Mitch answered, “I did understand. That’s when I realized Manny loved you. There’s no way I was going to steal my best buddy’s girl. We talked and I got the okay to ask Beth. I thought Manny had a claim on her, not on you.”
Beth added, “Yeah, I’m Manny’s second choice, too. Honestly, Marie, you’ve had the easiest life, ever. Everyone loves you. My mom gets paid nothing for being an actress after you factor in her expenses. You’re just rolling in success. It must be nice.”
I gulped and held those beautiful blue eyes of hers with my intense ones. “Yeah, it’s really nice to be alone all the time, suffer from severe stage fright, starve so I’m not criticized or sued for looking fat, have the responsibility for the success of a business, and be an exploited brand. I’d rather be able to say “no” to a modeling contract, swim, and run free. I don’t feel sorry for myself—it is what it is—but you’re the one who has it easy.”
Beth backpedaled, “Oh, Marie, I’m sorry.”
Mitch added, “I’m sorry, too. I know it’s been so hard for you. You’re incredible, Marie.” Then he addressed Beth, “You’re not my second choice. You’re amazing. I love you.”
“But you asked her first. Manny’s been in love with her forever, and Evan dated me only because she dissed him.”
I interrupted, “When did you date Evan?”
At that moment, Beth’s friendships with the men I loved threatened me. Jealousy inflamed my insecurity.
She peeked at me innocently, “Does that bother you, Marie?”
“Yes!” I admitted. “I love him. And, he was dating me. You were dating Mitch.”
She responded, “Oh please. You have nothing to worry about. I’m invisible to every guy when Marie Michael is around.”
Manuel interrupted, “This is getting out of hand. They don’t want to hurt you. Can we drop this?”
I observed Manuel and Mitch. Franz seemed as surprised as I was but the guys knew.
I demanded, “I want to know when you dated Evan.”
Manuel sighed. “Come on girls. Marie, you and Evan could never see each other with your schedules. Nothing happened with Evan and Beth. He was uncomfortable dating someone in high school. Beth got back together with Mitch.”
Aware that there was much more I didn’t know about their little love triangle, I was on the verge of tears and scared of losing control of my fragile emotions.
Manuel hugged me and raised my chin so I saw his unquestionable sincerity. He kissed me.
“You girls would be great friends if you got over your jealousy of each other. Please try. Please don’t be like Kate.”
I relaxed after Manuel kissed me and melted me with his rich coffee colored eyes. Confident that he loved me, I looked around the limo and breathed, “Such the soap opera.”
When we got to the premiere, I posed for pictures and did some grueling interviews. I waved to Evan when I saw him but didn’t interrupt his interviews or autograph signing. We were working. I was endorsing his film and helping him build credibility. I saw that Manuel watched me the whole time and smiled at him often. My last interview turned emotional when I admitted that Evan dumping me hurt a ton and that finding out that he dated another girl while we were dating sucked. The statement was true, the feelings were real, and my eyes watered. I shared too much. Sage saved me and escorted me to the lobby.
“I love that you’re here with me.” I smiled and hugged Manuel in the lobby. I didn’t want to separate from him but we had to keep our distance. He smiled back.
“I love you so much, too, and am in shock that you’re my girlfriend. Ya know that you’re really hot, right? So don’t take this wrong, but you need to gain weight. You’re really tiny.”
“What?! I’m insulted. You don’t think I’m pretty?” I complained.
“Marie, you’re skin and bones with great boobs. You’ve become really thin since Christmas. Please gain some weight.”
“Well, your timing sucks. I’m wiped out from forgiving Evan for all the gossip sites.”
Evan was behind us and shook Manuel’s hand while I was recovering from the shock of Manuel telling me that I was too thin.
“Thanks for dressing up, Manny,” Evan joked. “So you two are finally a couple! It’s about time.” He laughed again and pulled me into a hug and we kissed a Hollywood hello. “I bowed out when I realized that I had no chance last summer. When Marie told me she loved you in December I knew it was all over.”
Manuel gave me a very appreciative, loving smile. “You told him you loved me?”
I smiled back. “Of course; I always try to tell the truth.” I hugged Evan again. “Evan, Manuel just told me that he thought I was skin and bones. I’m hurt.”
“Well, gorgeous, you’re too thin and should gain weight.” He teased, “You must have missed me desperately. Everything okay?”
I stared at them in disbelief. I always heard about how impossibly beautiful I was, never that I wasn’t. “The costuming for Constantine’s Muse was just so snug and heavy. I exercised constantly so I wouldn’t be so lonely. I guess I overdid it. I’ll put on some weight.” I changed the subject. “Evan, when did you date Beth?”
Evan held my hand and exhaled. “Last fall. I’m not a cheater but I was in town and saw her a few times when you were busy—as friends. She’s fantastic, but I felt stupid dating someone in high school—and you, my dear, are no high school senior. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you know how I feel about you. You don’t feel the same about me, and she’s so special.”
I shook my head and lowered my voice, not caring if Manuel could hear, “But I do love you, Evan. You said it didn’t matter if we didn’t make love. You lied.” He didn’t respond immediately, and I added, “And she was dating Mitch.”
Manuel interrupted, “Not really, it’s complicated.”
Evan took my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t lie. I knew you loved Manny more.”
“But he was dating Kate!” I lowered my voice again. “I feel betrayed but we’ll talk about it later.” I switched the subject. “So are you ready for millions of people to watch you for two hours?”
“Yep, I can’t control anything. I’m just glad to be able to work. I feel so lucky to be an actor.” He shrugged his shoulders. The project must have been awful to film.
“Yeah, I love it. It’s a dream come true. I love the challenge, being part of cool projects. I enjoy the people I meet. They’re fascinating, many are geniuses. Sure it’s a business, but an intriguing, interconnected one.” He put his hand on my cheek. “We survived our break-up and everything turned out great for you. It hurt at first but now I’m happy.”
Manuel asked,“You like the parties, too?”
“Sure. I don’t have to participate. You know my philosophy is ‘everything in moderation, except for moderation.’ It helps me stay professional and let those who participate in the excess weed themselves out of the business so I can build my brand and get awesome roles.”
I said, “Like Byron. Poor guy won’t last long.”
“Good, because he’s beat me on the hotness factor,” Evan laughed. “Thanks for coming, guys. We will talk about Beth later, Marie.” He asked Manuel, “So she’s still dating Mitch?”
“Yeah.” Manuel explained, “Sorry dude, but they love each other. I promise I’ll call next time they break-up.” Manuel shook Evan’s hand again.
“She’s young, and I’m patient. I’m glad she came,” Evan smiled.
I sneered at both of them. It struck me that I was their first choice. I didn’t understand why. Beth was better than me in every way. She was beautiful, smart, athletic, driven, sure of herself and had more backbone than I did. It also confirmed my suspicion that I had to make love to Manual to keep him as my boyfriend. Although Evan said it wasn’t required, Renee was right. It was.
“Love you, Evan. Good job.” I kissed his cheek and patted him on the back. He turned and greeted Matthew. I gasped.
Matthew responded, “What the hell is the bitch doing here? Didn’t she try to destroy your career, too? Or was your break-up bullshit?”
Evan glanced at Manuel and then at me. I stared at Matthew. Matthew glared at me. I felt Manuel’s body flex. Evan caught Manuel’s fist and quickly pushed both of us backwards.
Evan whispered, “What the hell? Get a grip, Manny.” He pinched his eyebrows at Manuel and then studied Matthew again.
“Oh, Marie.” Evan figured it out. “When?”
“The Globes.” I whispered, “I’m okay. Sashi stopped the bastard.”
“Oh, sweetheart. Damn, the soonest I can see you is after the premiere tours. When’s your graduation?”
“Okay,” Evan assured me, “I’ll be there for your graduation. Sorry I’m never here for you. Thank God you have Manny.”
Evan eyed me soulfully and swallowed. He put his hand on my shoulder and then scowled at Matthew. He whispered, “I have to get back to work. Love you, Marie. Keep her safe, Manny.”
Manuel nodded and grabbed my hand.
Franz appeared and put more distance between me and Matthew. “Let’s find Beth and Mitch and sit down—now.” He took me by the arm and led Manuel and me towards the theater. “Darling, ignore him. You’re okay.”
Betrayal hit me from all sides. I lost yet another piece of me to the spectacle that was my life. I pretended that nothing happened as I put the rest of me in my safe deposit box.
Manuel and Franz studied my face. My eyes blurred and body shook. Only a few tears fell which Franz wiped immediately. Manuel put his arm around me, calmed me. We found Beth and Mitch and took our seats.
The movie sucked but Manuel loved it. He loved mindless action adventure movies with beautiful girls who kicked ass. Evan’s movie had two athletic actresses who said very little. Manuel smiled the whole time and squeezed my hand during scenes he liked. I noticed the scenes usually involved blowing stuff up. My boyfriend charmed me.
Manuel put his hand in mine so I’d know he was awake. I searched for his face in the darkness to see his beautiful brown eyes looking at me through his impossibly long lashes. He smiled passionately and brushed my hair off of my shoulders.
“It’s April 22. You were sound asleep when I got here after work. The dishwasher didn’t show up so I finished up all the dishes. The manager gave me a bigger percentage of the tips, though, and I got paid hourly for the extra time. I scored.” While he talked, he traced my lips with his finger.
Manuel liked puns. He thought he was clever. I thought he was adorable when he thought he was clever. Almost all of his puns were sexual. With his friends he cussed before the pun. With me, he was more respectful. He was such a boy.
I used to think I worked so hard that getting paid what would become tens of millions of dollars after royalties for Jefferson’s Muse was crazy. Manuel worked as hard as I did and was paid $10 an hour. Unlike Manuel, my salary bought the rights to my privacy, childhood, and freedom. Life was inequitable.
I snuggled into him and kissed his chest, then his neck, and then his wonderful lips. My body tingled. It seemed that every day my body was getting more aroused when I woke up beside him. “Thanks for the birthday wishes. I love you so very, very much.”
“As I love you, my birthday girl.” He rolled me on top of him and tickled my sides playfully. I giggled and he rolled me back onto my side, facing me with a big smile on his face.
He whispered, “I’ve had the best month of my life. Thanks.”
“Me, too, Manuel,” I laughed. “It’s been a month since prom and almost two months from winning my Oscar. It’s the most emotional three long months of my life. I’m getting addicted to you sleeping next to me. Please don’t leave me.” I kissed him as I got out of bed. “You go back to sleep.”
“I’m not going to leave you,” he mumbled. “Have you noticed that you haven’t puked in weeks?”
“Yeah, my nausea is still there but it’s way less. I told you I wasn’t bulimic. Have a good workout, and I’ll see you at school.”
I took a pain killer and quietly left my house to meet Elise at 4th Street and Adelaide Drive for my workout. The air was heavy, thick from the morning fog, impairing visibility. I slowed my run.
My days were long when I went to school. Since most of my high school time was independent with tutors, I truly appreciated going to classes. I felt normal and liked to learn. I still had to do my work-out with Elise every weekday, so I did it before school. After school, I studied and did my homework. Then I responded to Sage’s requests or questions. My publicist handled my social network sites, responded to industry friends and acquaintances, and maintained my brand.
In the film industry, a good agent and publicist were essential to an actor’s success. Mom hired my agent when I was thirteen, and we were in contract with the studio that produced my first studio film, VamPyres, when I was fourteen. I also filmed Beautiful Outcast the spring before I turned fifteen, Bright Mute the summer after I turned fifteen, and Romeo & Juliet the summer after I turned sixteen. I appeared in dozens of small roles. The studio had Blake Cameron and me do a ton of worldwide promotions for Bright Mute: magazine covers and articles, talk shows, and practically every industry event. I had to do even more promotions for Romeo & Juliet with Evan. It was my first world tour. Mom said that in negotiating those contracts, she worked with her lawyers to build “self-empowerment” in them so that I was able to do Left to Die and the “Muse” projects independently.
Mom always said there were two “truths about Hollywood:” an actor was only as good as her agent and publicist and all professional relationships in the industry were co-dependent. Without knowing how to put what I saw into words as an eight-year-old, I recognized both truths at Sunday school doing a lesson for the first time, a lesson that we repeated several times until I quit going to church when I was thirteen.
