"Reaching for the Moon"
Chapter One: The Press Box
I lounged suavely (ha. You're funny.) in my chaise, typing away on my handy dandy iPhone 4. It is my baby. I would die without it. My stylist/wardrobe consultant/personal therapist Kurt was searching my (very large and pastel-colored) closet, looking desperately for something to wear to an interview tomorrow.
"Linds, you have absolutely nothing to wear," Kurt exclaimed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. His perfectly coiffed hair could be seen from a mile away, as well as his sexuality. Today he was dressed chicly in all white, with a black scarf from contrast. "I have to go shopping for you ASAP."
"Fine by me," I agreed, not even looking up. I'm all for new clothes that he picked out, he has amazing taste. Plus, it's not I could pick out an outfit. I can barely tie my own shoes.
I'm Lindsay Marie Burke, Lindsay Burke to everyone else, and I was the star of the hit FOX TV series 'East Side, West Side', about two feuding families in New York. I was preparing for the series finale that was airing next week, so the press all wanted interviews from moi. I had to go to Ellen at eight that next morning, so I was dressed in drawstring white karate pants from BCBG and a very loose black tank with a pink sports bra. Comfy.
It bugged Kurt how casual I was. For a Level 1 celebrity (he ranked them on popularity, looks, and overall talent. For instance, Zefron? Definitely Level 2 now that HSM is down the drain) he claimed I should 'take more pride in my appearance'. Blah blah blah. No one can see me, no biggie. I ran a finger through my short, choppy blonde hair as my manager and part-time mom stormed in to my room.
June Burke was tall, with thin brown hair and thick lips, and small blue eyes. I looked nothing like her. "Darling, deary, someone is on the phone for you. Can you say the name Ron McAddams?"
I jumped up and did a happy dance. Ron McAddams was the producer of so many TV shows and movies I couldn't even keep track. He was starting a new sitcom about high school that was already estimated to be his biggest hit yet. I practically snatched the Blackberry (house phones are common, says my mother) from her hand and answered in my best professional voice, "Hello?"
I could almost hear Ron smile. "Yes, is this Lindsay Burke?"
I nodded, before realizing he can't see me. I said, "This is indeed. How are you, Mr. McAddams?"
"It's cliche to say, 'Call me Ron', so I'll cut to chase," he said, in a straight-foward, no-nonsense tone. "I assume you've heard about my new series 'Loser Like Me'? About the new girl in school Haley, and the ups and downs of high school?"
"Who hasn't?" I nearly gushed, then regained my cool. "Of course. I'm very excited about it."
"I'm glad," Ron said. "I would like you to read for Haley."
My hands started to shake and I almost dropped the phone, but I managed to get out a, "Y-yes, Mr. McAddams! I mean, Ron! I'd love it, that'd be amazing!"
He laughed softly. "How does tomorrow afternoon sound? I know you're going on Ellen, but-"
"Tomorrow afternoon is great," I said, before smilng so wide you could probably fit about a thousand pennies in my mouth.
"See you then, Lindsay!" Ron said cheerfully, before hanging up the phone. I waited about four seconds before...
"AHHHHHH!" I screamed, startling my cat, Belle. I had a penchant for Disney movies. My mom and Kurt rushed in.
"What's wrong?" Kurt asked. "Don't worry too much, you'll ruin your complexion!"
"He wants me to read for Haley!" I gushed, and my mom began screaming, too. Kurt just grinned and ran to my closet, murmuring about how he has to plan two looks in one day.
I looked around my black and white themed bedroom. I was having a fantastic day.
BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!
I sat up groggily, hitting my alarm clock. Getting up at six thirty in the morning sucked. I sat up, yawning, noticing my bedhead in the mirror across from my queen-sized mahogany bed (with pale yellow Crate and Barrell sheets and a black and white comforter!) and groaned. Kurt has his work cut out for him.
