And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

TAKE 8

"DID YOU SEE THIS CUTE ARTICLE ABOUT YOU?" Priscilla sends me. Honestly, over the last 48 hours from my date with Harry Wolfe, reading articles about me is all I've been doing. Some call me an idiot for staying with him, there are petitions for us to break up and a lot of comments bashing him and worrying over me.

The truth is, I don't think I've ever been fussed over so much as I have been of late and it's... well, different. I'm still trying to process it.

The cute article Priscilla sent me was in fact cute, it's a breakdown of my outfit and where they can get it too. It's not from one of those bigger sites, in fact... it's from a Harry Wolfe fan account.

"Did my top go up in price?" I ask her.

"Looks like it," she replied.

"So, when do my brand deals start?" I ask.

"Let's hit 100K followers first, sweetheart."

I smile because with the rate my followers have been growing on Instagram, I'll be able to hit 100K before the month ends. Before Los Angeles, I'd been a New Yorker, and while LA thrives on individuality and costly soy-based coffee, New York was a take-it-or-leave-it space. Smiles? Grim. Energy, vivid. Individuality? Minimal.

I stretch out on my bed, ready for a peaceful weekend reading articles and maybe shopping since I've got blogs sharing where I get my fits from. It's so leisure.

It's afternoon when I go out. I treat myself to an expensive lunch I couldn't afford before. A part of me begs me to be frugal. But, I've been frugal long enough. I've landed my first tv show, I'm on the arm of an A-List Celebrity (even if there are only 11 dates and two interviews left). I'm thriving. This is the biscuit sauce of LA that every aspiring actress hopes to get.

A few people glance at me, the usual kind but I'm not the kind of notoriety they can approach. At least not yet. I'm walking out of the restaurant when I bump into an influencer... I'm almost speechless because it's Tati Westbrook.

I live for her make-up videos. I have all the products including her eyeshadow palette. She smiles, apologizes for almost colliding with me, and walks in. She's shorter than I expected, so petite, it makes me feel large.

One day, she'll recognise me too.

My shopping trip goes the same, a little lonely since Priscilla isn't around but the sales girls are paid well and play-act as my friends gushing over the clothes I've picked and helping me pick out clothes that I'd like. They don't recognise me.

It feels like my fame is in a box. It's categorised neatly and plainly but when I step out of that box, I'm back to being me. Vanessa. Significant, the way every resident in LA is but also nothing extraordinary. At least not yet.

Because LA is filled to the brim with possibilities, with actresses and actors, and it's a mere matter of time that my box becomes bigger and bigger till everyone in this city, in this country, in the world will know me. Will praise me. Will love me.

It's really only a matter of time.

However, I'm impatient. I want it to happen now. I want the pilot to preview. I want people to watch my role and love me. I'm born for fame. I'm heading back home when I spot Harry Wolfe's car driving by.

I hesitate to call him, and continue to walk back. He barely tolerates me as is, and after you've gotten used to a celebrity, you become acutely aware of how little they're able to tolerate you. It's why, when I reach my house, I'm surprised to find him parked out, phone out and looking very impatient.

"Hey," I greet him. His curly hair looks more styled today than normal, and his eyes are hidden behind sunglasses.

"Have you had lunch?" he asks.