The kids at our art table were cutting out pictures from magazines that showed evidence of Christ in everyday life—the lesson for the day. We all were cutting up issues of the leading celebrity magazine. Manuel saw a picture of me and my parents and showed it to me. The three of us were walking under the “Country Mart” sign. I was embarrassed and focused on my magazine, which was published the week following his. It had a picture of Mom. She looked gorgeous outside at a farmers’ market with a huge sunflower in the bag she was holding. She was smiling at a farmer selling her asparagus. The picture was very colorful. I was there for both photos and listened to the plans.
The morning the pictures were taken, the publicist gave Mom the instructions. She was to show off her legs and wear a red v-neck shirt because a study found that women thought other women were more attractive when they wore red. Dad should wear a black stretch cotton tee, baseball cap, shorts, and flip flops. I should be in a sun dress and sandals, no flip-flops, hair in a pony-tail with a pink bow to make me look younger, more feminine. We were to be at the Mart at 10 a.m., park in the north lot, and walk through the courtyard to the bakery. We were to be sure to walk under or next to any signage so that the shops in the mart were represented. Dad should drive the Lexus SUV. It showed humility.
Dad parked the SUV, and we all held hands and smiled while we walked a gauntlet of photographers to the courtyard of the shopping center. The photographers stopped taking pictures and stayed in the north parking lot. There, the publicist met Mom.
“You all look perfect! How did it go, Michelle?”
“Fine,” Mom replied. “What’s next?”
“The Brentwood farmers market on San Vicente Boulevard. Change clothes—jean skirt and a tan tee,” the publicist commanded. “You will be shopping alone.”
She handed Mom a Peruvian woven shopping basket with a large sunflower in it. “When you carry the bag, be sure the flower is facing the cameras on the side of the bag closest to your shoulder. Buy vegetables. You should leave here at 10:15. Be at the farmer’s market at 10:45. Park next to the golf course and walk in.
The memory of that morning and Mom’s interaction with her publicist stuck with me. A few years later I understood: Without a good publicist, an entertainer’s picture would not be in the magazine. If it was not in the magazine, the actor would not get face time with the masses. If the masses forget the actor, the actor’s A-list career is over. More broadly, entertainers were at the mercy of their fans. If the fans watched the movies and liked those movies, the actor won and the cycle continued.
Each year we did that lesson and cut up magazines. I always saw pictures of me or my family and my friends. After the divorce, I understood that celebrities were not just people. We were products.
A man’s voice startled me, “Happy birthday, Marie.” A figure emerged from the shadow of a tree on the San Vicente median.
“Honey, it’s me, Alan. You’ve neglected me for the last month and now you don’t even recognize my voice?”
“Hi, Alan!” I smiled as he came towards me. “What are you doing here at five in the morning?”
“Hoping to see you. I got you something but I don’t want the man to ruin the surprise for me. I mean you.”
It was going to be sexual if it would make “the man” want to alter it in some way. Alan acted so masculine that most of us thought he was denying that he was gay. I wished he would just embrace who he was. We didn’t care about his preferences. We wanted him to be happy. Every girl he dated ended up being a bitch and he begged me to let him see my breasts at least once per month. It was weird, close to psycho, and made everyone uncomfortable to be around him.
I hugged him and asked, “Do you mind if we walk together towards 4th?”
“I’d love to spend the time with you. I’ve missed you, baby, a lot. I get that you want to spend time with Manny, being in love and all that shit, but we need to carve out some Alan time.”
“I’m not flying anywhere next week.” I assured him. He handed me a gift bag.
“Open it, wear it, think of me. And don’t get mad, but I have to talk to you about some gossip.”
“What about?” I asked while I opened the gift, a watch. “Wow, this is great!”
“It’s waterproof, everything. It’ll record your runs—pace, distance—and even synchs to your heart rate monitor. I thought you’d dig it.”
“I love it. Thanks, Alan.” I put it on while he started talking.
“My news isn’t great, Marie. Apparently, Manny, Mitch, and Beth were a three-some—not now that you’re dating but before, after Kate.”
My stomach turned. “Yuck. How do you know?”
Alan pulled out a photo from his back pocket and showed me Manuel and Beth kissing. I stopped walking and studied it. They had their biking gear on. It had to have been the morning of the Oscars. I asked, “Why were you watching them?”
“You know I like Beth, she’s perfect. When I heard the three were together I didn’t believe it so I asked Manny the day before this photo. He said I should mind my own business. I heard he was gonna bike with her the next morning so I figured I’d see for myself.”
“What do you mean by ‘together’?”
“Rumor is Manny got her ready and Mitch scored.”
I almost puked. “Bull. Really, Alan, you’re way too obsessed with Beth.”
“I’m sorry, Marie. This must upset you. I’m sure he’s perfect now that he’s finally getting some from the most amazing girl on the planet. He had great practice with Beth and Kate and you know what they say, practice makes perfect.”
I didn’t like his tone of voice and questioned his intentions. “Shut up, Alan.”
Alan objected, “Hey, I’m just trying to protect you, help you out. There are lots of secrets those three share. You have to have noticed by now.”
I wanted to get away from Alan. I didn’t know if I was going to cry, and I certainly didn’t want him to see that he had an effect on me.
“Thanks.” I gave him back the gift bag and patted his shoulder. “See you in class.”
My cell rang as I drove home from school. It was Celia.
“Happy Birthday, Liana Marie! Do you feel free now that you’re eighteen?”
“I feel relief. I want to go to Grandma’s after graduation. Mom wants to go with me to Montana, too. Will you have any time off? I could plan around your or Tom’s work schedule.”
“Hmm. I can’t get away. Maybe Tom can. I’ll have him check and get back to you. I only have a minute to give you your happy wishes. Before I go, I still haven’t received a copy of the “Muse” contract from Martin or Michelle. Something is fishy—I can feel it. Can you try to get it? I want you to know that I’m concerned so you can be careful but I don’t want to scare you. I have no evidence, just a feeling.”
“Yeah, sure, there’s a copy of the contract in my safe deposit box. I’m too tired to get it today. I have to rest before my birthday party. Can I get it to you tomorrow? I think the bank is open on Saturday.”
Celia affirmed, “Yes, the bank is open, so that’s totally fine. Use the home fax. I won’t be able to get to it until tomorrow afternoon anyway. So sorry I have to run. Love you and happy birthday.”
I parked in the garage and closed the garage door. I still had that Oscar dress in the back of my car. I tried to take it to a second hand store, but I couldn’t do it. My own hesitation caught me off guard. One the one hand, it was worth quite a chunk of money—the dress cost $8,000 when it was made for me, but it was a gift from the designer who is now the “it” guy. Donating it for a charitable event/auction would be socially responsible, but it was my crucifix. It reminded me of the obligations I had to the many people who built my brand. I pulled the dress out of the trunk and hung it back in my closet. I decided not to think about the dress. It was my birthday. I needed a nap and fell asleep.
“Darling! You must get up!” Franz woke me. “We need to get fab-u-lous.”
I woke up and extended my arms for him to hug me. He leaned over and pulled me out of bed, cradling me. “Happy birthday, Marie! I love you, darling.”
I smiled as I stood up. “Love you, too, Franz. I’ve missed you every day.”
Rex hired Franz as his stylist and both Mom and I loved him. He personally looked over-the-top trendy, but he dressed his clients perfectly. His clothes did not flatter his own body because he had a false sense of self, but he knew his client’s body type and chose the most flattering clothes imaginable. I asked Franz to prepare me for tonight and to select the clothes Manuel would wear. My birthday party was a public event. I hoped Manuel could handle it. It was our first public date and I did not want him to feel scrutinized. I emailed Franz Manuel’s sizes and he got Manuel something casual but stylish. I hoped Manuel wouldn’t feel stupid in the designer clothes.
I took a five-minute shower and put on my robe. Franz was ready for me in Mom’s bathroom. He started on my hair while I buffed my nails. When he finished with my hair, he was on to the makeup. I read a textbook. Franz finished before I finished reading.
“I have just one more section to read. Is it okay?” I asked.
“Sure, darling! You look stunning as always. You’re a masterpiece. They say you’re the modern day Mona Lisa. It’s such a pleasure to work on your exquisite canvas. Your features allow such versatility!” Franz fiddled with my hair again.
“I see you in movies and in ads, but seeing you in person with makeup on just freaks me out,” Manuel interrupted. He had arrived and was standing in the doorway looking confused and mad, actually. With little warmth in his voice, Manuel added, “Hi, Franz.”
I laughed, trying to lighten his mood. “You’re dating a celebrity. Sorry.” It didn’t work. Manuel’s face was sullen.
“Right on time,” Franz announced, clearly annoyed. He expected a glowing compliment from Manuel, not the torch of brooding energy emanating from Manuel’s being. “Please get into your clothes. I put them in Marie’s closet.”
Manuel could be so clueless. His negativity was still searing the room. I explained, “I bought you some clothes for tonight. It’s going to be hard enough for you to see yourself online and in the tabloids. Are you sure you want to come tonight? I want to show you off but won’t be hurt if you bail.”
“Oh, right. Of course I’m coming, Marie.” He left to get dressed. Franz and I raised our eyebrows to communicate the apprehension we experienced. Within seconds after Manuel left, we felt lighter.
Franz added, “Darling, yours are here.” He pointed to Mom’s walk in closet. “You only need Spanx. The bra is built in. I’ll zip you up.”
I changed into a very sexy dress. It was a fitted wool jersey scarlet cocktail dress. It was short to show off my legs and had a deep V-neck to show off my natural breasts. The hem was lined with blue and purple sequins. It fit perfectly and was quite comfortable. The beautiful shoes were an open-toed red leather with a purple stiletto heel. I was going to struggle with them and would put them on at the last possible moment. Bummer.
“I love the dress, Franz. You’re amazing. Thank you!”
“You’re eighteen now so you can finally show off your so very hot assets.”
Franz zipped me. He twirled me in my bare feet. We did a salsa, a little shuffle. I kissed his cheek. He beamed with pride, smiling appraisingly.
Manuel was in the doorway, clearing his throat.
Franz frowned and sulked as he cleaned up his artist’s tools.
“I think you look hot!” I said to Manuel. He wore a black stretch knit fitted cotton tee that showed off his strong chest and biceps and dark jeans with a handsome belt. The belt had an interesting buckle that was mostly covered by the hem of the tee. His chest seemed bigger than normal and his waist was thinner. The jeans were perfect but had some bling on them, which I knew he hated. The shoes seemed nice, too.
Wow, I thought to myself. A tingle ran down my spine.
Franz raised his eyebrows at me, afraid to point out that Manuel needed some more work. “The hair? Could I?”
“Oh, of course, Franz. Thanks.” I answered. I pointed to the chair and glanced at Manuel. “Manuel, please sit here. Franz will only take a minute.”
“What? No.” Manuel did not budge from where he stood. Now the torch discharged hostility. Poor Franz.
“Manuel, be good. This will only take a minute and it won’t kill you. Please, for me, for your mom’s scrapbook.”
“Fine,” Manuel pouted and slammed his body down into the chair. Franz and I ignored his little temper tantrum. I put on my jewelry and shoes.
Franz wet Manuel’s hair, put some gel in it, plucked his eyebrows, dusted his face and was done within five minutes. Manuel was agitated and his body was tense.
“Thank you, Franz! Manuel, you look great.”
Manuel did not look at himself in the mirror and stormed out of the bathroom. I shrugged an apology to Franz and kissed his cheek. Then I followed Manuel into the kitchen.
“Manuel, why the hostility? You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes I do. It’s your birthday.”
“No. I’d rather not go with you if you’re going to be mad the whole time. It’s hard enough for me to go in the first place since I get so nervous. Seriously, Manuel, what’s wrong?”
He sighed. “I’m just not sure about your birthday present and got into an argument with my mom. She thinks my dad and I ganged up on her. It’s just…” He shook his head. “This day isn’t going well.”
“It’s okay if you bail. I’ll come home right after they sing me Happy Birthday and cut the cake and then we can celebrate my birthday together.”
“No. Just stop going on about it, Marie!” He immediately apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m your boyfriend and am coming to your party. I love you.”
Franz was coming to my party, too, so we left when he was ready. I figured Manuel made his choice and I would not take on any responsibility for his brooding. Holding hands, but not speaking to each other, Manuel and I walked with Franz outside to the waiting limo.
“Where’s my driver, Sashi?” I asked the driver. I needed to be sure he was legitimate.
The driver responded in broken English, “He’s sorry he could not make it. He left you this note.”
“Happy 18th birthday, Liana Marie. I’ve seen many of your birthdays and am sorry to miss this one. Please don’t offer anyone a ride with you. Be safe. I took vacation and will drive you soon. — Sashi.”
