Lou
On the way back from meeting that horrible casting director, I deflated a little more with every step, like a birthday balloon three days past the fun times. Samuel and émilie had texted me to come join them at some party, but I couldn’t face it.
What did that mean, “for a girl like me?” That woman didn’t know anything about me.
But then again, I’d failed hundreds of auditions at this point.
I’d been passed over for great roles over and over again.
And even when I did manage to get one, we all know what happened.
I wasn’t worth even a few seconds of screen time.
I had nothing to show for myself. No money. No one. Nothing.
That was the mood as I walked along the sidewalk.
A car slowed down to my right and panic seized me.
After all my luck in Cannes, I had a vision of ending up butchered in the back of some serial killer’s trunk.
For a brief moment, I considered running but, one, my feet hurt and, two, I didn’t care enough to save myself.
There, I said it. I had no fight left in me.
The car came to a stop, and I looked over my shoulder, slightly panting. The window lowered.
“Can we give you a ride? I’m pretty sure we’re all headed to the same place.”
I squinted in the dark and recognized Marnie, the publicist I’d met a few days ago.
“How do you know where I’m going?”
“Hey!”
Constance leaned over and addressed me with a small wave.
She glanced at my dress and grimaced, unwilling to lock eyes with me.
On closer inspection, the two women looked a little like sorority girls on their fourth stop of the night, panda eyes, mussed-up hair, and wrinkled clothes.
Considering it was barely dinner time, those were signs their day had gone about as well as mine.
“We would really like to talk to you,” Marnie said.
I wasn’t getting murdered yet. Marnie shuffled to the middle seat and I got in.
“I recognize the dress!” she added, with a faux breezy tone.
Constance looked out the window, away from me. The driver started again. We rode in silence for a few minutes.
Marnie took a deep breath and turned to me.
“Let’s get this out of the way. You’re not really sleeping with Dorian Fisher.”
Of all of the things I might have expected to hear from her, that wasn’t it.
“How can you be so sure?”
“It’s my job to tell baseless rumors apart from juicy gossip. And you’re walking down the street alone in this…outfit.”
She tried to keep her face neutral, but the “yikes” was written all over it. I wanted to be offended, but she was right. This dress was bad.
Constance leaned forward so she could see me.
“I’m sorry, but you already had it on and you looked like you were in a rush. Still, I shouldn’t have encouraged you to go out dressed like this. That was not cool.”
Marnie frowned, looking from her to me, but neither of us felt like explaining our interaction from earlier.
“I’m not into older men,” I said, moving the conversation along.
Constance looked stung. “He’s not just an older man.”
Marnie jumped in. “Let me see if I’ve got this right.
You have a small but important role in this hot movie everyone’s talking about.
But the director is a… Let’s just say she’s a complicated woman who’s hogging the spotlight like it’s the only warm blanket left on a freezing cold night.
It’s hard enough for Odetta Olson that Fiona Pills has become such a star since she cast her.
Dorian Fisher has a ton of influence, and everyone knows his company is behind Odetta Olson’s movie.
So the studio has to listen to her at least a little bit.
To make her happy they decide to keep the focus on the main cast, the heavy players.
That’s why you’re getting nothing from them. Why you’re staying at…you know.”
“And why you don’t have a stylist,” Constance chimed in.
“How are we doing so far?” Marnie asked.
Her tone was steady, her spine pulled straight. But she was drumming her fingers on the bag resting on her leg, the only sign of unrest.
I liked her version of the story. It would explain so much.
“Continue,” I said.
“I think you deserve a lot more of the spotlight,” Marnie said.
Constance agreed. “You’re the newest talent on the block, and new is always better.”
“You’re young,” Marnie said. “You’re gorgeous.” I reacted. “Let’s not pretend you don’t know that.”
“And I’m sure you have an amazing role lined up next,” Constance said.
For a minute, I wondered if they were just screwing with me. If they knew the extent of my failures and just wanted to have a little fun with it. But on the odd chance they weren’t, I kept my mouth shut.
“Because you work so hard,” Marnie added. “Because we all work so fucking hard. Don’t we?”
The car parked in front of the hotel.
“I don’t have a new role lined up yet,” I admitted.
It made me feel a tad better to share a sprinkle of truth.
Marnie perked up. “Even better.” She noticed the miffed look on my face and added, “Sorry, but it proves my point. Now’s your time to claim your spot on this world stage.”
“You don’t even know me.”
If my first few days in Cannes had taught me anything, it was that I couldn’t trust anyone.
Marnie took the hit with a smile. “So you tell us. What do you need?”
I didn’t realize she was genuinely asking until the driver checked us out in the rearview mirror. Neither of us had made a move to get out of the car.
“And you care about that because…”
Constance glanced at her. “We should cut the bullshit. We don’t have much time anyway.”
“You’re right,” Marnie said. “I think the three of us could help each other. I need to prove to my boss that I can get better publicity for the movie. So I can, at the very least, keep my job and… Well, that’s the gist of it.”
“And I,” Constance said, “need someone like you. A rising star who gets photographed to death in my outfits. A lot of designers sent me their clothes for the festival and I need a hot body to wear them, but it can’t be just anyone.”
