Starlet's Web - #1 {Exclusive Read}

Starlet's Web - Uaries - THE WEB

~    THE WEB

My Globe loss and the public embarrassment of Evan cheating on me put me back on top. I did a few interviews that went just fine. My trailer on set shielded me from the paparazzi. Women liked me again. I worried that an Oscar win would re-ignite the hate but Mom explained that the Academy Awards that night offered me freedom.  An Oscar equaled royalty. She assured me that all women loved princesses.

I texted Mom when Byron and I arrived at the hotel in which Franz and his team of artists would transform us into movie stars for the Oscars.

Byron had a typical lean and toned ideal Hollywood build. He had light brown hair, perfectly bronzed skin, and expressive eyes. His features were precisely balanced, but also unique because when he smiled, he had adorable, childlike dimples in his cheeks. His smile often took my breath away because of the contrast between the chiseled marbled smoothness in his pensive expression and the warm youthful glow of his smiling expression. It didn’t seem possible that both faces originated from the same striking man. Byron was number one on my personal hotness list. I just wished he had more talent.

We sat down on the couch together in the hotel lobby. He leaned into me so quickly that he managed to kiss my lips.

“Stop!” I scolded, surprised by the intensity of my voice. “I asked you to stop doing the Hollywood hello. I want you to be my friend and co-star. That’s it, no romance. Remember, I’m seventeen and you’re twenty-one. You don’t want to get arrested for dating a minor. You know that’s statutory rape.”

“Marie, you’re the star of another major motion picture, your seventh feature. You’re Muse. You’re not a teenager. You’re wonderful, gorgeous, smart, sweet, and talented. I’m not insincere. I love you and that’s that.”

Byron’s blue eyes silently stunned me. They swooped in, blocked my thoughts from logical reason, and replaced them with an acceptance that he was beyond reproach.

He continued speaking in his melodic Australian accent, “Besides, I just turned twenty-one a month ago and you turn eighteen in two months. You know as well as I do that it wouldn’t be statutory rape.” His voice pulsed in my ear, “It would be making love because I love you.”

“Well, maybe for you. I’m not interested whatsoever. Actually, I’ll be looking into getting a chastity belt until I can become a nun.”

I eyed him again to access his truthfulness. The “love you” talk was typical for Hollywood. I tossed the sentiment around, too. Byron was new to the business and sometimes I couldn’t tell if he meant it when he said he loved me.

After a lengthy silence, he asked, “Marie, are you afraid of attention?”

“Definitely. The press had a field day with my parents’ divorce. It was pretty sad to see my mom go through so much pain while the whole world was happy that the perfect Hollywood marriage failed. My mom was a faithful and loving wife.  People couldn’t get enough of her ruin. It hurt a lot, more than you could imagine. The press also turned my words after my first Oscar nomination. Then look at what just happened with Evan. Total nightmare. I trust absolutely no one in the media and, I don’t want to be preachy, but please don’t say that you love kissing me on set. It’s so over-the-top.”

I was nominated before, for Best Supporting Actress, three years prior for my very first film, Left to Die, but didn’t win the Oscar. Mom told me I wouldn’t win. It was a step towards veneration, and it would increase exposure of the film and hopefully increase box office revenues by at least $30 million. She practiced with me for hours about how I would go to the Academy Awards, pose for the cameras, sit patiently and uncomfortably in the Shrine Auditorium, smile when I lost, showing support for the actor who won, and pretend that I was not disappointed. The evening I lost, I was painfully embarrassed and nauseous. I stained my dress from perspiration. When we reviewed the video, I seemed completely composed. I smiled and gave the impression that I was happy for the winner. I remembered that I blushed, but I had so much makeup on that the cameras didn’t pick it up. There was no strain on my face from the uncomfortable, painful gown. There was no sign that I was sweating buckets. That was the night I learned that I could act. That night Mom won her Oscar for Best Actress in a Leading Role for Left to Die.

Byron ignored my request. “You seem like you know that you’re going to win? Is it rigged?”

“Michelle and Richard wrote Jefferson’s Muse, released the feature film during Thanksgiving break when every American in the audience would be thankful for our American forefathers, maintained heavy worldwide promotion in December, and made sure the film would be nominated for an Oscar in January.”

“So? Why would that mean you’ll win?”

“Well, here’s how it works: there are five steps. Step one of the nomination game is that each member of each American Academy branch nominates a talent. The Director Branch of the Academy nominates the directors. The Acting Branch nominates the actors, and so on. The top nominees are selected from each branch. Matthew and Grant had no chance at being nominated, since most of the Acting Branch members are older actors who, for the most part, don’t even watch films in theaters or see the actor’s actual performance. I’m a household name. They know my talent with scripts; there are only a few of us who can do that.

“Step two, the top votes from each branch become the nominees for each category.

“Step three is a massive marketing push by each studio’s and talent’s publicists to all members. In my case, the producers—my mother, Richard, and Ira—promoted Muse to the members non-stop.” Richard Conning was the director working for Ira Goldberg Studios.

“Step four, all of the members vote on the selected nominees, no matter to which branch they belong.

“Step five is the Academy Awards show, where the industry members congratulate themselves and reinforce their influence as American film making royalty. Which, honestly, is absolutely true.”

Bryon laughed. “It’s so political, interconnected. I had no idea.”

I nodded. “I think of it as a web, the fans are the flies, and the insiders are the spiders. Sometimes I think I’m the web. Right now I think we young actors are flies. It’s impossible to escape the web.” My eyes watered.

Camille, my therapist, and Mom kept talking “victim” but I kept thinking “fool.” I had responsibility for letting the public dictate my love life just to be liked. I should not have willingly kissed a man when I knew it was against a law made to protect me from a creep. Although Matthew didn’t rape me, he betrayed me. My fans betrayed me. I participated in my own exploitation.  I betrayed my ‘self’.

But there was a change in me. Being a good girl meant being alone. Losing Evan made me question two things: why I gave everything of myself to entertain an unappreciative audience and why isolating myself to protect my private life was worth it.

I considered Byron who thought he loved me and doubted my resolve. He filled a void. Why not date him, be vulnerable? Could I survive it?

Byron patted my leg sympathetically and changed the subject, “So are you ready for today, babe?”

 “I’m worried that I’m going to win,” I admitted. I was conflicted. I never wanted to be an actor. Many of my contracts would have to be renegotiated, five-year contracts that were set up to expire when I turned eighteen. I wanted to sign nothing and walk away. Winning this award would make walking away very, very difficult for me and for everyone who owned a piece of me.

I did have to finish the “Muse” series, though, so I knew walking away would be relative. It would probably take two to three years to get out of the business, given that I was obligated to finish Constantine’s Muse, the film I was working on presently. I knew that I’d still be part of my Hollywood world.

“Why wouldn’t you want to win an Oscar? You’re a great actress. Is it true that you don’t go to the screenings, that you don’t watch your work?”

“True. I’m too sensitive to the stress the director feels when everyone in the room second guesses him, advocates for an actor to get more screen time, worries about their return on their investment, and threatens him in order to make the changes they want. It’s this room full of spiders stressing about how they can catch the most flies.”

“Marie, after tonight, you’ll be a spider.” Byron smiled. “Lean on me if you get overwhelmed. I understand.”

“Thanks. But I don’t want to eat flies.”

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We love our films, right? We demand so much from the young actors. Next time you see Hunger Games, remember that Lawrence is a person first, actor second. Say, "[actor name] rocks" in the comments if you appreciate your favorite actors as people, too. Vote and read on ;-). Thanks! Carla