I read my texts from Sage and confirmed that Sashi would not be driving me.
We all got into the limo and the new driver closed the door behind us. The trip to Malibu was quiet. Franz tried to fill the silence with ideas for what I’d wear to my summer awards shows. Manuel had his arm around me and kissed me several times but I could tell that he didn’t want to look at me since I appeared differently from the girl he loved. That same girl was me, but I was also Marie Michael, the actor, or more accurately, I was Muse.
The first part of the party was at my favorite sushi restaurant off the PCH in Malibu. It was in a small strip mall with a grocery store anchor. I loved their black cod with miso, sea bass wrapped in bacon, and shrimp tempura sushi with filet mignon on the top. It was a small place so I only invited forty people for an intimate dinner. In planning the event, this was the part of the night I anticipated. Everyone there was special to me. I stayed in the same seat throughout the dinner and sat between Manuel and Mom who flew down for my birthday. She floored me when she gave me the title to our house on Flathead Lake in Montana. I loved going to our lake house, and it was now mine.
My guests moved about the room so that everyone had a chance to chat with me and meet Manuel. The music was low, so I didn’t have to yell or struggle to hear the conversation. It was perfect.
Next was the main birthday event. In the same shopping center, we transformed a large, empty retail space into a hot dance party. The birthday party was more of a Muse promotion than anything else. I recognized some of the set’s props in the decorations. We invited close to four hundred people and the press, of course.
Manuel did great the whole night. I introduced him to everyone and never left his side. He smiled but was definitely out of his element. He still had a hard time looking at me and mostly peeked at my chest when he did look at me. Being with Manuel made the night much better than any event I had gone to alone.
The party planner took me from Manuel to the center of the room for me to receive my birthday cake and blow out the candles. The cake was a several-tiered light pink fondant with white bows. The number “18” was on the ribbon of the bow. It was a beautiful cake. Everyone sang Happy Birthday and then I blew out the candles to a rushing sound of camera clicks. I smiled for the cameras and thanked everyone for celebrating with me.
I slowly made my way back to Manuel. He had not left the place from where he was standing with me before the cake presentation.
“You ready to go?” I asked Manuel.
We could barely hear each other even though we were right next to one another. He practically yelled, “Can we do that? It’s your party?”
I took his hand and headed toward the front door. The music was not as loud there. I said, “Exactly. It’s my party and I can do whatever I want.”
He questioned, “But shouldn’t you stay? Do you want a piece of your cake?”
I said, “I can’t eat cake. But you can get a piece if you’d like.”
“I’d rather go, but I don’t understand why you want to leave your own party. I can see that you’re having an amazing time.”
I watched him , felt his unease, and shook my head. I always left these parties early because I didn’t like them. I was uncomfortable, hiding my nervousness. But he watched me and had decided that I was having a great time. I was an actor. Self-promotion was the key to getting a good role, key to success, and a very important, integral part of the business. Even though I was free from some contracts, I was bound to Muse. I had a responsibility to enjoy my own party.
He probably worried that this was far better than prom. I was used to the scene. I did like the people, but I couldn’t compare it to the prom or to being with him. This was different, but not better.
I explained, “Rule #1: the people in this business are in this business because they want, seek, and must have attention. Psych studies have shown that 50-60% of Americans see themselves as introverts, not extroverts. You have an entire room full of extroverts here, with the exception of us, who are energized from the crowd. You and I are drained from it. Rule #2: the extroverts here will not notice if we leave my party. Rule #3: Hollywood parties are excessive and indulgent. That does not mean they are better than other types of gatherings with friends.”
Manuel was still not convinced. “What about Franz?”
“Mom is dropping him off on her way back to the airport.”
Manuel finally smiled. “Okay, let’s go,” he said confidently.
As we walked out the front door, camera lights flashed in such a burst that Manuel stood motionless with his eyes blinded. Photographers yelled at him, asked me questions, demanded to know who he was. I was confused because I was sure my publicist would have given them facts about whom I was dating. Nevertheless, I spoke immediately to help poor Manuel.
“Hey, one at a time. I’m happy to answer questions about my boyfriend,” I commanded.
I stood patiently, holding Manuel’s hand and smiled until the photographers became civilized. I observed Manuel. He stared at me. I let go of his hand and put my arm around him. I reassessed his mood. He still stared at me.
I did not raise my voice and continued to smile. “This is my boyfriend, Manuel. We’ve been best friends since preschool and grew up together in Santa Monica. We attended our high school senior prom and started dating.”
Again, I smiled as I finished the sentence, looking pretty, blinking quickly so the photo wouldn’t show my pain.
A photographer I knew asked politely, “Marie, good for you. It’s nice to see you happy. How long have you been dating?”
“We’ve been dating since March. Prom was the weekend after the Constantine’s Muse wrap party.”
Uh, oh. I said something they didn’t expect. Photographers were nudging us and shouting out questions, questions about Byron and about Manuel. I checked out Manuel. I did not want him to hit anybody. He’d get sued.
I grabbed his hand and took off towards the limo. I ran in the darn stilettos, pulling Manuel with me. I opened the limo door and rushed inside. Manuel followed me and slammed the door closed.
It was the wrong limo. Manuel and I both gaped at a man and a woman doing it, mostly clothed. The man slid off the woman to the side and the woman covered herself. I recognized both of them immediately. The man was Byron. The woman was the lighting specialist.
Stunned by the absolute ridiculousness—the improbability—that this was happening, I laughed. It was the same response I had when the guys lost to me in strip poker or when I felt uncomfortable at an inappropriate comedy show.
“Happy birthday, Marie,” Byron smiled, not at all embarrassed. “So you’re still with Manny?”
“Yep. Hi, Claire, this is Manuel, my boyfriend. I’m sorry to barge in.” I chuckled again. “I thought this was my limo.”
Manuel frowned. I kissed him. He was tense.
“This is your limo. I was borrowing it. I just got here. Claire and I saw each other in the parking lot. I saw your driver smoking outside and had Claire give him $100 to be back in fifteen minutes. He let us sneak in. I thought this would be a comfy place to shack.”
“You know he’s a prick, right?” I said to Claire. The three of us chuckled. She did know and didn’t care.
Byron defended himself, “It figures you would leave your own party. You always leave early. Sorry, though.”
“So just now,” I asked, “what was going on with the photographers? They didn’t know who Manuel was and my publicist should have clued them in. They went crazy when I told them we started dating at our senior prom.”
“Damn, Marie.” Byron said, “Now you’re the one with your foot in your mouth.”
“Richard wants us to be a couple for the premiere,” Byron explained.
“Oh. Well he should have asked me, so I could say, “No way.” Thanks for the heads up, late.”
I smiled at Manuel and squeezed his hand. He was as stiff as a statue. But I still felt the hilarity of the moment and shook my head laughing.
“So this is just too much. I’m stuck here with my boyfriend, with you guys half-naked, and a gaggle of photographers who saw us get into this limo. The driver is out counting his money. I’ve already messed up the premiere’s spin, and I want to go home and have a nice quiet night with Manuel. Any suggestions on how we’re all gonna get out of here?”
They laughed. Not Manuel, poor guy. I tried to snuggle into the statue.
Claire moved away from Byron and he casually pulled up his pants and surveyed the limo’s bar. He poured drinks.
“Don’t worry about it, love.” I said to Manuel out loud. “He’s an ass. Everyone has seen it.” The three of us laughed again. We were having fun now.
“Easy solution to being stuck in this limo together,” Byron said. “We’ll take you home.” He handed everyone a drink.
Manuel grumbled to Byron, “You’re an asshole.”
Just then, the driver got in. “Time’s up,” he announced.
I answered back. “Byron told me your arrangement. Now take us home immediately. Byron will be paying you for the car tonight.” I eyed Byron. He shrugged a ‘sure.’
“Wait,” Claire interrupted. “I’m going to Marie’s party. Baby, call me anytime, and we’ll finish what we started.” Claire crawled onto Byron and kissed him passionately. She put his hand in her crotch. “It’ll be waiting for you.”
She licked his lip and then left the limo. So much hostility emitted from Manuel when Claire passed him that I worried he might shove her out of the car. Photographers shouted at her over the percussion of camera clicking. Any humor I felt from the drama changed to fear that Manuel would lose it.
Byron finished Claire’s drink and got into the bar again. He gave Manuel another drink and lit a cigarette. He asked, “So you two are lovers? How long have you been dating?”
I knew what he was exposing. I answered as confidently as possible, “Since our disaster night together, Byron, of course.”
“Not prom?” He grinned at me and peered at Manuel. “You’re a lucky guy. She rejected me, as you know. But honestly, I don’t know if I could have your patience. She’s worth it, of course, but I’d get frustrated.”
Manuel glared at him, “Shut up. She’s mine.”
“I know. But she’s wounded. Has your love been enough for her?”
Manuel fumed, “I’m warning you that I’ll kick your ass.”
“Of course you will. But you’ll always wonder what I do to make her tremble.”
“Marie, we both love you. We could work together, give you pleasure you’ve never known. I just participated for the first time about a week ago, made my friend’s wife have the best orgasm of her life, made her so happy. It was a win for everyone.”
I shook my head, “There’s no possibility, Bryon. Gross!”
“I could be like a director, coach him, tell him how I melt you.”
“Shut the hell up!” Manuel bellowed. Anger erupted from him.
Byron stopped talking and scanned his iPhone. Manuel did the same. I considered the possibility of having both of them at the same time. Tingles ran through my body. I blushed. Manuel studied my face. Then I noticed Byron’s eyes on me, too.
Manuel asked, “You’d want to try?”
“No,” I said definitively but my cheeks became hot, flooded with blood.
Byron suggested, “Marie, you reaching climax is going to take a ton of time. Really, we both love you. You’d feel great.”
“No! I belong to Manuel, only. What turns me on is the thought of making love. What’s gross is you guys sharing me. Got it?!”
“Good,” Manuel agreed, “because I can’t share you.”
I addressed Byron coldly, “And a little lesson, Byron. You were played. Here’s the situation you found yourself in, and please correct me if I’m wrong because I’ve seen it a dozen times: you’re at a party, drunk and smoking pot. A babe is all over you. You show interest. She leads you down the hall to a room. You go in to see a guy in bed with his almost naked “baby” or “wife,” whatever turns you on. They offer you ecstacy usually, not coke, meth or heroin because there’s too much ritual and mess with those drugs. No, they want an easy sell and repeat customer. You take the pill and get the pleasure. Then the next morning you wake up naked next to strangers and worry about who you screwed and who screwed you.”
Bryon wrinkled his forehead and frowned with pain in his eyes. Manuel’s shoulders slouched.
I continued, “You’ve been partying for a year now. You’ll continue to have your fun and be played for another year. You’ll have so many drugs in you that you won’t be able to get it up so you’ll find yourself at orgies and hot parties. Then you’ll find yourself sued, broke and all alone.”
I shook my head at the absurdity of the conversation and looked around the limo. I pushed out every memory of what I had witnessed or experienced while in a limo. I hated limos.
The driver dropped us off. Manuel and I held hands while I punched in the code at the front door.
“Thanks for enduring that, Manuel. You do know how much I appreciate you, don’t you?”
He smiled. He hadn’t said much the whole night. The GQ outfit altered him. But this life was a lot to take in all in one night. During my international party days, I had seen much worse than what we had just seen. Given that it was probably the first time he was blinded by photographers yelling at him and the first time he walked in on someone who proposed sharing his girlfriend, he did a great job.
When I walked inside, the light in the kitchen was on. We turned down the hall to my room, and he switched on the hall light. Rose petals were strewn on the floor of the hallway and a lovely bouquet of red roses sat on a small table at the end of the hallway next to my bedroom door. Three hearts cut from red construction paper were taped to the wall next to me with words in his handwriting. The conversation hearts read: Be Mine, I LOVE YOU, and Happy birthday from your loving Latino boyfriend.
“Oh, it’s beautiful, Manuel. Thank you!”
I gave him a hug and kissed him. I was so happy. I kissed him again, starting to feel a warm glow in me.
“How did you do this? You were with me.”
He shrugged his shoulders. Something was bothering him but he was happier than he was in the limo. He explained, “My mom. I gave her the code. We can change it if you want to?”
“I trust Liz. Rules are rules, though. I’ll change it tomorrow and text everyone to call Sage for the new one. I’m not mad. I’ll have to thank her. It’s very special.” I kissed him again softly.
