The Siren Read online

  “So, two months, then?” Cole was looking at me like he expected an answer; I had no idea what he was talking about. I would have raised an eyebrow, but I’d had my forehead Botoxed the previous week, so that was impossible.

  Felicity pursed her full lips. “Something like that.”

  I was glad they’d settled it.

  “Huh,” Cole said. “And how did you meet?”

  Lord he was nosy today. “Pure luck.” I couldn’t help but smile, remembering Felicity silhouetted by the late-afternoon sun, the bracelet slipping from her wrist as she crossed the path ahead of me. “I was with Mary Elizabeth at Lake Hollywood—”

  “She’s still alive?” Cole spat incredulously.

  “Who’s Mary Elizabeth?” Taylor asked.

  “Her Chihuahua,” Cole clarified. “She must be a hundred years old—she’s had her since we were together.”

  “Oh my God shut up. It wasn’t that long ago.”

  He chuckled. “It was pre-Obama.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No need to date—”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s all a fog for you, darling.” Cole bared his teeth in what appeared to everyone else as a charming smile. And here I’d been thinking perhaps he’d changed.

  But I wouldn’t let him get me down. I opened my bag and gently lifted my sweet darling from her tuffet. She was shaking, unnerved by the sudden exposure to the terrible brightness of the beach and all the staring faces, her tawny fur raised in alarm. She reached her little paws for me, and I pressed her to my chest as she licked my chin. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her getting cold in this balmy climate.

  Felicity reached over and stroked her head. “Hello, angel,” she cooed.

  “She’s adorable,” Taylor remarked. “She’s so tiny.”

  “With such a big heart,” Felicity agreed, taking her from me and nestling her between her boobs. Mary Elizabeth calmed down immediately.

  “She loves Felicity.” I smiled.

  “I see,” Cole said. His eyes were hidden by dark glasses, but I’d bet all the money I had left (which, granted, wasn’t much) that he was staring at her cleavage. Honestly, it was hard not to.

  I’d once had that effect on him. Not that I wanted to now—though I could likely still draw his eye if I tried. He was as handsome as ever and a dalliance would be good press. Felicity was insistent I shouldn’t fear the press anymore; I was to court it, feed it, use it. I’d been out of the spotlight only a few short years—well, a decade, I guess—but things have changed, she said. I was to be proactive if I wanted to revitalize my career. I needed to get people’s attention, show them who I was today. But I’d been hiding from the press since I was a teenager. Now suddenly I was supposed to embrace it? Wouldn’t I appear desperate, fighting for attention like a reality star—or worse, social media influencer?

  I was an actress, not a fame whore like whoever it was they’d hired to play opposite me. Madison somebody. Karanian? Karabian? Kasabian, that was it. Madison Kasabian. I’d never heard of her, but apparently she had over a million followers, whatever that meant. I’d looked her up and found hundreds, maybe thousands, of videos of an admittedly beautiful girl with perfect skin, long raven hair, enviable brows, and a full mouth, but no discernable talent that I could see, besides transforming her face with contouring and makeup. Which was certainly a great skill to have, but not the one you needed to be a real actress. What was this world coming to?

  “So, you were telling us how you two met.” Cole shifted his gaze from Felicity to me.

  Why did I feel like he was challenging me? Had he only invited me here for his entertainment? It was hard enough trying to keep my chin up these days without my ex-husband taunting me. I’d only seen him a few brief times since I accepted the role, but he’d been so nice until now that I’d been hopeful he’d evolved. Alas, I probably shouldn’t have taken the role—I knew better than anyone how changeable he could be—but I couldn’t turn it down. I needed it. And he knew I needed it. The roof of my beautiful home was leaking, the pool was empty, my car was making a terrible noise. Luckily, I had a mechanic who always did the labor for free after I went to lunch with him, but still, Range Rover parts were expensive, especially on older models.

