Lou
Having two new people in my corner was a long way up from zero. I was somebody now. Somebody with friends. Somebody with hope. Somebody whose future might not be demolished like a house of cards by the end of the festival.
Constance wanted to meet; she had to style me for the events Marnie had put on my calendar.
(I had a calendar now, apparently, and someone who was managing it for me.) But I couldn’t return to the scene of the crime or even face the (slightly insane) reason I’d taken that diamond necklace, which was now tucked away in my toiletry bag.
It had to be fake. Of course it was fake.
But did that absolve me from stealing it in the first place?
Maybe not. It taunted me every time I brushed my teeth or washed my face.
I could never wear it, obviously. No matter how beautiful and sparkly it was.
How neatly it fit on my collarbone. And yet, I had no real plan to put it back in Constance’s room.
And I couldn’t anyway, since she was working out of a boutique called Les Merveilles de Marielle. The shop owner was a total delight, the kind of quirky, dry-witted woman I wish would adopt me, especially now that Liza had frozen me out. I hadn’t heard from her once since our conversation.
Constance and I took pictures—Come with me to get dressed for my next Cannes event!—and I bragged about my new stylist. People were gushing in the comments. They’d even gone back to calling me a Cannes It Girl. I was such a fraud.
At least the outfit was great. I’d tried on half a dozen options, each more dazzling than the last. This was all so new, so exciting.
It made it easy to forget my disastrous meeting with the casting director.
In the end, Constance and I settled on an ice-blue sheath dress in satin so shiny it looked wet (in a cool, modern way).
The dress was slashed open across the chest, with embellishments on both sides of the cut, like a pageant sash made of bare skin.
It was the clear favorite for both of us. A good omen.
Marnie had texted us the schedule for the day, and the first party was at someone’s house. Well, technically, someone’s villa. Who it belonged to, I had no idea.
I was itching to ask Marnie if I really was on the guest list, but she talked like it was a done deal. Here’s the time and location. Take lots of pictures and tag the hell out of everyone. We need all of the exposure. She was now officially the boss of me, and I kind of loved her for it.
But I was on my own as a car dropped me off at the door, half-excited, half-terrified. Butterflies flew around my stomach as I gave my name to the bouncer. He responded with a nod so faint I wondered if I’d imagined it.
“We’re with her!” came a voice behind me.
It was Samuel and émilie, stepping out of the car behind mine. I turned back to the bouncer, ready to enter panic mode.
“Bonsoir, bonsoir,” Samuel said, wrapping an arm around me as he kissed me on both cheeks. He smelled of cigarettes and red wine. émilie was wearing a black blazer minidress and bright red lipstick, the kind of sexy chic that made me rethink everything about myself.
“So good to see you!” she said.
They stood on either side of me, smiles bright, and we went in. Just like that.
“I know the owner’s best friend,” émilie explained as we made our way to the bar area out on the expansive terrace, where we each grabbed glasses of prosecco.
It was early in the evening, and the crowd was still sparse.
At my puzzled look, she added, “The prince?”
“Is he a prince though?” Samuel asked.
émilie raised an eyebrow. “A tsar maybe? He’s royalty, from… somewhere.” She shrugged, like who cared anyway. “He just bought this house. I think that’s villa number three in the French Riviera. My friend said he’d get our names on the list, but can you ever really trust your friends?”
She stared at me seriously, like I was supposed to answer.
“Your face,” Samuel said to me, mocking, but kindly enough. “That face of yours.”
“Is he in the movie industry?” I asked.
Samuel and émilie threw their heads back laughing. They’d already downed half of their glasses.
“You are so funny!” émilie said. “My aunt loved you, by the way. It’s a bummer that she thinks you’re not the right fit. You should call her anyway. You never know.”
This was how I found out that I was rejected for a job I didn’t even want.
Before I could process that, a group appeared before us.
The three girls looked airbrushed: hair impeccably tousled, skyscraping eyelashes, and deadly high heels.
The guy accompanying them was overly tanned and never took off his sunglasses.
They all kissed hello and screeched with delight at seeing each other.
Once this ecstatic greeting was accomplished, one of the girls turned her attention to me. She was Black and wore an ultrafitted top and mesmerizing purple eyeshadow.
“Who’s this?” Eyeshadow asked émilie, meaning me.
émilie beamed as she wrapped an arm around my neck.
“This is our famous friend Lou.”
“I’m Claudine,” Eyeshadow said.
She took in my shoes, my legs, my dress, my jewelry from bottom to top like a high-tech body scanner in a sci-fi movie.
“How many followers do you have?” she added, pointing at my phone.
I’d been taking pictures already, showing off like Marnie had instructed me to. The house was minimalist and stunning. Just being there made me feel rich.
“Claudine’s account is fabulous,” émilie gushed to me. “She’s one of my favorite influencers.”
“I’m not an influencer,” I said, sounding maybe a little bit like it was insult.
émilie shook her head. “Of course you are! People love you.”
“I’m an actor,” I explained.
The left corner of Claudine’s mouth turned up slightly. “Is that what you call it? I guess it’s kind of like playing a role.”
“No, I’m a real actor. I act in movies.”
Claudine glanced at émilie, unsure.
“Told you she’s our famous friend,” émilie said. “She’s in Don’t Be Sad! and she’s besties with Fiona Pills.”
Claudine perked up. Now we didn’t have only her attention but the whole group’s.
