distrustful of anyone outside the business. There was a reason why actresses and actors dated each other. A tacit agreement that neither would sell stories in fear of having their own story sold.
Second, Vivien didn’t really like dating actors.
Yes they were pretty to look at, but she didn’t find them very interesting. She was an actress. She knew the business. She lived and breathed it every day, but it was one of the last things she wanted to talk about when she went home at night. She’d much rather talk with people who lived outside the Hollywood bubble. People who didn’t say things like, “When I was on set last week …” or drop names “At Sundance this year, Bob threw a party that …” or complain about their privileged lives “I ordered kale chips on my rider! Where are my freaking kale chips?” Vivien had to admit that she was privileged too, but she was often bored by the same conversations from the same people who’d forgotten that they hadn’t always been so fortunate. Vivien hadn’t forgotten. On those rare occasion when she did, she reminded herself that she and her mother had cleaned house for the privileged. The house in which she now stood in her Armani dress and six-hundred-dollar shoes.
Vivien chatted with her old friend about their days at Charleston Day School and refilled their wine glasses. The two of them stood at one end of the bar, as Lottie caught her up on various classmates. She raised the wine to her lips and, over the top of her glass, her gaze landed on Henry, standing within a circle of men, drinking hard liquor, and laughing at something. He’d taken off his black suit jacket and looked handsome in his white dress shirt and black tie. Henry had called her “darlin’” yesterday. That made it two times now.
“And no one’s seen hide nor hair of Caroline Mundy since forever. I suspect that’s because she went from debutante to doublewide.”
A tall blonde with killer curves joined the circle of men and slid her arm around Henry. He tilted his head to one side and gave her a killer smile. Vivien wondered if he called the woman “darlin’.”
“Do you remember Jenny Alexander?”
Vivien thought a moment and returned her attention to her friend. “Brunette? Pants so tight you could see her religion?”
“That’s the one. Her brother Paul married one of the Randall girls. They had three kids, and one day he just up and decides he’s a lesbian. Like Bruce Jenner deciding he’s Caitlyn.” Lottie gasped. “Do you know the Kardashians?”
Vivien caught herself before she rolled her eyes. “I met Khloe at the Moschino fashion show in Milan, but no.” She looked toward the circle of men. Henry was gone and so was the blonde. “I don’t know the Kardashians.” Khloe seemed perfectly nice and Vivien did not begrudge any of them their success. She just wasn’t a fan of scripted reality.
After several more minutes of listening to her friend, she excused herself to say good-bye to her uncle and Kathy. The two were driving back to Texas and wanted to make it as far as Atlanta before they stopped for the night. She walked them to the door, where Richie gave her a surprisingly warm hug and an invitation to visit them anytime. He might have even been sincere. She hoped so because he was the only family she had left. Kathy gave her a pat on the shoulder and Vivien watched them walk across the veranda and down the steps. She looked beyond her relatives to the sidewalk across the street. A small group stood near the curb and Vivien moved back into the house. Their hands weren’t raised and they weren’t in costume. More than likely they were just tourists gawking at one of Charleston’s most beautiful and historic mansions. Maybe she was just being paranoid, but she didn’t want the public to know where she was staying in Charleston. Her momma’s carriage house had absolutely no security and flimsy locks. That had to change if she was going to stay there while
Second, Vivien didn’t really like dating actors.
Yes they were pretty to look at, but she didn’t find them very interesting. She was an actress. She knew the business. She lived and breathed it every day, but it was one of the last things she wanted to talk about when she went home at night. She’d much rather talk with people who lived outside the Hollywood bubble. People who didn’t say things like, “When I was on set last week …” or drop names “At Sundance this year, Bob threw a party that …” or complain about their privileged lives “I ordered kale chips on my rider! Where are my freaking kale chips?” Vivien had to admit that she was privileged too, but she was often bored by the same conversations from the same people who’d forgotten that they hadn’t always been so fortunate. Vivien hadn’t forgotten. On those rare occasion when she did, she reminded herself that she and her mother had cleaned house for the privileged. The house in which she now stood in her Armani dress and six-hundred-dollar shoes.
Vivien chatted with her old friend about their days at Charleston Day School and refilled their wine glasses. The two of them stood at one end of the bar, as Lottie caught her up on various classmates. She raised the wine to her lips and, over the top of her glass, her gaze landed on Henry, standing within a circle of men, drinking hard liquor, and laughing at something. He’d taken off his black suit jacket and looked handsome in his white dress shirt and black tie. Henry had called her “darlin’” yesterday. That made it two times now.
“And no one’s seen hide nor hair of Caroline Mundy since forever. I suspect that’s because she went from debutante to doublewide.”
A tall blonde with killer curves joined the circle of men and slid her arm around Henry. He tilted his head to one side and gave her a killer smile. Vivien wondered if he called the woman “darlin’.”
“Do you remember Jenny Alexander?”
Vivien thought a moment and returned her attention to her friend. “Brunette? Pants so tight you could see her religion?”
“That’s the one. Her brother Paul married one of the Randall girls. They had three kids, and one day he just up and decides he’s a lesbian. Like Bruce Jenner deciding he’s Caitlyn.” Lottie gasped. “Do you know the Kardashians?”
Vivien caught herself before she rolled her eyes. “I met Khloe at the Moschino fashion show in Milan, but no.” She looked toward the circle of men. Henry was gone and so was the blonde. “I don’t know the Kardashians.” Khloe seemed perfectly nice and Vivien did not begrudge any of them their success. She just wasn’t a fan of scripted reality.
After several more minutes of listening to her friend, she excused herself to say good-bye to her uncle and Kathy. The two were driving back to Texas and wanted to make it as far as Atlanta before they stopped for the night. She walked them to the door, where Richie gave her a surprisingly warm hug and an invitation to visit them anytime. He might have even been sincere. She hoped so because he was the only family she had left. Kathy gave her a pat on the shoulder and Vivien watched them walk across the veranda and down the steps. She looked beyond her relatives to the sidewalk across the street. A small group stood near the curb and Vivien moved back into the house. Their hands weren’t raised and they weren’t in costume. More than likely they were just tourists gawking at one of Charleston’s most beautiful and historic mansions. Maybe she was just being paranoid, but she didn’t want the public to know where she was staying in Charleston. Her momma’s carriage house had absolutely no security and flimsy locks. That had to change if she was going to stay there while
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