I open my door and trudge downstarirs into my chic living room, complete with flowers on the windowsills. Someone redid our whole house just so they could say they did. My kitchen was sleek with stainless steel appliances and marble countertops, common in LA. I opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of organge juice, drinking straight from it, not bothering to pour it. I grabbed some Pop Tarts (I was addicted. You don't try to seperate me from my Pop Tarts) and trudged back upstairs, where I knew Kurt would be waiting to transform me.
Sure enough, he was sitting primly on my bed, legs crossed. "I've figured it all out," he began, standing up. "For your Ellen appearance I have you in a pale pink sundress, which will be paired with a long cardi and brown boots. Then for your audition, you'll replace the cardi with a scarf and voila! Whole new look. I assumed you wouldn't want to change outfits," Kurt looked at me knowingly. "As for hair and make up? You'll see."
He motioned me towards my white vanity and turned on my Broadway-style lights. He turned on both the straightener and curling iron, before pulling out his incredibly awesome make up kit. "I was thinking light eyes and light lips. It works with your complexion," he started, brushing a powder over my face before dabbing concealer in various places. "Plus since light pink is your color, it just makes sense," he joked, putting a cream colored eyeshadow on my lid, and doing a tiny (barely there) line of mascara on both eyes. Mascara was applied and my eyes were done. He brushed my lips with pale pink gloss and my green eyes looked shiny. And not just because of my contacts.
The curling iron was apparently deemed hot enough, because he began making my choppy hair curly and very Marilyn Monroe-esque. My friend Marilyn would kill me.
Marilyn Jarrell, accurately named considering she loved Marilyn Monroe, was a Disney Channel star who wanted to be so much more. Still, she was hot news, and didn't excactly have the "Disney" reputation. This girl named Deliah Greyson (another one of my best friends) was dating Dwight Dallas, and everyone knew she was jealous.
"I look great, Kurt," I grin, looking myself over in the mirror.
"One last touch," he grins, and pops a brown knitted beret-style-thing (he probably knows what it's called, but I don't) over my head, more towards the back so as not to mess up my hair, and it looks great.
"Thanks again, you're a life saver!" I kiss his cheek, and he pulls out a hanger with my dress and cardi on it. I slip on the outfit and get ready for Ellen.
Ellen was fun and great and all, but I was on my way to the auditon when the nerves kicked in. "Oh God..."
My mom looks over. "What?"
"What if he hates me? What if I completely screw this up?" I bite lip and I get her signature glare, telling me to stop.
"You won't. Calm down," she reassures as the Mercedes pulls up to his studio. McADDAMS STUDIOS stands out in shining, silver letters that determined my fate. I was more than a little scared. I was pee-inducing terrified. I open the car door and step out of the car, grabbing my Vera Bradley purse, and walking catiously into the building. I press the elevator "up" button, then press floor 20. Where his office was. Where my audition would be. Right.
The elevator was mocking me, for it reached the floor way too quickly. But in the little waiting room outside of his office I saw some familiar faces.
Marilyn Jarrell, in all of her blonde hair, blue eyed glory, was sitting in a brown, sixties style dress, complete with funky green ankle boots. On anyone else it would've looked stupid, but on her it was genius. Her long curly hair was up in a complicated updo, and her makeup was understated. Beside her was the newest country star Blaze Harris, in a cowboy hat and boots. Wow. He took the word 'redneck' to the next level. His Beiber-esque blonde hair was covering his eyebrows, and his brown eyes looked up in awe.
Across the room sat Deliah Greyson, in her dark haired, dark skinned glory, looking great in black skinnies and Dolca & Gabanna strappy sandals and a red leather jacket over a black tank. Her hair was blown out pin straight and her hand was intertwined with a good-looking dark haired guy in an outfit straight out of the Ralph Lauren. It was Dwight Dallas.
And across the room, by himself, was Kyle Hyatt. Curly hair, dark eyes, motorcycle jacket. He couldn't get more cliche bad boy, but he made it work. All across Hollywood he was known for having storm outs and random fits of rage. I planned to stay clear of him.
My question was: What were all of Hollywood's mega-stars doing in the same wating room?