Shut Up and Smile

A set designer couldn't have created a better scene for my life to fall apart. Sunshine flowing in through the windows. Happy families laughing and enjoying their breakfast. It’s like a movie unfolding and I’ve been cast as the leading loser.

Of course this was going to happen. I hadn’t heard from Dale in weeks and then, out of nowhere, he calls, inviting me to eat at my favorite diner.

It's a low blow, even for him.

He slides the check across the table to me.

I slide it right back. “Tell them I don’t accept. I won’t accept.”

“It’s not up for negotiation.”

Instead of a dramatic gasp, I stare out the window.

His response isn't shocking. I have worked with Dale since I spoke my first on-screen line. He’s blunt, calculating, and manipulative, but he’s also a master negotiator with a long portfolio of nobodies-turned-movie-stars. He’s the kind of scumbag that you want working for you, not against you.

He’s also lying through his yellow teeth.

I return my attention back to our conversation, wiping my face with my hands.

Using two of his sausage fingers, he slides the check back to me. “Take the money.”

For only a moment, curiosity stalls my anger, but of course, it comes back tenfold when I read the number on the check.

“This is it? After four movies and two nominations, a check for $20,000? Are you kidding me?”

“I told you it’s the best I could do.”

No, it’s not. This is more like his bare minimum, a poor attempt of sympathy after earning twenty-five percent of every paycheck I’ve ever made.

After taking a long sip of water, I square my shoulders and look him in the eyes.

“Be straight with me. Is it the weight gain? The trainer said I should see progress soon, but the breastfeeding is driving me to starvation.”

“It has nothing to do with your weight,” he says, his eyes glancing briefly at my chest.

“Then the divorce?”

He laughs a little too loud. “Are you kidding? Half of Hollywood is divorced. Come on, kid. These things happen sometimes.”

“The Donald Carr interview?”

His eyes drop as he rubs the back of his neck. Bingo.

Taking a sip of coffee, he stalls until he’s figured out the right words that will diffuse the situation. “It doesn’t matter. The job is gone.”

Yep. My stable job. My income. My health insurance. Not to mention, the car and nanny service that they provided. Everything that I used to take care of my daughter and myself has been stripped away from me.

He pats his mouth with a stained napkin. “Listen. I know it’s hard. You had some great roles with them, but it’s time to move on. Think of it as a stepping stone to something better.”

It feels more like a boulder strapped to my feet as I roll down a hill, smacking every tree along the way until I finally land at the bottom of the ocean.

With his mouth full of pancakes, he half says/half spits, “What about the roles I sent you? They don’t look half bad.”

I bite my lip, desperate to keep control of my anger.

Every role on offer is for a supporting character, with an unusual majority of them being a mother or aunt to a teenager protagonist. If I’m lucky, I’ll get ten minutes of screen time with a tenth of my regular pay. I expect roles like that when I turn forty, maybe thirty-five, not twenty-eight.

After I stay quiet for too long, he says, “You could still apologize.”

“Hell, no.” Like it would change anything. I won’t get back the roles I promised or the contracts I had signed.

I took a stand. They didn’t like it, so the news outlets did what they do best. They screwed me over with half-truths and edited clips.

To them, I bit the hand that fed me. They won’t admit it, but it was also the same hand that emotionally beat me for the last seven years. And that shit hurts.

“If you won’t apologize, then don’t complain. Be grateful some people are still willing to work with you. Just do a few small gigs, get some interviews, and lay on the charm. Smile. Laugh. Make fun of yourself. You know the drill. Before too long, you will be back in the big leagues.”

Yet, another lie.

“And what about my daughter? How am I supposed to take care of her?” I can barely look at him as I concentrate on breathing. The last thing I need is to give him a reason to turn on me.

“That’s what the check is for. Until you get back on your feet,” he says while shoveling another forkful in.

“And after that?” My voice comes out sharper than I was expecting. My heart races. This is really happening.

“You're being unprofessional. You know I care about Tina—”

“Taylor.” I snap.

“Yeah, Taylor. That’s what I meant.” He downs the rest of his coffee and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Look over the roles and give me a call. Just don’t wait too late.”

He takes the ticket and flashes me his attempt at a reassuring smile before heading to the counter to pay.

Even after he leaves, I remain seated, my thoughts refusing to let me stand as I stare at the check.

For seven years, I took all the shit they threw at me with a smile. I dieted to the point of passing out. Exercised daily for countless hours, pushing through the pain of a ruptured tendon. I even let the comments about my talent, my love life, my divorce, and my pregnancy go without a second thought. But when they started disrespecting my mother who had just died, I lost it.

I’m not sorry for what I said or for cutting the interview early. To be honest, I should have let them carry on for so long.

At least, now I have a reason to shut them up for good.

But first, I’m treating myself to a dang burger.

***

(One year later)

Playing with the hem of my sleeve, I sit with flawless posture on the grey leather chair under the studio lights.

The floor manager starts counting down and points to a very uncomfortable, very sweaty Donald Carr.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the show. I have with me the acting sensation, Kaylee Conner.” He turns to me, meeting my eyes for the first time since I’ve been on set. “How have you been?”

I smile politely. “I’ve been great. Very busy. And before I forget, I want to congratulate you on your much-deserved retirement. After thirty-two years on air, you must be excited about the change.”

“Thrilled.” He looks down at the cue cards in his lap, refusing to hold my gaze. “Let’s talk about you. I was reading over what you’ve accomplished this year and it's impressive. Role after role. Movie deal after movie deal. You must be very proud.”

I beam as the audience claps. “I am. I love what I do. It truly is a dream.”

“How do you do it? I mean, you're a single mother, juggling some large roles. And if I’m being honest, a year ago, things were looking a little shaky for you. But now, here you are, back and busier than ever. What’s your secret?”

“Commitment to the craft and a great team by my side.”

And maybe a little help from a small, black notebook hidden away in my kitchen pantry.