Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
Natalie Blythe and I sat on two of the plush chairs surrounding the Zen garden table.
Rosie curled up in my lap. Infinity Wellness Center was about to close for the day, and Larch had the good sense not to return from her Reiki table inspection, so we were alone in the waiting room.
I explained the basics of what had happened between Melanie Joan, her publisher, and Book Babe. Natalie seemed genuinely surprised.
“Melanie Joan wrote a memoir?” she said.
“Yes.”
“And the prologue is about firing me?”
“Yes,” I said.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”
“She didn’t name you,” I said. “She used a pseudonym. Nobody would know, and even if they did—”
“It isn’t that,” Natalie said. “I don’t care about that.
What shocks me is, considering the type of life that Melanie Joan Hall has lived—the abuse, the stalking…
hell, all her exes getting killed off—that she’d remember me rewriting a few lines of dialogue and treat it like the worst thing that ever happened to her. ”
I looked at her. “Well, she said you did more than that.”
“If she did,” she said, “she’s lying.”
I didn’t say anything. I knew Melanie Joan Hall. She wasn’t a liar. Not intentionally. But she was a natural-born storyteller. It was possible that she’d exaggerated events in her mind, and on the page.
Regardless, Natalie was right about one thing: Melanie Joan had been through hell.
She was a control freak who had been unable to control anything in her life other than the characters she’d created.
And that was why rewriting those characters was the worst sin anyone could commit against her.
In Melanie Joan’s mind, Natalie had robbed her of what little power she had.
I didn’t bother explaining that to her, though. I wasn’t here to psychoanalyze her former employer. And anyway, I doubted she’d understand.
Natalie asked me exactly what Book Babe had written about Stronger Alone, and I told her, as best as I could remember. “She singled you out—well, your pseudonym. She said you had grounds to sue,” I said.
She smirked. “I guess maybe I still have one fan.”
“I’m sorry about what happened,” I said. “To your career.”
“You know what? I’m not.”
“Really?”
“I mean, the truth is, I wasn’t all that happy being an actor.
Even when I was fairly successful at it, I was always stressed out, always worrying about my next role.
What I had to look like to get that role.
What I had to be like. If I wasn’t cast, I took it personally.
And even if I did get the part, I’d be on edge for the entire shoot, worrying about living up to whatever wrongheaded image of me I’d put out there in order to impress the director. ”
“Sounds like a nightmare.”
“It was,” she said. “And don’t even get me started on reporters and critics. Social media…I was a mess.”
“I would be, too.”
“Right?” she said. “So…I tried to relax any way I could. I drank too much, and it made me feel worse. I tried Xanax, but I hated being dependent on pills. Then I discovered meditation. It worked. I found it not just helpful in easing my stress, but it opened up a whole new world for me—and I wanted to show the world to everyone. I started thinking maybe acting wasn’t my calling. Maybe the cure for it was.”
“Interesting.”
“So, weirdly, the whole thing with Melanie Joan was a blessing in disguise. It forced me to realize how much I hated acting. Plus, the NDA money made it so I could pursue my real dream.” She raised her hands and spread out her fingers. “Owning this place.”
“So, you aren’t bitter.”
She shook her head. “I’m grateful,” she said. “But please don’t tell Tony Gault.”
I laughed. “Knowing Tony, he’d probably talk you into a new deal where you’re the one paying Melanie Joan.”
“And I wouldn’t know what hit me until I was signing the check.”
“Talk about finding your true calling,” I said.
“Yep.”
Rosie stretched and yawned and rolled over onto her back. Natalie rubbed her belly and asked what kind of dog she was. I told her, and she asked if all miniature bull terriers were as “darling” as Rosie. Against all odds, I was starting to like this woman. “So you don’t miss Hollywood,” I said.
“Not even a little bit,” she said. “I’m happy here. I’ve got lots of family nearby, so I’m able to raise my little boy on my own.”
“His dad’s not around?”
She shook her head. “Donor. I did IVF.” She smiled at me. “Melanie Joan paid for that, too.”
“Nice,” I said.
“It is,” she said. “You have kids?”
“No,” I said. “Just Rosie. And my boyfriend has a son in junior high.”
“You’ve got your hands full, then,” she said. Natalie petted Rosie some more. Rosie obligingly moved from my lap to hers.
It hit me that I’d called Richie my boyfriend, not my fiancé.
And that brought to mind my conversation with him in the parking lot.
The unpleasant fact that he couldn’t make it to Boston and my equally unpleasant reaction.
I quickly closed the door on that. Save it for your next therapist visit, I told myself.
But then I remembered that Susan Silverman was on vacation for the next two weeks—in Crete, I was pretty sure.
She wasn’t even in an amenable time zone.
Not that I’d have been inclined to interrupt her if she was, but it would have been nice to have that option.
Rosie was licking Natalie’s chin. “Sorry,” I said. “She does that when she really likes someone.”
I told Rosie to stop, but Natalie said she didn’t mind. “Between this good girl and Book Babe,” she said, “I’m feeling very seen today.”
I watched her, thinking. “Natalie?”
“Yeah?” she said.
“Was there anyone on the set of A Girl and Not a God who was especially upset when you got fired?”
“I don’t remember,” she said. “I mean, I’ve blocked so much of that week out of my mind.”
“Understandable,” I said.
“Why do you ask?”
“Book Babe wrote that you have grounds for a lawsuit. As though she knows the truth of what happened.” I looked at her. “As though she was there.”
“Ah.” Natalie nodded slowly. “Come to think of it, there was someone,” she said. “A friend.”
“Who?”
“Kim Lash,” she said. “Head of wardrobe.”
“Really? Wardrobe?”
“We’d go out for drinks sometimes, trash Melanie Joan…”
“She didn’t like Melanie Joan, either?”
“Kim didn’t have anything against her personally,” she said. “But she liked me. We’d worked together previously, on a Hallmark movie. She said I wasn’t being treated fairly. She felt sorry for me.”
“That’s…strange.”
She laughed. “What? Someone liking me?”
“No,” I said. “It’s just that Melanie Joan told me that after she fired you, you stole a bunch of designer clothes and shoes from the wardrobe department.”
“First of all, it was just one dress and one pair of shoes.”
“Okay.”
“And I didn’t steal them. Kim gave them to me.”
“She did?”
“It wasn’t like the new actress was going to wear them. I’m a foot taller than her,” she said. “And Kim paid for the clothes herself.” She exhaled hard. “Melanie Joan said I stole them?”
“She wrote it in the book.”
Natalie raised an eyebrow at me. “That would be grounds for a lawsuit,” she said.
“Exactly.”
Natalie pulled out her phone. She found Kim Lash in her contacts and texted me the information. “You can tell her I gave you her number,” she said. “Kim and I still talk every once in a while.”
“Thanks, Natalie.” I stood up. “This is really helpful.” Rosie jumped off her lap, and I reattached her leash.
“Kim’s a big reader,” she said. “I hope she is Book Babe and you can put this thing to rest.”
“Me, too,” I said. “And Tony wasn’t lying about taking that story out of the prologue. I really do think we can convince Melanie Joan that it would be in everyone’s best interest.”
Natalie shrugged. “Whatever.” She looked downright serene.
I decided I should get back into meditation. It obviously had done wonders for Natalie’s outlook on life.
“Just out of curiosity,” she said as I started to leave. “What was the pseudonym she used for me?”
“Tallulah Airhead.”
She snorted. “And you’re telling me this woman couldn’t use a rewrite?”