“I’m so glad you like it,” he whispered. He pulled me off the floor into a bear hug, backed me up to the hallway wall, and began kissing me passionately. His hands moved all over my body. He unzipped my dress and touched my breasts. It felt nice.
He stopped me. “After just now? Byron? There’s not a chance.”
He backed up from me and folded his hands across his chest. He bellowed, “You did want to?”
“No way, gross.” I shook my head and approached him to resume kissing. “I don’t want any part of Byron’s life.”
He refused the kiss and glowered at me reproachfully. “And I don’t want any part of your actress life!”
Disarmed, I walked to the living room not knowing what to do with that statement. It infuriated me to such an extent that I suppressed my desire to slap him.
The light from the kitchen was enough to illuminate the room but not too much to ruin the view of the canyon from the glass wall of living room windows. The darker the room, the better the view was at night. I could see the lights from a yacht on the Pacific Ocean, probably a birthday party for someone I knew. I got several invitations to yacht parties but declined because I didn’t want to be trapped on some boat when I was ready to leave early. I always left early. I sat down on the couch and calmed down.
I heard Manuel get a bag from the kitchen and go to my room. Then I heard him stop at the entrance to the living room. He held a bag of stuff and seemed completely confused. I had hurt his feelings.
“Come sit with me, please,” I said, not having the energy or the will to smile.
He didn’t want to come over to me. He was frustrated. He hated me being an actress. I had ruined my birthday.
He was an eighteen-year-old with the best heart of any boy I knew, who shouldn’t have to endure such a sex-focused culture. I knew I was broken somehow but still wanted to be with him. I had no idea how I could ever explain how I felt to him. I had no idea how he would ever comprehend what I felt.
Manuel was my best friend. He deserved to be happy. I looked back out the window. I was not sad, not weepy. I was glum, hollow, bummed.
“Tell me something—the truth,” Manuel insisted.
“I only want you—not Byron, not Evan, just you.”
“No. The way Byron looked at you. He knows he can have you. What the hell did you guys do the night before prom?”
I looked down, busted. I admitted, “He came to my trailer before the wrap party to make me talk to him. We talked. He asked for one last kiss.”
I studied Manuel. His face was stern and eyes were dark. My heart raced. I swallowed the acid that burned my throat.
I exhaled. “I was in the shower when he was banging on my trailer door. I told him to go away. He was making a scene. He wanted to end my hostility, be friends. After we talked, he asked for a kiss. I kissed him.”
I gulped, surprised Manuel made the connection. “No. He stopped the kiss and covered me back up. I hate that I didn’t reject him. I’ve thought about why I kissed him a thousand times. I’m stupid.” I averted my eyes again. “I love you more than anyone. I’m so sorry.”
He stood in the doorway. Guilt turned into a need for answers. “Why did you kiss Beth the morning of the Oscars? You love us both. Why choose me and not her?”
“I told you. I kissed her to prove to her that she’s full of it. She thinks she’s everyone’s second choice. But she pushes all of us away. If she’s so in love with me that she keeps dumping Mitch then it shouldn’t matter that I love you more when you’re not mine. She was so mad that I was late for our ride, accused me of always dropping my commitments any moment you grazed my world. Of course I did/do. It’s you.” He sighed. “She dumped Mitch the night before the Oscars because she was scared, not because she loved me more. The next morning I called her bluff. I told her I loved her, wanted her, and kissed her. She pushed me away. That was my point. I knew she would.”
“Did you and Mitch share her?”
“Alan’s rumor? No way, gross.”
“I hate that you love her. It drives me crazy.”
“Don’t be a hypocrite. You love Evan and clearly want Byron.”
“But I love you so much more.”
“Ditto with Beth. And I would never just stand there!” He bit his lip. “I think I should go home,” he grumbled, looking down, still standing in the hallway. “I left some presents for you in your room. I’m sorry I ruined your birthday.”
I tried to look into his eyes but he would not look up. I added, “I want you to know that I appreciate you and love you. I’m sorry.”
I gazed out the window and heard the door close. Sadness and fear that I lost Manuel left me breathless. A vacuum greater than anything I had ever felt crushed me. It was a black hole.
Someone’s warm body propped up my head. Her hand was on my arm. A blanket warmed my legs. In my bad dreams, I was convinced that Manuel dumped me. I was a Borg, assimilated into the collective. I became the Borg Queen. I woke up sure that I was going to be alone with thousands of voices in my head sharing their intrusive thoughts.
“Mom!” I sat up and snuggled into her. She had told me that she was going back to work after the party. She was in the middle of shooting. I didn’t expect her to have stayed.
It was still dark outside. I didn’t go back to my room. I changed in Mom’s room, washed my face and borrowed her robe. I sat back on the couch and looked out the window for a very long time, feeling numb. I fell asleep maybe an hour after Manuel left.
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Liz called me. She’s very sorry. I blew all of the candles out in your room and cleaned up the petals on the floor. Manuel left you some presents and they are in a bag in your closet. I understand completely how you feel, but it will be hard for Manuel to understand. He’s just a boy, and Byron manipulates you.”
“I’m worried that he’s going to dump me,” I confided. “We’ve been friends for sixteen years and now it will end because I showed him my Hollywood life. He’s going to break my heart, Mom.”
“Hmm. Perhaps you both will keep your hearts strong and manage to maintain your life-long friendship. Give it time and see what happens,” she said.
“Mom, Byron stopped the kiss or I would have slept with him. How can I be both a cheat and a prude?”
“No, that’s not it, Marie. Byron loves you and draws you in with his sincerity. He’s relentless. He disarmed me, too, remember. He glosses over objections. His love is not what you need. You shouldn’t be pushed into anything you don’t want to do. It’s not fair to you and it ends up hurting everyone, and you the most. Honey, be proud of yourself. You’re still pure in this culture. That’s incredible.”
She smiled sadly at me. She still had that haunting deep look of guilt and strain on her face. Her expression made me shudder.
“Mom, everyone wants and loves a piece of me. I want someone to love all of me. I saw last night that Manuel loves me but he doesn’t even know me as an actor. Will I always be a jigsaw puzzle that loses pieces every time it is moved from one surface to another?”
“Sweetheart, you need to be confident about your unique sensibilities and your own morality. You have a very strong spirit that guides you. You know what is right and wrong for you. God will lead you.”
“Mom, that sounds so corny. Where has God been for me?”
The way she talked made me uncomfortable. I talked openly about relationships with her, but I felt weird talking about God with her. We used to pray together, and it was natural. She took Manuel and me, and sometimes Kate and, later, Janet, to Sunday school every Sunday during our entire elementary school years. But we hadn’t prayed together for several years.
“I know you’re angry about Matthew, how we handled it. I’m so sorry you can’t quit Muse.” She stopped talking and hugged me while she wiped her tears.
Mom smiled. “Marie, you are whole. I need to get you some books to read. I’ll get you an appointment for a spiritual guidance counselor. I’ll give you some books I have here at the house to read today. I’ve failed you again. I should have nurtured your spirituality.”
“What? Mom, no. I don’t really believe that stuff anymore. You dragged me to church until I was thirteen and there was always such a disconnect. There’s so much “sin” in my world that the religious stuff doesn’t make sense to me. Marriage means nothing. Everyone gets divorced. People are constantly having affairs. If the Bible is true, then ninety-nine percent of the people I know in the world are going to hell for their sins. The only person I know who is kind and good like you’re supposed to be from the teachings is Celia. Honestly, Mom, religion seems kind of absurd to me. The rules are totally unrealistic.”
“I wonder, though, if it might be what you need to find peace, to understand who you are. Religion isn’t just about rules. Your dad grew up in the peaceful Salish tribe. His step-dad, Bill, was Lutheran. I grew up Catholic. You seemed to like Sunday school; you had a good foundation. But then with the divorce, I didn’t think I belonged in church. I had sinned too much to be forgiven.”
“No, you’re no sinner, Mom. You’re too hard on yourself. Who cares if you had some affairs after the divorce? You’re way too old school.” I smiled at her and shook my head. I still thought she was going off the deep end.
She continued, “You must be confused right now. I’m a rule follower: no premarital sex; no adultery. It was easy for me to be the Hollywood good girl because I believed it so entirely. It was in my faith.”
She paused, remembering someone fondly.
“The wonderful nun who taught us sex-ed in eighth grade talked about how making love between a husband and wife was one of God’s gifts to us. She said casual sex was sinful because it did not celebrate the union of God’s love. I have found in my life that the nun’s words were true. Making love with Tom was an eclipse. I felt sinful with anyone else because I haven’t loved anyone else. I can see that you feel the same way without being taught the rules.”
I felt more comfortable. She continued, “I didn’t grow up in this L.A. culture. Tom didn’t grow up in this culture. I didn’t realize you would have such pressure at such a young age. I didn’t realize that all these high school kids and actors think that growing up means having X-rated sexual relationships. I’m glad you and Manny don’t want that.”
“Liz said something about Manny becoming unglued about a threesome?”
I laughed. “Yeah. So Byron is stuck in the limo with us because Manny and I caught him and Claire doing it. She got out and went to my party. Manny’s shocked, right? Byron proposes to Manny that they work together to make me orgasm.” I sighed. “Oh, Mom, you could feel Manny’s anger. I worried that he’d pummel Byron. But at the same time, Alan told me yesterday that Manny and Mitch had shared Beth. I worried that it was true, which it wasn’t, of course.”
“Be careful of Alan. There’s something off with him.”
“Yeah, he scared me yesterday morning. He was waiting for me on San Vicente before my workout with Elise to give me my present and tell me the gossip, which I think he started. I’m gonna have Elise meet me here from now on.”
She moved on to a related thought. “I have made so many mistakes raising you. I was so busy working. I think you turned out very strong despite all of that. Your dad thinks you’re a filly—smart, gentle but incredibly strong and powerful, introspective, and beautiful. You’re unique. You’re wonderful.”
“Thanks.” I sighed. “That makes me feel better.” She was corny but comforting. I’d look through the books, have an open mind.
She moved my hair off of my face and analyzed my expression. “Stay true to whom you are and your friendship with Manuel will endure. Remember that we all have both good and bad, light and dark, in us. We make mistakes. Pretend to be someone you’re not and you both will have broken hearts.”
She was right. I listened and understood. I felt more peaceful.
“You should go to bed now. Let me tuck you in.” She said as she helped me off the couch. “We’ll have a lovely breakfast tomorrow at the Huntley. I’ll have Attila prepare some comfort food for you this week. Sleep in.”
I was thinking about what she said as I fell asleep. Being committed is much more significant than being married. Marriage does not mean love and vice-versa. Almost every adult I know is gay, divorced, or remarried. Liz and Carlos were happily married and so were Beth’s and Mitch’s parents, but that was it. Sam’s mom was committed to her current partner, but Sam existed so that wasn’t her only relationship. My first experience with Hollywood was confusing and it made my relationships with men confusing. My experience with Matthew freaked me out.
I woke up to the sound of a text coming in. I checked the phone. It was just past 9 am. The text was from Manuel, “Pls read email.”
He was gonna dump me. My shoulders slouched, defeated. I gulped as I read the email.
This is embarrassing. I should be more macho. I’m not. I was an idiot last night. I didn’t know who you were and I didn’t know who I was. You dancing with Franz in that sexy dress that flaunted your boobs. Me wearing metro-sexual clothes. You eating that fancy food. All the gorgeous girls and model and actor guys. The party. Not knowing what to say. Standing there like an idiot. The cameras. I wanted to shove the cameras down their throats. Then the limo. That complete prick who I worried had you and then no shame at all. I wanted to kick him in the nuts and mess up his face.
Now you. You glowed at the restaurant and knew everything on the menu, like the bitches I bus tables for. You talked with your friends about the fabulous islands and resorts you’ve been to, the troubles with maintaining your lake house, the complications of your mom buying her own jet. I didn’t even know you owned a house on some lake in Montana. Crap like that I can’t even get my head around. All these people—guys and girls—kissing your lips, hugging, small talk, slutty dresses and sissy posers.
I was this miserable, dumb puppy at your side and you were this supernatural goddess having a really good time.
Then you were so calm, smiling with those assholes in our faces, the lights blinding. I can’t think, and you’re posing, taking charge. Then the limo. The guy kisses you after we start dating, and you’re laughing with him, talking to him, listening to him prattle. You say you’re mine and he grins and wants to share.
