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RUBY
“If it weren’t for bad luck, she wouldn’t have any luck at all.” ~ Miss Dottie
Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to have the entire world judge you based solely on the worst night of your life?
Spoiler alert: not great.
As I drove down the deserted Texas highway, clickbait headlines scrolled through my brain like ticker tape.
Ruby Sky Broadway Breakdown
Ruby Sky Drug-Induced Striptease
Ruby Sky Naked Night on Center Stage
Technically, they were all true, so I wasn’t sure they could be classified as clickbait. But they were also taken completely out of context, not that anyone cared. The vultures were picking at the dead corpse of my career, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
Over the past two months, things had gone from bad to worse. Each disaster had a domino effect. The snowball of destruction picked up speed like an avalanche, destroying my life in its path.
I lost my jobs, plural. I had to move out of my apartment thanks to my roommate sleeping with my boyfriend. I was no longer speaking to my best friend (who was also the aforementioned roommate). I broke up with my boyfriend (see above: reason I lost my best friend). And I fired my talent manager after he insisted I start an Only Fans.
The only surviving member of my social or professional circle was my agent, Celia, who still represented me because I was still making her money. She’d called in a favor and got me a role in a show on a cruise ship for the next three months. I had a feeling that once I finished that job, I would be dropped like a hot potato.
It was so strange how one night could change your entire life. Eight weeks ago, I had everything I’d spent decades of my life working for. I was on the verge of my ‘big break.’ I was the understudy for Glinda in the revival production of Wicked on Broadway. It was the closest I’d ever gotten to a starring role on the big stage. I’d been a dancer and in the chorus of several Broadway productions, but never the principal. For a year and a half as an understudy, I waited for my phone to ring to get the call to put me in coach.
That day finally came. Unfortunately, the timing of my up to the big leagues could not have been worse. I was nursing a back injury and was in severe pain and barely able to walk. When I got to the theater, one of the other performers offered me an ‘all-natural muscle relaxer’ that turned out to be Molly, better known as ecstasy. To this day, she swore it was a mistake, but I wasn’t totally convinced it hadn’t been sabotage. The world of musical theater could be cutthroat.
In a very uncharacteristic move, I’d also taken a shot of vodka before curtain to try and combat my nerves. The MDMA and alcohol didn’t play well with my anti-anxiety medication. Before the first act ended, I was dragged off stage topless and in hysterics. My big break night ended in the emergency room.
The incident might not have made as many headlines as it had if my behavior hadn’t starkly contrasted with my wholesome social media brand, which, unlike many influencers, reflected who I actually was.
I didn’t do drugs. I didn’t drink, which might have been part of the problem. I was a lightweight. The last thing I remember was feeling a little disconnected and woozy as I stood stage left, waiting to go on stage. The rest of the night, which, unfortunately, had been recorded for posterity thanks to audience members’ cell phones, was a blur.
From all accounts, about thirty minutes into the production, I stripped off my dress in front of a full house, then started laughing and then crying before crew members removed me. The uploaded clips had gone viral, and my life had spiraled from there.
So, yeah, not my finest hour.
Since I was four years old, I had a singular goal: to be the lead in a Broadway show. One might ask how that becomes a child from a tiny town in Texas’s life ambition. It’s simple, really: PBS—specifically, Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella, which debuted in the ’70s. I’ll never forget the first time I saw it at my neighbor Dorothy Higgins, aka Miss Dottie’s house. Even though I was barely four at the time, I had a visceral memory of the experience. I wanted to be Cinderella. Seeing that production changed my life forever.
I’d spent the next twenty-two years doing everything I could to make my dreams a reality. Decades of dance, acting, and singing lessons. Countless auditions, rejections, blisters, injuries, vocal strains, crappy jobs, and more all led to one night when all of my hopes, dreams, ambition, sacrifice, and dedication blew up in my face, and I became a headline, a joke, a cautionary tale.
Waves of heat bounced off the black asphalt on the long stretch of highway in front of me. My car’s broken air conditioning forced me to open the windows, allowing air to flood into the car. Beads of sweat trickled down my neck as I entered the city limits. It was a hot and humid Texas spring day as I passed the sign that read: Welcome to Wishing Well Population 5,432.
It had been eight years since I’d been back to my hometown. The day after high school graduation, I’d packed up Sally, my 1990 Honda Civic, which had already been on her last legs back then but had thankfully made the cross-country drive, delivering me safely to the bright lights of New York City. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t return until I was a success. Now, eight years that felt like a lifetime later, I was back with my tail between my legs.
The upside of my unfortunate homecoming was that I would only have to be in town for a week—well, technically, five nights and six days. It was Monday, and the ship that would be my new home for twelve weeks shoved off from Galveston on Saturday.
Six days. All I had to do was keep my head down for six days.
Wishing Well was a small town where gossip spread faster than a prairie fire with a tailwind. I was sure that most of the town was aware of the media attention I’d recently gotten. A few of the girls from my graduating class had reached out to me with genuine support and concern. Harmony Briggs, Destiny Porter, and Cara McCord had all contacted me via Instagram, letting me know they were thinking of me and hoped I was okay. I had never been in the inner circle of the popular trio of besties, but they’d always been kind to me.
My hope was that I could fly under the radar while I was back and limit my interactions. I would be staying with my mom, but she’d never paid me any attention when I was growing up, so I doubted that she would now. The only person I was looking forward to seeing was Miss Dottie. I don’t think I would have survived my childhood without her. She was the most positive person I’d ever met.
A few years back, I started having panic attacks. The only thing that would help me through them was closing my eyes and picturing myself in Miss Dottie’s kitchen. It was the safest I had ever felt. She loved cooking and baking, and I would spend hours at her table doing my homework or coloring while she tinkered around. Her fridge was filled with Post-it notes that had motivational quotes written on them. She would sometimes sneak them into my backpack, and I’d randomly find them when I was at school. They always showed up just when I needed them.
The other side of the reunion coin was the one person I absolutely didn’t want to see. Kane Kingston. He was my older brother Remi’s best friend. Growing up, I’d had a Grand Canyon-sized crush on Kane. Even as a teenager, he seemed so much more mature than others his age. He’d had this silent strength that I’d been drawn to. His light brown hair, dreamy brown eyes, strong jawline, and tall athletic build hadn’t hurt either.
