I thought of Harper’s bar and its arched mirrors, the reflective tables, the direct bolts of light shining from above, like everything was designed for people to be seen. The people clustered, like they’d known to expect it. She was cashing in on her celebrity.
How embarrassing.
“I have no interest in lowering myself to her level. It’s tacky.”
I didn’t want to be more famous than her. I wanted to be more accomplished.
But then I actually thought about that—her name spoken over mine, her face on posters, people thinking of CADS or Hollywood or even this rivalry between us and thinking first and foremost ofher.
“Urgh,” I groaned into my pillow, which Ruchi clearly took as acquiescence.
“You won’t be exactly like her. She’s the accessible party girl. You’re an enigma, a mystery, a level above it all.”
“And?”
“You’re luxury, Nadine. So let’s drive that home.”
———
That was my first brand deal, and it branded me in turn: Dior. Classic, timeless,rich.
I began holidaying in European coastal destinations, letting myself be photographed in nautical swimsuits lounging on yachts (god bless seasickness tablets). I took skiing lessons. I ate at fine restaurants. I wore expensive labels and went on shopping trips with Sabine Verrier, an actress who was better established but beginning to age out of Hollywood, so she needed me to bring her back into the fold just as I needed her for the prestige.
I had the illusion of a legacy, the sheen of wealth, and the protection of the establishment—not relatable, but untouchable.
That wasn’t me, that was Harper—so how had that come to define me? I was the sort of girl I’d have raged against mere years ago.
Cool, fun Harper began doing Pepsi adverts—ironic given that in an interview two months earlier she’d sworn the key to staying slim was drinking a can of Diet Coke for breakfast.
And that’s how it went for a year or two—both of us trying to one-up the other. We did indeed grace the covers of so many magazines, a friendship that snapped the moment I began the awards circuit forLeave a Light Onand, in an interview with Moreno onThank God It’s Friday, said: “It’s about finding an authentic truth in a character. You can tell when something is false, as a viewer, like when the TV is full of rich girls playing disenfranchised bartenders. It just feels like a lie. It grates.”
Harper got mileage out of that one for months.
Amos styled me for the whole circuit in edgy, avant-gardepieces that stood out on a carpet full of boob tubes and miniskirts. Fashion moved flirtatious, fun, and casual, and Amos moved me in contrast. “You couldn’t pull that off,” he said decisively.
I swatted at him.
“Harper can. Harper is. Don’t try to compete with her for those fans; take the others. Give them what they want in opposition.”
Leave a Light Onhad debuted in late 1996 to modest acclaim—glowing write-ups and reviews but without the marketing budget to support it or the box-office numbers to consider it a success. The awards mattered like they never had before.
I was feeling pressure from all sides—not all roles I took could be hits, and I’d turned plenty down in the last year for all sorts of reasons: not the right fit or too similar to what I’d done before. I even turned down a ’20s-set drama that I’d been so interested in until they’d offered me the role of Estelle, the childhood best friend, and it wasn’t even that it was a small part. I loved small parts, taking them and drawing the focus to me anyway, the complexity of a role without the easily apparent depth of the leads. But because I’d hadthat feelingwith the protagonist, Rosanna, and I couldn’t bear to be on a set and watch someone else portray her.
I had that feeling withLeave a Light On, so here I was, desperately trying to prove it was a feeling I could trust.
Maybe Amos was right—I’d forgotten Ihadfans until theylined those red carpets, begging for an autograph that still felt unpracticed. These were the people unaffected by Harper, those who cared instead for cinema and the art I was creating.
Ruchi phoned me in December when I’d been at breakfast with Ivan, the only time he had to catch up before he had to head to intimidating meetings with serious investors.
“The news is going to break in an hour. You’ve got the Best Actress in a Motion Picture Drama nomination at the Globes.”
“What?” I screeched, grabbing Ivan’s wrist across the table.
“Congratulations,” she said, voice smooth and courteous, but I could hear the smile beneath.
“Ruchi, how is this even possible? We don’t have the budget and—”
She laughed. “Nadine, it’s not all bribes. That or you’re their nod to prove they’re not as corrupt as people claim. Take the win.”
