43
Hailey
“Zoe will be in soon,” the receptionist told me as she paused in the doorway. She had just escorted me into the office of Zoe Lemonda, editorial director of Soap Opera Diaries, and my new pipeline to the world. At least, that’s what I’d been hoping for when I set up this meeting. “Would you like something to drink?”
I grinned. “Do you have any scotch?” I got that response from Marcella, and it worked like a charm.
The receptionist paled, looking nervously out in the hallway. “Water, coffee, or tea?”
“Guess I’ll stick with water, thanks.”
I pushed the visitor’s chair closer to Zoe’s desk and sat down. None of that friendly personal space, Marcella had instructed. “Get right up in her grill, honey.” I straightened the elegant beaded black Dolce jacket I’d borrowed from Alana. A totally new look for me, the dress and matching jacket revealed miles of leg and a tease of cleavage. I hadn’t worn jeans for a week now. Marcella had suggested that the new, bad Hailey needed a new look, and so far I was having fun stepping out in style—mostly in items from the depths of Alana’s closet.
A young, pencil-thin woman with a blond pixie haircut came in and grinned. “Did you really ask for scotch! You boozehound!”
I laughed. “I figured it was worth a try.”
“I’m Zoe,” she said, extending her hand. “And I’ve heard that you’ve changed your look recently, but I must say, this is working for you. No more of that corn-fed midwestern girl, right?”
I crossed my legs. “I’m afraid we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Zoe smiled. “Let’s close the door. We’ve got a lot to talk about, I think. As you know, my specialty is behind-the-scenes info on the soaps.”
I nodded. “And I’ve got a few dozen Deanna anecdotes for you. I’ve sorted them in my mind by level of severity from nasty to depraved evil, but you can do with them what you like.”
Zoe’s blue eyes went wide in amazement. “Do you mind if I tape you? You’re the first person who’s ever been willing to go on record with Deanna dirt. The woman is so powerful in this industry, well, not to scare you off, believe me, but no one has ever been willing to cross her.”
“I used to feel that way, but she’s crossed me one too many times. She’s gotten me fired, she’s intimidated my boyfriend—”
“Antonio?” Zoe turned on the tape player. “I’d love some juice on him, too. You can imagine, he’s a big seller for us, too. But first thing’s first: Deanna and her insipid evils.”
“The thing to remember about Deanna is that she’s truly the queen of mean. No one on the set is safe from her tantrums and orders. She’s gotten makeup artists fired, and once she actually stuck a costume assistant with a straight pin.”
Zoe was writing furiously, a look of amazement on her face. “Is it true that she demands rewrites?”
“Won’t leave her limo if she doesn’t get them.”
“Ugh! I used to work production on a soap. No more. And the size-two costumes? I just have to ask ...”
“Actually, size six.” I nodded. “You heard it right. She’s been lying all these years. God knows why. I’m a size six and proud of it.”
“This is so great,” Zoe said, holding her hands up like I’d scored a goal. “But I’ll stop interrupting and let you dig into the whole stories. Like the time she threatened you. How’d that happen?”
“Well, she was waiting for me outside my dressing room, hiding in the shadows, when ...”
I told the story with relish, careful not to inflate any of the details. In some cases, the truth was odder than fiction, and when I’d decided to step forward, I promised myself I wouldn’t stoop to Deanna’s level. I was sticking to the real story, period.
The old Hailey would have hated this, but the new me was ready to rumble. If Deanna was going to sling the mud, I was willing to get my fingernails dirty and slop it right back.
Fire away.