  To be in a deferential position with Cole wasn’t ideal, but I wouldn’t bite the hand that fed me no matter how much it scratched. I fingered my crystal pendant: amethyst, for tranquility and sobriety. Regardless of his motivation for giving me this role, it was a godsend for which I was grateful. I would have an Attitude of Gratitude. He’d given me the opportunity; all I had to do was turn in a brilliant performance, and I would have my career back for real. No more low-budget indies with their cheap motels and pizzas for dinner. Pizza! I couldn’t do the carbs. I really couldn’t. The bloating, the lethargy…

  Truth be told, I’d done only one of those awful low-budget affairs. A horror movie, of all things. But it took only one to realize that sort of thing was not for me. They didn’t even have stand-ins—they expected me to stand there for hours drenched in disgusting sticky fake blood while they adjusted their shoddy lighting equipment. I shuddered at the memory. I’d gotten rave reviews though, by the handful of people who saw the thing. And it had helped me secure a part in a Lifetime movie. Not a large part, but a part, nonetheless. I recognized how depressing it was that I considered a small role in a Lifetime movie a career win these days, but I would stay positive. What you think about you bring about! I only ever thought of myself as a star and stayed far away from the forbidding stairwells that twisted downward into the dark recesses of my mind.

  Which, of course, was why I hadn’t made any progress on the tell-all memoir I was meant to be writing. In a moment of insanity during a promo I was contractually obligated to do for the horror film, I’d told the interviewer I was writing a memoir. To clear things up, in my own words. Put the truth out there, no reporters involved (and hopefully put a little money in my bank account). It was a good idea; Felicity agreed. Only, I hadn’t yet been able to bring myself to actually write the damn thing.

  My mouth was suddenly parched, and Cole was looking at me like he wanted an answer for something. Luckily, Felicity swooped to the rescue.

  “I dropped my charm bracelet,” she recounted. Christ, are we still talking about this? “It was from my mother and meant everything to me. Stella picked it up, and we started talking. I fell in love with Mary Elizabeth immediately and offered to help with her.”

  “And she was so much help, I realized she was the perfect fit to be my assistant,” I finished, with what I hoped was an air of finality.

  Neither of us mentioned that I’d yet to pay Felicity a dime of actual money. I had no idea how she was paying her bills; I’d been compensating her for her time with clothes and bags and jewelry. But now she was on the movie payroll, thank heavens.

  “Welcome aboard.” Cole flashed his dimple at Felicity.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m here to help, so if there’s anything that any of you need, as long as I’m not busy with something for Stella, I’m happy to assist.”

  Taylor laughed. “Careful what you offer on a set. It’s easy to get taken advantage of.”

  Felicity smiled. “I’m not worried about that.”

  October 11, 2018

  HorrorFansOnline:

  Video Interview with Stella Rivers,

  star of Blood Bond

  78 people like this

  [Time marker 4:57]

  HorrorFans: So you’ve never done horror before. What drew you to the role of Emily?

  Stella Rivers: No matter the genre, I always choose roles that speak to me on some level, and I really identified with Emily. It’s not easy when your husband takes up with someone else. It makes you doubt yourself, leaves you feeling defeated, less-than…You start thinking self-destructive thoughts. It can drive you crazy, as it does Emily, and you become someone you don’t even recognize.

  HF: It sounds like you have some personal experience with ch
eating.

  SR: You know I don’t talk about my personal life, but I will say it’s something I’m familiar with. Emily’s not the kind of person who sits there and takes it, and that’s something I can really appreciate. I’m like that too. Her anger transforms her. Of course she makes some mistakes along the way, that end up—not to spoil anything—adding to the horror element of the movie—

  HF: Good catch. We don’t want to give anything away. This one has a shocking ending you won’t see coming. The raw anger you channeled as Emily was very believable.

  SR: Thank you. I really felt like I could feel her pain, and it was cathartic for me. We’ve gone through some of the same things. You know how it is—you get angry and suddenly your anger takes over and maybe you do things you wish you hadn’t. Then it’s over and you look back and realize “Shit, I shouldn’t have done that, and now I’m gonna have to live with it for the rest of my life,” and it can really bring you down, make you crazy.

