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“They'll have forgotten by this weekend.”
“My parents are going to find out we're engaged from some gossip site.”
“Your parents don't follow gossip.”
“Someone is going to call them,” he says.
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“There's nothing you can do.” He slips his suit jacket over his shoulders and packs his briefcase. “In a few years, no one will remember who you are, and we'll never have to deal with this kind of thing.”
Is that supposed to be comforting?
He kisses me on the cheek on his way out the door. I turn over his words.
In a few years, no one will remember who you are.
In a few years, Alyssa Summers, you will not be anything but my wife.
***
I expect my phone to flood with calls, or at least texts, of happy congratulations, but I don't get much. It's still early, and all the actors I know are either sleeping in or too busy to pay attention to gossip websites.
The only person desperate to reach me is Corine, my agent. She calls four times, but I don't pick up. I'm not ready to hear her perky voice and pretend I am nothing but ecstatic about this. I am not ready to make a decision on “official word from Alyssa Summers” vis-à-vis this engagement, or my sad, sordid past dabbling in bulimia—half the news blurbs felt the need to mention that unverified fact.
I am not ready, but it is better than hearing my ring tone over and over again, wondering why I am watching TV instead of talking to another human being.
She calls again. I pick up. “Mazel tov, darling,” she practically screams into the phone. “I have an audition for you.”
My stomach fills with butterflies. It's been so long since I've done any acting. Nearly a year. Just the thought of preparing for an audition—marking up a script, running my lines, losing myself in the scene—makes me cringe with nostalgia. An audition. I try to catch my breath. There's an audition. For me. That means there's a role. For me. If I get it, if I don't fuck it up, I might have a life again.
Deep breath. I can't get so excited. When I got out of treatment, Ryan made me promise to take a year off. It's only been eight months and that's yet another fight I don't want.
“What is it?”
“A friend's client is a showrunner. They're firing their lead actress. Or she's leaving. Rehab. Drugs. I forget. It doesn't matter. They're short one luscious blonde and you're available.”
“When did I become a luscious blonde?” I ask.
“You tell me, darling. I know platinum isn't your natural color.”
“When did I become luscious?”
“Don't tell me you’re insecure. Curvy is in. And you're what, a size 6?” A eight, actually, but who's counting? “Really, you should play up this bulimia thing. Everyone will be cheering for your recovery. You'll be a role model.”
She makes it sound so reasonable and altruistic, but she really means…Think of all the free press, Alyssa! I can get you on the cover of every health magazine, talking about how you beat an eating disorder. You can be the poster girl for sensible eating and loving your body. You can get asked stupid question after stupid question about your figure. No one gives two fucks about what's in your head. You're an actress. Let them ask about your exercise routine and makeup tips. That's all they want to know. Don't you want to be “The Next Marilyn Monroe”? You're both blonde and curvy. She's a sex symbol, you know?
Never mind that Ms. Monroe was so miserable she killed herself.
Corine soldiers on. “This show is perfect for you. It's on cable. Nice, easy 13 episode season. And the lead is such a fun character. A former model.”
“A model?”
“She's post-rehab. She's not supposed to be a size 0 anymore. I wouldn't try to put you through that,” Corine says. “Do you know how bad I would look—putting my bulimic client up for a part that would require her to lose weig
ht?” She says it so casually, like it's totally normal that everyone in the freaking world knows I spent the better part of three months in treatment for an eating disorder.
I'm a long way from a former model. It's not like I was ever super thin. On Together I played the slutty cheerleader—Cindy Bleachers. She was supposed to be all tits and ass, busting out of her teeny uniform. But a former model?
