Lou
It was torture and I did it anyway. I replayed the events of the Don’t Be Sad! premiere in my mind over and over again. I could hear the drum of my heartbeat as the lights dimmed, exhilarated by the feeling that I was on the precipice of the rest of my life. Ten years, I’d worked toward this.
And now it was all dead and gone and buried.
I noticed immediately that the movie I was watching didn’t quite match the script.
I remembered my scenes like I’d just walked off the set, but now I was confused about when they would come.
And then, about thirty minutes in, I recognized the set, my character’s home.
I almost grabbed on to the wrist of the man next to me with sheer excitement.
My phone beeped now, interrupting the vicious memory.
Trying to reach you
It was Liza, who had called twice this morning already.
She’d called many times yesterday as well but, after fleeing the theater with tears streaking my cheeks, I’d let my phone run out of battery until this morning.
Everyone had seen my social media posts about climbing the steps, the red-carpet glam, the thrill of finally seeing my movie.
Now that I’d gone silent, I was getting questions and comments about it all.
How was it?
You must be so happy.
Tell all!
I couldn’t face Liza, either. She was used to seeing me pick myself up and keep going, no matter what. She didn’t know how close I’d come to giving up. My entire future had hinged on this one role.
And now I’d lost everything. My LA life centered on my career, whatever sad little state it was in.
Most of my friends I knew from acting class; the one thing we really had in common was that hunger for Hollywood success.
I couldn’t think of one person I wanted to call and pour my heart out to about last night’s massive blow.
As for my love life, well, I’d had two semiserious relationships in the last decade. When each ended, it felt like just another sign that once I achieved my big dream, the rest of my life would fall into place. There was a right time for everything.
Or not, as it turned out.
Please, Liza texted now.
In my head I was back at the premiere, eyes glued to the screen.
My movie husband faced his killer. I entered the scene in the background.
I caught a glimpse of the dress I’d been wearing, red satin, straight out of Betty Draper’s closet.
But I appeared so briefly that no one would even spot me.
The dress was merely a streak of blood, a splatter from a crime scene.
I knew how film edits worked. Not all scenes made the final cut. My film classes had taught me that a story was shaped, in parts, in the cutting room. Shaped, yes. But pillaged?
My next scene came along. This time you could see me a little more, at afternoon tea with the other wives. My makeup looked so good in my close-up. I was fresh-faced, a lovely little doll. But I was gone in a flash. A silent flash.
The end credits rolled. Everyone got up for a standing ovation.
I sat there, numb, my mind still trying to process the fact that I’d gone from a career-launching role to background extra status.
All of my lines had been cut. If you didn’t know to specifically look for me, it was like I was never there at all.
I’d spent the last day subsisting on fruit from the hotel breakfast, running back to my room as fast as I could. This morning, the truth hit again ferociously. There would be no big break, only unbearable heartbreak.
I couldn’t imagine ever recovering from this. I was done. I’d gone completely broke for this trip, and this might be the last time I’d ever come to Cannes. So I put on a little black dress that had seemed so French when I packed it but now made me feel like I was on my way to my own funeral.
Outside, the sun made me squint, which did nothing to alleviate my splitting headache.
I’d forgotten my sunglasses upstairs, an injustice that suddenly filled me with bruising sadness.
The fact that I could have gone back up to get them didn’t even compute.
I walked and walked and walked. Going nowhere, feeling everything all at once.
Humiliation, despair, shame, a pain so deep it made me gasp for air.
I reached the bustling Croisette, passing by groups of women going into Dior or Louis Vuitton. I was walking along the promenade when my phone rang again. Liza. I couldn’t avoid her forever.
“Lou!” She said emphatically. “How are you?”
Liza had invested time and energy in me for years. When my own family had stopped showing any interest, she was the one who was there for me, always with the solid advice, the comforting words. And there I was, her greatest disappointment. I hated the idea of letting her down.
“Sorry I couldn’t talk before. I had a…family emergency. Long story. What did you think of the movie?”
I couldn’t believe that the words had come out of my mouth. Why would I bring it up?
Liza took a moment to respond. “It would be better with you in it.”
I wanted to cry. A part of me had hoped Liza hadn’t made it to the premiere at all. I hadn’t seen her, but of course she’d been there to witness my descent into oblivion. No, that wasn’t right. I had never ascended in the first place.
“Lou…” She continued.
“It’s a great movie! The cinematography, the sets, the costumes… So gorgeous.”
Maybe if I never stopped talking, then the tears wouldn’t start spilling again.
“I’m really sorry,” Liza said. “It happens all the time, but I hate it. I hate it as much as you do.”
But she didn’t. Liza had a roster of clients who were racking up roles and awards. She had a long, successful career behind her and much more of that ahead. At this point I was her pity client. Deadweight. She didn’t need me. Especially not now.
“Your next role is your best role; that’s what I always say,” Liza continued.