After all that, you thinking about doing it. You tell me you didn’t want to perform, that I’d get frustrated trying stuff. I am frustrated. Nothing works for you.
You think I didn’t want to do it before Kate because I was Christian. It was out of principle. I didn’t want to mess up, be vulnerable, get distracted. Kate was safe to date because she didn’t want to—I didn’t have to worry about it.
But with you, it’s totally different, consuming. I want to have you all the time. You tell me you want to be friends, to take our time.
In the back of my mind I know you’ve been reamed and betrayed, but I don’t know what that’s like. Why won’t you tell me about it? I see grossness in front of me and you’ve seen that in person before. It freaked me out.
I watched your films last night/this morning, your TV episodes, interviews. Mom had bought everything you’ve been in and your mom has been in. I only had seen Muse and Romeo & Juliet before. But this time, I was even more amazed. That movie about Virginia Woolf was haunting. Wow. I even saw the movie where you scream and run from vampires. I searched you online. I didn’t know you’ve been in about twenty films. I read your fan pages. Pictures of you and me from last night are already everywhere.
I know I promised you I’d never see Left to Die. Sorry, I just broke my promise. I started it about an hour ago. I was so turned on watching you on that swing. I went limp, like last night. That rape scene freaked me out. I thought I’d puke. I turned it off and didn’t watch the rest of the film. I just sat here feeling so bad for you. What you’ve had to endure alone—trying to understand you.
You’re incredible—beyond me—stronger than me. Maybe Franz was right that I criticize you because I’m insecure. I don’t know. I don’t want to criticize you. I think you’re amazing, perfect. I just want the best for you, to be healthy, modest, and happy.
You’ve talked about “compartmentalizing.” I see that. I think you have 3 pieces: school girl I know, actress I don’t know, and Salish Indian I fell in love with on Navajo lands. I think the Salish girl has the energy to hold it all together. She stuns me. I don’t deserve her but I want to hold her so close and never let go.
I’m mad you kissed Byron but it follows classic patterns of manipulation. He was demonstrating that you can trust him. YOU CAN’T TRUST THAT GUY!!
Will you take me back after I was such a prick? Best friends who just kiss and hold hands. Please don’t break-up with me. I love you. — Manuel
I already had his number selected. He answered the phone immediately.
“Yes, that makes me so happy! Kiss and hold hands.” Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I needed him and still got to have him on my terms. “I thought you were going to dump me for being a prude and kissing Byron.”
“No…. Thanks for not dumping me for being an asshole. I’m so relieved. Sorry to be so dense.” He sighed. “I’m mad you kissed Byron. I’ll drop by before I go to work, give you a big hug and the opportunity to grovel about kissing a creep.”
I had a surge of happy energy and practically danced my way to the bathroom. I wanted to get the Muse contract from my safe deposit box before going to breakfast with Mom. Celia made me curious and I didn’t want to wait until Monday to fax the contract to her. She was so busy but always took Sunday off. She goes to a Christian church every Sunday morning while Dad rides his beloved horse in the Woodside hills. Then they meet for lunch at a coffee shop in downtown Palo Alto. They both liked routines.
I took two pain killers to ease my headache and put on makeup because I knew there would be photographers waiting to get pictures of me leaving my house with my boyfriend. They’d be so disappointed that the boyfriend didn’t stay the night. They would follow me to the bank and then give up on scoring a picture of the young lovers.
Mom was reprimanding someone on the phone when I entered the living room. She was defending my slip-up last night. I realized she was arguing with several people on a conference call. Richard certainly was on the call as was my publicist and, of course, Sage. But there were more.
Mom smiled at me when I walked into the room, kept talking and listening, and pointed to the kitchen.
“Hi, Attila!” I smiled as I got a drink of water from the fridge.
“Hi. Michelle is sorry she can’t go to breakfast. I’ve made this for you.” He removed a frittata out of the oven and plated it. I sat at the kitchen counter and drank the smoothie ready for me on the placemat.
“Thanks. I’m so hungry,” I said. I started eating it immediately, slightly burning my tongue.
“I need to go out now and buy some ingredients for some comfort food.” He smiled devilishly. “I’m so glad I finally get to feed you real food. What would you say to lasagna on Monday and truffle mac-n-cheese on Thursday?”
“Devine!” I smiled. Like cake, pasta was strictly off limits. “Can you make a portion for my boyfriend, too, so we can eat in together?”
“No, I’m dating Manuel, finally.”
“Oh, Marie, that’s wonderful. I like him. I liked Evan, too.” He wondered if he was being unprofessional and then laughed. “You don’t need to hide in your room Saturday mornings. I can make you guys breakfast.”
“We’re not hiding, Attila. It’s just the only day I don’t exercise, the only day we can sleep in together.”
He gave me a knowing look and laughed at me. We were avoiding him on Saturday mornings. “See ya.” He said as he walked out the door. I could hear the sound of cameras clicking, stop, and then some chatting. Attila was a professional so they knew he wouldn’t talk, but they were saying hi, asking him about his wife and boys. He asked them about their lives and kids.
I put my dishes in the dishwasher, grabbed my purse and left. I thought of Manuel. He said he’d stop by before work. By now, the press would have matched his face to his name and determined where he lived. He’d have to get from his apartment to his Vespa today through the photographers. If he stopped by, he’d have to get from the Vespa to the front gate. When he left, they’d follow him to his work. That would be too hard for him.
I texted Manuel, “I’ll drop u off at work. I want to talk to Liz. Explain.”
I opened the garage door and started my car. I already had a text back, “K. Do not apologize to her!”
“Anytime. Work at 4. Miss you.”
“K. Errand in Brentwood. Fax to send. Starbucks?”
Already, the sound from the cameras stopped. I drove out of my garage and ran my errands. I valet parked for Starbucks off of Montana Ave. Finally, I was ready to see my boyfriend and texted Manuel that I was on my way.
Liz waited for me and signaled to me to park in one of her tenant’s carports. She ran to me as I got out of the car and hugged me.
Liz whispered, “I’m so sorry Manny freaked out.”
The cameras were clicking rapidly. She understood it was show time. I smiled at her to relieve her guilt and gave her the carrier with the four coffees. We headed up to her apartment smiling at each other. She surprised me. She acted like a PR pro.
I saw Manuel and ran over to him. He caught me and we spun together from the momentum. All was forgiven. We relaxed into each other, smiling, comforted. Instantly the heaviness of the room was lifted. Carlos gave Liz a warm hug. Janet smiled at me.
“Do you mind if we do some homework together?” Manuel asked, stiffly. “I have to finish an essay before I go to work. I have a ton of studying to do tomorrow, too.”
“Yeah, that’s great. I have to borrow your books. I didn’t think about bringing my backpack.”
We retreated to Manuel’s bedroom to study. We were both sitting with our backs against his bed on the floor of his room and I leaned over to kiss his cheek. He was a statue but smiled at me.
“You’re hurting my feelings, Manuel.” I admitted.
He held my hand and kissed it. “I don’t want to be an ass. I don’t want to mess us up again.”
“But I want to kiss you. I love kissing you. I finally get to. Please don’t shut down again.”
“I’m more mad than I thought I’d be that you didn’t diss Byron.”
“I’m so sorry. I wish I knew what to say, but I don’t know why I’m so weak around him. I can promise that I’ll try my hardest to resist him in the future. I certainly hope I never kiss him again as me but you know I will again as Muse. It’s part of the job and messes up me being me.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I know. I’ve had four years getting used to you kissing other guys. But now it sucks. And I’m having a hard time being around you right now. I don’t know how to act.”
“Right, but you make me dizzy being next to you. I can’t concentrate. I’ve already read this page twice.” He fixed his eyes on me soulfully and put his hand on my cheek. He sighed and shook his head. “I never want to lose you. You’re my everything.”
“And you are mine.” I hugged him and moved onto his lap. “Please don’t shut down. We can’t go backwards now, but we can slow things down. I love you.”
Manuel continued to hold me and kissed my forehead. “But, I need time now. I like sleeping with you even though we don’t do it. But I want to. It’s confusing.”
“Please keep kissing and hugging me. We’ll work through this together. We’ll talk about it, okay?” I slowly moved him onto his back on the floor of his room and crawled on top of him. I put one of his hands under my shirt and felt his sides and chest with mine. Then I slowly kissed his lips and we started making out with our clothes on. It was wonderful and enough.
I stopped kissing him. “Can this be enough?”
He opened his eyes and sighed. “There’s something about you, your kisses. Only you release these incredibly intense feelings.”
He sat up. “I need to explain this.” He exhaled and shrugged his shoulders. “So being with Kate felt great, sure, but… it’s like my tattoo. She wanted her name on my body. Fine, whatever makes her happy. It hurt to get the tattoo but it’s on the surface. It only bled for a few minutes but it’s permanent. I don’t want another one and forget it’s there except when I see you look at it. It bleeds when I go back in to hide her name, so you don’t have to be reminded. It’s skin deep, like my love for her. I didn’t want to make love the first time, felt guilty about it, and then didn’t care if we did it again.”
He held my hand and shook his head. “With you, my love is so deep. Waiting for you was so painful, wanting you and loving you for years. Now that you’re finally mine, your kisses cut me. You tattoo my heart each time. It’s permanent. I want every letter of your name inked inside of me, covering me. I want my body to be your canvas.”
We got up off of the floor. “I love you always and forever, Marie. Just remember to talk things through if I diss you. It’s easier for me to go back to repressing my feelings.”
I nodded and left his room so he could change into his uniform.
Kisses weren’t enough for him, and I couldn’t lose him—ever. Mom told me to be true to myself but the threat of losing Manuel was too scary. I wondered why I was so confused.
As I waited by the front door, Liz and Carlos were snuggling on the couch watching TV. I smiled at them, wondering how they could be so in love after being together for nineteen years. I figured I’d ask them.
“How are you guys still in love after all those years?”
Liz laughed and nodded to Carlos, careful not to offend me in any way.
Carlos spoke, “Drugs and parties are only fun for a little while. The fast life is empty. Love and family make me happy and complete. I love the companionship I have with Liz. We share our thoughts and dreams. We connect. I’m still in love because I’m still grateful that she loves me. I love my kids.” He smiled at me. “I’m like you, Marie. I want love, not sex.”
I blushed. I explained my feelings, “I just… I think it should be private, you know, between Manuel and me. I’m embarrassed.”
Liz responded, “I know, but Manny’s not your typical teenager. He doesn’t want to make mistakes with you. He loves you so much.”
I shrugged my shoulders. He was honest with everyone, confided in his parents. I appreciated that about him.
Manuel came out of his room and saw my awkwardness. He gave his mom a stern look and put his arm around me. “Mom, don’t scare my girlfriend.”
I laughed. We all did. I smiled at his parents as we walked to the door.
“Manuel, where should I drop you off?” I asked as we headed out of the apartment. “We’ll be followed from here, and I think it will be easier if they didn’t know where you work.”
“If the back door is open, I’ll run inside the kitchen. If not, park, walk in with me and hang out for a while. They’ll think we’re going for dinner before the restaurant is open. It happens all the time. A couple weeks ago I waited on that guy who starred with you in Left to Die. He looked worse than I thought. I felt bad that he’s dying, even though now I want to smash in his face.”
Rex was dying of cancer. He still looked really young—exactly like he did when shooting the movie with me—but more frail. Another actor I knew died of a heart attack a few weeks earlier. Like Mom, she also looked really great for her age and seemed super healthy, so I was floored that she was even sick.
The back door was open. Manuel smiled at me and bolted inside the restaurant before a car turned into the alley behind me.
I drove back to my house relieved that Manuel was still in my life. I needed to be more careful with him. I didn’t want to lose him. I needed to protect him from the tabloids. He shouldn’t be subjected to people’s judgments and condemnations. I needed to give Sage a head’s up to manage my private life more privately.
No one was home. I was relieved because I had an English essay to write. I put my purse on the kitchen island and almost jumped out of my body with joy when I saw my birthday present from Attila on the counter. There on a beautifully decorated plate was the one thing he made that surpassed all others: a scrumptious chocolate brownie with a fondant mini-bow on top.
I ate the brownie with a tall glass of milk, savoring every bite.
I decided to do the outline and research my English essay and then finish writing it the next day. I liked background research before I started my acting projects, too. It helped me get into character and determine my voice. Memorizing the lines was so easy once I knew the character’s motivations.
Celia’s ring tone interrupted my essay planning. I rushed to the phone, almost falling on the floor in the process of getting to it.
Celia asked, “Is this a good time?”
