Cast
A young woman who’s recently become a celebrity.

Scene
I had no idea how all of this worked. No idea at all. That’s all I can think as I stare down the barrels of a pure gold Duofold Parker pen and what I’m told is a 44 Magnum.

From the outside this world looks ridiculous: spoiled brats splurging on Lamborghinis and partying all the way to rehab. Marrying ex-boyfriends and popping out kiddies called “Blanket” and “Spec Wildhorse.” I’m told to pick a hand. Any hand.

I was nobody a few years ago. Just a waitress who sang at jazz clubs on Friday nights. Didn’t even make the minimum wage and often wondered if I should have met with that producer who wanted to set me up in the adult industry. I was discovered by luck. The right person came to a party at the club one night and six months later I’m a pop star.

Somewhat reluctantly, I point towards the hand holding the pen. It might be easier if he just blows my brains out all over the basement wall. I’m about to become one of them. One of those idiot celebrities with idiot personal lives for bored idiots to talk about.

A piece of paper is shoved under my nose. I’m told to sign before he makes balloon animals out of my intestines. I almost tell him they won’t expand if you blow in them but he’d be too dumb to get it. I sign. He takes the contract, slides it into a folder and disappears.

I wait a minute like he asked me then head upstairs. Moments later I’m in the thick of the party again.

A couple of movie starlets come up to me with these huge, shit-eating smiles on their faces. “Oh my gawd, how far along are you?” “What you gonna call it?”

How do these people know? I’ve been pregnant for like two days! “I was thinking of Pixie Peaches if it’s a girl or Rocket Racer for a boy.”

They don’t know if I’m taking the piss or being dead serious. It’s hard to tell in these circles. I say nothing more and they give each other a look and leave. A movie producer appears from out of nowhere. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. Have a minute?”

I have a minute. I’m still recovering from having a gun to my head so my schedule is more or less open. He leads me to a quiet corner and the whole room watches us from the corners of their beady little eyes. “It’s a funny game, isn’t it? One day you’re Sally Nobody singing in a nightclub, the next you’re Charisma with three top ten hits.”

I nod as he reminds me how stupid my stage name is. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’re hot property and we want you as the lead in the sequel to Coming Home For Death. Contract’s worth one mil and we start shooting next month.”

“Um, but, I can’t act. I mean, it sounds great, and I’m excited – don’t get me wrong – but I’ve never acted and I, well, can’t.”

He grins and puts his hand too low on my lower back. “Biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. You’re a great performer. Besides, when has being shit ever stopped anyone from taking a lead role?”

END OF EXCERPT