I kept pacing the promenade, avoiding dog leashes and kids on scooters wearing bright helmets. Many people wore badges around their necks, indicating various accreditations for the festival. I spotted an empty bench along the way and sat down, facing the turquoise sea.
“Talk to me,” Liza added.
No words came. My mind went back to the days of filming, seeking signs that I would eventually meet this fate. I couldn’t find any. In ten years, this had been my biggest catch, by a long stretch. I would never have done anything to screw this up. But I must have.
“Does Odetta Olson hate me?” The question spilled out. That had to be the explanation. “Did she see my performance and think that I was ruining her movie?”
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Liza said. “I mean, who knows? And who cares? It’s done now.”
“I care about what Odetta Olson thinks of me,” I said.
I didn’t realize how loudly I’d been speaking until I noticed a few people turning to look. A woman smiled as she sat next to me. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t tell where I’d seen her before.
“You’re spiraling,” Liza said.
“Maybe you could talk to her?” I suggested. “Ask her why she would do that?”
“Sweetie, my next meeting is here. Keep your head up; that’s the only thing you can do.”
Liza hung up before I could tell her that it was the only thing I couldn’t do right now. I’d kept my head up for so freaking long. I was tired.
“Hi,” the woman next to me said, leaning closer.
I put my phone down, curious.
“Hi?”
“You were at the Don’t Be Sad! party?”
I didn’t want to think about that night. The look of total bewilderment on Marshall Wild’s face when I’d recited my lines to him, hoping to jog his memory. He had no idea who I was, because I was nobody. I shook my head, trying to make it all fade away.
The woman looked funny. “Oh, I could have sworn.”
“No, I… Yes, I was there,” I mumbled.
“You’re an actor. You’re in the movie, right?”
That wasn’t a question; it was a minefield.
Though clearly she didn’t seem to know that. Her smile was warm and inviting, like we were already friends or something. I nodded.
“I’ve heard it’s amazing. I work in publicity for the studio, but I haven’t seen it yet. I know that sounds weird, but we’ve been so busy.”
Finally, I recognized her. “You were handling the guest list at the party.”
“Only until my boss pulled me over. Some things went down with Odetta Olson. You know what I’m talking about by the sounds of it.”
She pointed her chin at my phone. How much of my conversation with Liza had she heard? I responded with a half shrug.
“I’d love to talk to you about it. Can I buy you lunch? I’m Marnie by the way. Marnie Redd.”
I didn’t have anything to do before my flight home tomorrow, but I wasn’t in the mood for company.
“I, um…”
She bit her lip. “We all want the movie to succeed, right?”
I did not want the movie to succeed anymore, but admitting that would make me sound petty.
“Of course.”
“Well, my job is to make sure it gets as much good press as possible. And we’re not off to a great start, as I’m sure you know.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. I’d pretty much been locked inside my hotel room since the end of the premiere with my phone turned off.
Marnie didn’t let my silence deter her. “You were on set. You experienced it firsthand. We need your perspective.”
“My agent wouldn’t want me sharing anything—”
“It’ll be between you and me. What’s your name again?”
“Lou. But I should ask my agent first. Liza is funny about this stuff. What happens on set stays on set, you know?”
Marnie beamed. “Is that Liza Blick? We love Liza!”
“You know her?”
“Of course. It’s my job to know everyone. You’re in great hands.”
“I guess… When she’s not busy running to another meeting.”
“They’re all so busy,” Marnie said. “She didn’t even make it to the premiere. Everyone’s trying to squeeze in half a year’s worth of meetings while they’re here.”
I frowned. “She was at the premiere. We were just talking about the movie. She saw it.”
“Not last night. But you’re right: We held screenings in LA and she came to the first one, six weeks ago, I think? Liza is such a character.”
“That’s impossible. She would never—”
Marnie grimaced and I stopped myself. Liza had always been honest with me. Hadn’t she?
“If it really matters to you…” Marnie started.
I nodded eagerly. Of course it mattered. Liza had let me spend all my money on coming to Cannes. She’d let me humiliate myself.
“Here.”
Marnie pulled out her phone and flicked through her photos, then stopped at one and turned her screen to me.
I looked at it, breathless. Liza was with Marshall Wild, Odetta Olson, and a few other people. They were all standing in front of a movie poster with a sign that indicated the date of the screening.
Liza had known that I was cut from the movie for weeks. She had lied to me all along.
Marnie took her phone back.
“So, lunch? I really want to understand what’s going on with Odetta Olson. It feels like we’re missing a piece of the puzzle, and maybe you could help.”
I’d been so sure that this was the role that would crack everything open for me.
The sign that I was destined for this life.
And now, everything I’d ever wanted was so beyond out of reach I couldn’t even see it anymore.
I was going to leave Cannes an absolute failure, and it was all Odetta Olson’s fault.
She was the writer and the director. She was the one who’d cut me out, who’d destroyed my dream.
If Marnie wanted stories about her, I could give her some.
I checked the time on my phone.
“I have time for lunch.”
Like I had anywhere else to be anyway.