émilie looked so proud. “You all saw that picture I posted, right?”
“I’m jealous. I love Fiona Pills!” the pale girl with pin-straight hair said.
“The way she’s having Odetta Olson run around like a lunatic is to die for,” another girl said.
They all chuckled.
I gazed at the horizon, the pine trees and birds chirping as the sun went down.
This was nice. I didn’t know anyone in Cannes when I arrived—aside from Liza—and here I was, partying with friends.
Sort of. I was wearing a gorgeous outfit.
People on the internet thought I was cool, that I looked good.
Maybe my streak of bad luck ended here, tonight, in some tsar’s villa number three.
“You’re in Don’t Be Sad!?”
The question came from the guy in the sunglasses. It was the first time he’d spoken. I plastered a smile on my face and nodded.
He frowned. “Really?”
Samuel was pulled out of the group by someone who’d come to say hello, but the rest of them were focusing squarely on me.
“Yes, really,” émilie quipped proudly.
“Which role?” Sunglasses asked.
I took a sip of my drink, feeling their gazes as I slowly finished it.
Pretending they weren’t all waiting for me to respond, I looked for a table I could put my empty glass on.
émilie grabbed it from my hands as if it would make me speak faster.
She’d been talking me up to her friends, and now I had to seal the deal.
“I’m one of the wives. I host the weekly tea party.”
Claudine and Sunglasses kept eyeing me curiously.
“Which wife?” he said.
I got the sense he was enjoying this.
“Were you at the premiere?” I asked, my jaw so tight it hurt.
He shook his head. “But we were at the second screening, yesterday afternoon.”
He pointed at Claudine.
“We loved the movie,” she said. “Fiona Pills is luminous. And, honestly, Odetta Olson is pretty good, too.” Her eyes never left me as she spoke.
Oh shit. Of course there were more screenings scheduled during the festival, but you can understand why I blocked out that information.
I glanced down at my phone, as if it had just rung. I couldn’t bring myself to look back up. My cheeks in flame, I pointed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. Behind it was a hallway, which I assumed led to a bathroom.
“Excuse me, I have to…”
Without finishing my sentence, I squirmed my way through the crowd—which had been growing steadily since we’d gotten here—gaze down.
Excuse me, excuse me. A couple of older men shot me greasy smiles.
A server slid a tray of mini éclairs in front of me.
I didn’t stop. I’d reached the quieter hallway when I felt a hand press against my lower back. It was Samuel.
“What’s wrong?” he said, spinning me around.
My eyes had welled up on the way over, and I begged my tear ducts to behave themselves. I shook my head, unable to speak.
“It’s too loud here,” he whispered in my ear.
It wasn’t that loud, but I didn’t protest when he interlaced his fingers in mine.
“Come with me,” he added, as he started down the long and narrow hallway.
I had a hard time following behind, my heels clicking on the oak flooring, him pulling me forward. To our left, there was a living room and, at the center of it, a glossy black piano.
“I have a confession to make,” Samuel said, as we paused to peek inside the room. “My friends got passes to see your movie yesterday, and they gave me one.”
Every muscle in my body tensed. “You saw the movie as well.”
He made a funny face. “Don’t hate me, okay?”
I held my breath. I’d taken this guy for a player, but there he was, tiptoeing around my feelings.
His grimace grew deeper. “I walked out after fifteen minutes. émilie texted that Dorian Fisher was at some party and she thought she could get us in. This is the problem with Cannes. There are so many parties that no one has time to see the movies.”
I was so relieved I didn’t notice Samuel leaning forward, his eyes drilling into mine.
“Can I make it up to you?”
His voice was husky, his body thrumming. I nodded. He kissed me. It was good, soft and tender. He gently pressed my head down so it would lean sideways and moved in deeper. I let him. I hadn’t been kissed in a very long time. I was so hungry for the attention, the comfort.
Samuel pulled back, his thirsty gaze still firmly on me.
He grabbed my hand and led me to the farthest door on the right.
It opened onto a bedroom, made up with navy-blue linen.
How Samuel knew his way around here, I didn’t care.
He made a move to go lie on the bed, but I pushed him against the wall instead, my hands traveling underneath his shirt, playing with his belt.
As long as we were here, I didn’t have to go back upstairs to face all these people and their questions.
There was a small knock on the door. In came émilie.
“Oh, um, sorry,” I said stupidly.
I wasn’t sure if something was going on between these two, but Samuel had kissed me first after all.
She smiled, then bit her bottom lip. “Don’t be.”
She and Samuel exchanged a knowing look. Suddenly I felt like the odd one out. The third wheel.
“Mind if she joins us?” Samuel said to me.
It took me a minute to get it. Not like, a full-blown minute, but I’m pretty sure I spent an uncomfortable amount of time looking from one to the other. Eventually, émilie came in closer and wrapped her arms around my waist as Samuel licked his lips.
And no, I didn’t have a threesome with them.
But I did stay a few more minutes, agonizing over how to extricate myself from this…
situation. Anyone but me would have known better.
Done better. No one else would have lied about being in the movie.
They wouldn’t have to fake their success, their beautiful lives.
But I was stuck with me, failing forward yet again.
At what point would I come crashing down?
Because I think I already knew then that there was lower I could go.
I wasn’t done lying. I wasn’t done faking it.
There were still plenty of opportunities to turn my life into an even bigger mess.