One More Time(3)

The lump in my throat makes it hard to talk, so I keep it simple. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t even wait for a response. I hang up the phone, get in my car, and hope this was all just a bad dream. That any second now, the blare of my alarm will wake me up, and I’ll have to get ready for Model Body.

Ten minutes later I’m still sitting in the studio’s parking lot, and I no longer think that there’s any hope at all that this isn’t real. I need to get out of here before class gets out, but my brain is doing too many backflips to even think about starting the car, let alone driving.

I know, objectively, that Carrie is right. The world lost its mind when Tanner and I broke up. I can only imagine how nuts they’d go for an on-screen reunion. We’d all make more money than we could spend in a lifetime.

But those people weren’t living my life as they gossiped about me from behind their screens. They have no idea how painful it was to live through that. To them, I’m not a real person. No one here in La La Land is. We exist for their attention alone.

Ironically, at one time I did only exist for attention alone. For Tanner’s attention. Because I confused it for love.

The sudden surge of anger I feel at that empty thought finally propels me to turn the keys in the ignition, and head home where I spend the rest of my day rage-cleaning and reading scripts for other, less high-profile jobs, trying to block out the memory of today’s glorious and terrible offer.

Finally, after hours of distracting myself, I decide that what I really need is a nice, long bath.

I pour my favorite lavender salts into the water. I hesitate only for a second before I grab a sleeve of Thin Mints, rationalizing that I did some pilates, after all. I turn on Adele and slip off the athletic pants and tank I’ve been wearing since I left Jake’s class, then slide down into the warm bubbles. I make a mental note to send him something nice, seeing as I didn’t just take my call outside, but ditched him entirely. He doesn’t need to know the role was a bust.

God, he can’t know. I’d be mortified.

I need something to take my mind off the situation. Some online shopping in my happy place should do the trick. I grab my cell phone and hop on ShopChic.com. I scroll through the sale section, hoping for some trendy yet neutral tops I can wear to auditions. All I see, though, are party dresses. The kind that in another life, I might wear to my Polly Kemper movie wrap party.

Even the thought of her name is enough pressure on the floodgates to let all my earlier angst to come rushing back in. I don’t know what’s more upsetting--that my dream was so close to being within reach or that Tanner is in my head again.

So much for relaxing.

Why would he even consider agreeing to star opposite me?

Because it’s a good publicity stunt. That’s why.

I hold my breath and slip beneath the surface, as though I can drown away this truth.

The only reason the man who shattered my entire world would agree to do a feature movie with me is that he cares about publicity more than about what we once had. And I’m the only one who still thinks about our past. He never cared at all. The memory of our relationship means nothing but dollars in his bank account.

My stomach twists at the thought.

I knew he was a heartbreaker, but could he actually be completely heartless? Tanner James was my everything. My first L.A. kiss, my first love, the man I gave my virginity to.

The thought of that night slips into my mind. I picture the off-the-shoulder red dress I wore to channel Julia Roberts for the night. Everyone says your first time is awkward and fumbling and painful. But mine? It was bliss. The thought of it makes the space between my thighs light up. I can feel the tingling pull, begging me to touch, pleading for release. But there’s no way I’m letting Tanner James get the best of my fantasies right now.

He’s done it too many times already.

That thought shifts me from nostalgic to furious. In the ten years since our breakup, I still haven’t discovered any other ways to think about him. Longing and anger are all I have. I flip from the ShopChic page I’ve been mindlessly staring at to a new window – TMI, the biggest source for celebrity gossip. I need to know if there’s anything else that could be behind this decision of Tanner’s. A scandal he’s trying to hide. Or maybe his last movie didn’t do as well at the box office as projected, and he needs the money. Anything would be better than believing he simply has no respect for what we once were.

I start to type Tanner’s name into the TMI search field, but as I do something else catches my eye. A headline.

Gem Charles – the new body of Marissa’s Closet.

My heart lands in my stomach for the second time in under twelve hours. Marissa’s Closet is my biggest account.

Or… it was.

I click through to the article, which starts with five full-screen shots of Gem in the latest style of lingerie I’ve been promoting for the past eleven years. Marissa turns heads with a fresh new British face, the caption reads.

“We’ve been so lucky to work with the best and most beautiful models,” says CEO Marissa Sutherland, “Our brand has always been about what’s new and next, and we think Gem Charles is the epitome of fresh.”

She may as well have said, “Jenna Stahl is staler than old bread.”

I shouldn’t be crushed. I know exactly how this business works. I was once the sixteen-year-old that pushed all the other “supers” off the covers of the glossies. I know about the limited shelf-life of a career in this industry. I know. So why do I have this sick feeling over it?