“Yeah, I almost killed myself getting to the phone.” I explained, “I’m writing an essay for school.”
“Lia, my suspicions are confirmed. You and your mom are both producers. All payments and expenses are run through the entity, either yours or your mom’s production company depending on your accounting practices. The Muse project did not need to be renegotiated when you turned eighteen because your mother was not representing a minor. You received a declaration of emancipation immediately after you turned fourteen, after your existing contracts with your other studio and agent were in place when you were thirteen. Clearly, you and your mother did not get those contracts renegotiated after you were emancipated. I always wondered how they got around filming suggestive-sex with a minor in the Left to Die film. You evidently initiated your own project for your Marie Michael Productions company at the time you starred in Left to Die and when you starred in the “Muse” projects. You were not a minor under SAG jurisdiction. Filming the scene the way they did didn’t violate any of the California child labor laws. Do you understand?”
Mom was very smart and so was Martin. I remembered being on set that day. It was April 23rd, the day after my fourteenth birthday. That morning, I signed papers with a notary on the set of Left to Die to file for the emancipation of a child actor. I remembered that I had thought that emancipation meant that I wouldn’t be a slave anymore and I said so out loud. Everyone in the room had laughed. I was embarrassed and didn’t know why they laughed so nervously. I did the rape scene that afternoon.
“No. Not really.” I admitted. “What does my emancipation have to do with Muse now?”
“It doesn’t now. What I’m concerned with is that you have your own mini-studio, Marie Michael Productions. That means you’re stuck doing Muse for a very long time. If you bail on Muse, you ruin your own finances and affect Michelle’s income stream. Michelle’s legal name is Michelle Marie Michael so I’m not sure how much of the company is yours and how much is hers, perhaps they’re separate. Richard and Ira are also in the web. I don’t see how you can get out of acting when the brand is so successful. You’re not replaceable.”
“Oh. Now I understand perfectly.” At least I got out of some of my obligations. Mom always made it clear to me that I was bound to Muse. It seemed ironic that she tied me to Muse as she was tied to Rose. She felt like a slave. I did too; so much for me being emancipated.
Celia added, “Do I have your permission to discuss this with Michelle?”
“Absolutely. Thank you, Celia, for watching my back. Right now, I definitely feel like a child.”
“It’s what I’m here for, to love and protect you. Now, you don’t worry about this at all. Nothing has changed, and I’m certain Michelle is committed to protecting you, too. She loves you. Focus on school and on graduation. We are very proud of you for not taking the easy way out and just getting your GED.”
“Thanks.” I hung up. I knew it couldn’t be so simple to get out of this business when I was a success. But I couldn’t think about that now. I had a semester of school to catch up on before finals.
I sat at my computer, trying again to outline my English essay. I wondered about the timeless themes we studied throughout the year in all the novels we read: selfishness, unrequited love, longing, angst, greed, inequity, conflict, and suffering. What about change? Change is the constant of time. Everything changes. I may look the same as I have looked for years but my awareness and attitudes have changed. My beliefs of what were good and bad also changed based on the context in which my beliefs were challenged. I was currently dating Manuel, the ex of my former best friend. That was an underhanded thing to do to my former best friend. But dating him was right for me, even if I might rot in hell for it later.
I went outside when I saw that the sun was setting, an incomprehensibly beautiful time of day. The orange and red glows from the sun reflected on the ocean and colored the lush green treetops with an amber haze. The color from any blossom popped out of the amber-green mosaic. I saw only a dozen houses from over a mile away on the Pacific Palisades ridge. I escaped Santa Monica, Brentwood, and Los Angeles. I was in my own world. I was at peace until my phone rang.
“Hi, Mom.” I put the cell on speaker. I was not happy that she interrupted the sunset.
“Celia just chatted with me. I can tell you’re upset. I need to explain and clarify. I’m not one of those evil Hollywood controlling mothers from which SAG tries to protect child actors.”
The Screen Actors Guild is the union to which all performers and crew belong. It sets the guidelines for the treatment of child actors, recommending how they should be paid and regulating the maximum number of hours they are allowed to work. I was protected from being naked or doing stunt work, performing anything that could be considered “morally compromising” or being in a sexual act. On set, the SAG representative was there every day, making sure the director was protecting the SAG union members. One time, the SAG rep made one of the actors move away from me because she was concerned that the second hand smoke from his cigarette was too close to me. Celia wanted to know how Mom got around the SAG representative who would have been on the set of Left to Die the day that the director filmed the rape scene. Celia truly believed that the rape scene was morally compromising but few industry people thought so. The conservatives sure thought so when the film came out, but all the controversy guaranteed that practically everyone on the planet who had a few extra bucks in their wallet saw the movie.
“I know, Mom. I’m not upset. You just killed my buzz. I am in the hot tub. The sunset is extraordinary.”
“Oh, Marie,” she laughed. “You’re so simply pleased by the smallest joys. You’re very special, dear.”
“Thanks, Mom. So how did you get around SAG filming that rape scene?”
“Ha! Straight to the point, just like Celia. I like that, you know.” She enjoyed speaking to me. Good. She did not feel guilty. She was not a Hollywood monster mother.
“Martin is brilliant. The contracts we signed when you were thirteen bound you to your agent and film studio for only five years, until you were eighteen, a legal adult. You were required to do two projects per year at first, but we negotiated that you only needed to do four feature films within the contract period and that you could produce your own work as long as you met your promotional obligations for the four studio films.” Mom sounded proud of herself.
“What your agent and studio did not know, was that Martin simultaneously set you up as a producer of the Left to Die project and prepared your paperwork to seek emancipation for a child actor, which you were allowed to apply for at fourteen years old in California.
“You met the requirements to become emancipated: need for personal gain, maturity to handle adult responsibilities, and financial independence.
“Martin submitted your request for emancipation to the courts and you received the Declaration of Emancipation when Left to Die was in the editing room, before the project was complete. Since you were fourteen and would be emancipated before Left to Die hit theaters, Martin was sure that SAG could not come after us for filming that scene with a minor.”
“Okay, so how does that affect me now? How does it affect Muse?” I asked, wanting to both know and not know the answer. It was a good news/bad news worry. How far trapped was I? Was I a fly in a black widow’s web?
“The producers are Richard, myself, Ira, and you. You have your own production company, Marie Michael Productions, a mini-studio. That’s how it’s done with stars. I have my own production company, too. It’s a lot better than being tied to a movie studio. Trust me, I was so tightly bound to the ‘Rose’ projects, I had no choice but to do the TV series.” She paused, waiting to see if she needed to say more. Mom only tells what is necessary, never more. Being in this business for so long has made her guarded, even with family.
“How come I wasn’t listed as a producer on the credits?”
“You didn’t need to be, except in the Hollywood accounting. But don’t worry about that, dear. I promise you that none of us are cheating you out of anything. Like the rest of us, you get gross points, a percentage of gross revenue, rather than net profit participation. Based on each producer’s percentage of ownership in the project, we share in the production, distribution, and marketing overhead. Rather than billing your birthday party to just your share of the marketing overhead, we essentially all pay for it.”
“I didn’t know that I paid for my own party. I thought the studio did. Now I see. Interesting. I guess I’m a businesswoman,” I laughed.
“Yes, you’re very talented, dear.”
“So I screw all of you, my family, if I quit Muse. Mom, this really sucks.”
“I know, dear. And, I won’t lie to you. There’s more. You’re bound by the production contracts you have with us. But we’ll talk about it when I get home. We all want this to work out, and we all love you,” Mom said sincerely.
I sighed. Of course there was more. There was always more.
“Marie, we just want you to focus on school and relaxing for now. Go shopping. Buy some new shoes or something.”
I laughed, picturing myself buying my one-thousandth pair of shoes. Mom loved shoes. Every time she got mad at Dad when they were married, she would storm out of the house, go to Fred Segal on Broadway and 5th in Santa Monica, and come home happier with a new pair of shoes or a bag. The departments were separated into little nooks, as if you were strolling on a curved path in a quaint little street market. The staff was aloof. Mom could find all the brands she liked, banter the help, and no one would stare. It was private.
“No, Mom. No shopping today. Yuck!”
“Oh, Marie. Some day you will see what you’re missing! I want to go shopping now. I can’t wait to get back!”
“Well, thanks for explaining. We’ll talk about ‘Muse’ after graduation. I really need to eat and study some more.”
“Wait, what happened with Manny?”
“We’re good. But I realized that I can’t live without him.” I took a big breath. “I worry that I’ll lose him if I don’t sleep with him.”
“Mom, Renee told me how it goes. I loved Evan and lost him because I didn’t show him. I love Manny with all my heart. If I don’t do it, he won’t think I love him.”
“Oh, no, dear. Be true to yourself, please. Manny understands. I’m sure of it.”
“I hope you’re right. Otherwise I’ll do what I have to do. Love you, Mom.”
“Stay strong, Marie. I love you to pieces. Goodnight.”
I reached out of the hot tub and pressed “end” on my cell. I turned to reach for my towel but was startled to find a large black spider on it. I bravely shook the spider off, careful to see where it had fallen to be sure it would not crawl on me.
Of course, I could not help but think that I was very much the struggling fly trapped in the black widow’s web. I only then realized how incessant that web was. This was a web that could only collapse on itself if I broke it.
I put down my history book when I heard the front door open and then close.
“There weren’t any photographers here when I got off work this morning,” Manuel wondered. “I was all ready to punch someone.”
I beamed as he crawled on the bed next to me. I was in my sweats, he was in his busboy uniform, shoes off, of course. It was after midnight.
“Well, they want photos of us together. So there will be many cameras this morning when we leave for school. I canceled with Elise for today because I need to get some sleep. I can’t deal with the pain of physical exertion after such a tough weekend. Maybe we should take your Vespa, helmet free. Give the fans what they want.” I laughed.
Turning to my side to make sure he paid attention, I added. “And please, please don’t punch, push, flip off, cuss out, or even speak to a photographer. You’ll make things worse and can seriously get sued.”
He understood. “I promise to restrain myself. I can do this because you are more than worth it.”
He kissed my forehead and then quickly kissed my lips. He was off the bed in an instant. He headed for the bathroom and I followed to the closet and changed into my pajamas. I had already brushed my teeth so I got into bed, happy that he’d be staying the night.
He settled onto his pillow and held my hand. “Do you mind if we go to sleep right now? I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep at all Friday night or last night.”
“Don’t be. I got a tattoo just now when you flashed that smile of yours. It will get easier to be so close to you in bed.”
“Good night,” I sighed and reached over to turn off the light. “Love you.”
“Hmm. I have to say my prayers.” Manuel put his hand around my waist. He mumbled and then said, “Amen,” kissed my cheek and then settled into his pillow. “Love you, too, Marie. Buenos sueños.”
I laid there for several minutes before I fell asleep thinking about how grateful I was that Manuel was in my life. I wondered if his prayers made a difference. I didn’t understand why he needed them. My mother thought that she had failed me by not nurturing my spirituality. I wasn’t so sure I had a unique spirituality. I just didn’t want to be naughty and didn’t want to hurt people. I had so much money that I felt better donating it than buying superficial things with it. That wasn’t really a spiritual value, it was a compassionate one.
I woke up the next morning feeling great. I was so happy. I took a moment to assess how my body felt. I had a slight headache, nothing intense. My vision was clear. Then I realized I didn’t feel nauseous.
Manuel asked, “Why are you smiling?”
I turned to him, overjoyed. “I’m glad you’re awake. I can’t believe it. I don’t feel like puking, and I can see you!”
“You know, my vision takes a while to clear but it’s clear already and my headache isn’t so bad. I actually want to eat something.”
“Well, great!” Manuel lifted me out of bed. “Let’s fatten you up!”
We got ready for school after breakfast. I gave Manuel a garage door opener to keep in his backpack so he could enter through the garage and avoid harassment. Mom had settled the PR disaster and we were free to be a public couple while Richard’s team worked with my publicist on the strategy for the Constantine’s Muse promotion.
“Alan is going to tease you. You know every pic off the internet will be taped to your locker. You ready, Manuel?”
“You’re so worried about me, Marie. For the last four years of me being your best friend, you go through hell and back all by yourself while I’m in my little protected world. For like three months straight, I whined and cried over Kate. I must have texted you every day about some girl I dated, trauma or heartache. You spent all that time responding to my panicked emails and then my anger and confusion. I’m sorry I was so dense.”