  HF: (laughs) Wow, what are you trying to tell us?

  SR: No, it’s just sometimes—you know, sometimes good people do bad things. And bad people do bad things too, of course. And sometimes a bad person or a bad moment can influence a good person to do a bad thing.

  HF: Sounds like you need to write a book.

  SR: Oh, I am. You know, people look at me and they see all the outside things, the things the tabloids have printed. But they don’t know the real story. And I’ll tell you, it’s not what it seems.

  HF: So the famously private Stella Rivers is writing a tell-all memoir?

  SR: I’m private because things get filtered and twisted by the press. But in my own words, I want to come clean, as they say, set the record straight.

  HF: And when can we expect this explosive book?

  SR: You know any good publishers, you send them my way.

  HF: I certainly will. It’s been great talking with you. Please come back when you release your book!

  Felicity

  Thirteen Years Ago

  Iris stands in front of the mirror in her panties, painting her eyes black. I like them better plain like when it’s just the two of us hanging out by the pool at the Super 8 next door or whatever, but she tells me I’m wrong. Men like mystery.

  It must be true because every night she changes from my mom (which I am not allowed to call her except in my head) into this magical creature: glittering eyes, golden hair like a shampoo commercial, boobs spilling out of her dress, legs all tan and shimmery, balancing with ease on heels I can’t walk two steps in. She’s like a butterfly. Only, one time when I told her that, thinking it was a good thing, she wrinkled her nose and said, “Ew! So I’m, like, normally a caterpillar? Gross.”

  But she knows what she’s doing because every night she gets a man. She doesn’t usually bring them to our apartment unless they’re special because I’m here and she doesn’t want them seeing where she lives. But she tells me about them. What they do, what nice clothes they wear, what their fancy apartments look like. She doesn’t tell me what they do with her, but I can guess. I’ve seen the internet. And also there was one time Miss Nina downstairs wasn’t home, and she had to hide me in the bathroom when she brought one home.

  Now that I’m ten I get to stay home by myself at night because I’m so responsible. And really I got to do that most of the time when I was nine too, and a little bit at eight. But before that I had to stay with neighbors and friends like Miss Nina or Mrs. Alvarez, who always had like a dozen kids there, so that was really fun.

  Staying home alone isn’t so bad though. I get to watch as much TV and whatever movies I want, even if they’re R rated, with sex and cussing and people shooting each other. And I love movies. I think maybe one day I’ll be a movie star. Mom says I won’t be so pudgy when I grow up. It’s just baby fat, she says. And I’ll grow into my big nose, which must be my father’s because it’s sure not hers. At least I have her shiny blond hair and big blue eyes.

  I grab one of her lip glosses and paint my mouth with it, making kissy faces in the glass. Suddenly my lips are on fire. “Shit!” I fan my mouth, tears springing to my eyes.

  Iris laughs as I flip on the sink and try to get the gunk off. “Lip plumper,” she says when I straighten up and wipe my face on a towel. “That’ll teach ya to ask when you wanna borrow something.”

  “Why do you do that?” I blink away tears. “It burns.”

  She shrugs. “Beauty must suffer—haven’t you heard?” She applies it to her own lips and smacks them without flinching.

  “You look beautiful,” I say. “Are you dancing tonight?”

  She shakes her head, curls bouncing.

  She’s a dancer, but I’ve never gotten to see her dance because you have to be a grown-up to go to the place where she dances. But we like to dance together when we’re watching American Idol or America’s Got Talent, and I can tell how good she is.

  “So, do you have a date?”

  She spritzes herself with perfume that smells like jasmine. “You know it, girl.”

  The bathroom’s so small that now I smell like jasmine too, which makes me feel like she’s hugging me. “Who’s the lucky gentleman?” She likes it when I call her dates gentlemen. It makes her laugh.

