And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

TAKE 3

OVER THE COMING WEEK, I'm glad I have Priscilla and not Kris Jenner.

When you're the kind of person who does first - think later, having someone like Priscilla is nothing short of a blessing. Without her, I'd be crossing the paper-thin lines of the acting world without a second thought. I'd rather sleep on cold hard cash than gravel. Sometimes I wonder if it would make me feel guilty but the thought is often short lived. 

Priscilla? She's one of those who don't take the shortcut, so when everyone's beginning for me to add fuel to the fire, even a scrap of gossip. Priscilla finds a way to filter out the noise. She ignores everything scandal related and tries not to give the forest fire any more wood.

And as though by the will of Priscilla, the forest fire begins to recede. Harry Wolfe's name gets off the trending list. I'm not sure why the fire doesn't burn me, in fact, I'm left alone for the most part with the fire's primary target being Harry Wolfe.

The rumours' of our love affair die down by the time of Rihanna's pregnancy announcement, and it felt like things were going back to normal for him. And for me? It was insane.

It was beyond my wildest dreams. After two years in LA. I finally made it. I'm not sure how, or why now, but I'm busy in the best way. I have chemistry readings with the other cast mates, or leads, a group of four. Two girls, two guys.

They're almost like me, struggling artists with their first big break. Like me, we've done smaller jobs prior, a commercial here or there, but nothing note-worthy. Not a show that hopefully might go beyond the pilot episode. Hopefully.

Our group of four lucky actors and actresses.

Was the show revolutionary? Would it win an Oscar? Pfft, no. It's not an award-winning program, though with all the contracts I've signed, it might as well have been. If it gets any recognition, it would be Emily in Paris winning an award kind of recognition.

Not the good kind.

Vanity High was about the lives of the rich and famous in The Upper East Side. It was glamorous, it was teen. Never mind the fact we're all in our twenties. We've only had a chance to read the pilot episode and it's definitely some fusion of Gossip Girls meets Emily in Paris but in New York.

I'm promised a prominent role as the best friend and antagonist, I'm the main character's 'support' but I'm scheming behind her back to stay on top of the pyramid, even if it means turning a blind eye to the budding relationship between her and my boyfriend.

It's cliché but I've never hated one. That, or it's also because I've never gotten a role for a TV series, so every morning waking up felt like a joy. I'm always excited. I'm grinning ear to ear in fittings while the other leads groan.

The first week was exciting, from Chemistry Readings to the round table readings. Our delivery is critiqued, some lines were adjusted to flow a bit better and advice was given. The first week was filled with long hours and it didn't just end at work. 

I'd go home, tired but eager to please. Practising in the small mirror. We're all new, so naturally, all of us struggled. Some, like my love interest, an actor called Christopher - more than others. I'd been given feedback to look trustworthy but deceptive too. 

It wasn't meant to be on the nose, it wanted to emulate the sophistication of Euphoria. 

It's three days after the Rihanna pregnancy article and it looks like Harry Wolfe's abuse case might be forgotten, gone unnoticed. We might walk out of it laughing yet. No one asks me about it in person. I'm not sure if I'm grateful or in dismay.