He put the milk and what was left of the fruit back in the fridge and started loading the dishwasher. I had a housecleaner who came every weekday to do that.
“Marie, even when you were leaning on me for help, I was listening to you but didn’t have any idea about what you were talking about. I was not really supporting you or being there for you because I had no concept of the heavy crap you really deal with. I knew you had seen more than I had; people doing stuff… but seeing it firsthand just now with Byron, some guy who, ya know, and then right there in front of us, with his sick “let’s share you” attitude. And the way Byron doesn’t shut up.”
He continued, “I watched your reaction to him. You’re strong with him with your words but so weak in your expressions. I really thought you wanted to try when I saw you blush but then you said there was not a chance. Your face showed total sadness. You never show that look to me. Then I realized that you had to put yourself back together after Evan, Matthew, and Byron.”
He stopped me at my bedroom door and embraced me. “Now I get it. I’m not as strong as you for sure. But I can handle Alan, and can handle being in public with you.” He added, “I hope you get out of this business soon.”
I closed my eyes, letting my body relax into him. I explained, “I won’t be able to stop acting for many years and now it’s not so bad. Now I will choose to work with nice, professional men. I will be in control of the films and events I do. Besides, I am never going to have a normal life. People will always stare at me…recognize me. Do you know people still recognize Tom? It’s been, what, nineteen years since his last film! He signs autographs!”
“Yeah, that’s wild. My dad signed an autograph a few months ago, too. People still recognize him.”
“What?” I didn’t know Carlos did anything except work at a delivery company. He met Liz delivering a package to her apartment nineteen years ago. I stepped back from Manuel and gaped at him inquisitively.
“You didn’t know? How could that be? We’ve known you forever!” Manuel laughed. “My dad was in a Latino boy band. He was a teenaged heartthrob. He was huge!”
“What band?” I was shocked but then not. Carlos was a head-turner. It always seemed that people recognized him but I thought it was because he was gorgeous and I thought they recognized me. Liz and Manuel hated attention. They lived in that apartment. I thought it was Liz who would get money when she sold the apartment building. I didn’t know Carlos had money.
“El Ritmo. He was CB A.me.go. He worked on their first three of seven, maybe eight, albums.”
“No way! I’ve heard their early songs. Everyone has. Wow. But you guys don’t act rich. Why do you live in the apartment? He must get a ton from his royalties. Doesn’t the band get a take every time the song is played on the radio or on a TV spot?”
“No, he doesn’t get royalties. He quit. He didn’t like the lifestyle or people telling him what to do. He saw the same crap you’ve seen. His managers really exhausted them. He was like an employee of the El Ritmo product. When he quit, he got nada. He kept the money he already had but was not entitled to any more. He wasn’t part of a union like you are with SAG. He quit after they performed in L.A to promote their third album. They replaced him immediately. They just left him here and kept touring. Ira Goldberg took him in, wanted him to act. But he wanted out of the entertainment industry. Ira was nice; helped him legally get settled in Santa Monica. He took the delivery job to be busy. He likes to work. He was living with some chick when he saw my mom again.”
“What do you mean, ‘saw your mom again’? I thought they met the day they conceived you.”
He laughed. “No! Well, they did hook up the first day they met but I came a few years later.” He kept laughing. “My mom was a set designer and met Carlos on his first music video. Ira produced all of the music videos; that’s how my dad knew him. Mom was actually in three of the videos from their first three albums and worked on all the videos. They were pretty good friends and dated a lot since my mom spoke Spanish. They got their first tattoos together. Mom didn’t know what happened to him after he quit. When he delivered a package to her apartment, she told him she missed him and was in love with him. He felt the same way and then they conceived me.”
“Whoa. I had no idea that your dad was CB A.me.go. That’s a sweet story.” I laughed because I did think Liz was sleazy before I heard the story. “No wonder Carlos and my dad found each other. They had much in common. No wonder you think my career is awful.”
As we walked to the kitchen, I realized that I needed to change myself and ask more questions about people. Not knowing about Sage or Manuel was pathetic. No wonder Beth thought I was shallow. I needed to start knowing.
“Actually, I’d like to go to the industry events with you when you need a date. I won’t say ‘no’ anymore, like I’ve done for the past year. I don’t want you to be alone anymore, not just here in the house, but also at events. I’m really here for you now.”
“Hmm. Now that would be nice. I wouldn’t have to go to an event with a co-star. Cool,” I said. “So the Vespa or the Prius?”
“The Vespa,” he confirmed, and we headed out the door.
Even though finals were the next week, I had the best two weeks of my life. I was so happy. Mom’s film was to wrap in less than two weeks and she would get back the day before graduation.
Manuel stayed every night and took off work that week to study. I still worked out with Elise in the mornings so I didn’t get up with him. It was Saturday, the last day of the month, so we slept in together.
He was in the bathroom and I was going back to bed, thinking of what fun thing we would do that day. I wanted to go somewhere since we had been trapped in the house studying. He wanted to see his family and thought we should all go to the Santa Monica Pier and boardwalk but Liz didn’t like strangers staring at me and recognizing Carlos.
Manuel finished in the bathroom and came back to bed. “Ya know I’ve only been with Kate, and we were both virgins. Did she cheat on me?”
I turned my face away from his so he couldn’t see my reaction to his comment. I promised Kate that I wouldn’t tell him that she actually wasn’t a virgin. Her first experience was worse than my Matthew scare when she was fifteen but she ended up dating her prick for a year until she had enough. She thought dating Manuel was a gift from God, a fresh start.
I answered, “No, she didn’t cheat on you. She loved you.” I looked at him again, “Manuel, what are you talking about?”
“I still think she cheated. There was just no way she could have been pregnant. But, I don’t want to talk about that. Did you think I went wild after the break-up when I dated all those girls?”
“I knew you didn’t. I think I know everything about your relationships. Alan made a point to tell me every detail.”
Manuel dated a ton of girls from when Kate dumped him until he asked me to prom. He kissed them all, too, in search of something. It made me insanely jealous, and I counted. He kissed sixteen different girls in less than three months. Before he came down to my trailer in San Diego I assumed he slept with some of them, but he told me he only kissed them. He let a few go too far, but felt bad about how he treated them, even though they were sleazy girls that Alan set him up with. I never asked him what he was searching for. But I was curious.
Manuel faced me on his side and pushed my hair off of my cheek and neck. He smiled at me and whispered, “You do know everything.”
I put my hand over his tattoo so I wouldn’t have to see Kate’s name.
“I’m curious,” he stated with a smirk. “Why are you on the pill? You clearly don’t have a period since there’s no stuff in your bathroom and you’ve never complained of PMS. Since you were on birth control, you must have thought you were gonna do it with Byron.”
“I did not.” I smiled at him but he still stared at me wanting an explanation. “I’m not on birth control. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome and the medicine I’m on stopped my menstrual cycle. I haven’t had a period for years.” I stopped, thinking. The last time I remembered taking my medicine was the last week of filming Constantine’s Muse.
“Damn!” I exclaimed and ran to my bathroom. I forgot to take my medication. I was so stressed that I completely spaced it. I realized that I better clue in my frightened boyfriend.
“It’s my condition. I totally spaced my medicine! Please help me search my things for two prescription bottles of medicine. My assistant would have packed them with my things the night I left San Diego.”
We were both opening every bag in my closet and every drawer in the bathroom. I checked my room. Nothing.
“I bet he missed the stuff in the medicine cabinet. Help me think. How can I get a refill? I usually call the RX number on the bottles.”
“Call the doctor,” he replied simply.
“It’s Dr. Mark. I don’t know his last name, that’s also on the bottles.”
“How long have you been taking the medicine?”
“Years. I’m supposed to take it for managing the cysts that grow too large in my ovaries, so they don’t burst. When I get low, I just call the phone number on the bottles, key in the RX numbers and confirm my credit card and address. Then I get the new prescription bottles in the mail a week later.”
He added, “Your mom knows the doctor’s name, right? Just call her.”
I dialed her number. Her cell was off and went straight into voicemail. “I know they are behind schedule. They’re probably working today.”
“When is the last time you saw the doctor?”
“I first went to him after I turned 14, after we wrapped Left to Die. I saw him probably every six months thereafter.”
He interrupted, “So you saw him seven months ago?”
“Yeah. At the medical center by UCLA.”
“If we went there, could you remember which office was his?”
“Yeah, totally. Good thinking!”
“Well, I guess we know what adventure we are having this morning.” He smiled. “We’ll get the doctor’s name off the door, look him up and you can call his office for a refill. I’ll call my mom and figure out the plan for later this morning or this afternoon.”
We left in a hurry, without showering, and parked at UCLA within fifteen minutes after leaving the house. It was so easy to find the doctor’s office. I did have a great memory even though I was feeling insecure because I couldn’t remember the name of the drugs I’ve been taking for four years.
We figured the office would be closed when we arrived. I was sure that we were at the right office, but I didn’t recognize the names on the door. Manuel pushed the latch to the door anyway. I was surprised that it was open.
We went inside, but no one was at the reception desk. I opened the door from the reception area to the offices and walked down the short hallway to find someone to help me. There was a man going through a file cabinet in the last office. File folders were everywhere. He seemed frustrated.
“Excuse me. I don’t want to frighten you. I lost my medicine and need to get a refill and couldn’t remember Dr. Mark’s last name so we came down here. His name wasn’t on the door.”
The man was surprised, but relaxed. He was Dad’s age, maybe older, fifty, tops. He was very handsome, taller than Manuel, probably 6’2” or more. He had a weekend runner’s body—strong, lank, but not too thin. He had brown hair and steel gray eyes and a kind smile.
I had not been in the back office before. The office didn’t seem to match him. The desk and office hutch on the back wall were made of elegantly carved mahogany, something I’ve seen in my lawyer’s office but never in a doctor’s office. Framed, signed photos of a man with celebrities covered the walls. I recognized the entertainers and the man. He was my doctor.
“Was it Dr. Mark Rugers?” He asked with a French accent just like Renee Dupree’s.
“Yes!” I recalled. I pointed to one of the photos. “That’s him.”
“Mark disappeared, I’m afraid. He left a lot of unanswered questions behind. I flew down here from Northern California to try to make sense of this mess. I’m a doctor, perhaps I can help you. What type of chemo were you taking?”
“What? Chemo? I don’t have cancer. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome. One drug I take is to make sure the cysts don’t enlarge to prevent a rupture. The other drug enhances my immune system so I don’t get sick.”
The man stared at me, so I quickly added, “I’m here in person because I don’t know the name of the medication. I left my pills on a trip in March and forgot about taking them. It’s kind of a hard cycle to remember. The med for POS is taken in cycles: 2 weeks on, 1 week off for 6 months. Then I get a new prescription and start the cycle over. I should start a new cycle tomorrow, May 1st. I’ve been on the medicine for several years, since I’ve been fourteen. You’d think I’d remember the drug’s name but it’s quite a mouthful,” I smiled awkwardly. He probably thought I was a total moron.
“How old are you? You look young, fourteen or fifteen.”
Weird. Someone didn’t recognize me. It was kind of a cool feeling, a freeing feeling.
“I just turned eighteen a few weeks ago.”
“But your doctor was Mark? He’s an oncologist.”
“Yes, I’m sure Mark was my doctor. But I never had cancer or chemo.”
He paused, thinking. “For the cysts, were you taking progesterone, metformin, clomiphene citrate, clomid?”
“None of them are familiar. I think it started with an X,” I recalled.
He squinted, bewildered. I was sure he thought I was intellectually vacant. “Is it possible you were taking Xrysinib?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “That’s the name. We called it x-nib. The other drug was for my immune system.”
His face fell. He stared at me with his hand on the file cabinet drawer, as if the drawer was keeping him from collapsing. He was silent.
Manuel interrupted my thoughts, “What is Xrysinib?”
The man answered slowly, as if his mind was working on two tracks. One track was answering, the other track was panicking. “A chemotherapy drug. It’s a cancer treatment I developed over fifteen years ago for the treatment of cancer in adults with a particular type of leukemia. It was FDA approved for adults and has been available for the last 7 years. It’s extremely effective in preventing the action of a protein within the cancer cells. Do you mind if we sit down?”
I moved a file off of the chair next to me and put it on the office desk. Manuel did the same. We all sat down.
He continued, “Since it was so successful in adults, we made it available on a trial case basis to adolescents. We had six case studies, including my son who inherited my family’s predisposition for developing leukemia, both my dad and brother died from it. We found that in adolescents Xrysinib had a side effect of essentially stopping the aging process. We have isolated the targeted cells but have yet to determine how it altered the pituitary gland, damaged the hypothalamus, or both.” He stopped and wrote some notes down on his paper.
