1.1 Vivienne

Although being an actress certainly had its share of perks, the downsides tended to be far more harrowing. Mostly because they had the tendency to be broadcast throughout the world. There was hardly such thing as personal privacy when one wrong move could get your name and face plastered on every gossip column this side of the west. The high life was a dream, but a fragile one. Appearances were everything, and secrets were the ropes that bound them up. Vivienne knew that better than most because she was hiding several ugly little truths of her own.

Like right now. Vivienne Hardison pushed open the door of her manager’s office to a sight that stopped her dead in her tracks. Biting back the gasp in her throat, she braced herself against the expected wave of sadness and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb of her manager’s office; arms folded loosely across her chest as she watched cinema’s newest up-and-coming star bounce away on his lap. From this angle, Vivienne couldn’t see his face, which wasn’t too much of a loss in her opinion. It was already bad enough that she was watching her husband cheat on her in the middle of the day, she didn’t need to see what his face looked like while he was balls deep in another woman.

At least they both had the decency to be mostly dressed, Vivienne mused to herself, tapping the tips of her painted acrylic nails against her upper arm. The movement was rhythmic, deliberately so, as she ensured that each one pinched in time with her breathing. This must have been a quickie, and probably not the first if she had to guess. Liam knew her schedule best after all; when she was on-set, off-set, in make-up, getting out of make-up, on-break, and having hour long lunch meetings with rich producers for future roles.

A part of Vivienne, the part that wasn’t in the middle of a sobbing breakdown, was almost impressed by his rigour. According to the ticking hands of the clock on the wall, she had only left the room half an hour ago, and in that short span of time her boyfriend had somehow managed to sneak Cammie Thorn onto his dick without being spotted or accosted by the ever-creeping paparazzi that always seemed to stalk the footsteps of anyone who carried the slightest bit of clout. Many called them dogs, tearing and clawing over the tiniest bit of meat, but Vivienne found that rude. At least a dog could be taught the meaning of the word no.

A high-pitched, almost cartoonishly pornographic whine jolted her from her thoughts, and Vivienne nearly rolled her eyes. Deciding that she’d had enough of this farce, she raised a hand and rapped her knuckles very loudly on the wide-open door.

Instantly, Liam shot up to his feet, which had the unfortunate but still amusing result of toppling Cammie off his lap and straight to the floor. Oh well, at least it was carpeted. Saxony pile wasn’t cheap, and Vivienne hoped the actress’s butt appreciated every single weft of the woolen fibres that had cushioned her ignominious fall.

“Vivi! H-Honey!” Liam pasted an unnaturally bright grin on his face, fingers working busily at his crotch. While that was the obvious clue to his crime, anyone would be able to piece together what exactly had been happening by the rumpled hair and faint outline of hickeys that were not quite hidden by the partially unbuttoned shirt. Not to mention the pair of high heels kicked next to the couch, a size too small for Vivienne’s feet, and the bright pink Chanel handbag tossed carelessly onto the desk. The lip of the accessory was splayed so wide that several of the contents must have tipped out already.

The sound of Liam’s pant zipper being hastily dragged shut was deafeningly loud between the three of them. Face unchanging, Vivienne only arched an eyebrow and slid a single questioning gaze over to Cammie.

To the younger woman’s credit, or perhaps it was more down to a wellspring of pure audacity, it didn’t take long for Camellia to get back to her feet. She didn’t even look ashamed. Oh, she was embarrassed about being caught certainly, Vivienne could read the mortification in the red of her cheeks, the wide eyes, and the shallow furrow between her perfectly plucked eyebrows. However, the sugar-sweet grin on Camellia’s face as she patted down her skirt was nothing short of unbearably peppy. The sight reminded Vivienne of herself three years ago: young and desperate and dreaming, and so excited to have a handsome man take an interest in her stupid fantasies.

Liam, with his swooping blonde hair, easy smile, and utterances of support. He had been so nice, promising her the moon and stars, and Vivienne really had swallowed every single claim, hook, line, and sinker.

“Oh, where are my manners!” Liam took a step closer, and Vivienne went tense. For a horrible second the actress was terrified that he was going to touch her, kiss her even, and she would just have to smile and bear it without emptying the contents her stomach onto the aforementioned wool carpet. Not that there would have been much, considering how the lunch had gone. Luckily, he only turned and gestured to Vivienne, as though she were a particularly beautiful piece of art that he wanted to show off. “Vivi, this is Cammie Thorn. Camellia, this is–”

“Vivienne Hardison!” Camellia interrupted, nearly bouncing on the tips of her toes with obvious and unexpected excitement. “I am such a huge fan!”

