“What movie is this?” Mom asks as I pack my bags. I only use an assistant on-set, unlike some people I know.
“Queen of Clubs,” I reply absentmindedly.
“Who’s directing?” She’s pacing. Her pacing is never a good thing.
“Adam Campbell.”
“I don’t know him.”
“So? You don’t know everyone,” I reply and instantly regret it when she slaps me across the face. Hard. My left cheek burns, but I refuse to cry in front of her. I don’t need her pouncing on that. If it’s not my weight or my laziness, it’s the fact that I am too sensitive. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom, but Hollywood has gotten to her. She drinks from the time she wakes up until she goes to bed every day. I haven’t seen her eat solid food since I was little. She hasn’t had a role in four years, and she can’t deal with that. She needs rehab, bad. It'll be court-ordered if she keeps this up, but I’d prefer to save a little bit of her dignity and have her check herself in.
“Yes, I do, and I don’t know him. Why would you agree to do this movie? You are going to ruin your career. It’s your first project since that ridiculous three-year hiatus you just had to take.” I can’t explain why I took the role. The script is great, but something else made me take it. I don’t know what it was, but I know that I can’t explain it.
“I’m an adult now, mom. I thought I made it clear that I choose my own roles,” I say, holding my already swelling cheek. “I love you. I’ll call you later.” I kiss her cheek, and I’m out the door. Am I upset that she hit me? Yes, but I don’t think she can help it. She needs more help than I can provide. Jenna and I just need to make her do it. Dad is no fucking help.
Poor Jenna. She’s a year older than I am but can’t seem to break free of this house. All the roles she takes never film on location; it’s usually in a Hollywood studio, so she lives at home. This is why I am surprised she’s actually on location in England. Right now, I am more than thankful for this little break, though. I take a cab to the airport and fly to Texas. Once there, I rent a car, turn on my GPS, and drive to Deacon, listening to music the whole way. Music normally calms my nerves, but it’s doing nothing for me the closer I get to Deacon. I don’t know why I am so anxious. I literally have hundreds of acting credits to my name; just check my IMDB page.
I did make the mistake of googling Adam Campbell, though. He’s the hottie from Texas who has done a lot of acting in eleven years, and now he’s writing and directing. He’s a real Hollywood success story. I ignore the crazy, clearly false news articles about him. Who dives with sharks without a cage? Or picks up hookers like most people change their underwear. I know a thing or two about the terrible press, so I never pay attention to that crap. I always say that the paparazzi aren’t for us anyway. We aren’t the ones buying tabloids at the checkout counter in the grocery store. The headlines and pictures have to be salacious enough to tempt the stay-at-home mom with three kids hanging onto her skirts, shouting for candy. Everything in a tabloid, including the writer's names, is a lie. Cheap garbage for the masses. I know that sounds snobby, but it’s the truth.
When I read the script for Queen of Clubs, I was transformed by Lottie Mae Jenkins. The poor girl. I can’t wait to bring her to life on the big screen. This is the love story I’ve been waiting for, and I am going to give it my all. It’s a period piece, but it's sexy as hell. Maybe I am nervous about the many love scenes. I’ve never even kissed a man in real life or in movies. None of my films were like that; I was always the chubby sidekick or a plucky heroine who saved the world with other children. I’ve never even been out on a date. If I'm smart, I’ll introduce myself to Adam and then kiss him. Get it out of the way. I wonder if I could be so bold. I pull into Deacon. It’s a cute small town, just like one in the Christmas movies I can’t get enough of. I follow the directions on my phone to The Abernathy, the quaint bed and breakfast the movie got for my accommodations.
“You have arrived,” my GPS says as I pull up a long driveway. I come to a stop in front of what I can only call a mansion. It’s huge with columns, and it looks like nothing I expected. It’s giving me strong Gone With The Wind vibes, and I instantly love it.