He continued, “Clearly, x-nib stopped aging in adults—that answers the Hollywood connection. We just haven’t focused on that. I never thought about autopsying the adult glands. We need to look at tissue damage in the pituitary gland and hypothalamus of the adults who became victim to secondary malignancies.”
Manuel interrupted, “So what does this mean?”
The doctor broke his thoughts. He explained, “I’m so sorry, but for four years now no children were to be given this drug. I honestly don’t know how it has affected her but I can tell you that she should not be able to sit right here after taking chemo for four years. Her immune system should be toast, to speak bluntly.”
“I’m calling the police.” Manuel fumbled with his cell phone.
I didn’t understand Manuel’s reaction. My head was spinning. What crime did Manuel see? I knew there was something wrong with me. I have been going to Dr. Mark for the last four years, never understanding why I didn’t have a period. My periods started when I was twelve. I had painful periods, horrible cramping when I was on set. Mom was concerned because I had very large breasts for a thirteen-year-old and was worried about future breast cancer since my grandma died from it. Once, I was worried about not menstruating and researched polycystic ovarian syndrome. I didn’t really have the symptoms when I was thirteen. Last year, my migraines were so bad that I told Mark I’d rather have the painful periods, they lasted only one to two days per month but the headaches were daily. He reduced my dosage of x-nib and the immunity enhancer and I felt relief but still needed Excedrin. Most importantly, I was always aware that I wasn’t looking older. Every day I looked in the mirror, I saw the same person as the girl in the picture with Grandma May at fifteen years old. So the crime must be that I never did have POS. Mark intentionally gave me the meds to stop my aging, which meant Mom was behind this. They wanted me to be forever young-looking. They wanted me to be Muse. That bitch! That psycho doctor!
The doctor addressed Manuel, “You can do that and have every right to, but if you do, the local police will confiscate everything in this room. Then I won’t be able to help her. I am working with the FBI.”
Manuel hung up, furious. “Well, what the hell are we going to do? Damn! She didn’t even have cancer. She took a drug for four years, forgets to take it, and you’re telling us that she wasn’t supposed to be on it and the reason why she looks so young is because she’s not aging!”
The doctor responded. “I don’t know what happened. What I do know is that Mark is missing, a bunch of powerful people in Hollywood knew him, some high-profile people are dying and pointing fingers here, and there might be a connection with Xrysinib. I’m here on behalf of my company and the FBI to figure out what Mark was up to. Now I see this pretty girl took the drug, too. Ten minutes ago, I was looking for a needle in a haystack in here. We now have evidence that Mark was prescribing this medicine to stop the aging of non-cancer patients. With the Hollywood connection, it looks like he was selling the serum to eternal youth.
“But x-nib is carcinogenic, a very aggressive therapy, a last resort. Some chemotherapies are safe. X-nib is not. Over-treatment causes the growth of tumors, what we call secondary malignancy. It’s the assumed risk of primary treatment—that the chemo or radiation treatment will cure the existing problem but cause other tumors down the road.”
Manuel gasped, “Great. So she probably now has cancer?”
The doctor nodded. “We know x-nib affected the pituitary gland but we don’t want to remove the gland from the patients if we can help it. So it has been very difficult to isolate the damage. We are only now studying the pituitary gland and hypothalamus from the autopsy of CSY2, the second adolescent trial. Now I just realized we should be autopsying the adults as well. When we first saw that the adolescent case studies didn’t age, we expected to find hypopituitarism to explain the deficiency in the gland to produce growth hormone, but only one adolescent had a non-functioning pituitary gland tumor. I’m working to find a way to reverse x-nib’s effect on the gland, or possibly on the hypothalamus, to help the kids and my son live normal lives.”
He stated with sad eyes, “You’ve been on the drug longer than any. But how are you not sick? Chemo kills cells. Your immune system should be shot. You should be vulnerable to every virus around. I wish I knew what dosage you were taking.”
I lost it. I cried hysterically, shaking, sobbing, and heaving. My psycho mom did this to me. I absolutely hated her!
I felt alone. Yeah, I had Manuel, but I didn’t believe in a fairy tale happily-ever-after. I was never one to live in the future. I saw best intentions as they were: decisions made with hope everything would turn out for the best. I lived in the now, and had accepted long ago that the future was uncertain. I didn’t believe in promises.
Manuel had his arm around me. “We need to call her father. Can you please tell him what you told us?”
“Hey Tom,” Manuel said with anger in his voice. “Can you get Celia on the phone, conference call if she’s not there. This is important.” He waited for a long minute. “Hi, Celia. You’re going to be talking with a doctor. Please write everything down. Get his name. This is serious and I need to take care of Marie now.”
Manuel handed his phone to the doctor and then scooped me up and held me in his chair while he listened to the conversation.
When the doctor hung up, he wrote his contact info and some notes on a piece of paper.
“Here is all of my contact information. I’d like to run tests on you tomorrow. I’m going to set you up as CSY7@gmail.com.” He was typing on his computer. “Password?”
I answered, “N10tions, capital N, number 10, lower case ‘t,’ ‘i,’’o,’ ‘n,’ ‘s’.” I don’t know why I chose that password. It just seemed to fit. I felt hollow. I had been taking chemo for four years. What the hell?!
“There, you’re set up. I just emailed you all my contact information and the FBI contact. I also CC’d him and your dad.” He took the paper back from Manuel and wrote down my new email address and password.
“I’m so very sorry. But have hope. We’ve been working on a cure for the cure for four years now and we are very close to solving the problem.”
I couldn’t speak. I stood up, but I couldn’t walk well. I stumbled and hit the wall after we left the doctor’s office. My head spun while Manuel helped me walk to the car.
Manuel drove erratically. He tried to focus on the road but he struggled. I noticed that he was crying.
“I hate my mom! Hate her!” I fumed. I called Mom’s cell. No answer. I called it again. No answer. I scanned my contact list. I called the director. No answer. I called him again. No answer. I started shaking.
“Damn. No one is answering!” I yelled to Manuel.
He asked as calmly as he could possibly speak, “Who on crew is the farthest from the sound stage? He might have his phone on vibrate.”
I called Mom’s assistant. “No answer.”
I texted Mom. “X=chemo. So angry. Do NOT come home. Psycho!”
I copied the text and pasted it into an email. I knew her assistant read her emails, but at the moment I didn’t care about following the rules. I pressed, “Send.”
“It’s done. ‘Mommy Dearest’ knows…and so does her assistant,” I whimpered. “You and me finally together… I thought maybe we could just have a happily-ever-after. Serves me right to start believing in fairy tales.”
“Oh, don’t say that. We will have a good life together. Don’t lose faith, Marie. Medicine is amazing now. You caught it in time, for sure. You’ll be okay.” Manuel held my hand. He changed his voice to sound confident. “I want to know everything about what you have. When we get back to your place, can I use your computer? And who’s this doctor that was in that quack’s office—Jacques Lambert? I want to look him up.”
“Sure, yeah, I don’t need to look anything up.” I added, “I just want to sit in the hot tub. I hate her! I can’t believe she did this to me on purpose to give me some shitty career! What a bitch! And I thought she loved me? I feel… feel so played, trapped…made.”
I was absolutely certain that the doctor told the truth. I knew my symptoms would match the hypo-pituitary-whatever failure he mentioned. The weirdness about the last four years, Mom’s overreaction to me quitting, and her creepy guilt all finally fell into place. Yep, the evidence was beyond a reasonable doubt. I couldn’t talk anymore and was too mad to cry. Manuel held my hand and likewise said nothing.
Thank God Manuel was there for me. I vomited a couple of times, sick from the shock that Mom did this to me and from the realization that my life was incomplete.
It was nighttime. We were both lying on my bed, facing each other on our sides, holding hands with our arms bent at the elbows. He softly stroked my hair. He knew I liked it off of my face and neck.
“Manuel, thank you for being here for me. I feel kind of selfish, though. All these traumas in just a few months: media betrayal, Matthew, Byron, quitting my career, getting mad about my birthday, learning that I’ve been on a chemo drug, my mom deceiving me. I feel like I’m not being fair to you. It must suck being my boyfriend.”
“No, no, no.” He shook his head and fought back tears. His eyes were wet. “I want to be here for you.” He put his hand on my cheek. “I have loved you my whole life and am finally your boyfriend. My dreams have come true. There’s not a possibility I’d leave you.”
I sighed, relieved. Being with him was so comforting, so nice. For at least a week I noticed feelings of desire move through my body when I was with him. I felt warm and tingly. I was ready to make love.
I moved closer to him, wiped his tears and kissed his lips. “I’m ready,” I whispered and put my hand under his shirt onto his chest.
He gently pushed me away, back to where we were before. His eyes were on mine, searching for the right words to say. He shook his head and bit his trembling lips.
Feeling rejected, I pleaded. “I can try to be with you. I want you.”
“No, angel, not now.” He grimaced soulfully, sadly.
I worried, “I don’t want you to reject me. Please?”
I wept—worried that he didn’t want me. Speaking the words out loud that Mom betrayed me so thoroughly devastated me.
I didn’t understand how I avoided getting sick while I took a medicine designed to kill my cells. I should have been weak, with gray-toned skin and hair loss. Why would I have been healthy while on chemo? I wondered how sick I would become now that I was not. What consequential tumor was growing in my body?
Not knowing if I might have a side effect from a drug developed to cure a cancer I never had, having ‘eternal youth’ for an unknown amount of time, made me want to hurry up and start living immediately. I was healthy at that moment. That was all I knew. I didn’t know the future. I wanted to make love, eat brownies, graduate from high school. LIVE. I worried about how long I had to live. Would I be able to get pregnant if I did live? Dr. Mark said I would start menstruating when I got off the x-nib. But he was a liar, a monster. Did he lie about me being able to have babies? What would life be like, always looking like a teenager? How full would my life be if I lived the rest of my life alone?
Manuel interrupted my thoughts. He murmured, “Want you? Always.” He put his hands to his face and wiped his eyes. He held me. “What you’ve gone through is always in the back of my mind: you calling from the prick’s place; wanting to bust up his face when he felt no shame in the limo; seeing you in that movie, on the swing, in that rape scene; wanting the media to leave you alone; knowing that Matthew almost… And now knowing what your mom did to you. Making love is not right today, not now.”
Manuel wrapped himself around me and spoke softly. “I printed the symptoms of hypopituitarism for you to read. The chemo made your hormones shut down. It was physically impossible for you to get turned on.” He sighed. “Good thing I ruined your birthday or you probably would have faked it to get me to leave you alone.”
“Now that you’ve been off x-nib, you might find me more desirable because you finally can if you pituitary gland is releasing hormones again.”
“So my heart wasn’t a diamond. My pituitary gland was. Then why have I always felt so much love for you and not others?”
Manuel grinned. “Because you love me the most. I win.”
He moved me and gazed into my eyes deeply, his sad eyes still wet. “I think I should call you Lia instead of Marie from now on.” Manuel kissed me softly. “I’ll love you forever, Lia. But I don’t want to go to hell for doing it with a beautiful angel.”
“Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love commits me here.
Ever this day, be at my side, to light and guard, to rule, and guide. Amen.”
It was a sweet and special prayer. It united us. I understood. It was an overwhelming situation. I wiped tears away from my cheeks.
I whispered, “Best friends, then, who kiss and hold hands; I like it. So you’re the guardian and I’m the angel. We make quite a team.”
We both closed our eyes and let our tears fall, holding hands. I was emotionally spent.
He cuddled closer to me and I rested my forehead on his chest. He asked, “Can I take you to church with me in the morning? I need to go.”
“Okay.” I agreed, kissed his chest, and breathed in his relaxing pheromones.
I made some decisions as I let my body relax into sleep. We’d go to church in the morning. I would be strong for the medical tests. I would continue my life as I have, keep my routines, finish my finals, graduate from high school. I’d call Grandma May to confirm my stay at her ranch this summer. I’d go to my house on Flathead Lake. I’d do “Muse III.” Every day I would tell the very few people I loved that they were special.
I beheld Manuel one last time before closing my eyes. I’d ask him to marry me, for real. The worst that could be lurking would be a tiny tumor causing the hypopituitarism. The doctor would remove it and everything would be great. I’d never speak to Mom again, but I could deal. I had my guardian and felt fine.