TO HAVE & HAVE NOT

3

Olivia

"Jeffrey, will you send Tommy up when he gets here?" I asked the concierge at the hotel.

Jeffrey, with his warm smile that momentarily lifted the hotel lobby's heavy atmosphere, replied, "Of course, Ms. Moore."

I thanked him and made my way through the bustling lobby, feeling the weight of the world pressing against my shoulders with each step toward the elevator. It was surreal, this entire experience—stepping out of the elevator, down the long corridor, and finally into my room, a space that, while lavish and adorned with fine furnishings, felt more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary.

For someone of my notoriety, a famous Hollywood actress whose face graced the covers of magazines and whose name was whispered in the hallowed halls of film studios, it seemed absurd to be living in a hotel room. The Marmot Hotel was undoubtedly luxurious, and my celebrity status somehow made the ordinary feel extraordinary, yet it left me feeling empty and adrift in luxury. It still made no sense if other people knew that I, Olivia Moore, lived in a hotel room.

The irony was palpable—I had bought a sumptuous house in the hills when I first gained popularity for my film roles, a place that should have been a dream come true. Yet, I soon realized I had trapped myself in a sprawling mansion filled with echoing memories and, worst of all, my lonely thoughts. There, amid the grandeur, I felt utterly isolated, surrounded only by the remnants of my past and my choices, which haunted me every day like a ghost I couldn't exorcise.

Someone once told me, "Only ugly people can get somewhere in Hollywood. Pretty people have to exchange favors." Those favors I'd had to exchange—to attain the fleeting moments of success and acclaim—were now the very chains that shackled me, rendering me incapable of being alone with myself for too long without encountering the darkness lurking inside. Each reflection in the mirror whispered tales of who I used to be and who I had been forced to become. As I stood there, looking at my visage, I couldn't help but wonder if it was all worth it—the price of beauty, fame, and the façade of happiness was bearing down on me like an unyielding tide. All I longed for in that moment was a lifeline, a way to break free from the haunting shadows of my past.

As I stood there feeling sorry for myself, a loud knock filled the air, startling me from my reverie. I opened the door to find Tommy, my best friend, standing there with his usual infectious grin. Without a word, he invited himself in, tossing himself onto my bed with a comforting and familiar ease.

I kicked off my shoes and joined him, the weight of the world momentarily lifting as we settled in, side by side, catching up on the mundane details of our day. We exchanged stories about work, Hollywood, and the little victories that make life bearable, but Tommy's curiosity didn't take long to surface. "So what's he like?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Who?" I replied, momentarily puzzled.

"Olivia!" he exclaimed as if it were the most obvious question in the world. It struck me then that he referred to my recent encounter with Johnny Depp at the table read.

I chuckled, caught off guard by the playful absurdity of it. "Oh, right! He's nice," I said, recalling the effortless charm that surrounded Johnny. "He doesn't give off those typical bad Hollywood star vibes; he's polite and humble."

With a mock groan, Tommy replied, "Blah!" and I couldn't help but laugh again. He leaned closer, his interest piqued. "Is he as sexy in person as he is online?" I burst into laughter again, feeling a playful warmth spread through our conversation. "Why are you so giggly? He was voted the sexiest man alive this year!" he teased.

Striving to regain some semblance of composure, I shot back, "Okay, fine, I'll enlighten your dirty little mind. He's old-school sexy. He's charming yet mysterious, and, oh, he smells delectable. Honestly, it was hard to focus on anything with how good he smelled."

Tommy responded dramatically, fanning himself as though he were overcome with heat. "Oh my!" he hummed, "Is it hot in here? I'm getting hot in here with all this talk of Johnny Depp."

Our laughter echoed through the room, filling the space with a lightness that momentarily banished my earlier self-pity.