I suppressed another yawn. Damn that jet lag.
Liza took a measured sip. “How’s your hotel?”
I was (it’s probably obvious by now) not staying at the Carlton. “Really charming, and it’s not that far from the action. I love a walkable town. Idiscovered so many pretty little streets on the way here.”
Until the very last minute, I had hoped the movie studio would stop their idiotic nonsense and put me up somewhere nice. I’d already be “in the neighborhood.” All they had to do was book me a room. By the time I’d accepted that they weren’t going to spend a single dollar on me, there was nothing left but a crappy chain hotel far away from everything. I’d checked in a couple of hours ago, pretended not to notice the scratchy sheets and the paper-thin walls, and skipped out of there as fast as I could. To the Carlton. Where I belonged. Theoretically.
“And my pass to the premiere?” I asked, casually.
The neutral look in Liza’s eyes gave nothing away. “I’m working on it.”
I clenched my teeth. “I cannotwaitfor tomorrow.”
I could handle not being invited to tonight’s opening ceremony. I knew to be reasonable, sometimes. You can’t ask foreverything.
Liza’s phone rang, the upbeat ringtone clashing with the jazz background music. Surely, she wasn’t going to interrupt our celebration.
Apparently, I couldn’t be sure of anything.
“Honey! Yes, I’m here. Drinking champagne with a client in the middle of the afternoon. I’d say I’m in Cannes, all right.”
She winked at me. Five years ago, I’d been over the moon to sign with Liza Blick, Hollywood agent of the shiny shark variety. She had gotten me work. Not a lot, and not a lot of it well paid, but she had made me an actor. A professional. Liza had plucked me out of obscurity and placed me in shadowy parts of the industry, where I awaited my big break. Thanks to her, I was someone on the verge of something, which was a lot better than being on the edge of nothing. But right then, I might have contemplated punching her just a little bit.
She continued her conversation, oblivious. “But of course, darling! You know I’m always here for you.”
Another wink at me. I thought I recognized an Oscar-winning actor across the room and was halfway up from my stool, ready to go introduce myself.
“Don’t stare,” Liza mouthed.
“I wasn’t,” I said, glancing at the actor again.
Liza pressed her hand over her phone and whispered, “Everyone is famous here. Get used to it.”
Liza droned on about contracts to be negotiated and deals to lock in while here “across the pond.” I downed my champagne. This wasn’t exactly how I pictured my introduction to glamorous Cannes. I picked up my phone and checked my Instagram account, where I had built up to a decent following over the last few years. I shared behind the scenes of movie lots, script pages, costume fittings, that sort of thing. I spread my content as thinly as I could, like the last scoop of peanut butter, making one rehearsal session look like five different ones. Busy, busy me, manifesting my bright future. Showing my family how hard I worked at it.
To my modest but growing audience, it was the selfies that did the heavy lifting. I was a blue-eyed blond with slim features and sharp cheekbones. One day, I’d get compliments for my range of accents or how my face seamlessly contorted to convey pretty much any emotion. But for now, look at me doing yoga on the beach at sunset or lying poolside in a little bikini!
Enter my big Cannes moment.
I’d already shared a picture of the beautiful bar to kick things off, and the likes were filling up my notifications.
A story by Odetta Olson caught my attention. She’d arrived in Cannes that morning and had posted the view (sailboats, lush palm trees, you get the picture) from her hotel suite, probably a few floors above me right now. On the next slide: a rack of couture dresses brought over to her suite by her stylist, the sought-after Carly Wolf. Then, minutes ago: a rooftopbar called Le Bain with the caption,Checking out the venue for tonight’s pre-premiere party!
Liza must have noticed the look on my face because she stopped gabbing and questioned me with a perched eyebrow.
“Honey, I’ll see you in a bit, okay?” Liza said, hanging up.
I’d read up a lot on what happened in Cannes and expected there would be a party after the premiere tomorrow. If Odetta Olson was also hosting one tonight, why didn’t I know about it? I would have asked that out loud if a fifty-something man hadn’t approached us at the same moment. Liza got up to greet him.
“Patrick!” she said, as they kissed on each cheek.
Liza didn’t even introduce me.
I kept scrolling on my phone while they chatted. There had to be an explanation. Maybe it was a last-minute thing. Maybe Liza was going to tell me about it before we were interrupted.
That Patrick guy kissed her goodbye. Immediately after, Liza spotted someone else across the room.
“Sweetie, I gotta go,” Liza said, already slipping her arm through the handle of her bag.
