Chapter Lou
Lou
I was leaving Cannes; there was no question about that. My career was over, my spirits crushed. I’d run out of money. But I couldn’t fathom the idea of being in LA, breathing in the hopes of anyone who hadn’t yet been broken by the chase of their Hollywood dream.
And yet, there was one loose thread I had to snip off before getting on that plane.
I’d spent the last few years trusting Liza with every corner of my heart.
She’d been my shoulder to cry on, my own personal motivational coach, the one person I allowed myself to talk to about the Oscar wins and multimillion-dollar contracts that were definitely coming for me.
If she’d been honest with me, I never would have come here.
I’m not sure what I would have done after learning that my only important role to date had been left on the cutting room floor, but spending all my savings to fly to Cannes and humiliate myself wasn’t it.
So really, this was Liza’s fault. But I still couldn’t accept the lie, the betrayal. There had to be an explanation.
I pulled out my phone and flicked through my contacts until I found Marnie’s name.
She’d insisted on giving me her number at the end of our lunch yesterday, in case I remembered anything else about Odetta Olson.
Marnie had grilled me on the topic with impressive skill.
She’d pressed the issue gently but firmly, until she felt like she’d squeezed every last drop out of me.
Had anything unusual happened on the set of Don’t Be Sad!
? Had I interacted with Fiona Pills much?
How so and when? What was Odetta Olson like?
What did I think of the two women? What did I know? What had I seen?
Liza would have been so proud of me. When Marnie first approached me, I’d been tempted to get back at Odetta Olson for cutting me out of her movie without warning. I felt the urge to unleash all my frustrations, to go on a rant about the hell that awaits women who don’t support other women.
But I couldn’t do it. In the end, I’d told the simple truth.
I had loved being on set, spending entire days filming with seasoned professionals, and a female director with a bold creative vision.
Feeling like I was part of a cast full of strong women and a unique story I couldn’t wait to see on-screen.
Besides, Marnie hadn’t seen the movie. It was nice to have someone with whom I could keep up the illusion for a little while longer. And she had that cool confidence that immediately made me want to impress her.
I sent her a text.
Hey, thanks again for lunch yesterday! I’m supposed to meet with Liza this morning, but she forgot to tell me where and now she’s not responding. Any chance you know where she is?
I didn’t want to ask Liza to meet before I left. I knew she’d remind me, yet again, that we could talk when she was back in LA. But this couldn’t wait. If Marnie guessed that I made it up, she didn’t let on. Moments later, a voice message came through. I tapped Play, intrigued.
Hi Lou! You did not hear this from me, obviously, but there’s a breakfast happening right now at La Petite Maison.
Right by the Palm Beach. Looks gorgeous!
Anyway, I don’t know for sure, but there’s a good chance Liza was invited.
I’d say they’re about midway through it now but, again, I didn’t tell you this.
Thank you!!!! I texted back.
The voice note had already disappeared from our message thread. Damn she was good.
The restaurant was about a forty-five-minute walk, near a little harbor in a pointy inlet on the south of town, an area called Pointe Croisette. I arrived there dressed in innocuous black jeans and a matching T-shirt, my hair pulled back. My airplane outfit.
I waited off to the side of the entrance, my head hung low so no one would pay me any attention as they exited the restaurant.
I felt like a killer for hire waiting for her target.
I know this joke is in poor taste now, but I’d never even come close to being involved in a murder at that point. I used to live a simple life.
Twenty minutes later, a group of people came down the front steps, holding on tightly to one another as they laughed, the way you do after a few too many drinks. It wasn’t even noon.
Liza stood out in a yellow wrap dress with large red apples printed on it. My palms grew sweaty as her group turned left, away from me.
“Liza,” I whisper-screamed.
She paused, almost losing her balance in the process.
“Liza!” I said again, louder.
She turned around, gaze unfocused. When, eventually, she clocked me, her face fell.
Her companions waited for her, but she shooed them away with a promise that she’d catch up to them in a minute.
I knew that was just a thing people said like, Be there in a sec!
but it pierced something within me. I was worth so little of her precious time.
Liza looked me up and down.
“I’m on my way to the airport,” I said, justifying my outfit.
“Oh good.”
