Page 2 of Just Beachy

Well, shit. Although Cassie is supposed to be thirty-five, I’m only thirty, which is way too young to be washed up even here in La-La Land. “You could have warned me that the contract negotiations were stalled out.” Sometimes the obvious just begs to be stated. “I felt like a moron getting that kind of news in front of everybody.”

“I’m sorry, Sydney. There was nothing I could do.”

Translation: nothing hewoulddo. Martin has two other actors on the show, and his primary loyalty lies with himself.

“I’ve played Cassie for five years now. If you couldn’t get them to change their minds, couldn’t you at least get them to let her leave honorably or choose to leave herself? Let me walk out with some dignity?”

Who am I kidding? There’ll be a great ratings spike while everyone tunes in to see Cassie Everheart self-destruct. And then I’ll be indelibly linked to a weak character who loses her shit just because a man dumped her.

“Relax, Sydney. It’ll blow over. We’ll find you something else. Maybe the time has come to make a move to the big screen like we’ve been talking about. Let me make some calls.”

I try to pretend that even better things lie ahead. That Cassie and I had taken each other as far as we could and that when Martin calls back, he’ll have some juicy role for me that I don’t even have to audition for. Only, when I finally hear from him two weeks later, he has nothing. Make that worse than nothing. “I tried, Sydney. I called virtually everyone who might have anything suitable, and I didn’t get a single nibble.”

“How can that be? I’ve won two Emmys and a Golden Globe. I—”

“It’s not that. It has nothing to do with your talent, Syd. Word is you pissed off somebody big. An A-lister. Any idea who that might be?”

I close my mouth and swallow back a groan. Because I stood up to Tonja Kay, an actress who is as high up theHollywood alphabet as you can get. And who is married to megastar Daniel Deranian, who once hit on me and is the father of my good friend Kyra Singer’s child, which does not endear her (or me!) to his wife.

“Look,” Martin says. “It’s not the end of the world. When you finish shooting, you take a break, leave town for a little while. There are lots of short attention spans out here.”

“And how am I supposed to live while I’m on this break?” I’ve gotten an increasingly impressive salary for my ongoing role as Cassie, but I’ve plowed most of it into my house, which I love, the requisite Mercedes convertible with the vanity plateCASSIECOP,and the ongoing physical maintenance of my largest asset, which up until this moment has been me.

Cassie is going to disappear into rehab and never be heard from again. And I’ve managed to piss off an A-lister with serious clout and the vicious will to use it.

I hear Martin’s shrug across the line. Details, if they don’t involve decimal points, are not really his thing. “Maybe you could rent out the house for a while and go visit your family. They’re in Atlanta, aren’t they? There’s a lot of film and television work in Georgia these days. And it may be far enough away to let you fly under the radar.”

• • •

Somehow, I toughit out until my last episode airs. It takes that long to find a tenant I don’t think will trash my house, put the things I care about in storage, and finally accept that my career as Cassie is over.

I let my friend, Jill Connors, who plays a forensic scientist on one of the CSI programs, throw me a going-away party, even though it feels a lot more like a wake—and not the fun Irish kind my family throws. Determined to act as if my world hasn’t ended, I (ironically!) drink too much and sleep with Jake Bodie one last time, even though he’s already circling the blonde who’s replacing me.

Hungover with no great memories to show for it, I cram my back seat full of clothing, pick up a venti cappuccino that I can’t really afford, and get on I-10. As I point the Mercedes east, I tell myself it’s all just grist for the acting mill. How can you emote humiliation and despair if you haven’t really experienced them?

Two

I spend 10-hour days onthe road still unable to focus on anything but the disaster my life has become. My mind plays it over and over in an endless loop. It doesn’t help that everywhere I stop, I run into former fans, “former” being the operative word, who are either angry at or sorry for me.

Like the woman at the Chevron station outside of Las Cruces.

“Oh my God, it’s Cassie Everheart.” Her round face lights with excitement, a reaction I have to admit always gives me a little rush. So does her daughter’s.

Over the last five years I’ve given tons of autographs; I think it goes with the territory. I’ve never understood the actors who court attention and want to be celebrities but don’t think that should involve any personal contact with the people who made them famous in the first place.

I smile and take a step toward her, wiping my hands on my jeans as I approach. Which is when the woman’s expression changes. “I’m glad to see they’ve let you out of rehab. I hope you can manage to stay sober. But such a shame that Jason moved on so quickly and is already dating that young rookie.”

I stand frozen while she turns and heads back to her car. The other customers eye me with either disdain or pity and I slink back to my car and drive off, wishing for an adult-size invisibility cloak. There’s never a wizard around when you need one.

I’m almost to Tallahassee, where my college roommate lives, when my phone lights up. I draw a deep breath and straighten my shoulders when thePsychotheme ringtone fills the car.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, darling. Where are you?” I’m pleasantly surprised and relieved that she doesn’t immediately mention the loss ofMurder 101, the boyfriend who defected to the winning team as soon as I was “released” from the show, or demand to know what I plan to do next. Natalie Anderson Ryan likes to “tackle problems head-on” and “discuss possible plans of attack” long before you’ve had a chance to absorb the problem in the first place. I developed the ability to tune out and remove myself from reality in self-defense. The fact that this survival skill helped me learn how to get into character quickly and become a better actor is a lucky by-product.

“I’m about an hour from Linda’s. I’ve been promising to visit for a while.”

“Well, you can stop off and say hello. But I need you here in Treasure Island before the end of the day.”

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