I'm Glad About You(97)

“Why, does it say mean things about me?” Alison managed to make this sound like a joke even though she already knew this was not going to be funny. Ryan continued to speak in a voice that was ever more soothing.

“It’s just not anything you need to worry about. And I seriously don’t want you reading it. You have nothing to gain from even giving it that much of your attention, Alison. Anyone who calls you about it, you direct them to me, or the studio’s publicity people. You should not even be answering your phone for the next week. Let it go to voice mail, and then send anything that needs attention to me.”

“What did they say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Who said it?”

“No one would talk on the record.”

“So they printed a bunch of shit about me and didn’t talk to me, and I don’t even get to know who is saying what?”

“Alison, it is going to disappear by the end of the week. Just turn off your cell phone and let us handle it.”

Alison felt sick. The lead-up to the release of the film had been grueling enough, and now this? So many days and nights and months going to screening after screening, giving hundreds of interviews to reporters who all asked the same questions, being handed off from one underling to another, makeup artists constantly in your face, stylists flinging you in and out of dresses, before-parties, after-parties, everyone drinking too much champagne, waking up with a headache every morning, half crippled from those f*cking shoes they always insisted that you wear, Lars no longer speaking to her, he never even bothered to break up, even the fun of the gang from the set evaporated because all the guys were already moving on to other jobs—plenty of parts out there for boys, she was told, it’s different what you’re trying to do, you’re a leading lady, that’s a much bigger deal, they’re going to wait to see how the movie does, then the parts for you will start rolling in. That promise was still out there, you’ll be able to do whatever you want, but every time she made it through one obstacle course another magically appeared. Wait until the movie comes out, and we’ll see how you do. Well, she did just fine, the movie tanked but that wasn’t her fault. And movie offers did come in but the payoff was so much smaller than she had been promised. A couple of indie films that were all right but little more, and none of them had their financing. When she pointed this out to Ryan, he laughed. Nothing, apparently, had its financing anymore. The movie industry was in the toilet! Nothing decent is getting made! So why would I want to be a movie star? she wondered. She knew better than to ask.

And now this. There was nothing else for it; she turned on her computer and read the story trashing her and her talent and her work ethic and everything about her—everything Alison Moore was or ever hoped to be.

Seth knew about the piece a full twenty minutes before Alison did. Fat Schaeffer had texted him, in a rage.

some bitch on line is trying to take down our alison, Schaeffer wrote. He was a terrific writer, but Schaeffer was one of those dudes who had forgotten how to punctuate. Seth had thought it an annoying affectation until he started doing it himself and realized how much faster you could write if you didn’t worry your little head about capitalization or commas.

???? Seth responded.

Schaeffer sent him the link.

The thing was a hatchet job. It was so poorly written and so generally mean-spirited it was surprising that even a third-rate website would print crap like that. The piece itself was sandwiched between some pretty marginal stuff—funny photos of pets, nonsensical lists about The Ten Ugliest Celebrities! Who Wore It Worst? Talk about the detritus of culture. And there was Alison, right in the middle, taking it on the chin. Where does shit like this come from? he wondered. Once asked, it wasn’t actually all that difficult to muddle through that one; all you had to do was run down the list of who benefited. Not Colin, not Lars; they had seen worse flops and publicity disasters in their day; Last Stop to them was a blip on the radar. One of the producers? Gordon? Unlikely that he would dirty his hands with something like this but it wasn’t out of the question. It reeked of vindictive cunning, someone who knew how to needlessly put attack dogs in motion. And this writer, whoever she was, had smelled her chance. What the f*ck. Shit like this happens.

His iPhone blipped. Schaeffer again.

did you read it?

it’s bullshit, Seth typed.

i f*cking want to kill that bitch who the f*ck is she anyway

never heard of her

i wiki’d her, she’s got like two bylines what a bitch who would talk to this person?

it’s f*cked up for sure but stay out of it schaeffer it will go away. This should have been unnecessary advice, but Schaeffer was an animal when he got worked up.

how is alison she must feel like shit, Schaeffer wrote.

haven’t seen her since la when they were shooting that piece of shit, she’s in the demimonde, Seth replied. He didn’t hit send. That wasn’t what Schaeffer was asking; he wasn’t asking for gossip, a tricked-up bit of information about an actress in a muddle. Alison liked Schaeffer for a reason. He was all heart, that guy. Peculiar, for a gossip columnist on the internet. Unheard of, even. Seth deleted his response and wrote another.

i’ll get back to you after i call her, he typed. i’ll let her know you were worried and that you think this reporter is a douchebag piece of shit.

douchebag piece of shit is too nice, Schaeffer wrote.