most days. I’d won a Golden Globe for my performance the year before, but not even that award had saved this idiotic drama when the network decided to make some cuts.
I had other jobs already lined up, so as soon as we wrapped up the show for the final episodes in February, I could take my pick of whatever role I wanted.
“Miss Stevenson, you have a package in your dressing room,” Freddie, the director’s assistant, informed me when he spotted me.
I gave him a small smile. Freddie was possibly the least annoying person on set, so I always tried to be nice to him. “Thanks. I’ll get it later.”
After I spent over an hour getting my makeup redone for the second time that day and I had to deal with the torture of putting on that stupid blond wig I hated so much, the afternoon passed in a blur of take after take. I was ready to drop by the time I made it to my dressing room. The couch by the window seemed so inviting, enticing me to lie down for an hour or two for a nap before I drove home, but I wanted the comfort of my own bed more.
I grabbed my gym bag that I brought with me every day and held all my essentials, then I spotted the medium-sized package Freddie had told me about earlier. When I picked it up, it was surprisingly lighter than I expected. A courier must have dropped it off, because I didn’t see a return address, just my name and the address of the studio where my show was filmed five days a week for twenty-plus weeks of the year.
Figuring it was work-related since the director’s assistant had put it in my dressing room, I decided to open it when I got home. Yawning, I walked out to my car and quickly put the top up since the temperature had dropped now that the sun was down.
Traffic sucked, so it was almost an hour later before I walked into my apartment. I dropped my bag and the box before engaging the locks and making my way into the kitchen. I had a housekeeper who came in during the week to tidy up and cook me some dinner so my mom didn’t worry I wasn’t eating right.
Pulling the food container out of the fridge, I saw Carol had made grilled salmon with asparagus and wild rice. I popped it into the microwave and decided to call Palmer back.
“Have you been on any of the socials today?” my best friend demanded in greeting as soon as she answered.
I grabbed a bottle of water and uncapped it, rolling my eyes. You would think she was the actress with how dramatic she could be at times. “Nope. I’ve been too busy to worry about social media land and everyone’s shit today.”
And I knew she would give me all the highlights anyway, so most of the time, I just waited for her to give me a rundown on all our mutual friends.
By the time the microwave dinged, she was still talking a mile a minute and I was a little bored with her recounting of the social media soap opera. I put her on speaker and just let her talk while I ate standing up by the sink. I didn’t even hear half of what she said. I was half asleep and only wanted to fall face first into bed.
“I don’t know what he sees in that bitch anyway. She’s not even close to being in your realm of hotness. And have you heard her laugh? Ugh. So annoying.”
The disgust in her voice made me smile, even though I didn’t know who she was talking about.
“Tell us how you really feel, Palms,” I laughed before taking the last bite of my dinner, and then I rinsed the plate. Licking my lips, I put it in the empty dishwasher and then grabbed one of the tiny chocolate caramel truffle balls that I indulged in for dessert most nights. I needed something sweet after dinner, but I couldn’t risk gaining weight from eating the way I really wanted to. Those truffles saved my career and my thighs.
She gave a disgusted grunt. “She’s so trashy, Arella. Admit it, you think so too.”
“Of course she is,” I agreed, still unsure who she was talking about.
“Anyway, I heard she lost her mind when he was seen out with the Danish princess or whatever she is.” She gave a snort.