I open the door.
This is not like the trailers from my youth, double-wides on concrete blocks with screen doors banging in the wind. This is like a room at the Four Seasons: a beautifully furnished living room, completely decked out kitchen, bedroom in the back.
I run my hand over the lush fabric on the couch and am so taken by its luxe that I do not realize a young woman is sitting in it.
“Hi, I’m Ainsley, your makeup artist.” She stands. If she stepped out of her hoodie and into a gown, Ainsley could walk the red carpet without a stitch of makeup like Pamela Anderson. “I’m so sorry for sitting on your couch. It won’t happen again.”
I extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ainsley. And you can sit on my couch anytime.”
I smile, and her face brightens.
“My last gig out here was for a car commercial,” I say. “I was paid in fast food.”
She giggles and covers her mouth with her hand. “Sorry for laughing.”
“I’m sorry for having done it. The things you’ll do to make it in show business.” There’s a knock on the door.
“Yes?” I call.
A young man enters carrying a tray.
“Hi, I’m Zed. I have your oat milk latte with extra foam, a protein smoothie and steel-cut oats with fresh fruit,” he says, setting the tray on the counter in the kitchen. “Your refrigerator is filled with ionized water and Oikos Triple Zero yogurt. Let me know if you need anything else or have any questions.”
“Just one.”
Zed stops, curly hair bobbing into his long lashes. Zed is every bit as pretty as Ainsley.
I gesture at the tray. “What is all this?”
Zed looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Um, it’s part of your contract.”
“Ah.” I nod.
Stu Matthews.My agent is more thrilled than me that I’m back in the game. He’s going to squeeze every yogurt he can out of Paramount.
“Thank you,” I say.
Zed leaves. Ainsley looks at me and says, “Show business, right?”
I smile—too nervous to eat—but grab my smoothie and coffee, and take a seat at the makeup table that has been set up opposite the couch. Ainsley’s equipment is spread out before her. She goes right to work.
“So, how did you get the part?” she asks excitedly. “Everyone says it’s a great role. I heard Billy Bob was going to get it.”
Hollywood is worse than high school: Rumors fly down hallways, while pretty girls and bad boys get all the attention.
Ainsley applies a liquid foundation to her fingers and taps it onto my face. It is a perfect match to my skin tone, and I see Barry Goggins fade away before my very eyes.
“It’s complicated,” I say.
“Story of my life,” Ainsley says.
I tell her about my career, being cut fromThe Golden Girls—which she had never heard of before—and how Kyle was my first boyfriend in LA.
“We reconnected recently,” I say, “and he thought I would be perfect for the role. He introduced me to Mitch, and...” I hesitate “...it just happened rather quickly after that.”
Ainsley stops and pulls her hands away from my face. She scrutinizes her work in the mirror. I expect judgment.
