People see what they want to see.
I’ve been successful. I’ve been rich. I’ve been happy in love. I’m still some of these things, some of the time. I have two beautiful children who have enjoyed the fruits of my labor on repeated occasions. You call them nepo babies; I call it wanting the best for my children, opening any door I can while I’m still able to kick through them in four-inch heels.
I’m not blaming you for going with it: the scorn and the contemptagainst me. All the terrible things I didn’t do, in a world where the truth never mattered anyway. The world of an aging woman in Hollywood.
But let me share my story for once, the unvarnished version. Then you can draw your own conclusions.Thenyou can make your own decisions.
I promise this: I will not try to make myself look good. This isn’t a redemption arc. I no longer care whether anybody likes me.
I would say that I reached that point when Dorian toppled over the railing to meet his fate.
But let’s go back to the start.
Listen,thenjudge.
I met Dorian when I was a fresh-faced seventeen-year-old in Hollywood. Everything was different back then, and everything was exactly the same. We were filming the pilot of a TV series that would never see the light of day, as most don’t. It’s easy to believe that you’re owed everything you want the minute you’ve decided you wanted it. But weallhave to wait for our time.
I fell in love with Dorian. He was handsome, obviously. Like everyone else, I was drawn to his hypnotic light. Anywhere we were, he was like a centripetal force; we all orbited around him. At parties, girls would throw themselves at him. They laughed at his jokes, sought him out everywhere, their blouses suddenly half-unbuttoned. He could have anyone. And he acted like it was nothing. But only in the way that someone who has everything can’t fathom their life ever taking a wrong turn.
When Dorian chose me, I felt like the luckiest girl alive. It was a long time ago now, and I’m not sure how much I should trust my memory, but I believe we had a few happy months together. I pictured us married and in a stunning house in Beverly Hills. Collecting awards, smashing box offices, lighting up every party. The envy of everyone, everywhere.
I didn’t see the signs for a very,verylong time.
What can I say? I was in love and that made me stupid.
These days, you girls know everything. You draw lines. You set boundaries. You have principles. And you stick to them.
Must be exhausting.
I had the attention of a gorgeous man who I thought would unhook the moon from the sky and hand it to me. I couldn’t believe my luck.
It was subtle at first. I would go for an audition, something I was really excited about, and Dorian would purse his lips then wonder aloud if that was the best I could do. He’d read the script and declare himself underwhelmed, swearing my talent was worth more than that. I didn’t always listen to him. Sometimes I followed my gut. I went to the callback and took the part when it was offered. Dorian would grow cold. He’d disappear from my life for days, not answering my calls. I’d waver between the elation of professional success and the despair of missing him. Wondering if I’d lost him.
Inevitably—or I guess itwasavoidable, it just didn’t occur to me at the time—it would send me down a terrible spiral of failure. I’d flunk the final audition. I’d express concerns about the role to the director—often repeating Dorian’s words verbatim—and they’d change their mind about me. On the rare occasion I’d go ahead with the role, I wouldn’t hear from Dorian during the whole time we filmed. He simply vanished. I’d lose sleep, sanity, and my work would show it. Many people never called me again. At the time, acting like a diva was tolerated. Respected, even. You could be unhinged, make the wildest demands, and no one would push back, as long as you were great. But being average was always the kiss of death.
If it sounds like I’m blaming some of my poorly reviewed performances on my boyfriend, well, honestly, fuck it. Try acting, or doing anything else, when the person you love the most in the world despisesyou so much they can’t be in a room with you.
When he came back—and he always did, eventually—I felt whole again, high on his presence. Yes, I cried to him about how he’d abandoned me. I begged him not to do it again. But the moment he kissed me, the moment his hands started traveling all over my body, I was done for. All his bad deeds wiped from memory. A clean slate.
Meanwhile, as everyone knows, Dorian’s career soared. It was an endless string of critically acclaimed movies and box office hits. Back then, you could make a lot of money in Cinema with a capital C. You didn’t need to sell out to a superhero franchise. There was that first Golden Globe nomination, the highest high, and we celebrated by flying to Paris for the weekend. I was so happy, like it had happened to me. The months that followed his loss were some of the darkest of our life together, but my memories of that time are more sweet than bitter. He needed me. He loved me. We were together every moment of every day.
Dorian was all mine again.
Until I got the call for my first big role. The script was brilliant. I wanted to do that movie so badly that I wouldn’t let anything get in the way. I didn’t tell Dorian about it until after I got the part. I hated myself for keeping that from him, but I knew what he would say about me being away for months. He’d make me feel terrible about the nudity in the story, and he’d probably question whether I’d be faithful to him.
He broke up with me two weeks before we started filming. Many critics called my performance uneven. It was a great movie, but no thanks to me.
The next time I saw Dorian, three years later, I was newly married to my first husband.
You’ve heard the rumors that I cheated on him.
They are true but the details aren’t.
There weren’t a dozen men. There weren’t that many drugs. Iwasn’t—and still am not—a sex maniac.
The only source of my mania was Dorian. The lies I told, the stories I made up, to be with him. He started acting jealous. He was reckless, talking with my husband when we bumped into each other at parties, turning up to my house unannounced, getting us almost caught a dozen times.
I loved my husband. Iwashappy with him. I’m not saying the stories of our horrendous fights aren’t true, but my feelings only belong to me.
