17. Willa
Chapter seventeen
Willa
U nlocking the front door and stepping back into my home in Malibu feels oddly surreal.
It’s been over seven months since I’ve been here, and in that time, I feel like I've transformed into a completely different person. Yet, as I walk through the foyer and into the living room, flipping on lights along the way, everything feels strangely the same. It feels as if I was living a parallel life, and now, I’m returning to my real life, morphing back into the very person I was trying to leave behind.
Following Nick's departure, I spent a few more days in Saltside with Maggie and my parents. Maggie was kind enough not to say I told you so . Mum…not so much.
Mum finally cornered me for our long-awaited mother-daughter chat.
She had a lot to say regarding the direction my life was going (downhill), what I could do to improve upon it (get my butt back to Hollywood), and my short-lived relationship with Nick (sad but expected given my dismal track record with men).
I know she only wants the best for me, but it still hurts to hear.
Upon leaving Saltside, I tried to pick up my solo traveling again, but my heart wasn’t in it. I wandered aimlessly around British Columbia for a week. When I should have been enjoying the scenery of Lake Victoria, I was mourning the end of my fling with Nick. It was pathetic.
That’s when I called Aiden and told him that I was coming to visit him in Nashville for my birthday, which is where I’ve been for the past two weeks. Aiden's brand of tough love was exactly what I needed to jostle me from my heartbreak and begin to feel better.
After a successful call with Hugh regarding the Princess Mila movie, it seemed like the right time to resume my life in Los Angeles as an actress.
I wish I was more excited about it.
When I told Max that I was returning to California early, he was ecstatic because that meant that I could join Hugh on a trip to Europe next week to scout locations and begin pre-production work on the film. With nothing else on my agenda, I accepted the invitation.
It was either that or sitting around twiddling my thumbs for months until the movie starts shooting. I figured it was better to keep busy.
After showering, I quickly dress, throw my hair in a ponytail, and eschew make-up in favor of a little sunscreen and Chapstick.
Lingering in my bedroom doorway, I stare at my piles of luggage. But a quick glance at the time tells me I'll have to wait to unpack until later. I’m already running late to meet Max.
“I’ve gotten lazy after living without a schedule,” I mutter to myself, jogging through the house and into the garage.
When I walk into Max’s office nearly an hour later, thanks to LA traffic, he’s on the phone. He shrieks when he sees me. Briefly, I think it’s because he’s glad to see me, but when I meet his stunned gaze, I realize that happiness is not the emotion skirting across his face .
Max is aghast.
“I’ll call you back. I have an emergency,” he yelps to whoever is on the other end of the phone line. Slamming down the receiver, he gapes at me. “What did you do, Peaches?” He waves his hand around me wildly. “Your hair. Your face. Your horrendous attire!”
At least Max is nice enough not to mention the twelve pounds I’ve gained.
I laugh as I look down at my comfy yoga pants and loose tank top. Max’s reaction reminds me of my mum’s. Except I pay Max ten percent of everything I make to spew this brand of crap to me. My mum offers her unsolicited advice for free.
“This is no laughing matter, Peaches!” Standing from his desk chair, he advances toward me with wild eyes, manically mumbling to himself as his gaze sweeps over every inch of me. Punching a button on his desktop phone, he yells at one of his assistants. "Claudia, get in here! Now!"
When Claudia runs into his office, Max gestures at me. Using his fingers, he begins counting off, “Haircut. Hair color. Spray tan. Botox. Facial. Stylist. Stat! Book all the appointments, Claudia. Pronto, pronto!”
"Claudia, wait. You don't need to do that," I remark, halting her in her tracks as her gaze bounces apprehensively between her boss and me.
"The hell she doesn't," Max shrieks.
"Wait! No, you don't." I smoosh my lips together, stifling a smirk at my agent's dramatics. “Max, I promise now that I’m back in LA, I will abide by LA beauty standards again. My virtual assistant already scheduled appointments with all my people for everything you mentioned, plus a brow lamination, nutrition assessment, and a couple of sessions with my personal trainer. ”
Slumping into the chair across from me, Max groans gratefully and waves to dismiss Claudia. “Thank fuck, Peaches. I was afraid you were going granola on me, avoiding all animal products and regular grooming.”
“Don’t tempt me, Maxi Pad. That sounds pretty heavenly."
Showing what a diva he is, he scrunches his nose at me as if he’s caught a whiff of a noxious odor.
Smirking disingenuously, he murmurs, “We’ll have to agree to disagree.
” Then, he dives into discussing the Princess Mila role.
“While Hugh wants you for the part, it wouldn’t hurt to begin your transformation into Princess Mila before you meet him next week,” muses Max.
He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin.
With a frown, he adds, "Especially since we're starting with a blank canvas. "
I snuff out a laugh that threatens to emerge. “I was thinking the same. Mila had brown hair and light eyes, like me. At my hair appointments, rather than going back to my usual russet shade, I think I might add some subtle lowlights and highlights to add dimension but keep my hair brown.”
“Yep, yep,” Max chirps. Twisting his lips to the side, he gestures to his jawline. “And get it cut into a French bob. Chin-length.”
“Whoa! Let’s not go crazy, Maxi Pad.” I’ve enjoyed the longer length that my hair is now. Sure, I’ll get it shaped and trimmed, but I don’t want to cut off eight inches. Not until I’ve officially been offered the role and signed the contract, anyway. "I won't go any shorter than shoulder-length."
And by shoulder-length, I mean several inches below my shoulders. But what Max doesn't know won't hurt him.
Max rolls his eyes petulantly. “Fine,” he sulks. “Moving on. Ask your stylist to send over some sophisticated, classic pieces to wear during your upcoming trip. Clothing that will be reminiscent of the time period but still fit into the modern landscape of today’s fashion.”
“So, no poodle skirts and bobby socks?”
Max rolls his eyes. “That was the 1950s, not the 1960s.”
I know it was. I just enjoy needling Max. It’s so easy to do.
But then he needles me right back. "About those personal training sessions…maybe book a few more. I know women don't like to discuss their weight, but Peaches…"
And there it is, I sigh.
I'm short and I'm naturally buxom. If I don't overanalyze every morsel of food that enters my body, I gain weight.
Compared to conventional beauty standards, I'm a normal-sized woman with curves, but within the movie industry, I might as well be a whale.
While traveling, I joyfully stopped dieting, but Hollywood doesn't care about my happiness.
Hollywood cares about my outward appearance.
Kate Moss famously said, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.
I disagree, but my dissent doesn't change anything. I need to lose the weight I've gained.
The people-pleaser that I am, I promise to start working out rigorously and get onto a low-calorie meal plan again.
"Also, I booked a magazine interview for you to announce your return to Hollywood."
“Okay," I nod, grateful to stop talking about my weight. "Do you have any info on my travel plans?”
“Claudia’s been playing phone tag with Hugh’s assistant, but she swears she’ll get back to me tomorrow with the plans. The dates have been locked down, but the studio is still finalizing the location and itinerary specifics.”
“Let me know when you have those details.”