She sounded relieved. Like, finally I’d leave her alone. I wanted to die a little bit. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid.
“I need to ask you something.” My voice was shaking. “Did you see the final cut of the movie a few weeks ago? Did you know all along that I’d been edited out? Did you let me spend all my money coming here knowing how horrible it would make me feel?”
Liza raised a dubious eyebrow. “I thought your sister paid for your flight because she was so desperate for your help?”
Normally I’d have burned with shame at being caught in such a stupid lie, but I was too stung by the fact that this was Liza’s response to my tirade.
She let out a sigh as she glanced back at her group. A man was checking his watch. Two others looked her way, frowning impatiently.
“Scenes get cut. It’s not about you.”
Had she always been this heartless? Or did that side of her only come out when her clients turned into certified failures?
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I couldn’t get past this.
“When they don’t invite you to the premiere…when they don’t even let you know that there will be a premiere at Cannes…it’s a pretty clear sign. You’ve been at this long enough. You should know that.”
“But they did invite me to the premiere in the end.”
I knew this was a small detail to hang on to, but my world had been so shaken in the last few days and nothing made sense anymore.
Liza shook her head. “I gave you my pass. That’s why I wasn’t there. I couldn’t wrangle an extra seat out of the studio.”
Maybe I should have seen this as a sign that Liza cared about me. But it felt pathetic. Pitiful.
“What happens now?” I said, my voice pebbled with tears.
Liza let out a deep sigh. “What happens now is up to you, Lou. You want the universe to show you that this will all happen, but that’s not how it works.
You might get another great role tomorrow, or not for another three years.
Or maybe never. We’re all just feeding coins into the slot machine and holding our breath.
Nobody has a fucking clue, and the odds are never in our favor.
We have to be grown-ups and accept the uncertainty or get out of this industry and become an accountant in a sad little beige office. ”
Her tone had a boozy quality, devoid of all decorum. Panic choked me. Gone were the days when Liza tried to manage my feelings, detail my talent, tell me she saw great things in me.
“That’s it?” I said, unable to let it go.
“Yes, Lou. That’s all of it. I don’t have the answers. You have to decide if you want to keep going. And it’s okay if you don’t. Maybe I’m not the right champion for you anymore. Maybe you should look into alternatives.”
I jerked back, like she’d shoved me into oncoming traffic. Was Liza breaking up with me when I was at my lowest?
“I have to go,” she added, stopping me from pondering this further. “And so do you. Have a safe flight, Lou. We’ll talk another time, okay?”
My phone beeped and Liza used the distraction to slip away, back to her colleagues.
First, I noticed the Instagram notifications, the dozens of new followers, and more coming while I was checking the app.
There were a few new direct messages, too.
I’d never heard about you before that Dis-Moi Tout story, one new follower wrote.
What the hell was happening? Still standing outside the restaurant, I tapped on the Dis-Moi Tout account.
There I was.
Or rather, parts of me. It was a photo taken at the bottom of the steps on premiere night.
You could see a lot of my bare legs and only little pieces of silver sequins.
That dress really didn’t cover much at all.
Just enough to adhere to the festival’s dress code—and their “no nudity requirement”—but no more than that.
Mostly, there was Dorian Fisher, his arms around me, his face way closer to mine than I’d remembered.
And then I read the caption.
Dorian Fisher and his new flame hiding in plain sight.
They’re in Cannes, they’re in love, and they don’t care who’s watching.
The usually extraprivate Dorian Fisher surprised us all when he arrived two hours early to the premiere of Don’t Be Sad!
And now we know why: he ditched the walk up the stairs with the cast to spend some quality time with his new leading lady.
We’re still trying to figure out the mystery woman’s identity as she hasn’t been seen in public with Dorian beyond this hot moment of PDA.
Edited to add: Thank you to our followers who identified the lucky girl! It’s Lou Ocean Utley, a rising actor. Guess we’re going to be hearing a lot more about her now. Stay tuned!
I tried to reread the caption, but so many notifications popped up on my screen that I couldn’t focus.
I’d already paid for my flight home, which was leaving in a few hours.
I was so very broke.
And obviously, I had no business staying in Cannes.
Or maybe I did?