The Perfect Fake - by S

Chapter one - The Perfect Fake

Chapter one – The perfect fake

You know my name. Everyone does. It’s in every newspaper, the perfect teen queen, the pretty pop star with the long blonde hair and the sparkly smile. Honey Heatherton, 'America's sweetheart'.

I bet you never considered that I wasn’t happy. You probably think that I’m pretty selfish; people would kill for half of what I have, the handsome, romantic boyfriend, the perfect friends, the silky voice. You can take it. All of it. Its all fake, except for the voice I guess, and even that’s not how I sing, not really.

My schedule this week is packed. The paparazzi have to be pleased, that’s one of mother's favourite catchphrases. The press can build or ruin a career. I guess she’s right on that account, but do they have to take over my life so completely?

How long since I saw dad? Fifteen months, and don’t think that that’s because he hasn’t tried to visit me or I haven’t tried to get home. But he’s no Hollywood dad, with his stubble and his beer belly. What would it do to my reputation to have a dad who works at the dumpster, even if he is a manager? I do understand, but I don’t think it would ruin my career like mother says. But mother says it would be the start. They’d start following your dad, getting pictures, spreading rumours. I asked her what was wrong with him and she just curled her lip. She doesn’t like dad. I don’t think she ever did, not even when they were married.

They split up seven years ago, just as my career was taking off. Mother says it was because he wasn’t supportive enough but I think it was because he actually cared about me. Not about my career but about how I felt.

I never wanted this fame. I love to sing, that’s true but I don’t care if it’s in the shower or in a hotel room or at a concert in front of seven thousand people. Still, she says I will thank her for it eventually. I’m not convinced.

I sigh, turning back to the schedule. I have to leave in an hour, I’m never late, not when I’m meeting Josh.

Yep, right again, my so called true love Joshua James Matthews, the hunk of Hollywood as Seventeen Magazine called him just the other day. He’s ok, I guess, but so vain, so self-centred. We spend most of our time carefully posing for the paparazzi. Plenty of hand holding, hugs and kisses, privately public dates and the occasional ‘surprise’ visit. I don’t love him. I don’t even like him, and I’m pretty sure that he feels the same way about me. We’ve never kissed, or even hugged away from the paparazzi, and I hold his hand only to make mother happy.

Someone ‘accidentally’ told the paparazzi that we were meeting today, and sure enough when my tinted black Mercedes pulls up outside a fancy outdoor café there’s already a horde of paparazzi, flashing and blinking. Mother practically pushes me out of the Mercedes and I pretend to look around before seeing Josh lounging in one of the striped chairs. I run to him and he scoops me up in his arms where I stand awkwardly for a minute or so before he releases me and I flash my best half-embarrassed, half-ecstatic smile at the paparazzi. I can practically see the headlines tomorrow: ‘America’s favourite starlet Honey Heatherton meets her gorgeous boyfriend for a surprise lunch date’

That’s not even my name, I was born Katherine Stephanie Roberts but according to mother that’s not ‘Hollywood’ enough.

I won’t go into the details of the day, it was just like the usual fake love that we celebrities portray and the doting public sucks in almost as gladly as they do oxygen. This afternoon is free though, and a small smile creeps across my face.