  “I don’t even know if I should tell you.” Her sky-blue eyes twinkle. “It’s a secret.”

  “Why’s it a secret? Is he a politician?” She’s told me how much politicians love to keep secrets. Especially the ones who talk about Jesus a lot.

  “Even better.” She breezes into our bedroom and rifles through the overstuffed closet, pulling out a sparkly silver dress.

  “Now you have to tell me,” I beg. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

  She shimmies into the minidress and offers me her back. “He’s a movie star,” she says as I zip her up.

  My eyes go wide. “Which one?”

  “Only your favorite.” She grins.

  “Cole Power?” I gasp. I don’t even like boys yet, and I like him. I would have a poster of him above my bed if I didn’t share a bed with my mom. “You have a date with the Cole Power?”

  She nods. I spring onto the bed and start jumping and squealing. I can’t control myself. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Holy shit, Mom!”

  “Iris!” she corrects me.

  “Sorry. I’m just so excited!” I bounce onto my butt next to her on the tired pink comforter.

  “How’d you meet him?”

  She removes a shoe box from a shopping bag and takes out a pair of sky-high silver heels to match the dress. “He came into the club last night and liked me so much he spent the entire evening with me.”

  “So that’s how you got those new shoes.” I laugh.

  She slips them on and stands. “What do you think?”

  “You look like a supermodel,” I say. It’s true, she’s the most gorgeous mom anybody ever had. I’m sure of it. “Maybe he’ll want to marry you.” My eyes travel to the black-and-white poster of the Eiffel Tower hanging above our bed. “We could finally go to Paris!” But a cloud darkens my happiness as I remember the cover of one of the magazines sitting on our coffee table. “He’s married already though. He got married to Stella Rivers, like, last month.”

  “That’s why it’s a secret,” she says, stuffing things into her purse. “But don’t worry. Celebrities have affairs all the time. It’s no big deal. And anyway, marriage is overrated. Better to be the one he’s cheating with than the one he’s cheating on!”

  She pulls me in for a jasmine hug and kisses me on the mouth, leaving my lips burning. But I don’t mind. My mom is going on a date with Cole Power.

  September 8, 2018

  The Biz Report

  Taylor Wasserman and Rory Wexler Dumped

  from Woodland Studios

  (Developing)

  New details are emerging about Taylor Wasserman and Rory Wexler’s abrupt firing from Woodland Studios yesterday. Former colleagues say each was escorted from the lot separately around 4:00 p.m., but
no details were released until a company-wide memo went out this morning. According to the memo, Wasserman and Wexler were let go due to “misappropriation of funds” over a period of months. Sources say the creative accounting was to cover up an affair between the two that had been going on for over a year. Items under investigation include expensive dinners in London, New York, and Los Angeles, thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes and jewelry, and personal use of the company jet. Wasserman is the daughter of Woodland Studios SVP, David Wasserman, who could not be reached for comment.

  Taylor

  The thatched straw umbrella did little to cut the heat of the day, which had blossomed from warm to flat-out torrid as the breeze off the bay faltered. I’d been tracking the weather obsessively to ensure that production was prepared for whatever Mother Nature had in store, but clearly my weather app had misjudged the situation. High today of eighty with showers in the afternoon, my ass. It had to be at least ninety-five and not a cloud in the cobalt sky. I fanned myself with my hat as I tried in vain to concentrate on matching the list of script changes Cole requested with the script changes Stella requested before the shit hit the fan tomorrow with the first day of filming, but it was next to impossible with Stella perched on the edge of my lounger gossiping with Cole about famous people they knew and reminiscing about old times with strangely combative undertones.

  It wasn’t fair; I was here first. Sure, it would’ve been much easier to do my work in the privacy of my bungalow, but I’d hoped Stella would scoot so that I could ask Cole the dreaded question away from prying ears. That, however, was apparently not in the cards, and moving wasn’t an option, as all the other sunshades were now occupied by cast and crew.