Page 1 of For My Finale
Chapter One
There was a rumor that a well-known actress had once punched a fellow competitor so hard that teeth had been dislodged, though they’d turned out to be veneers rather than actual teeth. Lilah wasn’t sure how true the rumor was, but she was more than willing to believe it.
All for a statue that weighed eight and a half pounds. Less than four kilos. Less than half of what Lilah’s personal trainer, who preferred to be called a Power Coach, forced her to lift just to warm up.
The theater shimmered with a golden glow, a sort of weird haze that made Lilah’s eyes sting a bit, and made everything look like she was looking through fog. Probably a combination of Botox fumes and diamond sparkle.
And as the presenter, an unremarkable man who’d somehow become one of the top-selling actors of the decade despite only reaching Lilah’s shoulder, fumbled with the envelope, Lilah found herself… bored.
Bored and tired and so, so, so not wanting to be here.
Finally, the envelope was open, which given how long the actor had once struggled to undo Lilah’s bra, she found something of a miracle. The actor grinned for the cameras.
“And the Oscar goes to… Lilah Paxton.”
The crowd predictably erupted, because if there was one thing that actors knew how to do, it was please the public, and Lilahforced her face into the perfect picture of poised surprise. She placed a delicately manicured hand over her chest, she widened her eyes into a practiced blend of shock and delight and humbleness, she rounded her mouth into an O, and then dabbed non-existent tears from her eyes as she accepted air kisses from those around her.
Then she stood up.
She’d been quite literally sewn into her dress four hours ago and was still wondering what the hell was going to happen when she inevitably had to go to the toilet. She also thought that she’d be far more comfortable in her sweats on her couch.
Not that life had always been that way.
Ten years ago, she’d have given her eye-teeth to be walking up to the stage like she was doing now. Fifteen years ago she’d have given her eye-teeth, an excellent blow job, and a promise of a night of unbridled passion.
These days, she found it hard to stay awake after nine o’clock. As for passion, well, it was heavily bridled at this point. Practically roped, tied, and slaughtered.
The lights blinded her, the applause continued, she took the stupid statue and held it to her chest like it meant more than a first-born child, and the microphone loomed in front of her mouth.
It wasn’t so much a decision.
It was more like an inevitability.
She hadn’t planned on doing it at all. But as the clapping faded out and people started to look at her expectantly, it just sort of… happened.
She leaned in. There was a complete hush.
“I quit.”
Silence.
She stood back, surveying the effect she’d had.
Someone in the front row gasped. Someone dropped a glass. The orchestra conductor, halfway through raising his baton for the next cue, stood frozen with his arms in the air like a man being held at gunpoint.
Lilah, thinking that she owed everyone somewhat of an explanation, leaned back in again. “I haven’t eaten bread in fourteen years,” she said. “Fourteen. Years.”
Confused laughter rippled through the room. She saw the cameras swing around to the audience to catch their bewildered reactions. At home, millions of people would be craning forward in their seats, knowing that they were witnessing something that would soon be called a mental breakdown.
Lilah didn’t think she cared.
She leaned in one last time. “Seriously. I’m done. Thank you, Hollywood. It’s been… an experience.” That was putting it lightly. She cleared her throat, pouted her famous lips, and added, “a chaotic, soul-draining, utterly ridiculous experience.”
More laughter. Nervous. Unsure. Someone in the back clapped, then stopped, realizing they’d misread the room.
Lilah looked down at the statue in her hand. It would be just right for propping open the door to the little guest bathroom, she thought. She grinned.
“I’d like to thank the Academy,” she said. The audience perked up, this was more like it. “I’d like to thank my agent, Margot Langley, who’s currently having an aneurysm back stage, and…” She hoisted the statue. “And my Power Coach, who’s really just a personal trainer. Jed, just so you know, don’t show up to work in the morning, I’ll be busy eating a croissant.”
