Page 5 of Living Hell

The memories of that place consisted of hearing my mom cry herself to sleep at night because she struggled to provide for me, someone who I thought was my best friend was nowhere to be found when I needed him the most, and the kids I grew up with who taunted me because I didn’t look like them.

I busted my ass to get away from that world. If I stuck with Babette and had Cara’s help, maybe I’d never be the girl with holes in her shoes or an ache in her belly from hunger ever again.

“You need a comeback.” Babette flared her hands in the air.

“Wouldn’t I have to go away for a comeback?”

She nodded and glanced over at Cara as if encouraging her to join in on the head bobbing party. Like the dutiful soldier, I watched as Cara, without a word from Babette, agreed with everything my agent had said. Cara must have known Babette was in my trailer as we walked back from set. That’s why she was acting strangely.

“Oh.” Was all I could say. This must be my agent’s way of getting rid of clients—not firing them but telling them to disappear for a while.

“Only for a few months. Look at what it did for Mckale Jackson, who was caught in a brothel in Nevada. He spent a few months at a rehab facility and the next movie he did won him an Oscar.”

Despite having a few starring roles under his belt, I remember when the press labeled him the comeback king. Perhaps there was something to this plan.

“What would I have to do? Go to some fancy rehab slash resort for a month or two? I could do that.”

It might be nice to relax for a while.

“I have the perfect plan. It does involve travel, but not to a rehab facility. You will recover in your hometown, in a home I just bought.”

No! Oh, God . . . no.

I gritted my teeth and forced my lips to curve into a smile. “Okay.”