“No. I don’t know—protesters of some sort. A line of them as I drove in this morning. Didn’t you see them?”
I shook my head.
He leaned against the foam gravestone bearing Stella’s name but thought better of it. “I bet Bertie Tuttle’s gone ballistic. That’s one woman you don’t want to piss off, even if she is a hundred.”
“Ninety-nine,” I said.
“Look,” he said. “This must be extra difficult for you, you know, because… well, because of your involvement.”
“I’ve got nothing to do with the lawsuit,” I said.
“Well, you know. Because you’re close with the Tuttles, with Halley, all that. And because your face is on the soap.”
“I was a kid. I doubt anybody even remembers it’s me.” I sat down on the bench next to Stella’s grave, still warm from Celeste. “Orthodontics and hair dye.”
Even as I said the words, I knew it was a lie. Sure, I played Stella, but I was better known as the Earthshine Girl, the original Earthshine Girl, famous face of the soap. At age seven, I’d been discovered, singing at Music Hall with my school choir in the May Festival. Shortly thereafter, Bertie Tuttle herself offered me the part. It wasn’t my acting that made me famous. It was the soap. It was because I’d been inPeoplemagazine. “It’s the Earthshine Girl!” strangers would shout from their cars, even years later, even after orthodontics and hair dye. Occasionally someone would ask for a photo or an autograph.
“Look, Nona,” Elliot said, changing the subject. “Last week we had to do three takes during the funeral scene. And forgetting lines? I just don’t want to see you written off again.”
“I’m always written off, Elliot. That’s the whole point of bringing me back.”
“So soon. You know what I mean. I’ve been talking to the writers about making you a series regular,” he said. “They’re considering pitching it to the execs.”
“Do I get a love interest?” Stella never had a romance, no desires of her own, no storyline written just for her character. Writers easily killed her off because nobody besides Celeste everreallycared she was gone.
“This isn’t exactlyLove Connection. I… I know you’re dealing with some, uh, personal stuff. You and Wyatt.”
“You know about that?” We hadn’t used the worddivorce. Not yet. A month apart—some time to think—had turned into three. I stared down at my shoes, Edwardian oxfords that reminded me of what Virginia Woolf might have worn when she walked into that river with rocks in her pockets.
“Everyone sort of knows, yeah.”
“Did Halley tell you?” I asked.
“She just wanted to help.Iwant to help. We’re like family.”
“Does Stella live this time?” I only ever received the script a week in advance, at the cold reads, to ensure the storyline didn’t get out to the gossip rags, thoughStars and Shadowsmay have benefited from that kind of publicity.
“You know I can’t tell you that.” Elliot sat beside me on the bench.
“I thought we were family.”
“Showfamily.”
“I need this job, Elliot.”
“It’s not up to me. I’ve always said I think you have star potential.”
“Potential. That’s what we called the girls who made chorus. At the conservatory, I was always the lead,” I said. He put his arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder. “I was good. I was better than good.”
“Word of advice?” he said. His breath smelled like the Fritos and Skyline Chili dip someone left in the green room. “This isn’t the conservatory anymore. This is real life.”
HALLEY WAS WAITING FOR MEin my dressing room, her feet up on the vanity to reveal the Birkenstocks she wore, even in winter. Sherarely used makeup, but her lips were smeared with my lipstick—Sugared Maple—the plum tones washing her out so she looked sick.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I heard you flubbed your lines,” she said. She’d been reading theCincinnati Inquisitor, but now she folded it and tucked the paper beneath her arm.
Halley Tuttle was my “studio mom,” we used to joke, though she was only eight years older than me. She had been hired at the studio as “Chaperone to the Earthshine Girl,” her official title, and she continued in this role even after I was let go. I came of age on-screen, and it was Halley who guided me through my body’s changes. When I found that first spot of brown period blood, it was Halley who rushed me to the bathroom with a Kotex, explaining to me what my own mother wouldn’t because we didn’t speak of such things at home. That I had to be careful because I could get knocked up,like my mother did with me, Halley said, even though I was only twelve and still five years away from losing my virginity on a waterbed that sloshed with each movement. Afterward, Halley would be the first person I’d call.
