Free Confessions of a Hollywood Star by Dyan Sheldon

tonight.”
    My mother was in the living room reading a book when I got home. She glanced over as I hurtled into the room.
    “Have a nice time, Mary?”
    Despite my disappointment at the way Hal Minsky had treated me I was in a good mood. I’d got close. It was a sign from the gods of theatre that the next time I’d be successful.
    “I had a great time.” I threw myself into the nearest chair. “Wait’ll you hear what happened. You won’t believe it. Lucy Rio was in the restaurant! Isn’t that incredible? She was practically at the next table.”
    “Who?” asked my mother.
    [Cue: look of endless suffering at the hands of philistines.] “Lucy Rio? The actor?”
    Karen Kapok yawned. “Never heard of her.”
    “Of course you’ve heard of her. She’s the one who was in—”
    But I didn’t get a chance to tell her what movies Lucy Rio’d been in because at that moment my sisters charged into the room shrieking as if there were tigers after them.
    “Calm down,” I ordered. “I can’t understand what you’re saying. Tell me slowly – and one at a time.”
    They didn’t of course. They both shouted at once. “Guess what, Mary? Guess what, Mary? We’re going to be in a movie!”
    This time I heard exactly what they said. I gazed at them as Lot must have gazed at the pillar of salt that had been his wife. Of what cruel ironies is life composed! Of what sad truths! The only talent either of my sisters has ever shown is for cheating at Monopoly, and the one time we took them to a real play (without singing and dancing) they both fell asleep. And here they were about to appear in my Hollywood film.
    “ You’re going to be in the movie? Are you sure you’re not deluding yourselves? I don’t know who told you that, but they could be wrong. You know what this hick town is like for rumours.” Like warm, moist lungs to a viral infection.
    “But it’s true! Oona May at day camp said so.”
    Karen Kapok was nodding.
    I gave Pam and Paula a concerned, sisterly smile. “But you can’t act.”
    “They don’t have to act,” said my mother. “All they have to do is sit.”
    Apparently they were using all the kids in the day camp for a scene that called for a school bus full of children.
    “Aren’t you happy for us?” asked Paula.
    “Don’t you think it’s cool?” asked Pam.
    “Of course I’m happy for you.” But how could my soul not wince at the bitter twists of Fate? “Of course I think it’s cool.” But how could my heart not sigh at the sad reality of a world where chance beats the stuffing out of genius? What with one thing and another I’d had a very frustrating and stressful day. I didn’t really want to spend the rest of it listening to them yammering on about their one-and-a-half seconds of fame. I clutched my forehead. “Unfortunately, I’m not really feeling too well. I’m going to bed. I think I’m getting a migraine.”
    “You don’t get migraines,” said my mother.
    I closed my eyes against the pain. “I do now.”

Giving Up Is Not In My Nature
    I n my experience (which is considerable considering my youth), spiritual exhaustion is just as debilitating as physical exhaustion, and my spirit was as limp as a rag. I couldn’t face going to work the next morning. My heart was scarred by the cruel twists of fate it had suffered and my soul was passed out cold. I rang Mrs Magnolia and told her that the washing machine had gone berserk and I had to help my mother so I’d be in late.
    I stayed in bed, listening to my favourite CD and thinking spiritually nourishing thoughts. Time does really heal and music does really soothe the ravaged soul. After only a couple of hours my resilient nature rose up like a phoenix from the ashes of despair. (Being me is a little like being a mail person. You know, neither rain, nor snow, nor dark of night shall stop this courier from completing her appointed rounds – and neither surly costume designers, nor irritable producer, nor Carla Santini