I looked from one to the other. “I’m not exactly getting photographed to death.”
“Not yet,” Marnie said, nonplussed. “That’s where I come in.”
“How?”
I opened the car door. The evening chill gave me goosebumps.
“You deserve better than this,” Marnie said.
Not an answer, but not something I could disagree with either. We’d just walked into the lobby, and she looked pointedly at our surroundings, that god-awful lighting, the stained carpet.
“Odetta Olson’s suite is five times bigger than our three rooms combined,” Marnie said.
“I hate this place,” I said.
“This shithole is bringing us down,” Constance said.
“You’re right. Let’s get out of here,” Marnie said.
I shook my head. “I’m not wearing this dress for one more second.”
“There’s a solution for that,” Constance said.
She took us to her room, which was filled with piles of clothes, bags, and shoes, all neatly organized by color and style. There was barely enough space for the three of us to stand there.
The air smelled like salt and grease. The trashcan was full of empty packets of various types of chips. Marnie went to lean against the far wall and crossed her arms against her chest while Constance rummaged through the clothes.
“People give you this stuff?” I asked, incredulous.
“No one gives anything to anyone,” she said, still facing a stack of shoe boxes. “It’s an exchange of services.”
“You’re gonna need to go to five events a day. Minimum,” Marnie said, referring to the sheer volume of outfits Constance had in her possession. “We’ll get you into the good ones, trust me.”
A few minutes later, Constance laid on the bed a colorful outfit made of beaded shorts with a matching crop top, both adorned with an intricate floral motif in pink, blue, and yellow. It was summery and cool. Not anything I would have picked, but I found myself excited to try it on.
“If you don’t like it, I’ll come up with something else,” Constance said. “You’re the client here.”
“You know I can’t afford you?”
Marnie jumped in. “If we do this right, this will all pay off in the end. For everyone.”
There was something about Marnie that made it feel like she was automatically in charge.
Constance kneeled down by the safe and poked inside for a while. She extracted a gold bangle and a pair of earrings that she laid down on top of the outfit, then swiftly locked the door again.
“Is that Clapard?” Marnie asked, sounding impressed.
Constance nodded, then looked away.
“I’ll go back to my room and get changed,” I said.
“No need,” Marnie said. “Do it here. We’ll wait downstairs.”
There was no questioning her. I’m not saying this to justify what I did.
Or at least, not completely. But let’s remember that Constance had invited us into her room.
She seemed completely fine with leaving me alone there.
She smiled at me before they headed out the door.
I started unzipping my dress before it had shut behind them, intent on joining them in a few minutes.
Instantly I felt good in this new outfit. I clasped the bangle around my wrist and secured the earrings, admiring the look in the bathroom mirror. So this was how it felt when you were treated like a real up-and-coming actor.
Memories from the last few days bubbled to the surface.
People like Odetta Olson and Fiona Pills took it all for granted.
The designer clothes and luxury jewelry were part of their day-to-day.
Even Constance acted like it was no big deal that she had Clapard jewelry lying around.
They didn’t understand how many of us would kill for this kind of privilege.
It wasn’t even about the clothes or all this expensive stuff, but what it represented.
Recognition. Success. A certain standing in the world. The kind I’d never have.
If I’m being honest, Constance hadn’t exactly left the jewelry lying around.
She’d locked the safe. But she was a stylist to the stars.
She worked with Dorian Fisher, for god’s sake.
I should have spent more time asking myself why she wanted to style me, too, and for free.
But I didn’t want to. In mere days, I’d descend into the abyss of anonymity yet again.
I’d have to embrace my fate of total irrelevance.
Couldn’t I just have this for a little while longer?
I was bent over, putting my heels back on, when I noticed a black velvet pouch under the bed. I lay on the floor so I could reach it. When I did, I was surprised to feel that it was full.
Inside was a diamond necklace. Not just “a” diamond necklace.
It was stunning, intricate, huge. It was shaped like a necktie, gem upon gem pieced together, that would wrap around the neck with a long, dangling piece with five much larger diamonds to rest on the chest. I’d never seen anything so sparkly.
My lips parted in awe. There were people in this world who had access to this level of luxury and just carelessly dropped it on the floor, forgotten under the bed like a dirty sock.
More likely, it had fallen out of the safe when Constance had retrieved the pieces she’d pulled out for me, but still, I couldn’t believe this insanely beautiful piece of jewelry was just…
there. It was a sign; it had to be. Marnie and Constance had talked at length about giving me the treatment I deserved, with the looks to match.
This was a cosmic encounter. This necklace was meant for me.
I couldn’t just wear it out of the room, or anywhere, obviously, so I can’t say why I slipped it into my clutch, but I did.
It genuinely didn’t feel like I was stealing anything. Constance didn’t own it. I wasn’t taking anything away from her.
That was my story, and I would stick to it.
And as I walked out to the doors to meet my new friends, I conveniently forgot a simple fact. All too often, the stories I’d told myself for the last decade had exploded in my face at the worst possible time.