As far as fan meetings went, this certainly ranked extremely low on the list, but you wouldn’t know it from Cammie’s expression. Hell, Vivienne could see what the media liked about the younger woman. She was charming in that sweet, slightly naïve countryfied way that was nigh impossible to find in Hollywood. Immaculate milk-white skin contrasted beautifully against flawless seashell pink lips and waves of thick mahogany brown hair devoid of flyaway curls. Big blue eyes surrounded by long lashes gave Ms. Thorn the aura of an innocent ingenue, which was a powerful siren call for certain types of men when paired with slender curves wrapped a green skintight minidress.

The combination of jealousy and pity tasted strange on Vivienne’s tongue. Sour and bitter at the same time, burning the insides of her cheeks and the curl of her tongue. Yet she managed to dredge up the weak approximation of a normal smile.

Before she could return the greeting, or even say a word, Camellia was already bulldozing on. “I saw you in the last season of Depeche Mode last November and I adored every single episode you were in,” she gushed. “Bianca was my favourite character, did you know? I mean, I know she was the bad guy, but she was such a fantastic villain, and you played the character so well! It was like you totally embodied the subtle, aloof bitchiness; you know? It was like you weren’t even acting at all!”

“Yes well…” The corners of Vivienne’s lips tightened. She maintained her smiling mask while she carefully put a few more inches of distance between herself and the overly effusive actress “Thank you for the praise. I’ve had a lot of practice in such roles.”

“That’s right!” Liam re-inserted himself into the conversation, having managed to fix his shirt and hair in the few seconds neither woman’s eyes were on him.

Truly a man of efficiency, Vivienne hummed dryly, suppressing a twinge of hurt that travelled through her chest. It might sound boring to some, but Liam’s organizational skills were one of the reasons she’d been attracted to him in the first place. Three years ago, she’d thought his coordination and confidence made him mature and competent. A real man instead of the flirty playboys who only stayed conscious long enough to drink themselves back into oblivion. It hadn’t taken long for the fantasy to fall, but by then it was too late.

“Vivienne also played Julia Bayes in Broken Skies and was the cult killer in Sacred Flock. You know, it took a great deal of finagling to land her that audition, but that is the duty of any manager,” he puffed out his chest, flexing nonexistent pectorals. “I have to do the best for my clients, otherwise I’d be no better than a bloodsucking leech!”

No, because at least leeches were an essential part of the ecosystem, and some even found use in hospitals. Leeches were infinitely more useful than Liam could ever dream of being.

Vivienne had landed the role of Bianca Mayfield – main antagonist of season 6 of the drama-filled fashion series Depeche Mode – when she had unknowingly bumped into one of the lead writers in a downtown bookshop. Over a brisk walk to the register, the two had fallen into a discussion of the intricacies of managing audience expectations and overuse of plot-twists in long-running series. Two weeks later Vivienne had received a call from one of the showrunners asking whether she was interested in auditioning for a role in the next season. A similar story went for most of her roles, at least the ones she’d landed after becoming a more recognizable feature on peoples’ screens.

For the moment, Vivienne hadn’t managed to come up with an apt enough descriptor for Liam. Parasite was too obvious for a man whose biggest claim to fame was being born from sperm of a world-renowned entertainment lawyer. The way he swanned around Hollywood, you’d think he’d singlehandedly erected each letter by hand. Truly, he should have been the performer between the two of them, because it was apparent that he was in the wrong line of work and Vivienne was tired of being the one stuck playing the role of the bad guy on everyone’s television screens.

Speaking of which…

“Would you excuse us for a moment?” Vivienne asked through teeth that were only a little bit clenched. “I would like to speak to my…manager about something.”

“Oh, of course!” Cammie chirped. She quickly fluttered about the room, snatching up her handbag and jacket from the desk. Headache pulsing between her eyes, Vivienne wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when the woman ducked underneath her husband’s desk and returned with the spilled contents of her handbag: a tube of lipstick, a bottle of perfume, and a pair of fluffy, Valentine’s Day red handcuffs which she stuffed into her bag with an airy giggle. “It was wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Hardison. See you later, Liam!”

With that, the whirlwind escaped the office, taking with it any pretense at normalcy. Vivienne slammed the door shut and whirled around to glare at her sham of a husband. “Really?” She spat. “Your office?”

“Would you rather I do it in our bed?” As soon as Cammie’s back was turned, the jovial mask retreated into an empty smile and flat gaze. “Sorry dear, time must have gotten away from me. You weren’t supposed to be back yet.”

Vivienne pursed her lips. “I came back early,” she hissed, “because you sent me to lunch with a lech.”

“Watch it,” Liam narrowed his eyes at her and straightened his tie. “That ‘lech’ is one of the biggest names on my roster and a part in his upcoming film project could have put us on the map. Surely you could have played nice for one day.”

“He tried to grope me!”

“And?” Her husband blinked at her, one eyebrow raised as though he truly did not see the problem with that. “What, are your tits made out of solid gold now? Come on Vivi, think. Get your head on straight. You’re a woman, aren’t you? Don’t you know how these things work?”