heard of her. She’s only one of the most powerful producers in Hollywood. And her husband, Alexandre Chevalier, is like, the richest man in the world.”
“The seventh richest,” Star said seriously.
My stomach made a nervous flip again. I was so not looking forward to this meeting; being grilled by big shots and then told “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” The truth was I was using this trip as a sort of vacation. Hang out with Star. Catch a few rays. Then I’d go back to New York, back to my humble apartment with bad plumbing and noisy neighbors on the Upper West Side, and start auditioning again for plays. Even being nominated for a Tony Award was no golden ticket these days. Acting was hard work. Well, not so much the acting itself, but landing the jobs in the first place. Getting the audition was bad enough, but then doing a great reading, being right for the role, catching the director when he or she hadn’t gotten up on the wrong side of bed that day. Having the right sized boobs. Yes, even that. There were so many factors; talent, it seemed, was the least of it. I was already thinking about Plan B in my mind. Waiting tables? But my skills were paltry—even waiting tables was too taxing—the one job I had at a swanky Italian restaurant, I screwed up. Spilled drinks all over some CEO, and another time fell flat on my face with a bunch of plates stacked on my arms. That was the problem; all I’d ever done successfully was act. Or make squiffy pots out of clay. I had so few other skillsets.
Star must have sensed my insecurity. “Take that scrunched eyebrow look off your pretty face, Janie. You’ll be fine. Pearl is very friendly and she’s on your side.”
The words “on your side” gave me a clue as to where this meeting would be going. Star had obviously bullied Pearl into considering me for the part, and the other producers would be dead against hiring an unknown actress. They were not on my side, clearly. I sighed and just decided to take the whole thing as something to check off as “experience.” I’d be friendly, professional, and try to be myself. What more could I do? And I’d stick on the Halston vintage dress, and the platforms I probably wouldn’t be able to walk in, just to please Star.
I slipped on the little black 70s number and touched up my makeup while we were driving. A hint of gloss and some mascara, nothing more. I never did look good with too much makeup. Before I knew it, we’d arrived at the studio lot. Star handed her car keys to a valet, and we found our way through a labyrinth of hangars, before we arrived in the lobby where we were meant to be. It wasn’t sleek and monochrome, or fancy in any way. It was a nondescript beige room with a soda machine and a bored-looking woman behind the reception desk, who barely acknowledged me when Star introduced us. I guessed the woman—who wore a long flowy dress—was used to seeing movie stars and was nonplussed. Very LA.
“I’m just going to use the ladies’ room,” Star said, and before I had a chance to say, ‘me too,’ she added, “you wait here, just in case,” and she skipped off, leaving me standing there in my rockety, unstable heels.
The shoes were agony so I took them off, and as I was readjusting the straps, trying to figure out which way the buckles were meant to be—front or back—the receptionist said, “They’re ready for you now, Miss Cole.”
“Star’s—”
“If I were you, I’d go straight in. Sam Myers has another appointment to go to, he won’t like being kept waiting.”
My nervous fingers gave up fumbling with the straps. What was the point, anyway? I knew they weren’t going to hire me; shoes or no shoes. “Sure,” I answered, my throat dry. I walked towards the door in my bare feet, strappy sandals in hand, knowing the fact the receptionist hadn’t even given me a script meant this meeting was bullshit. Not a bona fide audition at all.
I pushed the door open. There was a long conference table and at the helm sat a very fat, oily-looking man: the infamous Samuel Myers. I’d seen his picture on the Internet. He was the producer for that massive blockbuster trilogy with Alessandra Demarr in the lead, the lesbian actress