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October 7, 2008

Spying on Dean… First of all, sorry for my absence. I have been job-hunting and have only seemed to write cover letters the last few weeks! Wish me luck! 

So, where was I? Yes… Chloe. Spying on Chloe’s husband, my boss, for her. After stalking him on set via phone wasn’t really working, next, she wanted me to schedule things for him every night after work… so he would be forced to cancel whatever “extracurricular activities” he was engaging in. I wanted to tell her he could always cheat during the day – she can’t control his every move, all day long – but I didn’t. She would have to figure this out for herself. There’s only so much my still-meager salary will get her.  

With that great set P.A.’s help (whom I ended up going on a few dates with, but that’s another story; although it sure does make all this spying fun!), I ended up scheduling stuff for Dean every night the last couple weeks; I even orchestrated a fake PTA-type meeting at his kids’ school. And he went to everything, with no complaints. Hmm. This is tough for Chloe and my case…  

I should just go to set and spy on him… maybe I can get my new pseudo-boyfriend, the P.A., to do it? Dean would probably recognize me too easily, unless I hid behind some set dec or went to wardrobe and hair & make-up to get a disguise… Hmm. Now we’re talking…

September 23, 2008

Did I get your attention…? Good! I apologize for my delay in posting, but just as I had finished writing a lovely post to you last night, as I was cutting and pasting it, I lost it. L I haaaate that. So this is basically what it had said:  

Sleeping over at Chloe’s one night soon turned into three. And on the fourth day, I finally said I had to go home, if only to grab some new clothes (I had been wearing various gym clothes I’d found in my trunk up until now). Chloe said she’d be happy to loan me some of her clothes, and started holding way-too-teensy clothes up to my not-as-teensy body.

 

She did find some of her old maternity clothes that fit me; yay (and I am only a size six, readers!)! So, with one of her ugly maternity frock-type-shirt/dresses on, I finally said I had to get home – my poor fish, Trixie, was probably starving by now. Chloe said she didn’t realize I had a fish (I didn’t, either, readers, but I had to have some alone time! Shh!).

 

I went home for a while and never loved my super-small studio as much; it seemed huge in comparison to Chloe and Dean’s mansion/hotel of a house, where Chloe barely stopped talking to me the last seventy-two hours or so. I mean, I know she is paying me twice what Dean had, and just to be her best friend (very little, yet so much, work required), but still. I had NO alone time around her. She doesn’t need me; she needs a live-in therapist. Again, this is for just you and I to know.

 

Finally, after about five texts from her, I returned to her house. She had come up with a “Spying on Dean” plan, saying “Here’s what we’re (“you’re”) going to do, Avery…” She then gave me a printout of Dean’s schedule, with a play-by-play of his entire day. When I asked her if she was sure that she wanted me to do this, go undercover to see if he was having an affair, she said there’s no questioning it. Apparently, she had called the studio the other night to see when he’d finish shooting, and a P.A. told her they’d wrapped hours ago, around 10 p.m. The next morning, she nonchalantly asked him how his night was; he said they went until about 2 a.m., too late to even make their post-shooting margaritas. (Why are cheats such bad liars, readers?!) I really felt for Chloe after she told me this. For a second, I thought he might be off doing some romantic thing for her… but from 10 p.m. ‘til 2 a.m.?! Hmm…

 

Chloe wanted me to check-in with the set P.A. later that night, under the guise of her having a surprise for Dean, so I need to know when they’ll be wrapping. I was to do this every day, for a week, or two, however long it would take. The more nights Dean lied about finishing on set at one time, and coming home at another, the more Chloe built her case.

 

Six days into this project, Dean had lied about his whereabouts six times. Poor Chloe… but she didn’t want “our” project to stop there…

September 16, 2008

Sorry I was MIA yesterday… balancing my job (if one could call it that) with the rest of my life has been quite the challenge lately. Hope to update you soon… In the meantime, read everyone else’s blogs on here!

September 8, 2008

Hi, readers. So I am FINALLY feeling better… although I’m never eating egg salad again. 

So much has happened since you and I last spoke, I don’t even know where to start. 

We left off where I went to see Chloe, who had just ripped out her $80,000 hair extensions. Yes, ripped out. And, yes, $80,000!!! I guess she started by cutting them, but then, unpleased, started removing the plugs from her head (that sounds so alien, in so many different ways). More importantly, WHO THE FUCK does this?!?! Especially just because they didn’t get some lame role in the audition-of-the-day?! 

I really wanted to give Chloe a shot of self-esteem… what if the next role she auditions for wants someone with longer hair…? But I guess now’s not the time to say this; now, it’s too late. Plus, I needed to figure out a way to save my 500 invitations… maybe we could just change the party theme? After all, her “Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow” theme is more appropriate now than ever before. 

I followed her into the dark house, down the long, hollow hallways, and into the kitchen, which was begging for company. All was silent, except for her high heels against the hardwood floors. Why was she even wearing high heels at 1 a.m.?  

Chloe poured us each a glass of Scotch on the rocks (not even asking if I like Scotch; but, again, this was irrelevant now) and motioned for us to sit down at the table. She still had the pulled-out hair in her hand, which made it seem as though she had scalped somebody… which was herself, in more ways than one. It freaked me out, looking at it. 

She seemed calm for a second as she took a long sip of her drink, then put her hands over her face, clumps of hair extension hair covering it, and burst out crying. Why are the rich, spoiled people of the world always so unhappy?  

She then threw the hair across the room. I watched (and ducked) as it landed in a nearby garbage can (and wondered if I could later retrieve it, resell it, and finally pay off my $80,000-worth of student loans). Where the hell am I? And am I really sitting here, sipping Scotch, watching my boss’s wife cry over a bad audition and a bad hair day in the middle of the night?  

“I’ll never be a known actress, Avery,” she said between bouts of sobbing. “Sure you will,” I said back, though I believed her more than I did myself. “And it’s not just the hair,” she said. “I think Dean is having an affair.” “No, he’s not,” I said. “How do you know?!” she snapped back. “Um…” I started. But I did not know how to continue that sentence, since I had no clue whether or not Dean – my boss – was cheating on Chloe.  

I am officially getting way too involved in my boss’s personal affairs, so to speak… and I need to find a way out. But before I could start brainstorming, Chloe interrupted, “All those invitations!” she said, suddenly noticing them. She picked one up. “Beautiful, Avery,” she exclaimed. Finally, I wanted to say, but “Aw, thanks,” came out, instead. “What’ll we do with all of these? I’m so sorry you had to do this…” she added. Wow, she’s actually being remorseful; this is so unlike her. Maybe there is a decent human being underneath her Hollywood TV wife, fell face of make-up at 1 a.m. façade, after all. “I’ll think of something we can use these for,” she said. “Great,” I responded. And I meant it.  

“Thanks for coming over, Avery,” she said, pouring us more Scotch. “No problem,” I said. After all, readers, what else did I have to do at this hour?! “And I would hate for you to drink and drive tonight,” she said. “So I’ll make up the guest room for you.” Uh-oh, readers. I’m stuck. “And in the morning,” she continued, “we’ll think of how you can spy on Dean for me.” “Can’t wait,” I muttered to myself, under my breath.

September 2, 2008

I think it was food poisoning this time… which is a GREAT reason (excuse?) to get out of work, btw… And to finally get a break from comforting Chloe and her hair…

I shall post as soon as my projectile vomiting stops and the toilet stops being my best friend. (Sorry if that’s TMI, but you and I can talk about anything, right?)

Talk to you soon… Avery