And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

TAKE 2

"VANESSA IS THIS YOU?"

After meeting Harry Wolfe, I'd been unable to sleep till well past seven in the morning. As a result, it's only three in the afternoon when I see my manager and best friend, Priscilla's, text.

I didn't drink the night before but there was a pounding in my head and I'm sure I drooled all over my pillow in my sleep. Suffice it to say, these are the reasons I'm clearly presenting as to why, I, Vanessa, an aspiring actress felt no need to look at the video though it could be important like my casting video leaked.

I mean, the last twelve hours were nothing but a hurricane so I deserved at least an hour to take a nice relaxing bath, eat some of the medicine that cost more than a year of rent to help bring down the bruise on my forehead and maybe after that take a look at the message Priscilla sent me.

And I'm well on my way to doing so when I get a knock on my door. I groan, dragging my very blistered feet to open the door and see Priscilla.

Oh.

This is.

Unusual.

Not because Priscilla's my manager, but she's got a healthy disdain for where I stay because it's well.

Small.

Oh, and the bigger issue, the lifts never work and Priscilla doesn't subscribe to exercise outside of the expensive gym she goes to.

"Hi," I say, "listen about the bruise -"

"Were you not going to tell me?"

I blink. "I just got the bruise but it's okay, it's all under control -"

"It's not okay." Priscilla grips my arm, a little hard and her eyes are feverish. "You need to get out of these kinds of relationships Nessa."

"It was really a mistake," I try, I wiggle a bit. I didn't realize Priscilla's got a good grip. She's almost unsettlingly strong.

"That's how it starts -" She begins.

"Calm down."

"How can I be? I had no idea about Harry - or even you for that matter."

"Harry?"

"I know, Nessa. It's okay, you can tell me now. I know why you had to hide it from me and while it's not ideal - "

"Priscilla."

"Harry Wolfe is a big star, and I mean, he's got such a stellar reputation so how could any of us expect..." Her voice trails off and she begins to cry. Not the pretty tears she gives when you land a casting, or when she tries to get her leg in the door for you. No, these are fat ugly tears. The kind you never see in movies.

The kind that makes you feel uncomfortable and mildly concerned of boogers.

"Priscilla," I try again, slowly, "can you tell me what you're talking about?"

"The internet knows that Harry Wolfe abused you!"

I pause.

I open my mouth to correct her.

And close it again.

Maybe - I really did injure something in my head, because in less than 24 hours from the last time, I'm speechless again.

"Harry Wolfe abused me?" I finally manage.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

"How did Harry Wolfe abuse me?" I rephrase.