Winning Hollywood's Goodest Girl

I do my best to keep the rage monster stirring inside my chest from fully waking up by taking his question and poking holes in it. “I think we all know film isn’t anything like real life,” I respond, forcing my voice to stay even and calm. “There’s a whole set of people barking orders and moving lights an inch or two and redoing something with a hand a little to the left or a little to the right. I can only hope the real thing is more exciting than that.”

“So, you are a virgin, still?” he asks unabashedly, waggling his eyebrows at the audience as they titter.

I open my mouth and close it again, and he laughs. “On second thought, don’t answer that. Save it for after the break!” He turns to face the camera. “Don’t go anywhere! We’ll be right back with more No Comment after these messages from our sponsors.”

I stand up from the couch and scoot to the edge of the set quickly where Roberta and Alejo are waiting to touch me up. Heidi meets me midstride, takes me by the arm as soon as I make it there, and sics them on me as she talks. All 360 degrees of my personal space are filled with arms and brushes and objects I don’t even know the name of.

Heidi’s voice is crisp, just beyond the fray. “I know. I know you hate this, but you have to remember that it’s all for the greater good. Keep your chin up, answer the questions with a smile, and you’ll see it pay off. I already have three offers for box office busters in the pipeline. In a year, maybe two, your resume will speak for itself. But for now, we need the buzz—and it’s a part of your contract anyway.” Though her words are conciliatory, her tone is the opposite.

Immediately, the desire to strangle her and Niall fucking Beans overwhelms me, and I have to close my eyes against the surge. I won’t do well in prison, I won’t do well in prison, I won’t do well in prison.

“Breathe,” I coach myself. “One big breath and then another.”

“I don’t know if this helps,” my makeup artist, Alejo, says. “But you look absolutely fabulous.”

“Thank you.” I force a brittle smile.

Truthfully, it doesn’t help. But I guess it also doesn’t hurt. I try to channel some of his positive energy as one of the producers calls his thirty-second warning in our direction. This is one of the only shows in late night that happens live instead of taping sometime in the late afternoon, which freaking sucks right about now.

I really need another four, maybe five minutes to get all the murderous thoughts out of my head, and if we were simply taping this show for a future airing, I’d be able to take them. Sure, they might call me a diva and some other stupid shit, but everyone would get to live.

When someone named Karen would ask me to take my place on set again, I’d be able to respond, Don’t you want everyone to live, Karen? And she would back away slowly before informing everyone on the catering staff to hide all the knives.

Okay. It’s really time to get it together. I have to go back out there and chat to strangers about my sex life.

Wow. Talk about an exciting opportunity.

Sadly, it’s nothing I haven’t done before, sometimes with my dad and brother staring at me from the audience, and even sadder, it’s something I have to keep doing because my Hollywood contract says so.

Keep calm and carry on and all that shit.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

I scoot back over to the couch while a panicked intern waves me in like I’m a 747. I try not to take offense—I know how it is when you’re at the bottom of the totem pole in this business, but I hardly think she needs to continue to gesture me in for a landing as my ass is making contact with the leather.

And I do mean my ass—my bare ass. The dress is that short.

“And we’re back in five, four, three, two…” The assistant director counts down again as the theme music flares up once more.

I take one last deep breath and set my smile into place like I’m strapping on a mask. I can only hope it doesn’t look like the one Jim Carrey wore in the movie The Mask. Or The Grinch. Wow. I guess almost any Jim Carrey movie applies here. No wonder I’m always making Jim Carrey references. The man is a chameleon.

Without hesitation, Niall drops right back into his No Comment questions, his smarmy smirk proving he has zero remorse for his show’s crappy content.

“Are you really still a virgin?”

I laugh to cover how angry I feel before admitting the truth. “Yes.”